1 - 1 Chelan: Creation
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1 Long, long ago, the Creator, the Great Chief Above, made the world. Then he made the animals and the birds and gave them their names -- Coyote, Grizzly Bear, Deer, Fox, Eagle, the four Wolf Brothers, Magpie, Bluejay, Hummingbird, and all the others. When he had finished his work, the Creator called the animal people to him. "I am going to leave you," he said. "But I will come back. When I come again, I will make human beings. They will be in charge of you." The Great Chief returned to his home in the sky, and the animal people scattered to all parts of the world.
After twelve moons, the animal people gathered to meet the Creator as he had directed. Some of them had complaints. Bluejay, Meadowlark, and Coyote did not like their names. Each of them asked to be some other creature. "No," said the Creator. "I have given you your names. There is no change. My word is law.
"Because you have tried to change my law, I will not make the human being this time. Because you have disobeyed me, you have soiled what I brought with me. I planned to change it into a human being. Instead, I will put it in water to be washed for many moons and many snows, until it is clean again."
Then he took something from his right side and put it in the river. It swam, and the Creator named it Beaver. "Now I will give you another law," said the Great Chief Above.
"The one of you who keeps strong and good will take Beaver from the water some day and make it into a human being. I will tell you now what to do. Divide Beaver into twelve parts. Take each part to a different place and breathe into it your own breath. Wake it up. It will be a human being with your breath. Give it half of your power and tell it what to do. Today I am giving my power to one of you. He will have it as long as he is good." When the Creator had finished speaking, all the creatures started for their homes -- all except Coyote. The Great Chief had a special word for Coyote.
"You are to be head of all the creatures, Coyote. You are a power just like me now, and I will help you do your work. Soon the creatures and all the other things I have made will become bad. They will fight and will eat each other. It is your duty to keep them as peaceful as you can. "When you have finished your work, we will meet again, in this land toward the east. If you have been good, if you tell the truth and obey me, you can make the human being from Beaver. If you have done wrong, someone else will make him." Then the Creator went away.
It happened as the Creator had foretold. Everywhere the things he had created did wrong. The mountains swallowed the creatures. The winds blew them away. Coyote stopped the mountains, stopped the winds, and rescued the creatures. One winter, after North Wind had killed many people, Coyote made a law for him: "Hereafter you can kill only those who make fun of you."
Everywhere Coyote went, he made the world better for the animal people and better for the human beings yet to be created. When he had finished his work, he knew that it was time to meet the Creator again. Coyote thought that he had been good, that he would be the one to make the first human being. But he was mistaken. He thought that he had as much power as the Creator. So he tried, a second time, to change the laws of the Great Chief Above.
"Some other creature will make the human being," the Creator told Coyote. "I shall take you out into the ocean and give you a place to stay for all time." So Coyote walked far out across the water to an island. There the Creator stood waiting for him, beside the house he had made. Inside the house on the west side stood a black suit of clothes. On the other side hung a white suit. "Coyote, you are to wear this black suit for six months," said the Creator. "Then the weather will be cold and dreary. Take off the black suit and wear the white suit. Then there will be summer, and everything will grow. I will give you my power not to grow old. You will live here forever and forever."
Coyote stayed there, out in the ocean, and the four Wolf brothers took his place as the head of all the animal people. Youngest Wolf Brother was strong and good and clever. Oldest Wolf Brother was worthless. So the Creator gave Youngest Brother the power to take Beaver from the water. One morning Oldest Wolf Brother said to Youngest Brother, "I want you to kill Beaver. I want his tooth for a knife."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Second and Third Brothers. "Beaver is too strong for Youngest Brother." But Youngest Wolf said to his brothers, "Make four spears. For Oldest Brother, make a spear with four forks. For me, make a spear with one fork. Make a two-forked spear and a three-forked spear for yourselves. I will try my best to get Beaver, so that we can kill him."
All the animal persons had seen Beaver and his home. They knew where he lived. They knew what a big creature he was. His family of young beavers lived with him. The animal persons were afraid that Youngest Wolf Brother would fail to capture Beaver and would fail to make the human being. Second and Third Wolf Brothers also were afraid. "I fear we will lose Youngest Brother," they said to each other. But they made the four spears he had asked for.
At dusk, the Wolf brothers tore down the dam at the beavers' home, and all the little beavers ran out. About midnight, the larger beavers ran out. They were so many, and they made so much noise, that they sounded like thunder. Then Big Beaver ran out, the one the Creator had put into the water to become clean.
"Let's quit!" said Oldest Wolf Brother, for he was afraid. "Let's not try to kill him."
"No!" said Youngest Brother. "I will not stop."
Oldest Wolf Brother fell down. Third Brother fell down. Second Brother fell down. Lightning flashed. The beavers still sounded like thunder. Youngest Brother took the four-forked spear and tried to strike Big Beaver with it. It broke. He used the three-forked spear. It broke. He used the two-forked spear. It broke. Then he took his own one-forked spear. It did not break. It pierced the skin of Big Beaver and stayed there. Out of the lake, down the creek, and down Big River, Beaver swam, dragging Youngest Brother after it.
Youngest Wolf called to his brothers, "You stay here. If I do not return with Beaver in three days, you will know that I am dead." Three days later, all the animal persons gathered on a level place at the foot of the mountain. Soon they saw Youngest Brother coming. He had killed Beaver and was carrying it. "You remember that the Creator told us to cut it into twelve pieces," said Youngest Brother to the animal people. But he could divide it into only eleven pieces.
Then he gave directions. "Fox, you are a good runner. Hummingbird and Horsefly, you can fly fast. Take this piece of Beaver flesh over to that place and wake it up. Give it your breath." Youngest Brother gave other pieces to other animal people and told them where to go. They took the liver to Clearwater River, and it became the Nez Perce Indians. They took the heart across the mountains, and it became the Methow Indians. Other parts became the Spokane people, the Lake people, the Flathead people. Each of the eleven pieces became a different tribe.
"There have to be twelve tribes," said Youngest Brother. "Maybe the Creator thinks that we should use the blood for the last one. Take the blood across the Shining Mountains and wake it up over there. It will become the Blackfeet. They will always look for blood."
When an animal person woke the piece of Beaver flesh and breathed into it, he told the new human being what to do and what to eat. "Here are roots," and the animal people pointed to camas and kouse and to bitterroot, "You will dig them, cook them, and save them to eat in the winter.
"Here are the berries that will ripen in the summer. You will eat them and you will dry them for use in winter." The animal people pointed to chokecherry trees, to serviceberry bushes, and to huckleberry bushes.
"There are salmon in all the rivers. You will cook them and eat them when they come up the streams. And you will dry them to eat in the winter."
When all the tribes had been created, the animal people said to them "Some of you new people should go up Lake Chelan. Go up to the middle of the lake and look at the cliff beside the water. There you will see pictures on the rock. From the pictures you will learn how to make the things you will need."
The Creator had painted the pictures there, with red paint. From the beginning until long after the white people came, the Indians went to Lake Chelan and looked at the paintings. They saw pictures of bows and arrows and of salmon traps. From the paintings of the Creator they knew how to make the things they needed for getting their food. |
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1 - 2 Chinook: Creation
Talapas (Creator) gave life to the surface of the Earth. It grew in abundance. Later, he placed the animal forms of all the Totem Spirits on the surface of the Earth Mother, and they prospered. Talapas then instructed T'soona (Thunderbird) to carry these special eggs from the other place, and place them on the top of Kaheese, a mountain near the Yakaitl-Wimakl (Columbia River). T'soona did so.
The Old Giantess, not wanting these special eggs to hatch, began to break the eggs. The vengeful Spirit Bird swiftly swooped down from Otelagh (the sun) and pursued the Old Giantess, and consumed her with fire, in revenge for her injustice. Soon the remaining eggs became the T'sinuk (Chinook). |
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1 - 3 Hopi: How the Great Chiefs Made the Moon and the Sun
Once upon a time, when our people first came up from the villages of the underworld, there was no sun. There was no moon. They saw only dreary darkness and felt the coldness. They looked hard for firewood, but in the darkness they found little.
One day as they stumbled around, they saw a light in the distance. The Chief sent a messenger to see what caused the light. As the messenger approached it, he saw a small field containing corn, beans, squash, watermelons, and other foods. All around the field a great fire was burning. Nearby stood a straight, handsome man wearing around his neck a turquoise necklace of four strands. Turquoise pendants hung from his ears.
"Who are you?" the owner of the field asked the messenger.
"My people and I have come from the cave world below," the messenger replied. "And we suffer from the lack of light and the lack of food."
"My name is Skeleton," said the owner of the field. He showed the stranger the terrible mask he often wore and then gave him some food. "Now return to your people and guide them to my field."
When all the people had arrived, Skeleton began to give them food from his field. They marvelled that, although the crops seemed so small, there was enough food for everyone. He gave them ears of corn for roasting; he gave them beans, squashes, and watermelons. The people built fires for themselves and were happy.
Later, Skeleton helped them prepare fields of their own and to make fires around them. There they planted corn and soon harvested a good crop.
"Now we should move on," the people said. "We want to find the place where we will live always."
Away from the fires it was still dark. The Great Chiefs, at a council with Skeleton, decided to make a moon like the one they had enjoyed in the underworld.
They took a piece of well-prepared buffalo hide and cut from it a great circle. They stretched the circle tightly over a wooden hoop and then painted it carefully with white paint. When it was entirely dry, they mixed some black paint and painted, all around its edge, completing the picture of the moon. When all of this was done, they attached a stick to the disk and placed it on a large square of white cloth. Thus they made a symbol of the moon.
Then the Great Chiefs selected one of the young men and bade him
to stand on top of the moon symbol. They took up the cloth by its corners and began to swing it back and forth, higher and higher. As they were swinging it, they sang a magic song. Finally, with a mighty heave, they threw the moon disk upward. It continued to fly swiftly, upward and eastward.
As the people watched, they suddenly saw light in the eastern sky. The light became brighter and brighter. Surely something was burning there, they thought. Then something bright with light rose in the east. That was the moon!
Although the moon made it possible for the people to move around with less stumbling, its light was so dim that frequently the workers in the fields would cut up their food plants instead of the weeds. It was so cold that fires had to be kept burning around the fields all the time.
Again the Great Chiefs held a council with Skeleton, and again they decided that something better must be done.
This time, instead of taking a piece of buffalo hide, they took a piece of warm cloth that they themselves had woven while they were still in the underworld. They fashioned this as they had fashioned the disk of buffalo hide, except that this time they painted the face of the circle with a copper-coloured paint.
They painted eyes and a mouth on the disk and decorated the forehead with colours that the Great Chiefs decided upon according to their desires. Around the circle, they then wove a ring of corn husks, arranged in a zig zag design. Around the circle of corn husks, they threaded a string of red hair from some animal. To the back of the disk, they fastened a small ring of corn husks. Through that ring they poked a circle of eagle feathers.
To the top of each eagle feather, the old Chief tied a few little red feathers taken from the top of the head of a small bird. On the forehead of the circle, he attached an abalone shell. Then the sun disk was completed.
Again the Great Chiefs chose a young man to stand on top of the disk, which they had placed on a large sheet. As they had done with the moon disk, they raised the cloth by holding its corners. Then they swung the sun disk back and forth, back and forth, again and again. With a mighty thrust, they threw the man and the disk far into the air. It travelled fast into the eastern sky and disappeared.
All the people watched it carefully. In a short time, they saw light in the east as if a great fire were burning. Soon the new sun rose and warmed the earth with its kindly rays.
Now with the moon to light the earth at night and the sun to light and warm it by day, all the people decided to pick up their provisions and go on. As they started, the White people took a trail that led them far to the south. The Hopis took one to the north, and the Pueblos took one midway between the two. Thus they wandered on to the places where they were to live.
The Hopis wandered a long time, building houses and planting crops until they reached the mesas where they now live. The ruins of the ancient villages are scattered to the very beginnings of the great river of the canyon--the Colorado.
2 How the Hopi Indians Reached Their World
When the world was new, the ancient people and the ancient creatures did not live on the top of the earth. They lived under it. All was darkness, all was blackness, above the earth as well as below it.
There were four worlds: this one on top of the earth, and below it three cave worlds, one below the other. None of the cave worlds was large enough for all the people and the creatures.
They increased so fast in the lowest cave world that they crowded it. They were poor and did not know where to turn in the blackness. When they moved, they jostled one another. The cave was filled with the filth of the people who lived in it. No one could turn to spit without spitting on another. No one could cast slime from his nose without its falling on someone else. The people filled the place with their complaints and with their expressions of disgust.
Some people said, "It is not good for us to live in this way."
"How can it be made better?" one man asked.
"Let it be tried and seen!" answered another.
Two Brothers, one older and one younger, spoke to the priest- chiefs of the people in the cave world, "Yes, let it be tried and seen. Then it shall be well. By our wills it shall be well."
The Two Brothers pierced the roofs of the caves and descended to the lowest world, where people lived. The Two Brothers sowed one plant after another, hoping that one of them would grow up to the opening through which they themselves had descended and yet would have the strength to bear the weight of men and creatures. These, the Two Brothers hoped, might climb up the plant into the second cave world. One of these plants was a cane.
At last, after many trials, the cane became so tall that it grew through the opening in the roof, and it was so strong that men could climb to its top. It was jointed so that it was like a ladder, easily ascended. Ever since then, the cane has grown in joints as we see it today along the Colorado River.
Up this cane many people and beings climbed to the second cave world. When a part of them had climbed out, they feared that that cave also would be too small. It was so dark that they could not see how large it was. So they shook the ladder and caused those who were coming up it to fall back. Then they pulled the ladder out. It is said that those who were left came out of the lowest cave later. They are our brothers west of us.
After a long time the second cave became filled with men and beings, as the first had been. Complaining and wrangling were heard as in the beginning. Again the cane was placed under the roof vent, and once more men and beings entered the upper cave world. Again, those who were slow to climb out were shaken back or left behind. Though larger, the third cave was as dark as the first and second. The Two Brothers found fire. Torches were set ablaze, and by their light men built their huts and kivas, or travelled from place to place.
While people and the beings lived in this third cave world, times of evil came to them. Women became so crazed that they neglected all things for the dance. They even forgot their babies. Wives became mixed with wives, so that husbands did not know their own from others. At that time there was no day, only night, black night. Throughout this night, women danced in the kivas (men's "clubhouses"), ceasing only to sleep. So the fathers had to be the mothers of the little ones. When these little ones cried from hunger, the fathers carried them to the kivas, where the women were dancing. Hearing their cries, the mothers came and nursed them, and then went back to their dancing. Again the fathers took care of the children.
These troubles caused people to long for the light and to seek again an escape from darkness. They climbed to the fourth world, which was this world. But it too was in darkness, for the earth was closed in by the sky, just as the cave worlds had been closed in by their roofs. Men went from their lodges and worked by the light of torches and fires. They found the tracks of only one being, the single ruler of the unpeopled world, the tracks of Corpse Demon or Death. The people tried to follow these tracks, which led eastward. But the world was damp and dark, and people did not know what to do in the darkness. The waters seemed to surround them, and the tracks seemed to lead out into the waters.
With the people were five beings that had come forth with them from the cave worlds: Spider, Vulture, Swallow, Coyote, and Locust. The people and these beings consulted together, trying to think of some way of making light. Many, many attempts were made, but without success. Spider was asked to try first. She spun a mantle of pure white cotton. It gave some light but not enough. Spider therefore became our grandmother.
Then the people obtained and prepared a very white deerskin that had not been pierced in any spot. From this they made a shield case, which they painted with turquoise paint. It shed forth such brilliant light that it lighted the whole world. It made the light from the cotton mantle look faded. So the people sent the shield-light to the east, where it became the moon.
Down in the cave world Coyote had stolen a jar that was very heavy, so very heavy that he grew weary of carrying it. He decided to leave it behind, but he was curious to see what it contained. Now that light had taken the place of darkness, he opened the jar. From it many shining fragments and sparks flew out and upward, singeing his face as they passed him. That is why the coyote has a black face to this day. The shining fragments and sparks flew up to the sky and became stars.
By these lights the people found that the world was indeed very small and surrounded by waters, which made it damp. The people appealed to Vulture for help. He spread his wings and fanned the waters, which flowed away to the east and to the west until mountains began to appear.
Across the mountains the Two Brothers cut channels. Water rushed through the channels, and wore their courses deeper and deeper. Thus the great canyons and valleys of the world were formed. The waters have kept on flowing and flowing for ages. The world has grown drier, and continues to grow drier and drier.
Now that there was light, the people easily followed the tracks of Death eastward over the new land that was appearing. Hence Death is our greatest father and master. We followed his tracks when we left the cave worlds, and he was the only being that awaited us on the great world of waters where this world is now.
Although all the water had flowed away, the people found the earth soft and damp. That is why we can see today the tracks of men and of many strange creatures between the place toward the west and the place where we came from the cave world.
Since the days of the first people, the earth has been changed to stone, and all the tracks have been preserved as they were when they were first made.
When people had followed in the tracks of Corpse Demon but a short distance, they overtook him. Among them were two little girls. One was the beautiful daughter of a great priest. The other was the child of somebody-or-other She was not beautiful, and she was jealous of the little beauty. With the aid of Corpse Demon the jealous girl caused the death of the other child. This was the first death.
When people saw that the girl slept and could not be awakened, that she grew cold and that her heart had stopped beating, her father, the great priest, grew angry.
"Who has caused my daughter to die?" he cried loudly.
But the people only looked at each other.
"I will make a ball of sacred meal," said the priest. "I will throw it into the air, and when it falls it will strike someone on the head. The one it will strike I shall know as the one whose magic and evil art have brought my tragedy upon me."
The priest made a ball of sacred flour and pollen and threw it into the air. When it fell, it struck the head of the jealous little girl, the daughter of somebody-or-other. Then the priest exclaimed, "So you have caused this thing! You have caused the death of my daughter."
He called a council of the people, and they tried the girl. They would have killed her if she had not cried for mercy and a little time. Then she begged the priest and his people to return to the hole they had all come out of and look down it.
"If you still wish to destroy me, after you have looked into the hole," she said, "I will die willingly."
So the people were persuaded to return to the hole leading from the cave world. When they looked down, they saw plains of beautiful flowers in a land of everlasting summer and fruitfulness. And they saw the beautiful little girl, the priest's daughter, wandering among the flowers. She was so happy that she paid no attention to the people. She seemed to have no desire to return to this world.
"Look!" said the girl who had caused her death. "Thus it shall be with all the children of men."
"When we die," the people said to each other, "we will return to the world we have come from. There we shall be happy. Why should we fear to die? Why should we resent death?"
So they did not kill the little girl. Her children became the powerful wizards and witches of the world, who increased in numbers as people increased. Her children still live and still have wonderful and dreadful powers.
Then the people journeyed still farther eastward. As they went, they discovered Locust in their midst.
"Where did you come from?" they asked.
"I came out with you and the other beings," he replied.
"Why did you come with us on our journey?" they asked.
"So that I might be useful," replied Locust.
But the people, thinking that he could not be useful, said to him, "You must return to the place you came from."
But Locust would not obey them. Then the people became so angry at him that they ran arrows through him, even through his heart. All the blood oozed out of his body and he died. After a long time he came to life again and ran about, looking as he had looked before, except that he was black.
The people said to one another, "Locust lives again, although we have pierced him through and through. Now he shall indeed be useful and shall journey with us. Who besides Locust has this wonderful power of renewing his life? He must possess the medicine for the renewal of the lives of others. He shall become the medicine of mortal wounds and of war."
So today the locust is at first white, as was the first locust that came forth with the ancients. Like him, the locust dies, and after he has been dead a long time, he comes to life again-- black. He is our father, too. Having his medicine, we are the greatest of men. The locust medicine still heals mortal wounds.
After the ancient people had journeyed a long distance, they became very hungry. In their hurry to get away from the lower cave world, they had forgotten to bring seed. After they had done much lamenting, the Spirit of Dew sent the Swallow back to bring the seed of corn and of other foods. When Swallow returned, the Spirit of Dew planted the seed in the ground and chanted prayers to it. Through the power of these prayers, the corn grew and ripened in a single day.
So for a long time, as the people continued their journey, they carried only enough seed for a day's planting. They depended upon the Spirit of Dew to raise for them in a single day an abundance of corn and other foods. To the Corn Clan, he gave this seed, and for a long time they were able to raise enough corn for their needs in a very short time.
But the powers of the witches and wizards made the time for raising foods grow longer and longer. Now, sometimes, our corn does not have time to grow old and ripen in the ear, and our other foods do not ripen. If it had not been for the children of the little girl whom the ancient people let live, even now we would not need to watch our cornfields whole summers through, and we would not have to carry heavy packs of food on our journeys.
As the ancient people travelled on, the children of the little girl tried their powers and caused other troubles. These mischief-makers stirred up people who had come out of the cave worlds before our ancients had come. They made war upon our ancients. The wars made it necessary for the people to build houses whenever they stopped travelling. They built their houses on high mountains reached by only one trail, or in caves with but one path leading to them, or in the sides of deep canyons. Only in such places could they sleep in peace.
Only a small number of people were able to climb up from their secret hiding places and emerge into the Fourth World. Legends reveal the Grand Canyon is where these people emerged. From there they began their search for the homes the Two Brothers intended for them.
These few were the Hopi Indians that now live on the Three Mesas of northeastern Arizona.
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1 - 4 Innuit 
1 - 4 - 1 At the beginning of the world there were giants
They lived on the land and ate the fruits of the land. One year, as the days began to get shorter and colder, a baby girl was born to two of the giants. They named her Sedna.
Day by day, as the sun became weaker and smaller, Sedna grew stronger and bigger. She grew and grew very quickly until, in no time at all, she was huge. Soon she was bigger than her giant parents.
The bigger she got the more she ate and the more she needed to eat, but there were not enough plants on the land to satisfy her hunger. One night, ravenously hungry, she began to gnaw her parents legs.
'Owww!' they cried, 'that's enough of that.' With a great struggle they bundled Sedna up in a blanket and carried her to their canoe. It was dark but they paddled out to sea in the light of a hazy moon. When they reached the middle of the ocean, they pushed Sedna overboard into the icy waters.
And that, they thought, was that. They started to paddle back towards the land, shivering for the cold and also for shame at what they had done to their own daughter. Yet before they had gone far, the canoe stopped - no matter how fast they paddled, the canoe would not move forward. To their horror they saw two hands, Sedna's hands, reaching out of the water to grip the canoe and then to rock it from side to side.
The giants felt the boat shaking. Soon they would be tossed into the ocean they would surely drown, unless they did something quickly.
Simply to save themselves, they pulled out sharp knives and chopped off Sedna's fingers. One by one the fingers splashed into the sea and, as they sank, they changed into swimming creatures. One became a whale, one a seal, another a walrus, another a salmon. The fingers changed into all the creatures of the seas.
As for Sedna, she drifted through new shoals of fish to the bottom off the ocean. There the fishes built her an underwater tent. Above her, the cold waters formed a crust of ice and sealed Sedna in her wintry, watery world. She still lives there, and whenever the Inuit are short of food, they call on Sedna and she provides it, even in the depths of winter.
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1 - 4 - 2 Sedna, the witch under the sea
Sedna, the Sea Spirit, was once a mortal girl, living with her father by the seashore. She was very beautiful and many men came to court her, bringing gifts to win her favour. But Sedna was very proud and haughty and would have none of them. Always she found some fault. This one was too short or that one had bad teeth. She spurned their gifts and turned her back on them, refusing even to speak.
This behaviour infuriated her father 'Why can you nor take a husband like other girls?' he asked impatiently. 'Now that I am old, I need a son-in~law to help me with hunting.' Sedna only shrugged carelessly and fumed away, brushing her long dark hair and humming.
Finally, when yet another young man had gone away, hurt and saddened by Sedna's cruelty, her father lost his temper. 'The very next man who comes here,' he stormed, 'you shall marry! Next time I will make you! You will not refuse again!' He did not have long to wait. The very next day a strange kayak appeared at the waters edge. In it sat a tall young man dressed in rich, dark furs . A heavy hood covered his head and his face was half-hidden by his wooden snow-goggles. Sedna's father hurried down to the shore, dragging his struggling, protesting daughter behind him. Even before the stranger had time to disembark, the old man shouted, 'Do you seek a wife? Here is my daughter Sedna ! She is young and beautiful, and can cook and sew. She will make you an excellent wife.'
The young man smiled. 'I have heard much of your daughter's beauty,' he nodded, 'and have come with the purpose of making her acquaintance ' Turning to Sedna, he went on, 'I have a large and splendid house in my own country, hung with furs to keep out the elements. If you marry me, you will sleep on soft bearskins and eat only the finest food.' Sedna looked at the young man sitting tall and straight in his kayak.
'Well, if I must take a husband, I suppose I must,' she thought grudgingly. 'He seems kind and nor too ugly. I could do worse.' Indeed she had little choice in the matter, for her father's mind was made up and without more ado he bundled her into the kayak. The young man picked up his paddle and pushed off from the shore.
For many miles they travelled across the ice-cold sea. Sedna, cross and sulky, said nothing, nor did the young man seem inclined for conversation. Only the lapping of the water against eke kayak or the occasional cry of a solitary bird disturbed the silence. On and on they went until at last a rocky island loomed out of the mists. Look!' said the young man. 'There is my home.' Sedna was filled with dismay. The island seemed a bleak and inhospitable place. Nothing grew on its stony shores and sea birds swooped about the cliffs, filling the air with their wild, mournful cries.
The young man brought the kayak into the shallows and leaped ashore. He threw back his hood and pulled off his goggles. Sedna looked at him aghast. He was very ugly, short and squat, with tiny, red-rimmed eyes. He had seemed tall before only because of the high seat of his kayak. He saw Sedna's horrified face and burst into harsh, cackling laughter.
'Come!' he cried, roughly seizing her arm. 'Come and see my fine house--your new home!'
But it was not at all fine. It was nothing but a heap of twigs and driftwood perched on a high rocky ledge. There were no soft furs as the young man had promised, only a few miserable fish skins thrown on the rough floor. Sedna looked at her new husband and, before her eyes, he turned into a small, soot-black bird. Too late she realized the truth. This was no young man whom she had married, but a storm petrel in human disguise.
Sedna regretted bitterly the foolish pride which had brought her to this terrible place. The cliff-top nest was cold and uncomfortable and there was only fish to eat, but there was no way of escape and so for a long time Sedna lived with the storm petrel on the rocky island. During the day he left the nest in his bird form and flew over the sea in search of food. When he returned in the evening he became a man once more.
Meanwhile, Sedna's father, repenting his hasty temper, decided to go in search of her and, after many days travel, he too came to the lonely rock where the storm petrel lived. When he saw his daughter's misery, he was stricken with remorse. 'Oh my poor child, ' he cried, 'I did not mean you to suffer such a fate. Surely you have been punished enough! Let us return home at once.'
They climbed hastily into his kayak and set off, but, even before the island had faded from view, Sedna, looking back, saw a black speck appear. 'Father! Father!' she screamed. 'My husband is returning! When he finds me gone, he is sure to follow us. What shall we to do?'
The old man pushed her down into the bottom of the kayak and covered her over with skins. Urged on by fear, he paddled as fast as he could and the kayak flew over the waves.
Out of the darkening skies came the storm petrel, swooping low, his wings stiff and outstretched. Although Sedna was hidden under the pile of skins, he knew she was there. He flew round and round the kayak, shrieking wildly. At first the old man paid no heed, but again the bird swooped low, beating at the sea with his wings so that it grew black and angry and great waves began to wash over the kayak. The old man shouted and struck out at him with his paddle, but the bird dodged the blows and, skimming the surface of the water, beat his wings so furiously that the storm raged even more fiercely and the sea became a churning whirlpool, tossing and spinning the kayak like a child's toy, threatening to engulf it completely.
Fearing for his life, the old man lost his reason and dragged the trembling Sedna from her hiding place. 'Here is your wife! he cried. 'Take her for yourself,' and he hurled her into the sea.
Screaming in terror, Sedna clung to the kayak, but her father, maddened with fear, struck at her hands with his paddle, and the first joints of her fingers, frozen with cold, broke off like icicles and fell into the sea. As they bobbed away, they changed miraculously into seals, diving and twisting in the waves.
Again Sedna clung to the kayak, pleading for her life, but again her father tried to make her release her grasp, this time cutting off the second joints of her fingers. These, too, fell into the sea and became the first walrus. With her bleeding stumps, Sedna made one last despairing attempt to seize hold of the kayak, but her father had no pity and struck off the remaining joints, which took the form of whales and followed the seals and walrus down into the depths of the ocean.
Now Sedna had no more fingers and she sank to the bottom of the sea. The storm petrel circled the kayak, lamenting his lost wife. Then he turned and flew back to his bleak island home.
But Sedna was not drowned. Instead, she became the Spirit of the Sea and Mother of the Sea Beasts. Legend says that she lives still at the bottom of the sea, jealously guarding the creatures which came from her fingers. Because of her father's cruelty, she has no love for human beings. Their wicked deeds trouble her, affecting her body with sores and infesting her hair like lice. Lacking fingers, she cannot brush her hair and it becomes tangled and matted. In revenge, she calls up storms to prevent men from hunting, or keeps the sea creatures to herself.
At such times shamans must travel to the land below the sea to confess men's sins and to beg her forgiveness. Only the most powerful, who fear nothing, can undertake this journey for the way is long and dangerous, blocked by great rolling boulders, and evil spirits guard the entrance to the Sea Mother's sealskin tent. To sooth Sedna's rage and pain, the shaman must first comb her hair until it hangs clean and smooth once more. Then Sedna may feel more kindly and release the whale, walrus and seal from the great pool below her lamp, so that for a time, until they forget and sin again, people may hunt freely and without fear.
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1 - 5 Maidu: CREATION
When this world was filled with water, Earth-Maker floated upon it, kept floating about. Nowhere in the world could he see even a tiny bit of earth. No persons of any kind flew about. He went about in this world, the world itself being invisible, transparent like the sky.
He was troubled. "I wonder how, I wonder where, I wonder in what place, in what country, we shall find a world!" he said. "You are a very strong man, to be thinking of this world," said Coyote. "I am guessing in what direction the world is, then to that distant land let us float!" said Earth-Maker.
In this world they kept floating along, kept floating along, hungry, having nothing to eat. "You will die of hunger," said Coyote. Then he thought. "No, I cannot think of anything," he said. "Well," said Earth-Maker, "the world is large, a great world. If somewhere I find a tiny world, I can fix it up."
Then he sang, "Where, little world, art thou?" It is said he sang, kept singing, sang all the time. "Enough!" he said, and stopped singing. "Well! I don't know many songs (?)," he said. Then Coyote sang again, kept singing, asking, for the world, singing, "Where, O world, art thou."' He sang, kept singing; then "Enough!" he said, "I am tired. You try again."
So Earth-Maker sang. "Where are you, my great mountains, my world mountains?" he said. He sang, and all the time kept saying, "Where are you?" He stopped singing. "Enough!" he said. "You try also." Coyote tried, kept singing. "My foggy mountains, where one goes about," he said. "Well, We shall see nothing at all. I guess there never was a world anywhere," said he. "I think if we find a little world, I can fix it very well," said Earth-Maker.
As they floated along, they saw something like a bird's nest. "Well! That is very small," said Earth-Maker. "It is small. If it were larger, I could fix it. But it is too small," he said. "I wonder how I can stretch it a little!" He kept saying, "What is the best way! How shall I make it larger!" So saying, he prepared it. He extended a rope to the east, to the south he extended a rope, to the west, to the northwest, and to the north he extended ropes.
When all were stretched, he said, "Well, sing, you who were the finder of this earth, this mud! 'In the long, long, ago, Robin-Man made the world, stuck earth together, making this world.' Thus mortal men shall say of you, in myth-telling." Then Robin sang, and his world-making song sounded sweet. After the ropes were all stretched, he kept singing; then, after a time, he ceased.
Then Earth-Maker spoke to Coyote also. "Do you sing too," he said. So he sang, singing, "My world, where one travels by the valley-edge; my world of many foggy mountains; my world where one goes zigzagging hither and thither; range after range," he said, "I sing of the country I shall travel in. In such a world I shall wander," he said.
Then Earth-Maker sang--sang of the world he had made, kept singing, until by and by he ceased. "Now," he said, "it would be well if the world were a little larger. Let us stretch it!"--"Stop!" said Coyote. I speak wisely. This world ought to be painted with something, so that it may look pretty. What do ye two think?"
Then Robin-Man said, "I am one who knows nothing. Ye two are clever men, making this world, talking it over; if ye find anything evil, ye will make it good."--"Very well," said Coyote, "I will paint it with blood. There shall be blood in the world; and people shall be born there, having blood. There shall be birds born who shall have blood. Everything--deer, all kinds of game, all sorts of men without any exception--all things shall have blood that are to be created in this world. And in another place, making it red, there shall be red rocks. It will be as if blood were mixed up with the world, and thus the world will be beautiful," he said. "What do you think about it?"--"Your words are good," he said, "I know nothing." So Robin-Man went off. As he went, he said, "I shall be a person who travels only in this way," and he flew away.
Earth-Maker spoke: "You had better lie down here on your face."--"All right!" said Coyote, and, kneeling down, he lay on his face. Then Earth-Maker stretched the world with his foot. Stretching it once, he extended it towards the east, extended it on that side; then to the south, then to the west, he stretched it; then to the northwest and to the north he stretched it. Having extended it only a little ways, he said, "All right!"
Coyote stood up and looked around. "Well, I think it would be better if this world were just large enough to go around it." By and by Earth-Maker said, "You had better kneel down again, and lie flat on your belly. Do not look up. You must not!"--"Very well," said Coyote, "I will not look up." He lay down; and Earth-Maker, stretching the earth with his foot eastward, stretched it as far as it would go. He extended it fully toward the south, toward the west, toward the northwest, toward the north. "All right!" said he.
Coyote stood up, and, having risen, started to walk hither eastward. Earth-Maker, when he was left alone, stood for a time, then, departing, he went toward the south. In the direction of the sunset he went far around, going over to the northwest, going around to the north, going all the way around to the east. And having gone around, having returned to the spot where he had first turned off, he prepared things.
He made two white men; then he made others, white, but a little different. As he made them, he counted them. He kept on making them--made one black, then another almost black. Two of each only he made. Then he counted all the countries, and, as he counted, assigned them, gave them to the countries. "You are a country having this name, you shall have this people," he said. "This sort of people, naming you, shall own the country. These people shall grow, shall keep on growing through many winters, through many dawns. They shall continue to grow until, their appointed winters being past, their dawns being over, this people having finished growing, shall be born," he said. "Very many winters will have passed before they shall be born. And they shall have children, girls and boys; and these children, growing up, shall have children in their turn," he said. When several winters have passed, there will be very many people."
Then again, to another sort of people, he gave another country, saying, "This people, I leave you in this country, and ye shall be the owners of this land. Ye shall be a people with a name." And they also were a different sort of people, a people with a name; and their country also was named, it is said. "Your country also shall have a name," he said. "Ye too shall have a name, and your children shall fill the land, and every single child shall have a name," he said. "There, growing steadily, many winters, many days, shall pass before ye are fully grown. Then ye shall possess this country," he said.
Thereafter he spoke to another, again he gave a different kind of country to a different kind of people. He said, "Ye shall be a different-speaking and a different-looking people. Ye also shall possess a country," he said.
"Your children, if they weary of this land, going from this country to one with another name, to a country that is good to live in, shall remain there. There every country shall be full of people, who will continue to be born," he said. And then he divided the world among many. To one he gave one sort, to another he gave another. Ye shall all have different names," he said. Finally he finished giving, he distributed all.
Then after a while, continuing on his way, he came hither, kept travelling; and after arriving in the middle of the world, he made other people. "Ye shall be mortal men like this," he said; and, having made two, he left them. "Ye here, growing steadily, when so many winters shall have passed, very many winters, many days, ye shall be fully grown," he said. "Then ye shall be mortal men, ye shall be born full-grown. This country shall have a name. Beyond these mountains there shall be another country, which also shall have a name. Ye shall not be born soon," he said. Then he named everything, and, having left the people here in the middle of the world, he went away.
Continuing on his way, he went to all countries that were of the proper sort; and when he had gone as far as mortal men were to live, he stopped. Then there again he created two--two more, it is said, he laid down, and again two more. He kept counting them; and when he had counted them all, he spoke. "Ye shall remain here," he said, "and your country shall have a name. Although living in a small country, in one that is not large, it shall be sufficient for you. This I leave; and growing continually, so many winters passing, very many winters passing, many days passing, ye shall be fully grown. And then ye, being fully grown, shall be born," he said. "Then your food will grow,--different sorts of food, all kinds of food; and ye, being born with sufficient intelligence, will survive," he said. Then he pushed them down under a gopher-hill.
He spoke again. "Ye, too, shall possess a small country. 'Come, now! leave this country!' (this ye must not say to others, wishing to take their land.) Ye shall be people who will not drive others away, driving them off to another country. Ye shall be different, ye shall name your country. Ye also shall be a differently named people. There, growing continually, many days being passed, many winters having passed, ye shall be born, when your birthday has passed," he said. "Living there and having children, when other winters are passed, they will become a little larger, and will keep on thus, growing all the time, until, when enough winters shall have passed, always becoming more numerous, ye shall have enough people. Your children, all without exception, shall have names. This country also, in the same way is named; all countries shall have names, just as yourselves. If ye are going to look at the country over there, then, when ye go, (ye shall say) 'I am going to that place,' naming it; then all people will understand where ye are going," he said.
Then, counting the people on this side (in this direction), he left them; and, speaking to those on this side, he said, "Ye also shall be mortal men. So many winters passing over, (?) ye shall be born. All the time growing, each winter ye shall grow a little, a very little. Again, when the winter is over, continually growing, when many winters are passed, ye will have finished growing; then ye shall be born, full-grown. There ye also shall have a country, and your country shall be one bearing a name, and ye too shall be named," he said. "Ye shall have children; and when your children have grown larger, then, looking all over this country, ye must tell them about it, teach them about it, naming the country and places, showing them and naming them to your children. 'That is such and such a place, and that is such and such a mountain.' So, when ye have caused them to learn this, teaching them, they shall understand even as ye do yourselves." Then, placing them between his thumb and finger, he snapped them away.
And when he had given countries thus to all that he had counted out, there was one pair left. "Ye also, ye shall be a, people speaking differently. There will be a little too many of you for you to have the same sort of a country also. So ye shall have that kind of a country, a great country," he said. "Now, wherever I have passed along, there shall never be a lack of anything," he said, and made motions in all directions. "The country where I have been shall be one where nothing is ever lacking. I have finished talking to you, and I say to you that ye shall remain where ye are to be born. Ye are the last people; and while, ye are to remain where ye are created, I shall return, and stay there. When this world becomes bad, I will make it over again; and after I make it, ye shall be born," he said. Long ago Coyote suspected this, they say.
"This world will shake," he said. "This world is spread out flat, the world is not stable. After this world is all made, by and by, after a long time, I will pull this rope a little, then the world shall be firm. I, pulling on my rope, shall make it shake. And now," he said, "there shall be songs, they shall not be lacking, ye shall have them." And he sang, and kept on singing until he ceased singing. "Ye mortal men shall have this song," he said, and then he sang another; and singing many different songs, he walked along, kept walking until he reached the middle of the world; and there, sitting down over across from it, he remained.
But, in making the world, Robin-Man sang that which was pleasant to hear. He, they say, was the first created person,--a man whose song passed across the valleys, a man who found the world, a man who in the olden time sang very beautifully-sounding songs. And Earth-Maker, going along, and having passed by the middle of the world, made a house for himself, and remained there. That is as far as he went. That is all, they say.
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1 - 6 Pima: Flood on Superstition Mountain 
In the state of Arizona, the Pima Indian tribe declares that the father of all men and animals was Great Butterfly--Cherwit Make, meaning the Earth-Maker.
One day long ago, Great Butterfly fluttered down from the clouds to the Blue Cliffs, where two rivers met, later called the Verde and Salt rivers. There he made man from his own sweat.
From that day on the people multiplied, but in time they grew selfish and quarrelsome. Earth-Maker became annoyed with their behaviour and decided it might be best to drown all of them.
But first, he thought to warn them through the voices of the winds.
"People of the Pima tribe," called North Wind. "Sky Spirit warns you to be honest with one another and to live in peace from now on."
Suha, Shaman of the Pimas, interpreted to the people what North Wind had warned them about.
"What a fool you are, Suha, to listen to the voices of the winds," taunted his tribesmen.
On the next night, the same warning from Earth-Maker was repeated by East Wind, who added, "Chief Sky Spirit warns that all of you will be destroyed by floods if you do not live nobler lives."
Again, the Pimas mocked the winds and ignored their warnings. Next night, West Wind spoke, "Reform, people of the Pimas, or your evil ways will destroy you."
Then South Wind breathed into Suha's ear, "Suha, you and your good wife are the only people worth saving. Go and make a large, hollow ball of spruce gum in which you and your wife can live a long as the coming flood will last."
Because Suha and his wife believed the warnings and were obedient, they set to work immediately on a high hill, gathering spruce gum and shaping it into a large hollow ball. They stocked it with plenty of nuts, acorns, water, and bear and deer meats.
Near the appointed time, Suha and his good wife looked down sadly upon the lovely green valley. They heard the songs of the harvesters. They sighed to think of the beauty about them that would be destroyed when the flood came because of the people's selfishness. Suddenly, a bright lightning flash and loud thunder rocked the Blue Cliffs. It was a signal for the flood to begin.
Suha and his wife went into the gum-ball ark and closed the door tightly. Swirling, dark clouds surrounded them. Torrents of rain poured down everywhere. For many days, the ark rolled and tossed about on the deepening sea.
After many, many moons, the downpour of rain stopped. The ark settled upon the land again, high on a mountaintop. Suha opened the door and stepped forth to see a tuna cactus growing near his feet. He and his wife ate some of the red fruit of the cactus plant. Below them, they saw water everywhere.
That night they retired again to the ark. They must have slept a very long time, because when they awoke the water had disappeared, the valleys were green, and the bird songs rang forth again.
Suha and his wife descended from Superstition Mountain, a name later given to the mountain upon which the ark had landed. They went down into the fertile valley and lived there for a thousand years. The forthcoming people prospered, becoming known as the Pima tribe.
These Pimas later believed a story that an evil one named Hauk lived behind Superstition Mountain. He was also called the "Devil of Superstition Mountain" because he tried to steal daughters from the Pimas.
One day, Hauk secretly descended into Pima valley, where the women were busy weaving. He stole one of Suha's daughters. Suha followed Hauk to his home behind Superstition Mountain, where he observed his daughter treated as a servant-girl by Hauk.
Suha poisoned the cactus wine that his daughter served Hauk. When he drank it, Hauk died instantly. After that the world seemed less wicked, but always the Pimas feared that Hauk's evil spirit still lurked behind Superstition Mountain.
Suha, Shaman and inspired leader of the Pima tribe, taught his people to build adobe houses, to dig gardens with bones and stones, to irrigate their lands from the rivers; to raise sheep, horses, and cattle, and, above all, to live in peace with one another.
On his dying day, Suha gathered his people and foretold:
"If you ever grow arrogant with wealth, if you ever become covetous of others' lands, if you ever make war for gain, if you ever disgrace yourselves before Chief of the Sky Spirits--another flood will come upon you.
"If that happens again, bad persons will never be saved; only good persons will eventually live with the Sun-God."
Since that time, Pimas have believed Suha's prophecies; and they never, never go onto Superstition Mountain.
But their people love to tell the story of why and how the gum- ball ark landed on Superstition Mountain, saving Suha and his good wife, who became the beloved ancestors of their large and important Pima Tribe.
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1 - 7 Cowichan: Flood
Long before missionaries ever arrived in the New World, the Indians had ancient legends of a great flood, similar to that of Noah. This is the one the Cowichan tell.
In ancient times, there were so many people in the land that they lived everywhere. Soon hunting became bad and food scarce, so that the people quarrelled over hunting territories.
Even in those days, the people were skilled in making fine canoes and paddles from cedars, and clothing and baskets from their bark. In dreams their wise old men could see the future, and there came a time when they all had similar bad dreams that kept coming to them over and over again. The dreams warned of a great flood. This troubled the wise men who told each other about their dreams. They found that they all had dreamed that rain fell for such a long time, or that the river rose, causing a great flood so that all of the people were drowned. They were much afraid and called a council to hear their dreams and decide what should be done. One said that they should build a great raft by tying many canoes together. Some of the people agreed, but others laughed at the old men and their dreams.
The people who believed in the dreams worked hard building the raft. It took many moons of hard work, lashing huge cedar log canoes together with strong ropes of cedar bark. When it was completed, they tied the raft with a great rope of cedar bark to the top of Mount Cowichan by passing one end of the rope through the centre of a huge stone which can still be seen there.
During the time the people were working on the raft, those who did not believe in the dreams were idle and still laughed, but they did admire the fine, solid raft when it was at last finished and floated in Cowichan Bay.
Soon after the raft was ready, huge raindrops started falling, rivers overflowed, and the valleys were flooded. Although people climbed Mount Cowichan to avoid the great flood, it too was soon under water. But those who had believed the dreams took food to the raft and they and their families climbed into it as the waters rose. They lived on the raft many days and could see nothing but water. Even the mountain tops had disappeared beneath the flood. The people became much afraid when their canoes began to flood and they prayed for help. Nothing happened for a long time; then the rain stopped.
The waters began to go down after a time, and finally the raft was grounded on top of Mount Cowichan. The huge stone anchor and heavy rope had held it safe. As the water gradually sank lower and lower, the people could see their lands, but their homes had all been swept away. The valleys and forests had been destroyed. The people went back to their old land and started to rebuild their homes.
After a long time the number of people increased, until once again the land was filled and the people started to quarrel again. This time they separated into tribes and clans, all going to different places. The storytellers say this is how people spread all over the earth.
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1 - 8 Wintu
1 - 8 - 1 OLELBIS 
PERSONAGES: After each name is given that of the beast, bird, or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently. Names on which accents are not placed are accented on the penult. Names of places are explained in the notes. Kiemila and Herit mean "old" and "young," respectively; they are applied to male persons. Pokaila and Loimis are applied to females; the first means "old," the second "Young."
Bisus, mink; Chálilak, goose; Chuluhl, meadow-lark; Dokos, flint; Hau, red fox; Héssiha, tomtit; Hilit, house-fly; Hlihli, white oak acorn; Hus, turkey buzzard; Kahit, wind; Kahsuku, cloud dog Kaisus, gray squirrel; Kar, gray heron; Karili, coon; Katkatchila, swift; Katsi, chicken-hawk; Kau, white crane; Kiriú, loon; Klabus, mole; Klak, rattlesnake; Kuntihlé, fish-hawk; Lutchi, hummingbird; Mem Loimis, water; Mem Tulit, beaver; Min Taitai, sapsucker; Móihas, bald eagle; Pákchuso, the pakchu stone; Patsotchet, badger; Poháramas, shooting star; Sas, sun; Sedit, coyote; Sosini, a small web-footed bird; Sútunut, black eagle; Tede Wiu, a small bird; Tilichi, a water-bird; Tilikus, fire drill; Titchelis, ground squirrel: Toko, sunfish; Tórihas, blue crane; Tsárarok, kingfisher; Tsaroki Sakahl, green snake; Tsurat, woodpecker; Wehl Dilidili, road-runner; Wima Loimis, grizzly bear; Wokwuk, a large bird, extinct; Yilahl, gopher; Yoholmit, frog; Yonot, buckeye bush.
THE first that we know of Olelbis is that he was in Olelpanti. Whether he lived in another place is not known, but in the beginning he was in Olelpanti (on the upper side), the highest place. He was in Olelpanti before there was anything down here on the earth, and two old women were with him always. These old women he called grandmother, and each of them we call Pakchuso Pokaila.
There was a world before this one in which we are now. That world lasted a long, long time, and there were many people living in it before the present world and we, the present people, came.
One time the people of that first world who were living then in the country about here 1 were talking of those who lived in one place and another. Down in the southwest was a person whose name was Katkatchila. He could kill game wonderfully, but nobody knew how he did it, nor could any one find out. He did not kill as others did; he had something that he aimed and threw; he would point a hollow stick which he had, and something would go out of it and kill the game. In that time a great many people lived about this place where we are now, and their chief was Torihas Kiemila; these people came together and talked about Katkatchila.
Some one said: "I wonder if he would come up here if we sent for him."
"Let us send for him," said Torihas; "let us ask him to come; tell him that we are going to have a great dance. To-morrow we will send some one down to invite him."
Next morning Torihas sent a messenger to invite Katkatchila; he sent Tsaroki Sakahl, a very quick traveller. Though it was far, Tsaroki went there
in one day, gave the invitation, and told about Torihas and his people.
"I agree," said Katkatchila. "I will go in the morning."
Tsaroki went home in the night, and told the people that Katkatchila would come on the following day.
"What shall we do?" asked they.
"First, we will dance one night," said the chief; "then we will take him out to hunt and see how he kills things."
Katkatchila had a sister; she had a husband and one child. She never went outdoors herself. She was always in the house. Nobody ever saw the woman or her child.
When Katkatchila was ready to start he told his sister that he was going, and said to his brother-in-law: "I am going. You must stay at home while am gone."
The sister was Yonot. Her husband was Tilikus.
Katkatchila came to a hill up here, went to the top of it, and sat down. From the hill he could see the camp of the people who had invited him. He stayed there awhile and saw many persons dancing. It was in summer and about the middle of the afternoon. At last Katkatchila went down to where they were dancing, and stopped a little way off. Torihas, who was watching, saw him and said,--
"Come right over here, Katkatchila, and sit by me."
Olelbis was looking down from Olelpanti at this moment, and said to the old women, "My grandmothers, I see many people collected on earth; they are going to do something."
Katkatchila sat down and looked on. Soon all the people stopped dancing and went to their houses. Torihas had food brought to Katkatchila after his journey. While he was eating, Torihas said to him,--
"My grandson, I and all my people have lived here very long. My people want to dance and hunt. I sent one of them to ask you to come up here. They will dance to-night and go hunting to-morrow."
Torihas stood up then and said,--
"You my people, we will all dance to-night and to-morrow morning we will go to hunt. Do not leave home, any of you. Let all stay. We will have a great hunt. Katkatchila, will you stay with us?" asked he. "I shall be glad if you go and hunt with us."
"I will go with you," said Katkatchila. "I am glad to go."
They danced all night. Next morning, after they had eaten, and just as they were starting off to hunt, the chief said to his people,--
"I will send my grandson with Katkatchila, and some of you, my sons, stay near him."
Some said to others: "When Katkatchila shoots a deer, let us run right up and take out of the deer the thing with which he killed it, and then we won't give it back to him."
"Do you stay with him, too," said Torihas to Kaisus, who was a swift runner.
The whole party, a great many people, went to Hau Buli to hunt. When they got onto the mountain they saw ten deer. Katkatchila shot without delay; as soon as he shot a deer fell, and Kaisus, who was ready, made a rush and ran up to the deer, but Katkatchila was there before him and had taken out the weapon.
He killed all ten of the deer one after another, and Kaisus ran each time to be first at the fallen body, but Katkatchila was always ahead of him. When they went home Kaisus carried one deer, and told of all they had done, saying,--
"Now you people, go and bring in the other deer. I don't believe any man among us can run as fast as Katkatchila; he is a wonderful runner. I don't know what he uses to kill game, and I don't think we can get it away from him."
That night Hau spoke up among his friends and said, "I will go with Katkatchila to-morrow and see what I can do."
A great many of the people talked about Katkatchila that night, saying,--
"We do not think that he will ever come to us again, so we must all do our best to get his weapon while he is here."
Katkatchila was ready to go home after the hunt, but Torihas persuaded him, saying: "Stay one day more. Hunt with us to-morrow."
Katkatchila agreed to stay. Next morning they went to hunt. Hau went among others, and stayed near Katkatchila all the time.
On the mountain they saw ten deer again. Katkatchila
stood back to shoot. Hau was ready to spring forward to get the weapon. The moment the weapon was shot, Hau ran with all his strength, reached the deer first, took out the weapon and hid it in his ear.
That moment Katkatchila was there. You have taken my flint!" cried he. "Give it back!"
"I have not taken it," said Hau. "I have nothing of yours. I have just come."
"You have it. I saw you take it," said Katkatchila.
"I took nothing. I only put my hand on the deer's head."
"I saw you take it."
"No, you did not. I haven't it."
Katkatchila kept asking all day for his flint, but Hau would neither give it back nor own that he had it. At last, when the sun was almost down. Katkatchila turned to Hau and said,--
"I saw you take my flint. It would be better for you to give it back to me, better for you and very much better for your people. You want to keep the flint; well, keep it. You will see something in pay for this, something that will not make you glad."
He left the hunt and went away in great anger, travelled all night and was at home next morning.
Torihas's people went back from the hunt, and Hau with the others. He went into the sweat-house. took the flint out of his ear and held it on his palm. Every one came and looked at it. It was just a small bit of a thing.
"When I took this," said Hau, "Katkatchila got very angry; he left us on the mountain and went home."
All the people stood around looking at the flint in Hau's hand.
"You have done wrong, you people," said Patsotchet. "Katkatchila is very strong and quick; you will see what he will do. He has great power, more power than you think, and he will have vengeance. He will make us suffer terribly. He is stronger than we are. He can do anything. You will see something dreadful before long."
"Now, my people," said Torihas, "come into the sweat-house and we will see what we can do with that flint."
All went in. Hau went last, for he had the flint. He held it out, showed it again, and said, "I took this because you people wanted it."
They passed the flint from one to another; all looked at it, all examined it. One old man said: "Give it to me here, let me see it." He got it in his hand, and said: "Now all go outside of the sweat-house."
This was Hilit Kiemila. They went out, leaving him alone. Patsotchet kept on repeating, "Katkatchila is angry, he is malicious; before long we shall see what will happen."
As soon as Hilit was alone in the sweat-house, he began to rub the flint with his hands and roll it with his legs (Hilit was turned afterward into a house-fly, and that is why house-flies keep rubbing their legs against each other to this day). He
wanted to make the flint large. After he had rolled and rubbed the flint all night, it was four or five feet long, and as thick and wide. He let the block fall to the ground and it made a great noise, a very loud noise; people heard it for a long distance. Hilit went out then and said,--
"Go in, all you people, and look at that good flint."
They went and looked. It was almost daylight at the time, and each one said,--
"Well. I don't know what is best to do; perhaps it would be best to send this off It may be had for us to keep it here; bad for us to have it in the sweat-house or the village."
They did not know who could carry the great block. it was so heavy. "Perhaps Patsotchet can carry it," said they.
Torihas went outside and called Patsotchet, saying: "Come into the sweat-house a little while. You come seldom; but come now."
Patsotchet left his house, which was near by, and went into the sweat-house.
"What are you going to do?" asked he. "It is too late to do anything now. I have known a long time about Katkatchila. He is very strong. He will do something terrible as soon as daylight comes.
"Patsotchet," said Torihas, "you are a good man. I wish you would take this big flint and carry it far away off north."
"I don't want to take it," said Patsotchet. "It is too heavy."
Torihas went to Karili, who lived a little way off, and said: "Come into the sweat-house. I wish to talk with you."
Karili went in. "Take this block," said Torihas. "No one is willing to carry it away, but you are strong. Carry it north for me."
Karili took up the flint, but when he had it outside the house he said: "I cannot carry this. It is too heavy. I am not able to carry it."
Torihas called in Tichelis, and said: "My uncle, will you take this north for me?"
"Why will not others take it? Why are they unwilling to carry it?" asked Tichelis. "Well, I will take it said he, after thinking a little; and he made ready.
"Take it and start right away," said Torihas.
"Daylight is coming. Go straight. I will go, too, and when I am on the top of Toriham Pui Toror I will shout, and show you where to put the block."
Tichelis put the flint on his back and hurried away with it.
When Katkatchila reached home he told his brother-in-law, Tilikus, and his brother-in-law's brother, Poharamas, and Yonot, his sister, how his flint had been stolen.
It was just before sunrise. Tilikus and Poharamas went out in front of the house and swept a space clean and smooth; then they ran off to the east and got pine as full of pitch as they could find it. They brought a great deal of this, split some very fine, and made a large pile there on the smooth place.
just at this time Torihas's people were in his sweat-house talking about the theft. "Nothing will happen," said most of them; "old Patsotchet is always talking in that way, foretelling trouble. We will dance to-day. Tichelis has carried that thing far away; all will be well now."
Yonot, Katkatchila's sister, had one child, a little baby which she called Pohila (fire child). The woman never left the house herself, and never let any one carry the child out.
"Now, my sister," said Katkatchila, "bring your child here; bring my nephew out, and put him on that nice, smooth place which we have swept clean; it will be pleasant there for him."
She brought the boy out, put him on the smooth place. Poharamas was on the southeast side all ready, and Tilikus on the southwest side. As soon as Yonot put down the baby, they pushed pitch-pine sticks toward it. That instant fire blazed up. When the fire had caught well Poharamas took a large burning brand of pitch-pine and rushed off to the southeast; Tilikus took another and ran to the southwest. Poharamas, when he reached the southeast where the sky comes to the earth, ran around northward close to the sky; he held the point of his burning brand on the ground, and set fire to everything as he ran. When Tilikus reached the southwest, at the place where the sky touches the earth, he ran northward near the sky. The two brothers went swiftly, leaving a line of flame behind them, and smoke rose in a cloud with the fire.
After the two had started Yonot snatched up
paragraph continues Pohila, and as she raised the boy a great flame flashed up from the spot. She ran into the house with her son, and put him into the basket where she had kept him till that morning.
Torihas's people had begun to dance. Some time after sunrise they saw a great fire far away on the east and on the west as well.
"Oh, look at the fire on both sides!" said one.
"It is far off and won't come here," said another.
"I feel the heat already!" cried a third.
Soon all saw that the fire was coming toward them from the east and the west like waves of high water, and the line of it was going northward quickly. The fire made a terrible roar as it burned; soon everything was seething. Everywhere people were trying to escape, all were rushing toward the north. By the middle of the forenoon the heat and burning were so great that people began to fall down, crying out,--
"Oh, I'm hot! Ah. I'm hot!"
Torihas made a rush toward the north, and reached the top of Toriham Pui Toror. When he saw the fire coming very near he called out to Tichelis, who was struggling along with the great block of flint on his back,--
"Go ahead with the flint! Go on, go on, the fire is far from here, far behind us!"
Tichelis heard the shouting, but said nothing kept going northward steadily. When he was northeast of Bohem Puyuk, he saw the fire coming very fast, a mighty blaze roaring up to the sky. It was coming from the south, east, west. Tichelis
could go no farther; there was no place for escape above ground; the fire would soon be where he was. The flint had grown very hot from the burning; he threw it down; it had skinned his back, it was so hot and heavy. He ran under the ground, went as far as he could, and lay there. Presently he heard the fire roaring above him, the ground was burning, he was barely alive; soon all blazed up, earth, rocks, everything.
Tichelis went up in flames and smoke toward the sky.
When the brothers Tilikus and Poharamas had carried the fire around the world and met in the north, just half-way between east and west, they struck their torches together and threw them on the ground. The moment before they joined the burning brands two persons rushed out between them. One was Klabus and the other Tsaroki, who had carried the invitation from Torihas to Katkatchila. They just escaped.
The flint rock that Tichelis dropped lies there yet, just where it fell, and when the Wintu people want black flint they find it in that place.
Poharamas and Tilikus ran home as soon as they struck their torches together.
Katkatchila had a little brother. He put the boy on his back, and went beyond the sky where it touches the earth in the south.
Yonot, the mother of Pohila, took her son and went behind the sky; her husband, Tilikus, went with her. Poharamas went to Olelpanti. He flew up to where Olelbis is.
Olelbis looked down into the burning world. He could see nothing but waves of flame; rocks were burning, the ground was burning, everything was burning. Great rolls and piles of smoke were rising; fire flew up toward the sky in flames, in great sparks and brands. Those sparks became kolchituh (sky eyes), and all the stars that we see now in the sky came from that time when the first world was burned. The sparks stuck fast in the sky, and have remained there ever since the time of the wakpohas (world fire). Quartz rocks and fire in the rocks are from that time. There was no fire in the rocks before the wakpohas.
When Klabus escaped he went east outside the sky, went to a place called Pom Wai Hudi Pom. Tsaroki went up on the eastern side of the sky,--ran up outside.
Before the fire began Olelbis spoke to the two old women and said:--"My grandmothers, go to work for me and make a foundation. I wish to build a sweat-house."
They dug out and cleared a place for the sweat-house the day before the world-fire began. Olelbis built it in this way: When the two women had dug the foundation, he asked,--
"What kind of wood shall I get for the central pillar of the house?"
"Go far down south," said the old grandmothers, "and get a great young white oak, pull it up with the roots, bring it, and plant it in the middle to support the house."
He went, found the tree, and brought it.
"Now, my grandmothers, what shall I do next?"
"Go north and bring a black oak with the roots. Go then to the west, put your hand out, and there you will touch an oak different from others."
He went north and west, and brought the two trees.
"Now," said Olelbis, "I want a tree from the east."
"Go straight east to a live-oak place, you can see it from here, get one of those live-oaks." He brought it with the roots and said,--
"Now I want two trees more."
"Go to the southeast," said they, "where white oaks grow, and get two of them."
He went and got two great white oak trees, pulled them up with the roots, brought them with all the branches, which were covered with acorns.
Olelbis put the great white oak from the south in the middle as the central pillar; then he put the northern black oak on the north side; he put it sloping, so that its branches were on the south side of the house; over against this he put a southeastern white oak sloping in like manner, so that its head came out on the north side. The western oak he planted on the west side, sloping so that its branches hung on the east side; then he put up the two white oaks from the southeast on the east side: six trees in all. The top of each tree was outside opposite its roots; acorns from it fell on the opposite side. Olelbis wished to fasten the trees firmly together so they should never loosen.
"Stop, grandson," said one of the old women.
"How will you bind the top?"
"I have nothing to bind it with," answered Olelbis.
She put her hand toward the south, and on it came humus koriluli (a plant with beautiful blossoms). She took it with roots, stem, and blossoms and made a long narrow mat, the stem and roots all woven together inside and the blossoms outside. "Here, grandson," said she, "put this around the top of the house and bind the trees with it firmly."
He did this. The binding was beautiful and very fragrant. He wrapped it around the trees where they came together at the top of the house inside.
The two old women made four very large mats now, one for each side of the house. They wove first a mat of yosoŭ (a plant about a foot high, which has no branches and only a cluster of red flowers at the top). When they had finished it they told Olelbis to put it on the north side of the house.
"Now, my grandmothers," said Olelbis, "I want a cover for the east side."
"My grandson," said each, "we are sorry that you are alone, sorry that you have no one to help you in building this house. Now take this mat and put it on the east side."
They gave him a mat made of the same plant that was used for a binding to hold the top of the house.
"I want a cover now for the south side."
The old women put their hands to the east, and a plant came to them a foot high with white blossoms, of very sweet odor. A great deal of this plant came, and they made a mat of it. They put all the blossoms outside. The mat covered the south side.
"Now, how shall I cover the west side?"
"We have the covering here already, made of kin-tekchi-luli" (a plant with blue and white blossoms).
They put that mat on the west side, the blossoms turned outward.
The old women gave him all kinds of beautiful plants now, and flowers to form a great bank around the bottom of the sweat-house. All kinds of flowers that are in the world now were gathered around the foot of that sweat-house, an enormous bank of them; every beautiful color and every sweet odor in the world was there.
When they went into the sweat-house, the perfume was delightful. The two old women said then:
"All people to come in the world below will talk of this house, and call it Olelpanti Hlut when they tell about it and praise the house on high."
Olelbis said: "I want to lay something lengthwise on each side of the door. What shall I get?"
The two said: "We will get sau" (acorn bread made in a great round roll like a tree-trunk).
They got sau, and put a roll at each side of the door; these rolls were put there for people to sit on.
Olelbis walked around, looked at everything, and said,--
"I want this house to grow, to be wide and
high, to be large enough for all who will ever come to it."
Then the house began to extend and grow wider and higher, and it became wonderful in size and in splendor. Just as daylight was coming the house was finished and ready. It stood there in the morning dawn, a mountain of beautiful flowers and oak-tree branches; all the colors of the world were on it, outside and inside. The tree in the middle was far above the top of the house, and filled with acorns; a few of them had fallen on every side.
That sweat-house was placed there to last forever, the largest and most beautiful building in the world, above or below. Nothing like it will ever be built again.
"Now, my grandson," said the old women, "the house is built and finished. All the people in the world will like this house. They will talk about it and speak well of it always. This house will last forever, and these flowers will bloom forever; the roots from which they grow can never die."
The world fire began on the morning after the sweat-house was finished. During the fire they could see nothing of the world below but flames and smoke. Olelbis did not like this.
"Grandson," said the old women, "we will tell you what to do to put out that terrible wakpohas. There is a very old man, Kahit Kiemila, and he lives far north toward the east, outside the first sky. He stays there in one little place; he is all alone, and always in the same place. Tell him what to do,
and he will do it. If you don't like the fire and smoke down below, tell the old man to turn his face toward you, to come this way and to bring with him Mem Loimis. He sits with his head between his hands and his face to the north, and never looks up. The place where he sits is called Waiken Pom Pui Humok Pom."
The first person who came to Olelbis on the day of the fire was Kiriu Herit. He came about daylight.
"You have finished the sweat-house, my nephew," said he.
"I have," said Olelbis, "but we are going to have trouble, and do you, my uncle, go up on the west side of the sweat-house, look around everywhere, and tell me what you see."
Kiriu went to the top of the house and looked. Soon another man came and said, "My brother, you have finished the sweat-house."
"Yes," said Olelbis, and do you, my brother, go up on the east side of the house, stand there, and call to Kahit."
This was Lutchi Herit. Two more came and saluted Olelbis. "Go into the sweat-house," said he. These were the two brothers, Tilichi. A fifth person came, Kuntihle, and then a sixth, Sutunut, a great person. Lutchi kept darting around, looking toward the north and calling:--"Kahit cannot take me! Kahit cannot take me!" Kahit was getting angry by this time, and thinking to turn and look at Lutchi, for though far away, he heard the noise of his darting and his calling. "That old Kahit
may come out, but he cannot catch me!" called Lutchi, as he darted around, always watching the north.
Now Olelbis called Lutchi and Sutunut, and said: "You, Lutchi, go north, pry up the sky and prop it; here is a sky pole and a sky prop." Turning to Sutunut, he plucked a feather from each of his wings and said: "Go to Kahit in Waiken Pom Pui Humok Pom; tell him to come south with Mem Loimis. She lives not far from him. Her house is in the ground. And tell him to blow his whistle with all his breath. Put these two feathers on his cheeks just in front of his ears."
Lutchi went quickly. No one could travel as fast as he. He reached the sky on the north, raised and propped it. Sutunut gave the message to Kahit, who raised his head from between his hands slowly and turned toward the south. Sutunut put the feathers in his cheeks then, as Olelbis had commanded.
One person, Sotchet, who lived just south of Kahit, spoke up now and said,--
"Go ahead, Kahit. I am in a hurry to see my father, Olelbis. I will follow you. I am drinking my mother's milk." (He was doing that to bring great water.) His mother was Mem Loimis.
"Come with me, Mem Loimis," said Kahit to Sotchet's mother. "When I start, go ahead a little. I will help you forward."
Olelbis was watching, and thought, "Kahit is ready to start, and Mem Loimis is with him."
Olelbis made then an oak paddle, and hurled it to where Sotchet was. Sotchet caught the paddle, made a tail of it, put it on, and went plashing along through the water. Not far from Kahit lived an old woman, Yoholmit Pokaila. She made a basket of white willow, and finished it just as Mem Loimis was ready to start. In the same place was Sosini Herit, just ready to move. In one hand he held a bow and arrows, with the other he was to swim.
Olelbis saw all this,--saw and knew what people were doing or preparing to do. "Grandmothers," said he, "Mem Loimis is ready to move. Kahit is ready. All the people around them will follow."
The great fire was blazing, roaring all over the earth. burning rocks, earth, trees, people, burning everything.
Mem Loimis started, and with her Kahit. Water rushed in through the open place made by Lutchi when he raised the sky. It rushed in like a crowd of rivers, covered the earth, and put out the fire as it rolled on toward the south. There was so much water outside that could not come through that it rose to the top of the sky and rushed on toward Olelpanti.
Olelbis went to the top of the sweat-house and stood looking toward the north. Sula Kiemila and Toko Kiemila had come that morning. "Take your places north of the sweat-house," said Olelbis, and they did so. Olelbis saw everything coming toward him in the water from the north, all kinds of people who could swim. They were so many that no one could count them. Before he had built the sweat-house, the two grandmothers had said to Olelbis: "Go far south and get pilok, which is a tall plant with a strong fibre, and make a cord." He did so, and twisted a strong cord from pilok. Of this he made a sling. He put his hand to the west, and kilson came on it, a round white stone an inch and a half in diameter. He put the stone in the sling, tied the sling around his head, and kept it there always.
He took this sling in his hand now, and stood watching ready to throw the stone at something that was coming in the water. Olelbis threw with his left hand. He was left-handed, and for this reason was called Nomhlyestawa (throwing west with the left hand).
Mem Loimis went forward, and water rose mountains high. Following closely after Mem Loimis came Kahit. He had a whistle in his mouth; as he moved forward he blew it with all his might, and made a terrible noise. The whistle was his own; he had had it always. He came flying and blowing. He looked like an enormous bat, with wings spread. As he flew south toward the other side of the sky, his two cheek feathers grew straight out, became immensely long, waved up and down, grew till they could touch the sky on both sides.
While Kahit flew on and was blowing his whistle, old Yoholmit lay in her basket; she floated in it high on the great waves, and laughed and shouted, "Ho! ho!"
"How glad my aunt is to see water; hear how she laughs!" said Olelbis. And he gave her two new names, Surut Womulmit (hair-belt woman) and Mem Hlosmulmit (water-foam woman). "Look at my aunt," said Olelbis again. "She is glad to see water!"
As Yoholmit was laughing and shouting she called out,--
"Water, you be big! Grow all the time! Be deep so that I can float and float on, float all my life."
Olelbis was watching everything closely. Sosini Herit was coming. He held a bow and arrows in one hand and swam with the other. He was next behind old Yoholmit.
"Look at my brother, Sosini, look at him swimming," said Olelbis. When mountains of water were coming near swiftly, Olelbis said to the two old women, "Go into the sweat-house." The two brothers, Kuntihle and Tede Wiu, went in also. Olelbis stood ready to use his sling. When Yoholmit was coming near, he hurled a stone at her. He did not hit her. He did not wish to hit her. He hit the basket and sent her far away east in it until the basket struck the sky.
When the water reached Toko, it divided, went east and west, went no farther south in Olelpanti. At this time Olelbis saw a hollow log coming from the north. On it were sitting a number of Tede Memtulit and Bisus people. Just behind the log came some one with a big willow-tree in his mouth, sometimes swimming east, sometimes swimming west. He slapped the water with his new tail, making a loud noise. This was Sotchet, the son of Mem Loimis. Olelbis struck the log with a stone from his sling, and threw it far away west with all the Memtulits on it except one, which came to the sweat-house and said,--
"My brother, I should like to stay with you here." This was Tede Memtulit.
"Stay here," said Olelbis.
Next came Wokwuk. He was large and beautiful, and had very red eyes. When Kahit came flying toward the sweat-house, and was still north of it, Olelbis cried to him,
"My uncle, we have had wind enough and water enough; can you not stop them?"
Kahit flew off toward the east and sent Mem Loimis back. "Mem Loimis," said he, "you are very large and very strong, but I am stronger. Go back I If not, I will stop you. Go home!"
Mem Loimis went back north, went into the ground where she had lived before. Kahit went east, then turned and went north to where he had been at first, and sat down again in silence with his head between his hands.
When Mem Loimis and Kahit had gone home, all water disappeared; it was calm, dry, and clear again everywhere. Olelbis looked down on the earth, but could see nothing: no mountains, no trees, no ground, nothing but naked rocks washed clean. He stood and looked in every direction,--looked east, north, west, south, to see if he could find anything. He found nothing. After a time he saw in the basin of a great rock some water, all that was left. The rock was in Tsarau Heril.
"My grandmothers," asked Olelbis, "what shall I do now? Look everywhere, there is nothing in the world below but naked rocks. I don't like it."
"Wait a while, grandson," said they. "We will look and see if we can find something somewhere. Perhaps we can."
On this earth there was no river. no creek, no water in any place but that water at Tsarau Heril. This was the morning after Mem Loimis had gone home.
Now a person came from the east to Olelpanti, Klabus Herit. "My uncle," said Olelbis to Klabus, "I am looking all over the world below, but can see nothing on it. Do you know any place beyond the sky on the north, south, east, or west, where there is earth?"
"I know no place where there is earth," said Klabus.
Soon another person, Yilahl Herit, was seen coming from the west. When he came up, Olelbis asked,--
"My uncle, do you know of earth, or trees, or people in any place beyond the sky?"
"I do not," answered Yilahl. "But are you all well here?"
"We are well and unharmed," answered Olelbis.
"How did you come here? Which way did you come? Where did you stay that the world fire did not burn you?" asked Klabus of Yilahl.
"I will tell you," said Yilahl. "When the fire began. I went west, I went under the sky where it touches the lower world. I went out to the other side. The fire did not go there. There is earth now in that place."
"My uncles, said Olelbis, "I want you both to go down, to go west, and get that earth for me."
"I will go," said Klabus; and turning to the two old women he said: "Give me two baskets, very large round baskets."
The old women made two very large baskets. Klabus took these and went west with Yilahl. As soon as they started Olelbis took a great sky net (kolchi koro), and it spread out; it reached to the ends of the sky in every direction; it was full of small, fine holes, like a sieve. He spread it out in Olelpanti; put it under his sweat-house. It is above this world yet, but we cannot see it.
Klabus and Yilahl went west to where the earth was. Klabus dug it up and filled the baskets quickly; went to the north side of the sweat-house and threw the earth into the great net, then hurried back and brought more earth and threw it on the net. It went through the net and fell down here, fell on the rocks in this world like rain.
Klabus hurried back and forth very quickly, carrying one basket on each arm. He was going and coming for five days and five nights; fine earth was falling all this time, till the rocks were covered, and there was plenty of earth everywhere.
Yilahl gave no help. He went down the first time with Klabus, showed him the earth, and stayed there, but he did not help to carry earth or to dig it.
When Klabus had covered all the rocks with good earth, Olelbis told him to rest.
"Go west and tell Yilahl to help you," said Olelbis to Klabus the next morning, after he had rested. "Tell him to work with you, fixing the earth which you have thrown down. Go, both of you; make mountains, hills, and level country; arrange everything."
No fire was visible anywhere; every bit had been quenched by the flood which came in after Lutchi propped up the sky. Yilahl came out into this world below from under the edge of the sky in the west, and Klabus came out from under it in the east. Both met and went to work. Yilahl made the small hills and fixed the rolling country. Klabus raised the great mountains and mountain ranges. There was nothing but earth and rock yet; no people at work only these two, Klabus and Yilahl.
Olelbis stood watching and looking; he looked five days, found no fire in any place. Next day he saw a little smoke in the southwest coming straight up as if through a small opening. Olelbis had a Winishuyat on his head tied in his hair, and the Winishuyat said to him,--
"My brother, look; there is a little fire away down south; a woman there has fire in a small basket."
This woman was Yonot, the mother of Pohila, who had gone back to live in her old house.
"My brother," said Olelbis, turning to Tede Wiu, "do you see that place there? Go and bring fire from it."
Tede Wiu went quickly to the place where Olelbis had seen the smoke. He found a house, and looking through a crack he saw the glow of fire, but not the fire itself.
Tede Wiu stayed five days and nights watching. He could not get into the house where the basket was. That house was closed firmly, and had no door. At last he went back to Olelpanti without fire.
"I should like to catch the fish which I see jumping in that southern water," said Kuntihle, "but we could not cook fish if we had it, for we have no fire."
"You would better go yourself and try to get fire," said Olelbis.
Kuntihle went and watched five days. He could not get into the house, and no fire fell out. He went back to Olelpanti.
"We need fire," said Olelbis, "but how are we to get it? Go again and try," said he to Tede Wiu; "watch till fire falls out, or go in and take some."
Klabus and Yilahl were at work yet.
Tede Wiu went. crept under the house, watched five days and nights, stayed right under the basket in which Pohila was. On the sixth morning, very early, just at daybreak, a spark of fire fell out. Tede Wiu caught the spark, ran off quickly to Olelbis, and gave it to him.
They had fire in Olelpanti now, and were glad. Neither Yonot, the mother, nor Tilikus, the father of Pohila, knew that fire had been carried away to Olelpanti.
Klabus and Yilahl were still at work making the mountains and valleys, and had almost finished.
Now that there was fire in Olelpanti, Kuntihle said: "I will go and see that fish. Tilitchi, will you come with me?"
Tilitchi went. Before they started Olelbis gave them a fish net. They caught a fish, and went back, dressed, cooked, and ate it.
"This is a good fish," said Olelbis. "How did it get into that water? That pond in the rock is small and round; there is no water to run into it. Grandmothers, what shall we do with this pond and the fish in it?"
"We will tell you," said the old women. "Go to the west under the sky, break off a strip of the sky, bring it here, and make a pointed pole of it."
Klabus and Yilahl were just putting the top on Bohem Puyuk; all the other mountains in the world were finished.
Olelbis went west, got the sky pole, and pointed one end of it. He stuck the pole down at the foot of Bohem Puyuk, drew the point of it along southward, making a deep furrow. Then he stuck the pole far north, and made a second furrow to join the eastern end of the first one. There was no water in either furrow yet, and Olelbis said,--
"Now, my grandmothers, what shall I do next?
"Take this grapevine root," said they. "Throw it to the place where you thrust in the pole at the foot of Bohem Puyuk."
He threw the root. One end of it went into the mountain, the other hung out; from this water flowed.
"This will be called Wini Mem," said the grandmothers. "The country around it will be good; many people will go there to live in the future."
The grandmothers gave a second root, a tule root, and Olelbis threw this far up north, where one end stuck in the ground as had the grapevine root, and from the other end flowed Pui Mem--there is much tule at the head of Pui Mem to this day.
Olelbis took his sky pole again and made deep furrows down southward from Bohema Mem, large ones for large rivers and smaller ones for creeks. Water flowed and filled the furrows, flowed southward till it reached the place where Kuntihle found the first fish; and when the large river reached that little pond, fish went out of it into the river, and from the river into all creeks and rivers.
When the rivers were finished, and water was running in them, Olelbis saw an acorn tree in the east, outside the sky. He looked on the north side of the tree and saw some one hammering. He hurled a stone from his sling, struck down the person, and sent Tilitchi to bring him. Tilitchi brought him.
"Of what people is this one?" asked he of the old women.
"He is of a good people," answered they. "Put him on the central pillar of the sweat-house; we call him Tsurat."
Tsurat was only stunned. When Tsurat was taken to the central pillar, he climbed it, stopping every little while and hammering. The sound which he made, "Ya-tuck! ya-tuck!" was heard outside the sweat-house,--a good sound; all liked to hear it.
Olelbis saw on the same tree another of the same family. When he was brought, the old women said, "This is Min Taitai; put him on the ground east of the fire"--the fire was in the middle.
Min Taitai began to talk to himself. They could hear two words, "Wit, wit!" (coming back, coming back).
Olelbis stunned a third person, who was brought by Tilitchi. The old women said, "He, too, is of a good people, he is Hessiha; let him be with Min Taitai, and put a basket of red earth and water near them."
Min Taitai talked on to himself, "Wit, wit!"
"Who is 'Wit, wit?'" asked Hessiha.
"Sas" (the sun), answered Min Taitai, "was going down, and now he is coming back; that is who 'Wit, wit' is."
"Who is coming back?" asked Hessiha.
"Sas is coming back."
"Sas is not coming back, he is going on."
(In winter Sas goes down south, and in summer he comes back north. Min Taitai was saying Sas is coming back, up north. Hessiha thought he was saying Sas has gone down toward the west, and now is coming back east without setting.)
"Wit, wit" (coming back, coming back), said Min Taitai.
"Cherep, cherep!" (going on, going on), said Hessiha.
Soon they came to blows, began to fight; when fighting, Hessiha took red mud from the basket and threw it. Min Taitai took mud, too, and threw it at Hessiha. Both were soon covered with mud and water.
Clover, beautiful grasses, and plants of all kinds were growing around the sweat-house in Olelpanti. The whole place was a mass of blossoms. "Now, my grandmothers," said Olelbis, "tell me what you think. All that ground below us is bare; there is nothing on it. What can we do for it?"
"My grandson, in a place southeast of this is a house in which people live. The place is called Hlihli Pui Hlutton acorn eastern sweat-house place. An old man lives there. Send Tsurat to bring that old man to us."
"I will," said Olelbis; and he sent Tsurat, who brought Hlihli Kiemila, who had lived all his life in that eastern sweat-house. When Olelbis looked at the old man, he said to Tsurat: "Go to the world beneath us with Hlihli. Carry him all over it,--north, south, east, and west."
Hlihli was like an old worm-eaten acorn outside; inside he was like meal or snuff, and when he moved this inside sifted out of him. He had a daughter, Hlihli Loimis, and she had many sons.
Tsurat carried Hlihli all over the world, and when he had carried him five days little oak bushes were springing up everywhere from the dust which fell from him. They took seeds of clover growing around the sweat-house in Olelpanti and scattered them; clover grew up in every place. Olelbis threw down all kinds of flower seeds from the flowers blossoming in Olelpanti.
A little way east of Olelbis's sweat-house lived Sedit. At the time of the fire he ran through under the sky in the south and went up on the sky to Olelpanti. He stayed there with Olelbis until the fire and water stopped. Then he went east a short distance, and made a house for himself During the great water Sedit caught Wokwuk, and afterward built a house near his own for him.
There was a big rock east of Sedit's house. Olelbis saw Chuluhl sitting on this rock, and he said,--
"My brother, I have put clover on the earth. I want you to go down there and stay with that clover, stay with it always. The place is a good one for you." This place was Tokuston on Pui Mem. "Take this pontcheuchi headband made of dew, wear it around your head, wear it always, guard the clover, put your head among its leaves, and keep the grass and clover wet and green all the time. I will take that rock from near Sedit's house, and put it down on the earth for you." (The rock stands now about fifty miles above Paspuisono. It is called Pui Toleson--rock leaning east.)
Wokwuk at the time of the great water lost the middle and longest finger on one hand; it went far north, and after a time became a deer, and from that deer came all the deer in the world after the fire. When Kahit and Mem Loimis went east on the way home, Wokwuk lost a small feather from above one of his eyes. It went west and was turned into the beautiful shells tsanteris. He also lost two neck feathers. They went west and became kalas, and from that came all pearl shells. He lost the tip of his little finger. It went west and became the Wokwuk bird down here. He lost some spittle. It went east on the water and turned to blue beads, such as people wear now around their necks. Wokwuk lost a small bit of his intestines. It went south on the water and became mempak; from that come all mempak (water bone). He lost a piece of his backbone. It went east on the water and became an elk, and from that elk came all elks.
One day Sedit said to Olelbis, when all were telling Olelbis what they were going to do: "Grandson, I am going to take off my skin and let it go to the world below."
"Do so," said Olelbis.
Sedit took off his skin as he would a coat, and threw it down to this world.
"Now there will be Sedits all over down there," said he.
While Olelbis was gathering into Olelpanti all the people from every place outside this sky above us, Min Taitai and Hessiha were disputing and throwing red mud at each other.
Olelbis gathered people from every side till he had gathered them all at his house. They were there in crowds and in thousands, singing and talking inside and outside, everywhere in Olelpanti.
One morning Olelbis said to the old women,--
"My grandmothers, I cannot tell what to do nor how to get what I want, but far west of here is a ridge that stretches from the south to the north, and on that ridge people of some kind come from the south and hurry north; they do that every day; they go north along that ridge, and I do not know what kind of people they are. When they are on the top of the ridge, they run north very swiftly. As soon as Klabus and Yilahl finished the level ground and the hills and mountains in the world below, these people began to travel along the ridge in this way, and they have been going north ever since."
"You do not know those people," said the old women, "but we know them, the Katkatchila brothers know them; they are Kahsuku, the cloud dogs, the cloud people. If you wish to know more about these cloud people, ask the elder Katkatchila; he knows them; he lives far west at this time; go and ask him, go yourself."
Olelbis set out next morning early, and just before he reached Katkatchila's house in the west he came upon some one who was stooping and looking toward the south. It was the elder Katkatchila, who was watching the cloud people.
"Stop, my brother," said Katkatchila, "and watch with me."
The two looked along the ridge toward the south--it was before sunrise then--and they saw a person come a little way in sight, then turn and go back. He did not come nearer because he saw Olelbis. The cloud people are very timid; they can see a long distance, and have a very keen scent. When he saw Olelbis, this one ran away home.
"My brother," said Katkatchila to Olelbis, "we have been watching here to drive back these cloud people. We have watched night and day, I and my little brother. My brother is near the eastern slope of this ridge which runs north and south; he stays there and watches."
"What do you mean by cloud people?" asked Olelbis; "what kind of people are they? I have seen only the head and neck of one; what I saw looked well, seemed good. I wish you, my brothers, would catch one of these people, if you can.
"How is it that you do not know these people?" asked Katkatchila. "You ought to know them; you have seen every place, every person, everything; you ought to know these people. I will tell you how they came. My sister and I made the great world fire; we made the wakpohas because Torihas and his people stole my flint. I was angry. I told my sister to put her baby outside the house. We put pitch-pine around it, and fire blazed up from the baby. When the fire was burning all over the earth and there were great flames and smoke, a big water and a strong wind came; the water filled the whole world with steam, and the wind drove the steam and smoke from the great fire, and carried them far off to the south, where they became a people,--the cloud people. These people are red or white or black, all of them, and they are going north always. They have good heads and long necks."
"I should like to stand near some of these people and look at them," said Olelbis.
"I do not like to see them go north," said Katkatchila. "My brother and I are here trying to drive them back; but they go north in spite of us. My brother is on the other slope over there to frighten them back; but they turn to the east a little and go around him."
"Bring your brother here," said Olelbis.
Katkatchila brought his brother, and the two said,--
"These cloud people are very wild; we cannot go near them. But we should like to drive them back or catch them."
"Go west. my brothers," said Olelbis. "and get something to stop that gap on the east where the cloud people pass you and go north. Stop that opening on the east, and stop the western slope also, leaving only a narrow place for them to go through. Get yew wood, make a very high fence with it, and stop the eastern slope."
They brought the yew wood and made a very high fence on the eastern slope, and then one on the west, leaving only a narrow gap open.
"Go to the east now," said Olelbis, "get katsau, which is a strong, fibrous plant, and make strings of it. Make a rope of the string and set a snare
in the opening of the fence across the western slope to catch those cloud people."
The elder brother was on the ridge near the western slope, and the younger on the ridge near the eastern slope. The brothers made the snare and set it on the western slope. Both watched and waited for the clouds to come.
"Now, my brother," said Olelbis, when he saw this work, "watch these people well, frighten them into the trap, and I will go back to Olelpanti."
Next morning early the two brothers were watching, and very soon they saw a great many cloud people coming. Both brothers were lying flat on the middle of the ridge, so that the clouds could not see them. The clouds watched closely. They came to the place where they had always turned east to go past little Katkatchila; they ran against the fence and could not pass. They turned and went toward the west to pass northward along the central ridge; but when both brothers stood up, the clouds rushed to the western slope and fell into the trap.
Olelbis saw this and said: "Now, my brothers are driving them in. I must go and see!" And he ran off quickly.
"Oh, my brother," said the Katkatchilas when he came, "we have caught one cloud. All the rest went through the fence. They broke it--we caught one; the others burst away."
Olelbis looked at the cloud and said,--
"This is a black one! They broke down the fence and ran away! They are a strong people."
"Now, my brother," said the elder Katkatchila, "we will skin this cloud, and you may have the skin. We will give it to you."
"I shall be glad to have it," said Olelbis.
They stripped the skin from the cloud, and, when giving it to Olelbis, the elder one said, "You must tan this carefully."
"Make another fence," said Olelbis, "but make it stronger. You will catch more of these people."
"A great many clouds have broken through our fence to-day and gone north. Others went before we made the fence. We shall see these people by and by," said Katkatchila. (He meant that clouds would stay in the north and become another people; stay there always.)
Olelbis took the skin, turned toward home, and travelled on. He was rubbing it in his hands, tanning it as he went. The brothers put the body in a hole and buried it, not caring for the flesh. They wanted only the skin.
Olelbis went along tanning the skin of the black cloud, and lie walked around everywhere as he tanned. He went away west, then north, then south, then east. At last he came home with the skin well tanned. He spread it and stretched it smooth. The two Katkatchila brothers had not been able yet to catch another of the cloud people, but they were working at it all the time. After Olelbis spread the skin on the ground, he took it up and said to one of the old women,--
"My grandmother is always cold; let us give
her this skin;" and he gave it to her. Each of the two old women said,--
"My grandson, we are glad to have this skin. We shall sleep warm now."
"I must go," said Olelbis, "and see my brothers drive in more of the cloud people." And he went.
"We cannot catch these clouds," said the older brother; "they go through our fence, they escape, we cannot catch them; they have gone to the north, they will stay there and become a new people. We have caught only one, a white cloud. Those that have escaped will become a new people; they will be Yola Ka" (snow clouds).
The Katkatchilas stripped the skin from the white cloud and gave it to Olelbis. He went around north, south, east, and west, tanning it in the same way that he had tanned the black skin. After he had--tanned it well he spread the skin, stretched it, straightened it; then he gave it to the other grandmother.
Both old women were glad now. Both said: "We shall sleep warm at night now all the time."
Next day the two brothers caught a third cloud, a red one, but they kept that skin for themselves. They did not give it to Olelbis, because he told them to keep it. We see this skin now often enough, for the brothers hang it up when they like in the west and sometimes in the east.
"Now," said the two old women, "we have this white skin and this black one. When we hang the white skin outside this house, white clouds will go from it,--will go away down south, where its people began to live, and then they will come from the south and travel north to bring rain. When they come back, we will hang out the black skin, and from it a great many black rain clouds will go out, and from these clouds heavy rain will fall on all the world below."
From that time the old women hang out the two skins, first the white, then the black skin, and when clouds enough have gone from them they take the skins into the sweat-house again; and from these two skins comes all the rain to people in this world.
"The cloud people who went north will stay in the northwest," said Olelbis, "and from them will come snow to people hereafter."
All this time the people in Olelpanti were singing and talking. Any one could hear them from a distance. Olelbis had brought in a great many different kinds of people, others had come themselves, and still others were coming. After the tanning of the two cloud skins a man came and took his place above the sweat-house door, and sat there with his face to the east. This was Kar Kiemila. Right after him came Tsararok, and took his place at the side of Kar. Next came Kau; then the two brothers Hus came, and Wehl Dilidili. All these people in the sweat-house and around it asked one another,--
"What shall we do? Where shall we live? We should like to know what Olelbis will do with us."
"You will know very soon where we are going," said Toko and Sula. "Olelbis will put us in our places; he is chief over all."
Next morning Olelbis said: "Now, my grandmothers, what do you think best? What are we to do with the people here? Is it best for them to stay in Olelpanti?"
"Our grandson," answered the old women, "send all that are not needed here to the lower world; turn them into something good for the people who are to come soon,--those fit for this place up here. The great people, the best ones, you will keep in Olelpanti, and send down only a little part of each of them to turn into something in the world below and be of use to people there."
Olelbis called all who were in the sweat-house to come out, and he began to send them to their places.
To Kar he said: "Go and live on Wini Mem. Be a gray heron there; that is a good country for you." (Before white people came there were many of these birds on that river.)
To Toko he said: "Go to Kawiken on Pui Mem. Be a sunfish and live there always. You, Sula, go to the south of Bohem Puyuk on Wini Mem. Be a trout, and live at Sulanharas."
To Torihas he said: "You will be a blue crane," and to Chalilak: "You will be a goose. You both will have two places to live in, one in the south and the other in the north. You will go north in the spring and live there all summer; you will go south in the fall and live in the south all winter. Do this always; travel that way every year."
To Kiriu he said: "Go and live along the water. You will be a loon, and you will go up and down great rivers all your life."
To Katsi he said: "You will be a fish hawk, catch fish and eat them, live along rivers."
Olelbis plucked one small feather from the neck of Moihas. This he threw down and said, "Be an eagle, and live on high mountains." All bald eagles on earth came from that feather, but the great Moihas remained above with Olelbis, where he is now.
From Lutchi Olelbis plucked one feather, threw it down, and said: "You will be a humming-bird. Fly around in spring when the green grass comes and the trees and flowers bloom. You will be on blossoms and dart from one to another everywhere." Lutchi himself stayed in Olelpanti.
Olelbis pulled a feather from Kau, threw it down, and said: "You will fly along rivers, be a white crane, and live near them always." The great Kau stayed in Olelpanti with Olelbis.
From the elder Hus brother Olelbis plucked a feather from the right side, sent the feather down on this earth, and said,--
"You be a buzzard down there, and in spring go up on Wini Mem. and look for dead salmon and other fish along Pui Mem, Bohema Mem, and other rivers, eat dead salmon and other fish. When people kill a snake or something else which they do not like, you will go and eat the snake or other dead thing. The Wintu, the coming people, will feed you always with what is dead."
Tilitchi had been sent for three persons, and now he brought the first.
"Who is this?" asked Olelbis of the old women.
"This is Dokos", said they; "he is bad."
Dokos was placed a little northeast of the sweat-house. He sat looking toward the west. Tilichi brought in a second and third person.
"Who are these?" asked Olelbis.
"These are both bad people," said the old women. "These are Wima Loimis and Klak Loimis."
"Put them with Dokos," said Olelbis. After he had called all the people out of the sweat-house to send them to their proper places, Olelbis had put something on their teeth to make them harmless.
"Come here, Wima Loimis," said Olelbis. "I have something to put on your teeth so that they may harm no one."
"I want nothing on my teeth," said Wima, Loimis. "If something were put on them I could not eat." He asked again, but she shook her head, saying: "I want nothing on my teeth, I could not eat if anything were put on them."
"If she will not come, come you, Klak Loimis." Klak Loimis would not go to him.
"Why not come when I call you?" asked Olelbis.
"My sister Wima will not go. She says that she could not eat if her teeth were touched. I want nothing on my teeth. I am afraid that I could not eat."
"Very well," answered Olelbis, "you, Wima,
and you, Klak, want to be different from others. Come, Dokos, I will touch your teeth."
"My sisters, Klak and Wima, want nothing on their teeth. I want nothing on mine. I am angry at my sisters; my heart hates them. I do not wish to be good. I am angry at my sisters. I will be wicked as well as they." Then turning to his sisters he said: "After a while people will employ me against you whenever they are angry at you. Whenever you bite people or hurt them, they will call me to fight against you, and I will go with them. I will go into your bodies and kill you. Then you will be sorry for what you have done to-day. Olelbis asked you to be good. He wants you to be good, but you are not willing. I will be bad to punish you."
When the two women heard these words they cried, and Wima said, "Well, my brother, we can put something on our teeth yet."
Dokos placed his head between his hands and sat awhile in that posture. Then he straightened himself and said,--
"You two have talked enough; you would better stop. You are not like me; I am stronger than both of you, and I shall be so always. You, Wima, and you, Klak, will hate people only, but I shall hate all living things. I shall hate you, hate every one; kill you, kill every one. I want nothing of any one. I want no friend in any place."
"Well," said Olelbis, "you go as you are."
"I will go first," said Dokos.
"Go," said Olelbis, "to Koiham Nomdaltopi, be flint there, and spread all around the place. You, Klak Loimis, will go to Klak Kewilton, be a rattlesnake there, increase and spread everywhere. I will send you, Wima, to Wima Wai Tsarauton; you will be a grizzly bear there. After a while a great family will come from you and spread over all the country. You will be bad; and, Klak, you will be bad, but, Dokos, you will be the worst, always ready to hurt and kill; always angry, always hating your sisters and every one living.
"You, Klak, and you, Wima, when you see people you will bite them, and people will take Dokos to kill you, and Dokos will go into your bodies, and you will die. Wima, you will be sorry that you would not let me change your teeth. You, Klak, will be sorry. You will bite people, and they will kill you because you cannot run away from them. Your dead body will lie on the ground, and buzzards will eat it.
"Dokos, you will go to your place and increase. People will go there and get you to kill your sisters and others for them, and when you have pleased them and killed all the people they wished you to kill, when they want you no longer, they will throw you down on a rock and break you to pieces, then you will be nothing. You will be dead forever. Now go!"
To all those who let their teeth be made innocent, Olelbis said: "You will go to where I send you,--one here, another there." And he gave their places to all. To some he said: "After a while the new people will use you for food," and to the others he said: "The new people will use your skins, and you will be of service to them, you will be good for them."
The first person taken up to Olelbis's sweat-house was Tsurat; and now Olelbis spoke to Tsurat last of all and said,--
"Pluck one feather from your back."
Tsurat plucked it.
Olelbis threw the feather to the earth and said,--
"The place where this falls will be called Tsuratton Mem Puisono. This feather will become woodpeckers, and their place will be there. Their red feathers will be beautiful, and every one will like their red scalps and will use them for headbands. The woodpeckers will be also called Topi chilchihl" (bead birds).
All people that were good on this earth only, of use only here, Olelbis sent down to be beasts, birds, and other creatures. The powerful and great people that were good in Olelpanti and useful there he kept with himself, and sent only a feather or a part of each to become something useful down here. The good people themselves, the great ones, stayed above, where they are with Olelbis now. |
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1 - 8 - 2 OLELBIS AND MEM LOIMIS 
One character in this myth is of great importance in actual Indian belief, the Hlahi or doctor, the sorcerer. The position and power of the Hlahi are explained at length in the notes to this volume. Sanihas Yupchi, the archer of Daylight, is Tsaroki Sakahl, the messenger sent by Torihas to invite Katkatchila to hunt; he appears also as the friend and messenger of Waida Dikit, who assembled the world concert in which Hawt proved the greatest musician.
PERSONAGES
After each name is given that of the beast, bird, or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.
Hubit, wasp; Hus, buzzard; Kahit, wind; Kaisus, gray squirrel; Kiriú, loon; Kopus, small-horned owl; Kuntihlé, small hawk fishes in muddy water; Kut, unknown; Lutchi, humming-bird; Mem Loimis, water; Móihas, bald eagle; Pákchuso, the pakchu stone; Patkilis, jack rabbit; Pori Kipánamas, another name for Kopus Sútunut, black eagle; Sánihas, daylight; Sotchet, beaver; Toko, sunfish; Tsaroki Sakahl, green snake; Tsárorok, fish-hawk; Tsudi, mouse; Tsurat, red-headed woodpecker; Winishuyat, foresight; Wokwuk, unknown.
One evening a woman came to Olelpanti. Her name was Mem Loimis.
"Why are you here?" inquired Olelbis; "and from what place have you come?"
"I have come from my home in the earth to ask if I may live with you. I have come from the north."
"You may live here," said Olelbis; and she stayed there. She lived with Olelbis, became his wife, and had two sons: the first was Wokwuk, the second Kut.
Kut was still small, when one day the woman went out a little to one side of the house to get something, and a man came to her and said, "Come with me--come right away!" And he took her, took her quickly, took her toward the north, to the place where Kahi Hlut is. This man was Kahit, and Kahi Hlut was his house.
Olelbis knew not where his wife had gone; he knew not which way she went; he had not seen her going out and had not seen her afterward. He inquired of every one who lived in Olelpanti. All they knew was that she had gone west a little way to get something.
For five years after the woman was carried away the people in Olelpanti had no water to drink. This woman had given them water, and now some one had taken her, and without her there was no water.
"I cannot tell what to do without water," said Olelbis. "I don't think my children can live without water. I don't know what yapaitu likes my wife and has taken her."
The people in and around Olelpanti talked a great deal about Mem Loimis.
"I don't know how we are to live now," said Toko Kiemila to Olelbis. "Some one has taken your wife away. I cannot live without water much longer."
Another man who lay inside the sweat-house at the west end, an old man, stood up and said,--
"I do not know what people are to do without water. I do not know how you, Olelbis, are to
live without it. I cannot live unless I have water. I am very dry. Why do you not try to get water again? There is a man in Hlihli Pui Mutton whose name is Kopus. You can see his house from here. He is a great Hlahi. He sings and dances every night. Let him come here to sing and dance. Perhaps he will be able to bring water back to us."
The old man who said this was Hubit. He was suffering from thirst so much that he had tied a belt of sinews around his waist and tightened it till he was nearly cut in two.
Olelbis went to the top of the sweat-house and spoke to all the people.
"We must send for this Hlahi," said he. "Let him come here to sing and bring water back to us. Some of you young men who walk fast must go for him to-morrow."
That night they talked about the person who should go. One said to a second, "You walk fast; you ought to go."
"I do not," said the second; "but you walk fast. You are the person to go."
And so they spoke one after another, till at last Lutchi said, "I cannot walk fast, but I will go."
Early next morning he went out to the top of the sweat-house and said, "I am going!" and he shot away to the southeast.
He found the old Hlahi. He had not finished his night's work yet. This Hlahi was Kopus Kiemila.
"Old man, you must stop awhile," said Lutchi. "Olelbis lost his wife, Mem Loimis, years ago. He has two children, and he and all the people are very dry; they are thirsting, they are dying for want of water. He wants you to come and see if you can tell us what to do to bring water back to Olelpanti. Olelbis will give you five sacks of acorns for your pay. You must sing five nights for these five sacks. They are old acorns."
"I will do that," said Kopus. "I will go with you.
Lutchi returned to Olelpanti with Kopus, who was called also Pori Kipanamas, which means a man wearing a headband of fresh oak leaves with two green acorns thrust in on each side. His face was painted with acorn mould. A great many people were waiting there, all very dry, very thirsty,--all hoping for water.
"I sent for you to come," said Olelbis, "and you must hlaha 1 five nights. All my people, all my children, are dry. I am dry myself I lost my wife five years ago. I don't know where she went, and we have no water since she left us. I want you to sing and to dance. I want you to find out where my wife is."
When night came, Olelbis gave a pipe filled with tobacco to Kopus and said, "Now you must hlaha."
Kopus smoked, became tunindili,--that is, possessed. A Tsudi yapaitu came to him and began
to chant. The yapaitu, speaking through Kopus, said,--
"I have looked all around the world, I have looked everywhere; every smell has come to my nose, every sight to my eyes, every sound to my ears, but to-night nothing comes to me. I cannot see, I cannot hear, I cannot smell." And he stopped.
"I am going to dance the spirit dance," said Kopus. "Who will sing for me?"
"Let these two Tsudi girls sing," said Olelbis.
Hubit was lying on the east side of the sweat-house, and he said,--
"Make haste, you two girls, and sing for that Hlahi. I am nearly dead, almost cut in two, I am so dry."
He had tightened his belt a little that evening. Kopus danced all night, and the two girls sang for him.
"I have not found out which way that woman went," said he, next morning.
He danced five days and nights, and then said: "I can tell nothing. I know nothing about this woman, Mem Loimis."
Every bola heris 1 that was lying inside the sweat-house was terribly thirsty. One old man got up and said,--
"What kind of a Hlahi have you here? What kind of a Hlahi is Kopus? He is here five days
and nights and can tell nothing, knows nothing. If you wish to learn something, bring a Hlahi who has knowledge of water."
"This old Kopus knows nothing of water," said Toko. "Old Kopus is a good Hlahi for acorns and for the Tsudi and Kaisus people; that is all he is good for. I know this Kopus well. Get a Hlahi who knows more than he does."
"You bola herises tell us," said Olelbis, "who is a good Hlahi for water, and we will get him, Look at my children; they are almost dying of thirst. Tell us where their mother, Mem Loimis, is."
"Oh, daylight, come quickly; be here right away! I am almost cut in two I am so dry. Oh, daylight, come quickly!" groaned Hubit.
No one mentioned another Hlahi. So Olelbis talked on,--
"All the people said that Kopus was a good Hlahi. That is why I got him; but he is not a good Hlahi for water. Now we will get Sanihas Yupchi, the archer of daylight, who lives in the farthest east, he is the son of Sanihas. He is small, but he is a great Hlahi. Lutchi, you must go now for Sanihas Yupchi. Here are one hundred yellowhammer-wing arrows for him, all red, and many others."
Lutchi went to the east end of the sweat-house, danced a little, sprang onto the sweat-house, danced a little more, and then whizzed away through the air. Lutchi travelled all day and all night, reached the place about daylight next morning, and said to Sanihas,--
"Olelbis sent me here to ask your son to come and hlaha for him. He sends you all these five hundred arrows made of kewit reed and one hundred yellowhammer-wing arrows to come and hlaha."
"You must go," said Sanihas to her son, "and I will follow you. Olelbis is a yapaitu himself; he ought to know where that woman is,--he thinks that he knows everything; but you go and hlaha, and hear what your yapaitu tells you."
Sanihas Yupchi started, and was at the sweat-house in Olelpanti next morning just as the sun was rising. He went into the sweat-house, and Olelbis gave him many things.
"Give me tobacco," said Sanihas Yupchi. "I am going to hlaha."
Olelbis gave him a pipe with tobacco; he smoked it out and was not possessed. Olelbis gave him another pipeful, and he smoked it out, but was not possessed. He smoked out ten pipefuls, and then people said,--
"I am afraid that the yapaitu will not come to him."
He smoked twenty more pipefuls, still he was not possessed; then twenty more, did not hlaha.
"He is no Hlahi," cried people on all sides; "if he were, the yapaitu would have come to him long ago."
"The yapaitu he is waiting for does not live near this sweat-house; he is very far away," said Toko. "Give him more tobacco."
They gave him five pipefuls, then four, then one
more,--sixty in all; after that a yapaitu came to him.
"The yapaitu has come," said Olelbis. "I want you to look everywhere and learn all you can; my children are nearly dead from lack of water; you must tell where Mem Loimis is."
Sanihas Yupchi began to sing, and he said, "I will have the spirit dance to-night; the two Tsudi girls may sing for me."
He danced twenty nights and days without saying a word,--danced twenty days and nights more. The two Tsudi girls sang all the time. Then Sanihas Yupchi sat down, said nothing; he had found out nothing.
Again he danced five days and nights, then four days and nights, then one day and one night more. After that he sat down and said,--
"I am going to speak. The place of which I am going to tell is a long way from here, but I am going to talk and let you hear what I say. Did any one see which way this woman Mem Loimis went?"
One person answered: "She went west a short distance to get something. That was the last seen of her."
"Was anything the matter with that woman? "asked Sanihas Yupchi. "Does any one know?"
"Yes," said Olelbis, "she was with child."
"Well, while she was out, a man came to her and took her away with him, took her far north and then east beyond the first Kolchiken Topi, where the sky comes down, where the horizon is; he took
her to the place where he lives, and he lives in Waiti Kahi Pui Hlut. His name is Kahit, and after he took her home they lived pleasantly together till her child was born. Kahit did not claim that child as his. After a while Mem Loimis grew angry at Kahit, left her child with him, and went eastward, went to the other side of the second horizon. She stayed there awhile, and gave birth to two sons, children of Kahit. Then she went farther east to a third horizon, went to the other side of that, stayed there, is living-there now. The boy that was born when she lived with Kahit was Sotchet. Sotchet's father was Olelbis. When the child grew up a little, Kahit said to him: 'Your father lives in Olelpanti.'"
Sanihas Yupchi told all this, and said to Wokwuk and Kut, the two sons of Olelbis,--
"Your mother has gone a long way from here. Mem Loimis is far from you. She is very far east. If I were at home, I could go to her quickly, but I am here. Now you must go and see your mother. In the far east you have two brothers, Kahit's sons. When you have passed three Kolchiken Topis, three horizons, you will see them, and they will know you. The way to your mother and brothers is long. That is what my yapaitu says to me--my yapaitu is the Winishuyat of Patkilis."
Sanihas Yupchi was Tsaroki Sakahl, a great person.
Wokwuk and Kut, the two sons of Olelbis by Mem Loimis, went away east. Patkilis's Winishuyat, the yapaitu of Sanihas Yupchi, said that he would go and help them till they had passed the second horizon. They did not see him. He was invisible.
They travelled one day, came to the first horizon, and passed that; then travelled a second day, reached the second horizon, and passed that. The yapaitu, Patkilis's Winishuyat, told them then how to pass the third horizon, and, having given every useful direction, went back to Sanihas Yupchi.
Sanihas Yupchi was waiting all this time in Olelpanti. Olelbis's elder son, Wokwuk, had tied the hair on top of his head with a young grapevine and thrust a chirtchihas bone through it--his father had given him this bone at starting. With this bone he was, to raise the sky. He put it under the edge of the sky and raised it. When he and his brother had passed through, the sky came down with a terrible noise. When they had passed the third sky, they could see far east. Everything was nice there and looked clear, just as it does here at daylight when all is bright and beautiful. After going a short distance they saw two boys coming toward them. Soon the four met.
"Hello, brothers!" called out the other two.
"Who are you? asked Wokwuk. "How do you know that we are your brothers?"
"We know because our mother talks about you always. She told us this morning that we must go out and play to-day. 'Perhaps you will see your brothers,' said she to us; 'perhaps they will come, we do not know.' You have come, and now we will go to our mother."
When they reached the house, on the third evening, the two sons of Olelbis stood by the door while Kahit's two sons ran in and said: "Mother, our brothers have come!"
Mem Loimis was lying at the east end of the house. She was lying on a mem terek, water buckskin; her blanket was a mem nikahl, a water blanket.
"Well, tell them to come in."
The brothers went in. Mem Loimis rose and said,--
"Oh, my sons, I think of you always. I live far away from where you do, and you have travelled a long road to find me." She spread the mem terek on the ground, and said: "Sit down here and rest."
"My mother," said the elder son of Olelbis, "my brother is very dry. We have had no water in Olelpanti for many years. Did you think that we could live without water?"
"I could not help your loss. What could I do?" said Mem Loimis. "I was stolen away and carried far north, and from there I came to this place; but your father is my husband. He knows everything; he can make anything, do anything, see everything, but he did not know that I was here. You shall have water, my children; water in plenty."
She held a basket to her breast then and took water from it, as a nursing mother would take milk, filled the basket, and gave it to the boys. She gave them plenty to eat, too, and said,--
"You boys are all my children. You are sons of Mem Loimis. I am here now; but if there should be disturbance, if trouble were to rise, my husband Kahit would come and take me away. He told me so. Some day my husband Olelbis will know his son in the north who is living with Kahit. Some day my husband Olelbis will think of me; he may want me to come to him, he may wish to see me."
Wokwuk and Kut stayed five days with their mother, then one day, and after that one day more. Sanihas Yupchi, who was dancing and chanting in Olelpanti continually, said after the boys had gone:
"Get me a suhi kilo" (a striped basket).
Olelbis got him the suhi kilo, a little basket about two inches around, and very small inside. Sanihas Yupchi put it in the middle of the sweat-house. Nine days more passed, and Sanihas Yupchi was dancing all the time.
That morning Mem Loimis said to Kut, the youngest son of Olelbis,--
"Your uncle Mem Hui, an old man, who lives at the first horizon west of Olelpanti, is dry. He is thirsting for water. Take water to him. Your elder brother will stay here with me while you are gone.
Sanihas Yupchi had danced fifty-nine days. On the sixtieth evening Mem Loimis gave Kut a basketful of water for his uncle in the west.
"Go," said she, "straight west to where the old man lives. When you have reached Mem Hui with the water, I will go and see my son Sotchet
in the north. I hear him cry all the time. He is dry. I will carry him water."
She gave Kut, in a net bag before he started, ten gambling sticks cut from grapevine. She tied the bag around his neck, and said,--
"Son of Mem Loimis, you will be a bola heris; you will be a great gambler."
Kut was a very quick traveller, and could go in one night as far as his brother in many nights and days. He started. There were holes in the bottom of the basket, and as he went over the sky, high above the top of Olelpanti Hlut, the water dropped and dropped through the holes in the basket, and just before morning one drop fell from the basket which Kut was carrying, and dropped into the basket which Sanihas Yupchi had placed in the middle of the sweat-house at Olelpanti.
No one saw the water come, but in the morning the little basket was full; the one drop filled it.
"Now," said Sanihas Yupchi, "I have worked as Hlahi all this time, and that drop of water is all that I can get. You see it in the basket."
The little basket in Olelbis's house that the one drop filled stood there, and Olelbis said,--
"Now you are dry, all you people in this sweat-house. You are thirsty, you are anxious for water. Here is one drop of water. We do not know who will drink first; but there is an old man on the west side of the sweat-house crying all the time, crying night and day, for water. Let him come and look at it." He meant Hubit.
Hubit stood up, came, looked at the basket and
said: "What good is this to me? There is only a drop there. It will do me no good."
"Drink what there is; you talk so much about water," replied all the others, "that you would better drink."
"That drop can do no good to any one."
"Well, take a taste, anyhow," said Olelbis; "it will not hurt you."
"I don't want a taste, I want a drink," answered Hubit.
"Take a drink, then," said Olelbis.
Hubit began to drink. He drank and drank, took his belt off about the middle of the forenoon, put his head on the edge of the basket and drank from morning till midday, drank till two men had to carry him away from the water and lay him down at the upper end of the sweat-house.
Though Hubit drank half a day, the water in the basket was no less.
Kiriu Herit drank next. He drank long, but did not lower the water. After him Sutunut drank till he was satisfied; then Moihas drank all he wanted.
"Let all come and drink. When each has enough, let him stand aside," said Olelbis.
Tsararok drank, and then Kuntihle drank; then Hus and Tsurat; after them the old women, Pakchuso Pokaila, the grandmothers of Olelbis, drank; then Toko; then Kopus drank. But the people murmured, saying,--
"Kopus is no Hlahi; he ought not to have any of our water. He is only good for acorns."
The two Tsudi girls, who had sung so long, drank very heartily.
Lutchi lived outside, east of the sweat-house; they called him to drink. He took one sip and went out. Lutchi never liked water.
Now Sanihas Yupchi, who had brought the water, drank of it; and last of all, Olelbis.
When all were satisfied, and Toko had gone back and lain down in his place north of the sweat-house, the basket was put near him; and ever after Toko had water in abundance, and so had every one.
There was plenty of water ever after in Olelpanti for all uses; but if Sanihas Yupchi had not brought it, all might have perished for want of water.
"I will go home now," said Sanihas Yupchi, after he had drunk. He wished well to every one and went away.
When Kut was carrying the basket westward, every drop that fell made a spring,--wherever a drop fell a spring appeared. |
|
1 - 8 - 3 NORWAN 
This myth, which recalls the Helen of Troy tale, is extremely interesting both as regards personages and structure. At present I shall make but few remarks, and those relating only to personages. Hluyuk Tikimit, quivering porcupine, known here as Norwan, is the cause of the first war in the world. The porcupine in American mythology is always connected with sunlight, so far as my researches go, and Norwan is connected with daylight, for she dances all day, never stops while there is light. Her title of Bastepomas, food-giving, is also significant, and would help to show that she is that warm, dancing air which we see close to the earth in fine weather, and which is requisite for plant growth. We have another "light" person in this myth, Sanihas, who is light in a generic sense, daylight generally and everywhere. The root Sa in Sanihas is identical with Sa in Sas, the Wintu word for "sun." Sa means "light" and Sas "for light," i. e. for the purpose of giving light. Sanihas is the light which is given.
In Bastepomas, the title given by Olelbis to Norwan, the first syllable ba means "to eat," bas means "for to eat" or food, tep means "to give," and tepomas "she who gives;" the whole word means "she who gives food."
Chulup Win Herit, the great chief, the white, pointed stone who lives on the bed of the great eastern water, the ocean, the husband of Sanihas, has a counterpart in Tithonos, the husband of Eos or Aurora, in classic mythology. Both had beautiful wives, and were visited by them nightly in the bed of the ocean. Chulup's tragedy is somewhat greater, for he is caught by Wai Karili and pounded into bits near the present Mt. Shasta, while Tithonos is only changed into a cricket. Eos, the Latin Aurora, was considered as the whole day by most poets, and Sanihas in Wintu mythology is the whole day, all the light that Sas gives.
There was a reason why Norwan preferred Tede Wiu to Norbis, but we can only infer it at present. The present Wiu bird is brown, and has no significance in this connection, but there was a red Wiu, the bird into which the Tede Wiu who fought with Norbis was changed. That he was a person who might be preferred by Norwan, herself a special form of light, is evident when we consider the immense importance in European tradition of the robin-redbreast and of the red-headed woodpecker among Indians.
That Norwan, food-giving light on the earth, was worth fighting for, is evident.
PERSONAGES
After each name is given that of the beast, bird, or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.
Bisus, mink; Boki, sturgeon; Búlibok, a small nighthawk; Chali Dokos, obsidian; Chali Wai Halina, pine-nut bug; Chir Chuma, sucker; Cho, blackbird; Chuchu, dog; Chulup Win, a pointed rock; Chutuhl, a small bird that goes in flocks; Dokos, flint; Dokos Hilit, flint fly; Hamam, the longest black feather in the tail of the black vulture; Hau, red fox; Hawt, eel; Héssiha, tomtit; Hlihli, acorn; Hluyuk Tikimit, quivering porcupine; Ho, polecat; Hokohas, mud turtle; Hus, turkey buzzard; Kahi Buli Pokaila, wind mountain old woman; Kahit, wind; Kaisus, gray squirrel; Kar, blue heron; Karili, coon; Katsi, chicken hawk; Kaukau, white heron; Kawas, basket; Keli, flint from which knives are made; Kichi Not, a kind of arrow; Kíchuna, a small bird that frequents rocks; Kilichepis, ----; Kiri Hubit, a kind of wasp; Kobalus, a shell; Koip, a small bird which calls "koip"; Kopus, a small night-owl; Kot, diver; Kóyumus, a flint of mixed colors; Kukupiwit, crooked breast; Nomdal Lenas, streaks in the west; Nomel Hiwili, a bird with white-tipped wings which comes down with a buzz very quickly; Nom Sowiwi, ----; Nom Toposloni, west fir bark; Norbis, dwelling or sitting in the south; Nórhara Chepmis, heavy south wind with rain; Norpatsas, southern fire sparks; Norwan, ----; Notudui Ulumus, he stoops and picks up stones; Pai Homhoma, he buzzes in the manzanita; Patkilis, jack rabbit; Puiké Tsumu, a deep red flint; Saiai Not, hollow arrow; Saias, white flint; Sánihas, daylight; Sau, acorn bread; Sawe, mixed white and blue flint; Sedit, coyote; Séhinom Chábutu, chicken hawk; Serin Dólite, small bumblebee; Siriwit, whirlwind; Sútunut, black eagle; Tede Wiu, a small brown bird about as large as an English sparrow; Tenek Not, a kind of arrow; Tidok, ant; Tsánteris, a kind of shell; Tsotso tokos, a small very adhesive burr; Tsudi, mouse; Tsuini, a kind of small fish; Tubuk, ----; Tuichi kelis, feathered head net; Wai Charatawa,
Waida Werris, polar star; Wainom Yola, northwestern snow; Wai Hau, northern red fox; Wai Not, northern arrow; Wik, small night hawk; Wai Karili, northern coon; Wul Wuhl linnet; Yípokus, black fox.
At a place east of Pas Puisono a woman came up out of the earth. Her name was Hluyuk Tikimit. She had another name, Pom Norwanen Pitchen. We call her also Norwan.
She appeared before the present Wintu people came out of the ground, at Tsarau Heril.
"I am in this world now," said Norwan to herself; "I will look around everywhere to see from what places people are coming."
She lived alone in her sweat-house, which was called Norwan Buli Hlut, remained in the house and danced during daylight.
Olelbis looked down at this woman and said,--
"This is my sister, who has come up before the new people on earth. I don't know what she will do yet."
When Olelbis was building his sweat-house in Olelpanti, he cut a piece from a white-oak tree, and this piece rolled down outside the sky to the lower world, where it became a people in Nor Puiken, in the southeast, and that people were there before the present Wintus came out of the ground at Tsarau Heril.
"My dear sister has come up before the Wintus, and will be with them hereafter," said Olelbis. "I have not settled yet how her work is to be, have not made her ready for it."
He put his hand toward the southeast then, and took yósoŭ (a plant that has a red blossom). He gave this plant to Norwan, and said,--
"Take this, my sister, and when you dance use it as a staff. It will have a blossom on the top which will be blooming always."
He reached southeast to the same place, took a small bird, plucked a feather from each wing, gave the feathers to Norwan, and said,--
"My sister, thrust these through your hair, just above your forehead, one on each side. These feathers will begin to sing in the morning early; you will know by them at what time you must begin to dance."
He stretched his hand again to the southeast, and took buri luli, which is a little red blossom that grows in spring on a plant about a foot high. He gave the blossoms to Norwan and said,--
"Roll this in your hands, crush it, put the juice on your face, and make your cheeks red."
Olelbis turned then to his grandmothers, who were standing near by, and asked if they had acorns.
"We have," said they. "We have plenty."
Olelbis took a handful, gave them to his sister, and said,--
"When you shell these acorns, rub them between your palms and hold your hands open; blow the dust which scatters; you will see it rise high into the trees, and acorns will come on them."
It was on the first morning after she had come to Norwan Buli that Olelbis gave Norwan the staff, feathers, blossoms, and acorns. On the second
morning very early the feathers began to sing; then flocks of birds of their kind came flying toward the sweat-house, and Norwan heard a voice far up in the sky calling to her, and saying,--
"My brother's daughter, you have come upon earth before the Wintu people, and are dancing. When you dance you must not look toward the west, nor the north, nor the south, but turn your face and look toward Hlihli Pui Hlutton in the southeast, the place from which your staff and your paint came."
While this man was talking, Norwan looked up and saw him sitting with one leg crossed upon the other. He was holding a handful of white-oak acorns in his hand, and was sitting over the door of the sweat-house in Olelpanti. It was Kar Kiemila.
"Now, my brother," said Olelbis to Hessiha, who lived with him in Olelpanti, "I think it is best for you to go down to our sister and stay with her. Live with her always. When your feathers drop away or are pulled off hereafter, they will become like you, and there will be hessihas on the earth everywhere. Our sister will tell you what to do. You will stay with her, never leave her. The people will call our sister Bastepomas, because she is the food-giving woman. When you see anything, let her know; when you hear anything, tell her; when you want to do anything, ask leave of her."
Hessiha went down to live with his sister. Next day he saw a woman coming from the east and going west. He told Norwan, and she said,--
"Watch which way she goes, my brother. Perhaps she will come to us here."
He watched. She came straight to Norwan Buli.
"My younger sister," said she to Norwan, "I came out in the east, but I don't like to live there. I have left that place, and am going far away to the west. In the evening look westward, a little after sunset, you will see a red, yellow, and white person, Nomdal Lenas Loimis. I am she. I shall look nice. That is the kind of person that I am. I shall live in the west always, and you will see me there as streaks of colored light. I will turn my face to the east every evening on pleasant days, and all the Wintu people will say when they see me, 'Winis Nomdal Lenas Loimis'" (look at Nomdal Lenas Loimis).
"Very well," said Norwan, "I am glad to hear what you say, my elder sister."
Nomdal Lenas went off to the west. She was an immensely large woman with a big face, her hair was cut across her forehead, and this made it look beautiful. She was the first woman in the world who cut her hair in that fashion. Her face was painted in streaks of red, yellow, and white.
Next morning Hessiha saw another woman coming from the east. She stopped at Norwan Buli, and said,--
"My younger sister, we came upon this earth at the same time, before the Wintu people. I am going to the west a little distance. I came out in the east, but I did not like the place there. I am going to Bohem Buli. I will stay there and live on the north side of the mountain. I will be a mountain woman. My name is Kukupiwit Pokte."
She went to Bohem Buli.
Norwan danced always during daylight, never stopped in the daytime, never rested till evening.
Norbis Kiemila, the white oak which rolled to the southeast, looked toward the northwest and saw Norwan. "I see my wife on this earth," said he.
One evening Hessiha and Norwan were in the sweat-house, and Hessiha said,--
"My sister, I have heard news to-day from Norbis Kiemila. He says that you are to be his wife."
She said nothing, and Hessiha talked on My sister, I heard a man say that he would come to see you. He lives at Sonomyai--he is Sedit, Sedit of Sonomyai."
"My brother," said Norwan, "what are you telling me?"
"I am telling you, my sister, what I have heard. Sedit is coming."
"Why does he come? I don't like him. He has a bad breath."
Next morning Norwan rose and began to dance.
"My sister," said Hessiha, that evening, "I hear that a man is coming from Chanahl Puyuk, a good man. His name is Kaukati Herit. He is coming to see you."
"Why does he come here?" asked Norwan. "His neck is too long, his legs are too long."
"Well, my sister, I have heard that a man who lives far away west is coming to see you, Kobalus Herit. He is a good man. He lives at Nomken Kobalus Waimemton."
"That man has a crooked nose," said Norwan, "and a crooked mouth. I don't like him, he is all twisted."
Next evening Hessiha said,
"There is a man who lives at the same place as Kobalus Herit. He wants to see you. His name is Tsanteris Herit."
"That man has a hollow breast," said Norwan. "I don't like him."
"A man from the far north is coming, Keli Herit."
"I don't like him," said Norwan; "he has a bad odor. He smells like the earth."
"A man from way down south, Bisus Herit, is coming to see you."
"Oh, I don't like him; his legs are too short; he eats bony fish."
"My sister, a man is coming who lives a short distance south of us, Tede Wiu Herit."
"I don't like him; he has too much breast; it sticks out too much."
"My sister, Katsi Herit, is coming."
"I know him," said Norwan. "He is too quick-tempered: he gets angry too easily."
"Chati Wai Halina Herit is coming to see you.
"I don't like him; he smells of pitch always.
"I must go now for wood; we have no wood this evening," said Norwan, and she went out to bring some. She brought an armful, and while going to the same place for a second bundle she heard some one coming. A man took her by the arm. She turned, and saw Sedit of Sonomyai dressed beautifully. She pushed him away and ran home. Sedit did not follow her.
Next morning early she went out, and looking at one side of the door saw two stones lying there, and a hooked stick four or five feet long, called lakus, used to pull a limb of a tree toward you. She broke the stones to pieces, broke the stick, threw the pieces in the fire, and burned them. She knew that some man had put them there and intended to come. That night she was lying on the south side of the sweat-house and her brother on the north. It was dark, and they heard some one coming toward the house. The stranger came in, sat down behind Hessiha, sat with his head between his hands; his hair was sticking out, and looked as though it had never been combed. Norwan looked at this person, never took her eyes from him, but said not a word, and he said nothing. After a while he stood up and walked out. While going he threw something toward Norwan. It fell near her, and she picked it up. It was a small net bag half full of mice. She threw it after the stranger. He was Chati Wai Halina.
When morning came, Norwan took a bundle of brush, went to where the visitor had sat, swept the place clean, and threw fresh earth on it.
The next night they heard some one walking outside. Soon a man came in. He had a quiver in his hand made of deerskin. He looked around and went over behind the place where Norwan was lying and sat down. She lay there looking at him. After sitting awhile he lay down, stayed all night, and went away just at daybreak. This was Norbis Kiemila.
In the early morning before dancing she built a fire outside and sat down at it. That same morning Hessiha saw a man coming toward them, coming from the southeast. When he came to where Norwan was at the fire, he sat down. His name was Serin Dolite. He wore a bunch of fresh leaves on each side of his head. He had a second name, Pai Homhoma.
"My sister," said this man, "I have come because my uncle sent me to tell you that the people at Hlihli Pui Hlutton finished talking yesterday, and they are going to have a great feast and a pleasant time. 'Tell my niece,' said he, 'to come and dance with us.' My uncle is Kopus Kiemila. He is named also Pui Uhlukyo. He is a Hlahi. He sent word to Norbis two days ago, and he sent word to Kaukau Herit. He has sent word everywhere. There will be a great many people in Hlihli Pui Hlutton. He has sent word to Sedit, who lives at Sonomyai, and to Katsi Herit, who lives opposite Pas Puisono, and to Kobalus Herit and Tsanteris Herit and Keli Herit and to Tede Wiu Herit, who lives at Koĭ Nomsono, and many others. He has sent to your brother Waida Werris. Waida
paragraph continues Werris may come; he may not. Kopus Kiemila wants you to come surely."
"Very well," said Norwan, "I will go tomorrow."
Serin Dolite was satisfied and went away.
"Now, my little brother," said Norwan to Hessiha that night, "I am going away to-morrow. You will stay here, I hope. I shall be glad if you stay at home and take care of this house."
When she rose in the morning, she stretched her right hand toward the southeast and got buri luli, which are very beautiful red flowers. She put her hand there a second time, and to her hand came hawe luli, pure white blossoms, for clothing. A third time she put her hand out, and hluyuk luli, which are the star flowers, came on it. These she put around her head as a garland, and made shoes of the same flowers. Then she took her staff yósoŭ.
"My brother," said she, when dressed, "I am ready to go."
"My brother's daughter," called Kar Kiemila from Olelpanti when she was starting, "go and dance. I will sit here and look at you." Sweathouse doors look toward the south usually, but the great one above, made by Olelbis, on which Kar Kiemila was sitting, had its door in the east, because Olelbis took most of his beautiful things from the southeast, and he could look down in that direction from the door of his house in Olelpanti. The door in Hlihli Pui Hlutton was toward the west, because from that door they could see the great house in Olelpanti. The house built by Olelbis was the best in all the world, above or below. Kopus Kiemila's house was second to it, and the best in the lower land.
Norwan went at the time appointed, and Hessiha stayed behind at Norwan Buli. When Serin Dolite brought the invitation, Norwan made him promise to meet her on the road.
"You must come," said she, "to give me news before I reach the sweat-house."
Just at the edge of a place called Pui Toror, Serin Dolite ran out and met Norwan.
"Oh, my sister," said he, "Kopus Kiemila sent me to say to you to come quickly, to hurry. The people from every place are there now. All those have come of whom I told you, except Norbis and your brother Waida Werris; they have not come yet. Besides others, Boki Kiemila from Hlop Henmenas has come. You must hurry as much as you can, and come quickly."
When he had given the message, he rushed back and left Norwan to travel at her own pace. She went along the top of Pui Toror, and came to a spot where she heard much laughing and talking. Soon she saw a large crowd of children playing. The ground was smooth,--no rocks, no grass, just level land. When she came up, the children said to her,--
"Our elder sister, we want to see the dance. We want to go to the sweat-house, but we have nothing to wear; we have no clothes and we can get none."
The girls were all of the Tsudi--people, the boys, Patkilises. Norwan looked around and saw at some distance a great many sunflower leaves.
"We took leaves like those," said one of the boys, "and tried to put them on as ears, but we could not make them stay."
Norwan stretched her hand southward, and gray fog which rises from water came on it. She put this fog on a Patkilis boy to wear. She stretched her hand to the east, and red and yellow feathers came to it. Of these she made ears for that Patkilis boy. She put her hand south and found willow catkins, white ones, and made a tail and put it on the Patkilis boy. She gave him shoes made of the catkins. When that one boy was dressed, she said, "Let all the others be like this one;" and that moment all Patkilis boys were like him.
Now she took acorn mould, green and brown, put it on one of the Tsudi girls. She took yósoŭ leaves from her staff (the leaves are like mice ears), and put them on the girl for ears. She took more acorn mould, rubbed and rolled it out like a little stick, and made a tail. When one Tsudi girl was dressed nicely, she said, "Let all the others be like this one;" and that moment they were like her.
"Now, sister," said they, "we are ready."
Norwan started, and all the Tsudi girls and Patkilis boys went with her. When they came to the door of the sweat-house, they looked around and saw that all the trees were full of fresh, beautiful acorns; the top of the house was covered with them. There were piles and piles of acorns inside and around the sweat-house, and a little way off a great many trees were loaded with fruit.
From Olelpanti they could see down into Hlihli Puihlutton. All persons who had come were inside. Norwan looked in and saw many people, all looking toward the door.
"See Norwan coming," said they. "She is beautiful,--oh, she is beautiful!"
Kopus Kiemila was on the south side, near the door. He had five sacks of acorns near him. He was singing over them, singing about health and soundness. When he saw Norwan, he said,--
"Come in; come in, my brother's daughter. You are one of the last. All have come but two."
She went beyond Kopus to a seat. A young woman who was sitting near rose and said,--
"Come, my sister; come and sit with me."
This was Hlihli Loimis. Her brother Hlihli Herit stood always on top of Kopus's house and called, "Hai! Hai!" which means "Come! Come!" and beckoned with his hand for people to enter.
Norwan sat down at the south side of the door, and all the Tsudi and Patkilis children took their places behind her.
"You are almost the last to come," said Hlihli Loimis. "Look at the north side of the house. See how many people are there. See the light; that is Kaukau Herit. He is white and shining; light beams from him."
"Now," said Kopus, "all you people from the north, my sons-in-law and my daughters-in-law, make ready to dance."
The northern people rose at his call and danced. Kaukau Herit danced. When he rose and moved, it was as when a light is brought into a dark place. He danced five times and sat down.
"Now, my sons-in-law," said Kopus, "sit back and look on. My sons-in-law from the west, you will dance now; dance you, Katsi Herit and Sedit of Sonomyai, and dance you, my daughters-in-law."
The western people danced; Sedit, Boki, all danced. While they were dancing, they dropped beautiful shells. These shells fell from them as snow falls from the sky, and the whole floor was covered with shells, just as mountains in winter are covered with snow.
"Now sit back and look on," said Kopus. The western people sat down.
"My sons-in-law and my daughters-in-law," called Kopus to the southern people, "make ready to dance."
The two Tede Wiu brothers from Koĭ Nomsono were to lead the southern people in the dance. Kopus called five times; the southern people did not move. Then the elder Tede Wiu made a step and stopped; when he raised his foot to take a second step, all began to dance. Both brothers carried a load of mempak on their arms, and each had a flint knife. As they danced they attached long strings of mempak to one side of the house higher than a man's head; they extended the strings to the other side and tied them there. They stretched mempak in this way from side to side as they danced, and from end to end, lengthwise and crosswise; then they danced under it. The beautiful strings were shining in every color just above their heads. The music, the mempak, and the dancing were so beautiful that all were. delighted; all people were glad; they could hardly sit still and look on.
The brothers danced up to where Kopus was sitting, took strings of shell and mempak from their necks and heads, and put them down before him; next they put down their two beautiful knives. When they had done this they danced away to the other end of the sweat-house, and then danced up again to where Kopus was.
Norwan rose and began to dance without knowing it. She could not help dancing. Every one looked at her. She danced with the two brothers, danced away to the other side of the house with them. Only after a time did she see that she was dancing.
The two brothers sat down; she sat with them. Then the three stood up and went out.
They had just gone when Norbis came in. He was splendidly dressed, wore mempak, had a garland of fresh young leaves on his head, and on the top of it mempak. He sat down and asked some one near by,--
"Where is my wife?"
"Norwan has gone with the two Tede Wiu brothers."
"I don't believe that!" said Norbis.
He sprang up, went around, and asked others. All said, "She is with the Tede Wiu brothers."
At last Norbis went out, taking his people. They had gone into the house, but had not danced. They followed at his call. He went swiftly to the northwest to overtake the two brothers.
The dance was at an end. All started home. Daylight was near.
The two brothers did not go to Norwan Buli Hlut, which was farther north than Kol Nomsono. They kept the woman at their own house till morning. When they reached home each of the brothers said,--
"My people, be ready for a great hunt at daybreak."
When daylight came the elder brother said,
"Come, my people, we will eat together. You must all eat with me this morning."
While eating they heard shouts on the west bank of Bohema Mem, and soon they saw two men running toward them,--men finely dressed, with plumes on their beads. The men crossed the river, and came to the house of the Tede Wius. They were the Wul Wuhl brothers.
"We are here to tell you," said they, "that Norbis is very angry. He has roused all his people, and they are coming. He has sent us to tell you that he is beyond the Bohema Mem waiting for you. Norbis asks you to send out that woman to him."
The brothers said nothing.
"If you give her, he will go home; if not, he will fight with you."
"We cannot give her," said the elder Tede Wiu. "We did not go to the dance for her; we did not take her away from it. She came with us of her own will. If we give her away, she may come back right away to us. She can go where she likes, but we will not give her to any one."
The two messengers took this answer to Norbis.
"I believe this man will come against us," said each of the brothers. They went into the house and brought out elkskin armor. 1
"Come, my people," said the elder, "take these, put them on."
They brought out more and more armor of untanned elkskin, and the people began to make ready for battle. It was not long till they saw two other men coming. These did not cross the river. They stood on the western bank and shouted,--
"Be ready! Prepare for battle Norbis asks you to come to the river and cross. We will fight you on this side."
When the brothers heard this, their people put on the elkskins and hastened. The brothers left Norwan in their house, and bound it outside with mempak. The whole house was covered with mempak; no one could get out, no one could go in, they thought.
This done, the brothers crossed the river with their men. They looked down toward the south, and saw Norbis with his people moving along on
the western bank of Bohema Mem, and they extended as far as the eye could see.
"There are none there but Norbis and his people," said the Wul Wuhl brothers; "they are not all like him, but they are all his people."
The forces met, and both sides began to fight at once, and fought stubbornly. Norbis drove the Tede Wiu brothers to the edge of the water, but they rallied at the river bank and drove back his forces. A second time Norbis pushed them to the river; a second time they rallied and drove him back, drove back all his people. They fought all day, each side driving the other in turn. It was a hard and bloody battle; many were killed on both sides. Neither won, and both were very angry. When night came the Tede Wiu brothers said,--
"We will stop for to-day. If you wish to fight to-morrow, we will meet you here."
"I will meet you here," answered Norbis.
The Tede Wiu brothers went home. They found Norwan where they had left her, fastened in with mempak. That evening, when all were assembled and were talking, the elder brother said:
"My people, if they want to fight to-morrow we will fight with them."
He called a messenger then and said,--
"Go you and tell my brother Sehinom Chabatu to come and help me, and to come early in the morning. Go also to Waiti Nomken, a place on the upper Bohema Mem, to two women Kawas Loimis; let them know that we are fighting. On this side of their house lives Chir Chuma, a lame
man; let him know. Opposite Pas Puisono lives Katsi Herit. Tell him to come early to-morrow. A short distance from Tsarau Heril lives Wik Herit. Tell him to be here. These are all great men, and each will bring his people. There is a man who lives at Kilichepin Kenharas. Kilichepis is his name. Tell him to come with his people. There is a man who lives at Sudi Sawul. His name is Tuichi Kelis. Tell this man that I expect him early with his people. All these big men will help us greatly."
Norbis sent messengers to his friends. They went southeast, south and southwest. He sent southeast to Saias Saias Herit and south for Hus Herit. He sent for Karili Herit; for Tcutuhl Herit.
Next morning about daylight the friends of the Tede Wiu brothers came. All came who had been called, each bringing his own people. Friends came to Norbis in the same way; none of those invited failed on either side.
When all Tede Wiu's friends had come, the elder brother confined Norwan as on the first day. He bound the house all around with mempak. They started then, and crossed the river with many people. Chir Chuma had come. He was so lame that he could not walk, and had two men to carry him. These were the two Siriwit brothers (whirlwinds). (The whirlwinds were people at that time.)
The Siriwits carried Chir Chuma on two sticks. He sat on the sticks. One brother held the sticks behind, and the other in front. They moved around with great speed, and travelled as easily on water as on land. When the two brothers had crossed the river, they saw two more lame men, one coming from the north, Chali Dokos: he was carried by Wainot Herit. The other was Sawi Herit; he was coming from the west, carried by Kichinot Herit.
After Tede Wiu's forces had crossed the river, the Wul Wuhl brothers came from Norbis, and said,--
"There are many people coming from the south with Norbis to-day. You will have a heavy battle."
Sehinom. saw the southern people coming, and said to the elder Tede Wiu,--
"My brother, I will be with you all the time. I will guard you."
Three of Tede Wiu's men, Wik Herit, Tuichi Kelis, and Kilichepis, said,--
"We will go together. We will go to the eastern side, near the river, and take our people with us."
When going they turned to the Wul Wuhl brothers or Norbis's men, and said,--
"Tell Saias Saias Herit, Koip Herit, and Tsutsu Herit to come toward the river. We will fight them there."
"I will," said the elder Wul Wuhl; and turning to Chir Chuma, he said: "There is a man with a net coming from the south, Karili Herit; he will fight with you."
The Kawas sisters came now on Tede Wiu's side, bringing food, elkskins, and arrows for their brother, Sehinom. Chabatu. They did not go where the fighting was, but stood back in the rear a little. Now Wai Charatawa came to Tede Wiu's side. He was a very small man and left-handed, but a great chief, a brother to Sehinom and to Wik Herit. He had his hair tied up and fastened in front with a long bone sharp at one end.
Norhara Chepmis came to help Norbis on the southern side.
Before the struggle began Norbis sent a message to the brothers, asking, "Are you willing to give up that woman?"
They refused.
"Now, my people," said Norbis, "we are going to fight. I have done what I could to persuade these brothers to give up Norwan, but they refuse, and we are going to fight a second time."
At this moment Kiri Hubit came from the south, a strong man. He went to the east side to fight. He had only one arrow without a point.
When all these forces met, there was a terrible uproar.
"Now," cried Wul Wuhl, "a man from the south is coming; he is small, but brave and quick-tempered, a terrible fighter. He will strike on the left flank. His name is Nor Patsas Herit."
Yipokus Herit, who lived on the northeastern slope of Bohem Puyuk, was to be on the field at midday; he was the one to fight Nor Patsas. His weapons were ice and snow.
Just at this time Norwan found a weak place in the mempak and untied it. As soon as she was out she went home to Norwan Buli.
When ready to meet, the two armies saw a very big woman coming from the northwest: an old woman, Nom Toposloni Pokaila. She was carrying on her back a great basket, as big as a house. This basket was full of pounded fir-bark, which makes the skin itch terribly and almost blinds every eye that it touches.
A man came from the northwest to the southern army, and said to Wul Wuhl,--
"Tell your man Norhara Chepmis not to engage in battle; let him stand aside and look on. I will do as he does." This man was Wainom Yola Herit. "If he fights on the southern side, I will do the same on the northern."
Wul Wuhl gave the message. Norhara drew back, and Wainom Yola did the same.
The two armies stood opposite, each looking the other in the face, each waiting for the other to begin.
At this moment the Siriwit brothers left the ranks on the east, the left wing of the northern army, and went careering around with Chir Chuma on two sticks. Now Nor Patsas, the small peevish southern man, saw Chir Chuma (the Siriwits were invisible), and could contain his wrath no longer. He ran at the lame man with all his might. When just in front of Chir Chuma, he struck the ground with his brand, and one hundred people, as passionate and peevish as himself, sprang up around him. But Chir Chuma rode right over Nor Patsas. The Siriwits knocked him to one side, rushed across his men, trampled, beat, and killed them.
The Siriwit brothers went some distance along the front rank, then turned back and rushed to where Nor Patsas had fallen. He was on his feet again, and dashed a second time at Chir Chuma. When just before the enemy, Nor Patsas struck his brand against the ground, a hundred men leaped up around him; all sprang on Chir Chuma, but the two brothers scattered and trampled every one of them.
Nor Patsas was raging. He had never been so angry in his life till that day. He turned and rushed at the northern army. He struck the ground once, twice, three times with his brand, and three hundred raging men were there around him. A battle began on the left northern wing, fierce and very bloody. Nor Patsas found no one to match him till Chir Chuma returned. The Siriwits were somewhat tired, and went more slowly while Chir Chuma fought with Nor Patsas. Chir Chuma had a red flint, called also sucker flint. With every blow of this he killed fifty and sometimes sixty people. When Nor Patsas gave a blow, he killed as many, and every time he struck the ground with his brand a hundred warriors sprang up to help him.
The fight begun by Nor Patsas with Chir Chuma brought in the two armies. Both sides fought desperately, but no one could conquer Nor Patsas till Yipokus came at midday. He rushed at the peevish, passionate warrior with weapons made of ice and snow. In the heat of battle water flowed from them and killed Nor Patsas, quenched the life in him. The southern army was pushed back, and driven a long distance down the river.
In the middle of the afternoon they rallied, turned on the pursuers, drove them to the field where they began in the morning, and were driving them farther, when Nom Toposloni ran past, and, throwing her crushed bark with the wind, filled many eyes with it and almost blinded them. She brought disorder to the southern army.
Norbis, afraid of being beaten, was ready now for anything. He called in Norhara Chepmis, who ran swiftly from the southwest with his warriors. A mighty storm of wind swept forward with Norhara. He struck the northern army fiercely. Wainom Yola, seeing this, rushed at the southern force with all his people, and they were so many that no man could count them. They were as swift as arrows. A roaring wind went with them.
Wainom Yola cut right through the southern army, and, turning, rushed toward Norhara Chepmis and his warriors. These two with their armies fought hardest of all on that day. In half an hour very few were left alive on either side, and those left were so weak that Norhara Chepmis and Wainom. Yola were hardly able to lead them from the field.
There was not a man in the forces of the Tede Wiu brothers or Norbis who was not covered with snow and drenched with rain; all were shivering and nearly dead.
No one wished to fight for a long time after that day.
Norbis went home to the southeast without Norwan, the woman he called his wife; and when the Tede Wiu brothers went back to their house in
the evening, they found that Norwan had escaped to Norwan Buli.
This was the end of the first battle on earth. None gained anything, and many were killed. Later there was another battle among the first people, and afterward many among the Wintus when they came up.
After Norwan had been at home awhile she said one day to Hessiha,--
"My brother, I did wrong. When I think of it now, I see that I did wrong. I understand all today. I see that if I had not danced with Tede Wiu, if I had not gone home with him, there would have been no fighting, no trouble in this world. If I had gone with Norbis at the dance, there would have been no battles, there would have been no killing; but I did not want to go with Norbis. I do not know why; but in some way I did not like him. I was dancing with Tede Wiu, and sitting with him, and going away with him before I knew what I was doing."
Sehinom Chabatu, after the close of the first great battle, went home and lived on Wini Mem five years before any trouble came to him. While helping Tede Wiu in his fight with Norbis, Sehinom killed Saias Saias and Chuchu, two of the best men among Norbis's forces.
All the southern people talked of these two, and told how they had died. A great man, far off in the southeast, heard of this. He was chief of the two when they were living, and his name was Chulup Win Herit. He was a slender, strong
person. When he had heard the whole story, he said,--
"I have never liked fighting, I do not like fighting now. I have never gone to war, but I am going to war now. Norbis attacked Tede Wiu, he fought with him. Norbis has shown me what fighting is, and I am going to fight now."
Chulup inquired everywhere to discover who had killed these two men; he wished to be sure. All people said everywhere, "Sehinom Chabatu did it."
It was really Chir Chuma who had killed them. But Chir Chuma was under Sehinom Chabatu, and the blame was put on Sehinom.
They talked it all over, talked a whole night, and Chulup sent this message to Sehinom,--
"I should like to see you, I want you to come to Miol Tapa, near Puidal Pom. I will meet you there. If you want to fight, I will fight with you at that place."
The messenger was Tsotso Tokos Herit. While Chulup was instructing his messenger, Sehinom's grandmother was talking to him. This grandmother was a very old woman. Chir Pokaila; she was called also Kahi Buli Pokaila. She knew what was happening far away in the east, and what was going to happen soon, though nobody had told her: she knew with her own mind.
"My grandson," said she, "you have been fighting, you have been at war, and people will talk much of you. My grandson, you will hear something very soon. You must do what is best, take care of
yourself. I will tell you what to do: when you go hunting or fishing, never go toward the east. Go north, west, and south, but never go east; the people in the east are talking of you. My grandson, I did not know that you were going to do the things that you have done. When I was rearing you and you were a baby yet, I told you how to hunt and fish; no more. I did not think that you would fight and strike down strong people. But there is a woman at Norwan Buli who brought all this trouble into the world; this fighting began for her, and now it will continue always and everywhere; there will never be an end to fighting in this world now. This place where we are living would have been good but for that woman. Now, from this time on, all these trees, mountains, rocks, all people in this world, will be bad and will hurt others. (This means that people will use stones, sticks, and everything to fight with when they are angry.)
"Now, my grandson, you must do as I tell you. My brother lives near by, he lives at Kahi Buli, his name is Kahit. Go and see him every morning early. And there is a man who lives a little farther away, up at Waitami. He is your brother. Go and see him every evening. He is a great man, he can do everything. His name is Katsi Herit. My two sisters live at Waiti Nomken. They have been in the war and have seen all the fighting. They are the Kawas Loimis sisters.
"My grandson, we cannot live as we used to live. We must live differently. I am getting very angry. We cannot eat, we cannot sleep as in the
old time. When you went to war you killed two great men, two of the best men. Long, long ago Chulup, a great chief, went far away east, and has lived there since that time. He is going to come soon to see you. Take care of yourself; be on your guard. When he started east Chulup went to the edge of the great water and went under the ground to it, he went through the ground, and he lives in the east now on the bed of the great water.
"I will tell you what is going to happen soon. I am getting angry, and when I am angry you will feel a cold wind coming from the north. That wind comes because I am angry."
When Sehinom Chabatu went south, he was young yet, not grown; and now, when his grandmother knew what was happening in the east, she was instructing him. The place where they lived was Dau Paki Olel, a mile higher up than the mouth of Wini Mem.
One morning Sehinom Chabatu called all his people together. The old woman knew that some one was coming, and that day Tsotso Tokos came. He was sent by Chulup. When the old woman knew that he was near, she went into the house, brought out a quiver full of arrows, and hung it on a tree. Then she got a tuichu kilis, which is a net faced with white down, put it on her head, took the quiver, and ran some distance from the house, and rushed about in great fury. She acted like some one who is going to fight. People watched her.
"What is the matter with that old woman?" asked one person of another.
After a time she came back and sat down. A few minutes later a man was seen running in from the east, and soon Tsotso Tokos was at the house.
"Sehinom Chabatu," said he, "I am here to tell you what Chulup says. He says that he is growing angry; that he wants you to go to Miol Tapa to-morrow; that he will meet you there; that he has his men with him. He has gathered many people. He will wait for you at Miol Tapa."
When Tsotso Tokos had said these words, he went away. The old woman rose and said,--
"My grandson, do not sit long. Rise up. That of which I told you, a while ago has happened. I told you that trouble was coming. Send word now to the two Tede Wiu brothers. Send word to all your friends. Tell them to come quickly to help you."
Sehinom Chabatu sent a message to the Tede Wiu brothers, and a second one to the northwest, a third to the north, and a fourth to the southwest. In the north he sent to Sau Herit and to Kichuna Herit, to Hokohas Herit of Puidal Pom. Hokohas's people wore elkskin armor at all times; to Koyumas Herit, and to Puike Tsumu, a great chief, though lame. He sent to all who had been with the Tede Wiu brothers in the first war.
All came, and still others joined them. Among these was Cho Herit, who had a great many people. Sehinom's grandmother was terribly excited. She danced madly and ran around everywhere; she danced that night and the next day. The second morning all came very early to join
paragraph continues Sehinom's forces. The first came at daybreak, and one people followed another the whole day and the next night.
Chir Chuma, carried by two Siriwit brothers, came. Wai Karili, who lived on the south bank of Wini Mem, came. All his people had nets. Bulibok came from Bulibok Puyuk, and when the people on the road sat down to rest, he went ahead and called out,--
"Shoot at me, all you people! I want to see what kind of person I am going to be."
All shot at him. He sat still, but no one could hit him. And Kaisus Herit from Puidal Pom went ahead too, and asked all to shoot at him. A great many tried, but no one could hit Kaisus Herit.
Tichelis from Penehl Kente came, bringing his people.
"You are my brother," said he to Kaisus; "we will go together."
One Sedit came from Buli Puiwakat, and another from Sonomyai.
When all the people had assembled at Sehinom's, Wik Herit picked up dead coals and blackened his face. "I want to see fighting," said he. "I am a brave warrior. I want to fight;" then he puffed and strutted tremendously.
Nomel Hiwili, who lived at Waiel Nomeltos, came, bringing his people.
"My brother," said he to Sehinom, "I am not very strong, I cannot do much, but I will go with you and do what I can."
When they went to the place where the battle was to be fought, a messenger came and said,--
"Saiai Not Herit is coming to see you. He has no heart, and all his people are without hearts. Saiai Not wants to fight with you. Kichuna from Kinwinis Pom and Hamam Herit from the east wish to fight with you. All these people are at Memnom Kalai now, not far from here."
At this time they saw some one coming toward them from the east. This was a second Chir Pokaila. She was from Pokaitin Mem. When she came up she said to Sehinom's grandmother,--
"My sister, we will help our grandson, and if he is killed we will mourn over him together."
"It is time to move now," said Sehinom.
"We will be in the centre of the army," said the Tede Wiu brothers, and they took their places. Wai Karili went to the south wing of the northern army, and all his people with him. They went up on a level mound, and from there saw people coming on both sides, from the north and the south, as far as the eye could see. They came on like a great water, rolling forward. The people were in number as the grains in two clouds of sand. The two armies approached each other gradually.
Sehinom's grandmother, with her sister, was in front of the northern forces. She engaged the enemy first, and fought fiercely. She had arrows of kopus wood, pointed with Chirdokos, all made by herself. The northern army faced the east, and the southern the west.
Chir Chuma, carried by the Siriwits, came to help his two sisters. All three had the same kind of arrows. They killed fifty and sixty at a shot, and these three gave victory to the left wing of the northern army.
On the right flank of the northern and left flank of the southern army were good men, and there was hard fighting. On the northern side was Wai Karili with his people, having nets to catch the enemy. Then Hokohas and his forces, all dressed in elkskin armor; next Kaisus and Tichelis, with many people. Between Tichelis and the centre was Kichuna. On the other side, opposite Kichuna, was Hamam) who had sent word to Kichuna that he would meet him on the field. Opposite Sedit of Sonomyai was an unknown chief, but a very great fighter.
Wai Karili, Hokohas, Kaisus, and Tichelis with their forces were met by Hawt and Tsuini, whose people outnumbered those of the four chiefs opposed to them. The Hawts used solid blue rocks as weapons. They hurled them with great force, breaking the armor of Hokohas's people and tearing the nets of Karili's men. The Tsuini people threw smaller stones from slings in great showers at the people of Tichelis and Kaisus.
The battle raged with fury on that flank till evening. Many were killed on both sides, and of the chiefs Hamam and Sedit of Sonomyai fell. Neither side had the victory when night came, though Hawt and Tsuini were gaining a little.
In the centre were the great chiefs of both armies.
paragraph continues There Chulup, supported by Saiai Not, Tenek Not, and Tubuk, met Sehinom Chabatu, and the Tede Wiu brothers.
In the morning Chulup began the fighting, and cut into the centre. In the middle of the forenoon he had gone half-way through Sehinom's people. But Sehinom forced him back, and at midday Chulup was where he had begun in the morning. Sehinom advanced now, and tried to cut through Chulup's people. He had gone more than halfway when Chulup rallied, pressed around him, pushed him back, and at sundown had rushed forward among Sehinom's warriors.
Just at that time Sehinom saw in the field behind Chulup a tall and very beautiful woman. She was Chulup's wife. Her name was Sanihas. Sehinom Chabatu ran quickly to this woman, and led her to his own camp, while Chulup was struggling with the Tede Wiu brothers. The sun was down now. Night had come.
Chulup dropped back to his own place. He had lost his wife and gained nothing. Both sides went from the battlefield and made camp-fires. You could see the two lines of fire running north and south, but could not see either end of them.
Chulup rose at daybreak next morning, rushed to Sehinom's camp, and after a sharp and short fight took his wife back before sunrise. Both sides were very angry and fought hard. At midday the southern forces had the advantage in the centre and the southern flank. and would have beaten Sehinom Chabatu but for his grandmother, his uncle, and his aunt. The two women and Chir Chuma, carried on two sticks by the Siriwit brothers, had beaten everything in front of them.
At this time the centre and flank of the northern forces had suffered much. Wai Karili left the fight; he was angry.
"I will do something better than this," said he.
Taking his net, he went off to the southeast, and never stopped till he was at the edge of the earth, and had found the opening through which Chulup passed when he came out on land or went back to his home on the bed of the great eastern water. He laid the net across the hole, thrust the middle of it in deeply, covered what was left outside, and waited in hiding.
At noon. when Sehinom Chabatu. was hard pressed and the enemy were pushing his people from the field, his grandmother, aunt, and uncle, with the whole army behind them, fell upon the rear of Chulup's forces. The struggle began anew, and from then till sunset was fought the hardest battle of the world up to that day. At sunset they had to stop, for there were few people left on either side, and those were so tired that they could fight no longer.
Each side left the field without saying a word to the other.
Chulup sent his wife Sanihas home by another way, and went himself to the passage where Wai Karili was hiding. He went into the opening. Karili drew the net, closed it around Chulup, and tied it firmly. He put it on his back then, and carried Chulup to Tehi Buli, some distance east of Bohem Puyuk. There he taunted him, saying:
"Now, Chulup, you did not take me, but I have taken you. You are not going to kill me, but I am going to kill you. Who is better, you or I?
Then he killed him, and pounded his body fine.
When Sehinom Chabatu went home his grandmother said to him,--
"Now, my grandson, you are becoming a strong man; you know how to fight, but men who fight do not live long. I have never told you to fight, but from this on you will see fighting. You must keep awake, my grandson. You must rise early, you must not sleep long; some day you will hear news, some day something will happen."
After that Sehinom Chabatu brought the tallest yellow pine from beyond Dau Paki Olel, stripped all the bark off, painted it white, black, and red. The people danced around this pole, danced two days.
"We will go home now," said the Tede Wiu brothers, "but perhaps something will happen later on.
Then Dokos said to Wik Kiemila: "We have had all this fighting, we may have more, fighting yet; people may come to attack us, to kill you or me.
"My father-in-law," said Wai Dokos to Wik Kiemila, "we have killed a great man, Chulup Win Herit. I think now that we shall have much trouble; he was the chief of many people; they will attack us."
After this talk all went home. People lived in peace for two years.
"I will go and sleep in the sweat-house," said Sehinom Chabatu one night. He went. There were many in the sweat-house, and a greater number outside. Usually Chir Pokaila knew everything; but this night the old woman did not know that trouble was coming, she was in her own house asleep.
The door of Sehinom's sweat-house was on the east, and he was sleeping on the north side. Just before daylight some of the men lying outside woke up, and some in the sweat-house were awake, but none had risen yet. All at once they heard an uproar, a crowd of men shouting.
When the people around the sweat-house heard this shouting, they took their arms and ran forward. All inside the sweat-house rushed to the door, and as soon as they were out strange people killed them.
Sehinom Chabatu remained in the sweat-house. Chir Pokaila was taking bow and arrows to her grandson, but when she reached the door she was killed.
Chir Chuma, who lived near by, came when he heard the uproar. He was carried by the Siriwits, and went around fighting here and fighting there, killing many.
Sehinom, in the sweat-house, heard some one outside asking,--
"Is this Sehinom Chabatu's house? I cannot find him. He is not among these people. Perhaps this is not his house at all. I should like to see Sehinom Chabatu. If he is brave, he will come out. I am Sutunut."
Others cried, "I am Hus! I am Chutuhl!" "I am Koip!" "I want to see Sehinom Chabatu!"
All the people outside were killed now, except Chir Chuma. The Siriwits had carried him home. Sehinom Chabatu was left in the sweat-house. It was about the middle of the forenoon when all were killed, and the strangers set fire to the sweat-house. There was a log at each side of the door for people to sit on. Sehinom went into the ground, and came out under the log on the left side. He dug forward, as the fire moved, till he came near the end of the log. It was burned out now except a very short piece. He stopped under that.
Sutunut's people stood around watching for him.
"We should like to know where he is," said they. "The sweat-house is burned. He was not there or he would have run out." They pushed the cinders about,--found no trace of his bones. "He cannot be under this log," said one man; but he did not touch the burning log.
At last, about dark, when the log was burned almost to the very end, Sutunut and all his people went away.
Sehinom Chabatu heard everything they said. When they had gone and all was silent, he crept out from under the ground; he saw his friends lying dead, the houses destroyed, and the sweat-house burned down. He cried all night,--mourned for his friends, mourned until daylight. At daylight he walked around everywhere; looked at the ruins; did not know what to do; walked around again and again.
Just before sunrise he heard something and stopped to listen. There was a sound like the cry of a little dog. He looked, and saw at last a piece of bark of the yellow pine. The noise came from under that bark.
"What can be under this bark?" thought Sehinom, and turning it over he found two little boys lying in each other's arms and crying. He stooped down and took them up.
"Now, brother," said one of them, "we had luck. We hid here and escaped."
They were Tsudi boys. Sehinom Chabatu took the boys to care for them. He buried all the people he could find, took the two little boys, and went up Pui Mem to get kopus wood for arrows. He found the wood, brought it home, and made four hundred arrows. Then he made five bows of yew wood.
The two boys grew very fast. Sehinom gave a bow and forty arrows to each of them and said,--
"I wish you could do something for me, but you are so small I don't like to send you."
"We can go wherever you send us," said the elder boy.
"Well. my little brother," said Sehinom next morning, "go and tell my two sisters, Kawas Loimis in Waiti Nomken to come here. Tell them that I am hungry, that I have nothing to eat. Say that paragraph continues I am starving. Tell them to bring food to me. From my sisters go to my brother Kichuna; he lives at Kenwinis Pom. Go next to Wai Hau, at Hau Buli, then to Nomel Hiwili at Waiel Nomeltos. Go to Dokos Hilit; you will find his house by inquiring; from there to my father-in-law, Nom Sowiwi. Tell these people to come to me and bring all their forces."
Then, turning to the other brother, he said: "I will send you, my little brother, down south. I want you to go to Tidok Kiemila at Tidok Waisono. This old man and his people have plenty of feather dresses for war. Go to the Tede Wiu brothers; go to Hokohas Herit. Go eastward to Dokos Herit, at Dokos Hleĭ Puriton; go to Kaisus at Kaisansi Haraston, tell all to come to-morrow and bring their people."
The elder Tsudi brother came back in the evening. "Your sisters will come to-morrow morning," said he, "and the others will all come."
The younger brother came back a little later.
"All the people will come to-morrow morning," said he: "all the Hokohas people with their elkskins, all the Tidok people will come with their feather headdresses. When I went to the Tede Wiu brothers, they said: 'Sehinom Chabatu has great trouble.' I said: 'He has, indeed; my brother and I are all that are left.' 'He is our brother,' said they; 'we must help him.'"
Next morning the two Kawas sisters came, bringing many things. Each brought two elkskins and a great many arrows and otter-skins.
"Now, brother, eat and feed the two little boys," said they, taking out food.
People began to come. They came from every direction, from all sides. All that day they poured in; in the evening and night they kept coming. Sehinom Chabatu had to wait some days for all to come. The Kawas sisters had food for every one.
"We heard that you were killed," said the Tede Wiu brothers when they came. "We are glad to see you living."
"I am alone," said Sehinom. "I do not know what saved me. All my people were killed except these two little boys."
The Tede Wiu brothers were the first to come from the south. Next came the Tidok people. They came in crowds, in thousands, and every one had a feather net on his head. They began to come in the morning, and kept coming all day, all night, on the morrow, and second night, without stopping. They came without stopping for twelve days and nights, they came till there was no room for them anywhere around. More Tidoks remained at home than came, and more Tidoks came than all other people put together.
"You people," said Sehinom Chabatu, when all had come, "I did not cause this war and fighting. I did not begin. The war was made by the Tede Wiu brothers and Norbis."
"Now, my brothers," said Sehinom Chabatu to the Tede Wiu brothers, "people far off talk of me; but you caused the trouble. You began it, and
you must do your best to help me. We must leave here to-morrow morning."
They started next morning early. Sehinom Chabatu gave orders to travel in parties. They moved toward the southeast. The last party of the first day left in the evening. When night came the van of the army camped and the rear marched all night.
When Sutunut's forces came northward from the edge of the sky in the south to attack Sehinom's people, they made a trail coming and going. Now, Sehinom's army followed this trait. They travelled the second day till they reached a camping-place of the returning southern army. There they spent the night. At noon of the third day they sent Kaisus and Bulibok ahead to look for the enemy. They went to the south. On the following morning they came back and said,--
"We found a cañon where they camped; you can camp there."
The army moved on. The two Kawas sisters had food to give the whole army; the two baskets were never empty, and all had enough.
They stayed three days in the cañon, and the Tidok people never stopped coming.
"We have far to go; you must hurry," said Sehinom next day; and the Tidok forces began to travel faster. Sehinom sent forward Hus as a scout. Before daybreak all rose and travelled till evening. Hus came back and said,--
"I have been very far down. I found another place where they camped. I went farther south
then, till I saw fire and smoke far away. We can rest to-night in their camping-place."
"Sleep well, all you people," said Sehinom Chabatu that night; "you must be fresh to-morrow morning.
Next morning Hus was sent forward again, and the army started soon after. They travelled all day. At sunset Hus came back and said,--
"I found the next camping-place; it is not far from here. Then I went south a great way till I came to a hill which runs east and west. I went to the top of that hill and looked down. On a broad flat I saw fires and a great many people. Their camp is very wide from east to west, and runs south as far as my eyes could see. Now, our friends, I have seen the enemy; we must do the best we can."
When they reached the camping-place Sehinom said: "We will rest here to-morrow, not travel till the next day."
On the second morning they rose and started early, went slowly, resting occasionally. About sunset they came to the hill and camped on the north side of it.
"I went to send some one to see how many people there are in that camp," said Sehinom Chabatu.
Bulibok went. On the end of the ridge was a tree with one limb sticking out toward the east. Bulibok went on that tree, sat on the limb, and looked down. He saw the people moving around, playing, and dancing. He could see a long distance. Pretty soon people below, whom were looking around everywhere, saw Bulibok, and one of them asked,--
"What is that sitting on the limb up there?"
"I don't know," answered another. "It looks like some person. Let us throw at it and see if it will move."
Notudui Ulumus, who always wore a sling around his head, took it off, put a stone in it, and said,--
"There must be some one there. I have never seen that thing on a limb before."
"Oh. that is nothing; that is always there," said others.
"I have never seen anything there before. I will sling a stone at it." Notudui hurled a stone, which just passed Bulibok's head; he didn't move. Notudui hurled another stone, almost grazed Bulibok's nose, but he never moved.
"Oh, that is a part of the limb," said some of the people: "it sticks up in that way."
"A man would move if a stone came so near him," said others.
"That is somebody; that is somebody watching us," cried a third party; and they disputed. The people watched for a while, but Bulibok sat there as motionless as the limb till, tired of watching, they went away, and forgot all about him. He slipped down from the tree then, went home, and said,--
"I sat on a tree, saw everything, and know now the best way to go. People saw me and hurled stones. They came near hitting me twice, but I did not stir, and they let me go."
Now, my people," said Sehinom Chabatu, "this war was not made by me. I hate to take you to a place like that which is before us, but we must go there. I will go first; I will go alone and look at the place." He mounted the ridge, and from the top of it went underground till he came out in the chief house of the enemy. Then, thrusting his head up, he looked and saw a great many people. Soon someone saw him and said,--
"Why do you people not watch? Sehinom. Chabatu may come. You say that he is dead--that you burned him to death in the sweat-house; but I don't believe that you killed him."
"Oh, he is dead long ago. We killed him; we burned him!"
Sehinom stuck out his head a second time. Again some one saw him and asked,--
"What is that over there? Maybe it is Sehinom Chabatu. I think he might come."
"Oh, he is dead long ago. Let's throw at that and see what it is."
Some one hurled a stone. It grazed Sehinom's nose and he dropped into the ground. "That is only a squirrel!" said a number of people, "Sehinom Chabatu is dead."
Sehinom went back to his army, and said to Nom Sowiwi,--
"I saw a great many people. They are the same who killed our friends, They will kill us unless we kill them. We will move to-morrow at daybreak and fight. My brother, Tede Wiu, you must find Sutunut. When he came to my place
he boasted greatly. He said that I could fight nobody. I want to see Sutunut. We must find him. Never mind others. Let us find Sutunut and Koip Herit, who boasted that they had killed so many of our people."
"I will go and look at that camp before dark," said Hau Herit.
He went, and just below the hilltop he found a piece of a hollow oak-tree as long as the height of a man; he walked slowly in this dry trunk, his head just sticking above it, and of the same color. He reached the top of the ridge and went down the south side a short distance; there were no trees or brush there. As he stood looking around, his eyes above the stump, some people called out below,--
"What is that on the hill? I have never seen that thing there before."
"I see nothing but a stump," answered others.
Hau was looking around everywhere, taking notice of everything.
"There is some one there," said another man.
"Oh, that's a stump. I've seen that there all the time."
"Well, let's sling a stone at it."
Notudui took his sling and hurled a stone. Hau lowered his head a little. The stone hit the stump and made a loud noise.
"Oh. that's nothing. Don't you hear the noise? That's just a stump. We'll throw again and be sure."
Hau was just putting his head out when he saw another stone coming. The stone hit the stump, and made a great noise.
"There, do you think that is a person? Do you think the stone would make a noise like that if it hit some one?"
They threw no more stones. Hau waited till dark, when he went back and told Sehinom everything.
"Now, my brothers," said Sehinom Chabatu to the two Tsudi boys, "you must go to that camp. Go straight to the centre house, go into it together. Then let one go west and the other east. Look carefully, and when you see a bow, cut the string to it. Cut the strings in the first house before you part, and then cut alone. Go into each house and cut every bow-string. As you go around the houses inside, some one may see you and say, 'Look at those Tsudis,' but pay no heed, go on cutting."
The two Tsudi brothers went to the middle house together; then one went east, and the other west. They went through each house. In some they found a few bows, in others a great many. They cut till daylight was coming. They went home then, and said,--
"We cut bow-strings all night, and had to stop because daylight was coming, but we left only a few strings uncut. The people slept, except one man in the sweat-house. We don't think he ever sleeps. He talks always."
"I know him," said Sehinom. "He talks, but he is asleep while he talks whistles. Daylight is coming, we must go. Do the best you can, do your best, all of you."
The army was so large, and there were so many Tidoks that they spread over the country like a flood; they rushed across the hill and ran down into the valley; when the people sleeping in the houses heard them coming, they sprang up and ran for their bows.
"Oh, my bow-string is broken!" cried one.
"Oh, my bow-string is broken!" cried another.
"Give me a bow! Give me a bow!" cried a third.
This was heard all over the camp; every one was crying: "My bow-string is broken! Give me a bow!"
Sehinom's army poured in on them like great waves of water. Sehinom rushed to the chief house, and shouted,--
"Where are you, Sutunut? I want to see you. You boasted so much in Dau Paki Olel, I want to see you. Where are you, Sutunut?"
Sutunut said nothing, kept still. He was in a house a short distance away, and some one else killed him.
The southern people could not fight well without bows and arrows; they did what they could to defend themselves, but at noon they were killed to the last person, not one escaped.
Sehinom Chabatu with his chief men and all their forces started for home, leaving Kot and Ho Herit behind, with some Tidoks to fire all the houses. Just as they had set fire to everything, a new force of southern people came up, surprised them, and killed a great many.
"Sehinom Chabatu has gone," said Ho Herit, when he saw them. "New forces are coming against us. Now, Tidok people, you must fight well."
The new forces chased Ho Herit and his men. The Tidoks fought bravely. Many were killed on both sides. Ho Herit himself was killed. Fresh people from the south were coming continually, while the Tidoks had no reinforcements. At last Kot Herit was killed, and most of the Tidoks who fought under him. Then the southern people turned and went home. The few Tidoks who escaped with their lives went north to their own place.
Sehinom Chabatu went back to Dau Paki Olel and lived there. He and those who came home with him did not know for a long time of the second battle and the death of Kot and Ho Herit.
This is the end of that war. All the people who returned with Sehinom Chabatu came home in safety. The first people fought no more after that, for soon Olelbis turned them into birds, beasts, and other things. |
|
1 - 8 - 4 TULCHUHERRIS 
After each name is given that of the creature or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.
Hawt, lamprey eel; Kúlitek, a white feather in the tail of Komos Kulit, the black vulture; Nomhawena, an earthworm; Pom Pokaila, earth old woman; Sas, sun; Tichelis, ground squirrel; Tulchuherris, etymologically, a person or thing that has been dug up; Winishuyat, foresight.
It was not in the east, nor the north, nor the south, but in the west, on a flat called Eli-Tsarauton (root flat), that a little old woman lived very long ago. No person lived on that flat but this old woman, whose name was Nomhawena Pokaila. She was called also Pom Pokaila.
This old woman had lived ten summers and ten winters on that flat, and one summer more; she dug roots there all this time, for roots were her food. The flat was broad, and she had dug, beginning at the edge and going round and round, till at last there was only a small piece left undug, and that was in the middle.
One morning, when she thrust her stick into the ground deeply, she heard a cry like that of a little child. She stopped and listened; heard the cry far down in the earth. She didn't know what to make of it, but thought: "Whatever this is I will dig it out."
She thrust her root stick down as far as she could at one side of the spot where the noise was, and worked hard, took much earth out; then she heard the cry a little forward, and dug forward. She went next to the opposite side and dug all around the cry, dug till the middle of the afternoon, but found nothing. Then she dug around again, thrust the stick deeper in the first spot, and said, "I must find that, I must have it."
She thrust the stick down deeper,--got nothing. She went on the other side, pushed the stick still deeper, and turned over the great lump of earth that was in the middle. Under this she found a little boy. The moment she saw him she heard a noise like thunder far off in the east, at Saskewil, the place where Sas lives. When she raised him to the surface, she heard this noise a second time.
The baby's head, as she raised him to the surface, was to the east, his feet to the west; underground his head was to the south, and his feet to the north.
"Tsok tso, tsok tso!" (good baby, good baby), said the old woman, fondling him in her arms. She took the buckskin apron from her back, laid it on the ground, put the little boy on it, and wrapped him up carefully. Then she fondled him again, saying, "Tsok tso, tsok tso!" and said, "I am old, I am your grandmother;" and she carried him to her house. She took water and washed him, washed all his body. Every morning she washed him. She could not sleep at night, she was so anxious. She watched him all the time.
paragraph continues All night, all day she watched, never put him on the ground, but washed him much, saying,--
"I wish you to grow quickly. You are the only person seen here. I wish you to walk soon."
In five weeks after she had found him he could walk a little and talk some. When he was able to talk well, the old woman said,--
Now, my grandson, I will tell you a thing which must remember. When you play around outside the house, never go to the east, never go toward Saskewil, where Sas lives. Play in the north or the south or the west, but never go east."
The boy grew fast and was able to play. As his grandmother was telling him always not to go east, he said to himself,--
"I wonder why my grandmother tells me not to go east. I'd like to know why."
One morning the boy went to play, went south from the house a short distance, and heard a voice, heard some one shouting, calling from some place, he didn't know where this voice was. He listened, and soon heard it a second time. It came from above, from the sky. He saw no one, but the voice said,--
"Little boy, your name is Tulchuherris. I know you, Tulchuherris. You are the first person in this place the greatest. You must do what you can to live. You must do your best to conquer. You are Tulchuherris."
The boy heard and understood. He went home, but said nothing to his grandmother, said nothing of that voice in the sky that had called him.
She told him again, as before, not to go east. She told him this many times. Now he was almost a young man, he had grown so fast. It was nearly spring, and the old woman talked to him seriously. When he had been with her all the winter, she said:
"My grandson, I suppose you wish to know something. I am going to talk to you. You will soon be full grown. I will let you know why I have told you so often not to go east. You wished to know why, now I will tell you.
"A long time ago all my people--my son, my brother, my relatives--went away off to the east and never came back again. I was left here alone. There is a great house off in the east there, called Saskewil. A big old man, Sas, with his wife and two daughters, live in it. All my kin went to that place and were killed there. When any one goes into Saskewil. the old woman, Sas's wife, sits on the east of the door, which is open to the south; her daughters sit on the west side. The old woman sits with her back toward the wall and her face to the north. She never looks backward, but when a visitor is inside a while and is sitting, she turns slowly, puts her hands to each side of her eyes, bringing her finger-tips to meet in the middle of her forehead, and glares with big eyes at the stranger. He looks at her then and drops dead. There is a power in her eyes that kills him. Sas has something in his nose. He takes this, rolls it on his knee, and snaps it at people who go to his house. Nobody sees him do this, but he kills many people in that way.
"Now, my grandson, you know why I do not wish you to go east. I will tell you more. There was a man, the best of my people; he went to Saskewil, he went to the east and was killed there. I am sorry for him, I grieve for him yet. I am mourning now for him. He was your own brother, the one that I grieve most of all for. He was my grandson. His name was Kulitek Herit. You are large now, strong enough to hear this, and I tell you."
After the old woman had told him of the people who had died in going to Saskewil, Tulchuherris answered,--
"I am sorry for my brother. I am sorry that he was killed. Now, my grandmother, I must see what I can do."
He went out of the house then, went west and found a kind of white wood, brought it home and made an arrow,--a smooth, very small arrow; he painted this arrow red, blue, and black, painted it on the end and fastened feathers to it. Then he made a bow of wood which he found in the same place, far away west, and painted it nicely on the outer side.
Next morning before daylight, he went a short distance to the south from his grandmother's, took his bow and arrow, strung the bow and shot his arrow toward the east.
After the little arrow had left the bow it became a humming-bird as it went through the air. Before the bird reached Sas's house it turned to an arrow again.
A little way from Saskewil old Sas had his sweat-house with only one door to it. That door looked toward the south. The arrow dropped east of the door and stuck fast in the ground there. It dropped before daybreak, while Sas was in the sweat-house. He heard something fall outside the door, something that struck the ground with weight like a great rock. He knew not what to think. He had never heard such a noise before.
When daylight came old Sas rose and went out of the sweat-house. He had slept all the night there. He looked around to see what had made the great noise, and saw the little arrow. He looked at the arrow, went up, grasped it, tried to pull it out. He took a firm hold, tried hard, twisted and pulled, but could not draw the arrow. He rested and then did his best. He pulled, braced himself. His hands slipped and he fell on his back.
Sas had to leave the arrow where it was; he could not draw it out. He went to his house, where his wife and daughters were. The two girls were very beautiful. Sas took his old wooden pipe, filled it with tobacco, and began to smoke.
"My old woman," said he, "and my daughters, I will tell you what I have seen just now. I have seen a thing such as I have not seen for a long time, a very long time. Long ago I used to see things such as I have seen just now outside my sweat-house. Something must be wrong. Some one must be thinking of us, some one must be thinking of our house. I believe that some day soon we shall see some person coming. I saw a little arrow, and tried to pull it out of the ground, but I was not able. I tried till I fell and hurt my back. Now, my daughters, you may go if you wish, and look at that arrow."
The girls went out, they looked at the arrow, and said, "Oh, that is a nice arrow;" and they tried to pull it out of the ground. It did not come, and they went back to their father's house.
"Now, my grandmother," said Tulchuherris in Eli Tsarauton, "I am going to leave you. I am going away. I am going to the east. I am going to Saskewil."
The old woman did not like to lose her grandson.
"Oh, my grandson," said she, "you will be killed. You will never come back to me."
"My grandmother, I am going," said Tulchuherris. "I am going, for I must go, and I will do the best I can."
He went west, and found flint, put pieces of it on each finger, made finger-nails of it, and made them very sharp. Then he went west a second time, got the marrow of Hunhunut (no one knows now what creature Hunhunut is), brought home the marrow, rubbed it between his hands, then rubbed himself with it, face, head, all his body except his legs.
A third time he went west, and took a little bush full of thorns, each about an inch and a half long, made leggings and a shirt of this thorn-bush. A fourth time he went west, and picked out in a gulch the firmest green water-stone. Of this green stone he made shoes. A fifth time he went west, took a western panther as dog. A sixth time he went, and took a northern fox as dog. A seventh time he went west, got a sky spear pole, and a sky spear head, and a sky strap for the spear pole.
The old woman had a Winishuyat hidden away, and when she could not stop her grandson from going she gave him this Winishuyat, which he tied in under his hair on the top of his head. The hair was gathered over it and tied so that no one could untie it but Tulchuherris, and no one could see Winishuyat, who was like a little man, as big as a thumb. Winishuyat could talk to Tulchuherris and tell him everything, warn him of every danger. He always called him "my brother." When Tulchuherris was ready, he said,--
"My grandmother, I must go, and you will stay here while I am gone."
He stood up then to start, and his grandmother said,--
My grandson, I cannot go out for wood, I am too old, I am too weak. I am not able to bring wood, and my fire will die."
Tulchuherris put down his quiver with his bow and went to the forest. He pulled up many of the biggest trees by the roots and bound them in a bundle. He brought the bundle to the house, put the trees on the fire, and said,--
"Now you have plenty of firewood, my grandmother, and I am going."
When he had gone a little way the old woman screamed: "My grandson, come back; the fire is dying!"
He put down his quiver and bow near his two dogs, went back, and saw that the fire was dying. The whole great bundle of trees which he had brought was burned out. Tulchuherris went then and pulled up by the roots great trees, larger than the first, and brought two bundles; put these on the fire--a great many trees. He was the strongest person in the world, and could do that.
"Now I am going!" said he. His two dogs stood waiting at the bow and the quiver. He had gone farther than the first time, he had gone about twice as far, when the old woman screamed,--
"My grandson, the fire is out!"
Tulchuherris put down his quiver and bow again, left the dogs with them, and hurried back. He found every tree burned an the fire going out. He stood there and thought and thought. At last he said,--
"I don't know what to do. I can't find wood enough, and I can't leave my grandmother without a fire."
Then Winishuyat said,--
"Tulchuherris, if you don't know how to keep a fire for your grandmother, I will tell you. Go out here anywhere. You will find wild sunflower roots, plenty of them. Put one handful of those roots on the fire, and it will not go out again."
Tulchuherris went and dug the roots; brought two handfuls; put them on the fire so that they would burn slowly, the ends touching the fire. Then he said,--
"I am going, grandmother. Take good care of yourself."
He went to where his quiver and bow and dogs were; then he looked back. His grandmother said nothing. She did not call to him this time. He went farther, looked back, listened, no call came. He went still farther, listened, all was silent; went farther yet, stopped, listened, heard nothing, made up his mind that all was right with his grandmother, and went on till he had gone a long distance, listened a fourth time, heard nothing. After this he went quickly till about midday, when he looked ahead and saw a great rock standing straight up in front of him, small at the top and very high. He looked and saw some one standing on the very summit. The rock was higher than a big pine-tree. A very old man was standing on the top of it.
Tulchuherris could go neither to the north nor the south, the rock was straight in his road. He looked everywhere for a passage, but could see none. He looked on the left side, all was dark; on the right, all was dark,--dark everywhere. There was light only in the road which went up the rock and over it.
The old man on the rock, when Tulchuherris came near, called out,--
"My grandson, come right up to me; there is no other road where people travel. When you are here, you will pass down on the other side easily."
"I will go to you," said Tulchuherris.
When he had said "I will go to you," Winishuyat, the little man under his hair, said,--
"My brother, be careful, he is going to kill you."
Tulchuherris stopped.
"Here," said Winishuyat, "is the place where our people came in time past. Many were killed here. They went to the old man; he threw them down and killed them. If you go to that old man, my brother, he will sway this big rock. In one flash he will throw you into a dark place at the side where you cannot see bottom. Run to the rock quickly, kick it. If not, he will kill us. This old man was sent here by Sas, he was sent here to kill us."
Tulchuherris did not climb the rock, did not go to the old man; but he rushed forward and gave the rock one great kick with his shoe of green waterstone. The rock fell, and the old man fell with it,--fell into the dark place. The rock never sprang back. It left a smooth road with a ridge on each side of the place where it had been. Then the two dogs ran forward, and Tulchuherris said to the old man,--
"Hereafter you will not be what you have been; hereafter you will be nothing but a ground squirrel. You will live under rocks in the earth, and the people to come will call you tichelis. You are not like me; I am strong. You will be nothing hereafter but a poor little ground squirrel."
Tulchuherris followed the dogs then. He looked back and listened; he could hear at a great distance, he could hear all over the world. But he heard no
sound from his grandmother; so he went on till he came to a large and broad river. There he saw a man standing. Tulchuherris went nearer, looked up and down, but could see no place to cross the river. The man saw him and said,--
"Grandson, you cannot pass this big river; you must get some one to help you. I am the only one who ever crosses at this point. I can wade right through the water. I carry over all who come here. If you wish, I will take you to the other side; but you could never go alone; you could never cross yourself"
Tulchuherris didn't know what to do, and stood thinking.
"Go on, my brother," said Winishuyat. "Let him carry you, though this is one of the places where they killed many of our people who escaped the old man on the rock. But this man cannot kill us. Let him carry us."
"Very well!" said Tulchuherris to the old man. "Carry me over, take me across this river."
The old man came up and took him on his back. Tulchuherris had a pointed bone in his bosom where he could get at it quickly. He had brought this bone from Eli Tsarauton. The old man started into the river. At first it was not deep, but in the middle of the stream the water was up to his breast, and was growing deeper. Then it reached his neck, and was rising. The dogs made a leap from one side of the river to the other. The water was at the man's eyes now.
"Be careful, my brother," said Winishuyat, "be careful. This man kills people in this way,--he drowns them, he will drown you right away if you let him."
Tulchuherris took out his sharp bone, stabbed the man's breast two or three times with it, wounded him, stopped him. Then he leaped from the man's head to the other bank, where his dogs were. Tulchuherris stood a moment looking at the wounded man. Then he said,--
"Hereafter you will not be what you have been. You will be nothing but an eel. You will be a person no longer. You will be only an eel, the people to come will call you hawt and will eat you.
Tulchuherris walked forward quickly after this. Sas's two daughters heard every step he took, as though he had been near, though he was far, very far away from them. They always heard men coming from the west,--always knew when they were coming.
Tulchuherris walked quickly till almost evening, when he came to a high ridge near Sas's house. just as he reached the ridge he heard a sort of clinking noise on the other side. He stopped and looked, but saw no one. He was right at the spot where the noise was, but there was no one in sight. The ridge was like a straight wall reaching north and south farther than he could see, and high up out of sight, and down into the ground. No one could go through, or go around, or dig under that wall or climb over it. In the middle of the ridge was an opening in which stood a great sugar pine, and in the pine was a cleft large enough to let a person pass easily. When any one was passing, and half-way through the cleft, the pine closed and crushed him. The noise was made by a person hammering just beyond the wall. Tulchuherris looked through and saw an arm, and while he was looking his dogs sprang through the opening to the other side.
"What's this?" called the man, and he walked to the opening. "Ah, are you there? Is that you, my son-in-law?"
Tulchuherris said nothing, but looked and saw piles of bones inside.
"Come right in this way, come in, my son-in-law," said the old man. "Come in; you cannot pass at another place."
When the old man called out, "Come in, you cannot pass at another place," Tulchuherris said, "I must pass here, but I am afraid."
"This is the road that all people take, my son-in-law. Come straight through; have no fear, there is no danger."
The two dogs went up to the old man and smelled him. They growled, did not like him, nor did the old man like the dogs. This old man was Sas himself, he who lived in Saskewil.
"Now, my brother," said Winishuyat, "go ahead, go through as quickly as you can. If you are slow, he will catch us. This is a place where Sas has killed many of our people."
Tulchuherris took his bow and quiver in one hand, stood on one foot, braced himself sidewise, made a spring, and went through in a flash. That instant the tree closed with a great noise, became solid.
When Tulchuherris shot through, he went far off into the field, and Sas didn't see him, he went past so swiftly. Sas heard the tree close, and thought that Tulchuherris was caught in it. He looked at the tree and began to talk.
"Well, my son-in-law, you are caught, now you are nobody. I am Sas. You were weak, I am strong. You wore your grandmother's apron. You knew nothing; I know everything."
Tulchuherris had come up, and was standing behind while old Sas was talking. He listened, heard every word. After Sas had stopped talking, Tulchuherris asked,--
"My father-in-law, to whom are you talking? What are you saying?"
"Ha!" cried Sas, turning quickly. "Son-in-law, I was talking to myself. I was saying that: I had done wrong to my son-in-law. I am old, my heart is weak, my head is half crazy. I am blind I did not know what I was doing. I was saying that I had done wrong. You are my son-in-law. I am old, I am weak, I am blind. My head is gray. I cannot do much now. You see my house over there; it is a poor house; it is poor because I am old. Go ahead; go in. I will follow as soon as I can."
Tulchuherris went ahead, and Sas followed slowly at a distance. The dogs had run on, and were at the house already. On one side of the door outside were ten grizzly bears, and ten on the other side. There were rattlesnakes in the door and around it. Before Tulchuherris came the panther dog had killed all the bears, and the fox dog all the snakes and things poisonous. When he came near the house, he stood a little way off and looked at his dogs. All around Sas's house he saw great piles of bones lying about everywhere, the bones of his kindred. He began to cry and lament for them.
When the dogs had cleared the way outside, they went into the house and killed all the grizzlies and rattlesnakes there; the house was full of them. Tulchuherris stood outside, crying over the bones of his people. When he had cried enough, he went in. Old Sas's wife was sitting on the east side of the door and his daughters on the west. When they saw Tulchuherris, the girls spread a mat, sat on it, and told him to sit down between them.
"Now, my brother," said Winishuyat, "be careful of that old woman; many of our people have been killed by her. If they were not killed outside, she turned and looked at them, and they fell dead when they saw her eyes."
While Tulchuherris was sitting with Sas's daughters, a large, long-legged, red-backed, very venomous spider came on him; then another and another. Many of these spiders crawled over him. He was wearing his thorn shirt, and they could not poison him; they got impaled on the thorns and died, every one.
Old Sas came at last, and when he walked into the house he took his pipe, filled it with tobacco, and drew a few whiffs of smoke. Then he said,--
"Take a smoke, my son-in-law; we cannot do without a pipe. It is best to smoke first and talk of affairs after that."
Tulchuherris took the pipe and pretended to smoke. He was not smoking; still smoke came, and the tobacco burned out. He gave the pipe back to Sas. Sas's tobacco was made of people's flesh and of their bones pounded fine.
After Tulchuherris had given back the pipe, he took his beautiful quiver, put in his hand, and took out his own pipe of green water-stone, a solid piece, not very big, but tremendously heavy. He took his own tobacco and put it into the pipe. His tobacco was the same kind of marrow that he had rubbed on his face, and something mixed with it (it is not known what that was). Tulchuherris lighted the pipe, smoked a little, and said,--
"Here, my father-in-law, take a smoke. I am only a young man. You are old, you are wise, you know everything. You say it is best for us to take a smoke. I am young, do not know much, but I think this pipe and tobacco are for talk. Smoke with me."
Sas took the pipe, but when Tulchuherris let go the old man could not hold it. It was slipping and falling. When he tried to catch it, it fell on his arm, threw him, and held him down.
Sas struggled to push the pipe off his arm, but had not strength enough. Tulchuherris looked for a moment, then reached out his hand, picked up the pipe, and asked,--
"Father-in-law, what is the matter? Take a good smoke. This is Tulchuherris's pipe."
Sas could not lift the pipe. Tulchuherris held it while the old man was smoking. When Sas drew in the smoke and swallowed it, it hurt him inside. The old man was choking. He fell on the ground, fell almost into the fire. His breath was taken from him. Tulchuherris put the pipe aside.
"Oh, help me up, help me, my son-in-law," called Sas.
Tulchuherris helped him to rise, and then sat with the girls again.
"My old father, Sas," said his elder daughter, "what is the matter? You have wanted this long time to see a man with strong arms. Why not talk now with this one? You have been waiting a long time for such a man."
While they were sitting there, Winishuyat said: "My brother, look out for the old woman. She is going to turn--be on your guard!"
Tulchuherris was ready. The old woman had not looked around since he came. She had been sitting motionless. Now she began to turn slowly, and Tulchuherris watched her. He sat with his right hand doubled up, and before she could look into his eyes he snapped two flint finger-nails at her, sent one nail into each of her eyes and put it out. She fell dead and rolled into the fire.
Night came now, and Tulchuherris lay down on the bed prepared by Sas's two daughters. They took their places, one on each side of him.
He never took out Winishuyat, he never let any one know of him. As Tulchuherris lay on his back, he saw something over his head, hanging from the roof of the house. Two obsidian knives were hanging together by a very slender string of the inner bark of maple. Tulchuherris fell asleep and slept until midnight. He was roused then by Winishuyat, who said to him,--
"Oh, my brother, wake up. The string holding the knives is ready to break. Wake up, my brother, wake up!"
Tulchuherris woke up.
"Turn over! turn over!" said Winishuyat.
Tulchuherris turned in a flash. That instant the knives fell, struck the ground just at his back, and were broken to pieces, both knives at once.
This was another way of killing people. Strangers always slept soundly on that bed with Sas's daughters, were struck while asleep by two knives in the heart, and died the same moment.
Next morning after the knives fell, Sas rose and said,--
"Rise up, my son-in-law. I have a small sweat-house out here. I go there to sweat every morning, and then to the river to swim. I swim in the river every morning. We will sweat, and then swim."
Sas went ahead, he was first in the sweat-house. He made a very hot fire of the bones of people whom he had killed,--there were piles of those bones around everywhere. Tulchuherris went out of Saskewil into the sweat-house.
"Now, my brother," said Winishuyat, when they were at one side in the sweat-house, "this is the place where Sas has killed many people who escaped in the house. He will smoke you to death if he can.
The sweat-house was built of bones, and was plastered outside with mucus from Sas's nose, so, that no smoke could escape through the cracks. After Tulchuherris went in he saw how Sas made: the fire. The old man never used wood, always bones. He piled on bones; fat and marrow came out of them, blazed up, made a great smoke, and the smell of the smoke was not pleasant. After sweating for a while Sas said,--
"I am old now and weak, nearly blind. I cannot stand much. My head aches. I must go out to rest. Stay here you and take a good sweat. When, you have finished, come out."
Old Sas went out. The door was small, he could barely crawl through it. When outside, he lay across the door and stopped the passage with his body, so that no one could go out and no smoke could escape. After a time Tulchuherris said,--
"My father-in-law, I should like to go out. Go from the door, let me pass, I have sweated enough."
"Oh, I am old and weak," answered Sas. "I am lying here to rest. When I have rested some, my son-in-law, I will rise and let you out."
Tulchuherris was silent a little while longer. Then he groaned, "Oh, I'm nearly dead!"
"My brother," asked Winishuyat, "do you want to die? Do you want old Sas to kill you, to smoke you to death? You have no wish to die, I do not want to die. We are strong people, stronger than Sas. I will tell you how to go out. Take that Chirchihas bone which you have and make a hole in the north side of the sweat-house."
Tulchuherris made a hole in the wall of the sweat-house. He spat then and spoke to the spittle. "Make noise for an hour," said he, "and groan just as I do--'enh, enh, enh!' Let Sas believe that I am here, that I am dying."
Tulchuherris slipped out through the hole, walked to the river, swam there, washed himself clean, went back to Saskewil, and sat down with his two wives, Sas's daughters. Sas heard the groaning of the spittle inside and said to himself, "Tulchuherris is dying."
After a long time the noise stopped, and Sas said, "Tulchuherris is dead." Then he went to the river, washed himself, and walked along slowly toward the house. When he came near, he was saying,--
"Tulchuherris, you are nobody. I have finished you now. I am wiser than you, stronger than you. You were brought up in your grandmother's apron.
Tulchuherris heard him. When Sas was outside the door, he stood a while and talked on,--
"You were dug out of the ground, Tulchuherris," said he. "You are nobody. I have beaten you. You'll never trouble me again."
He started to go into the house, looked around, and saw Tulchuherris sitting with his two daughters.
"Father-in-law, were you talking of me? What were you saying?" asked Tulchuherris, when Sas had come in and sat down.
"Oh, my son-in-law, I cannot tell what I said, but I was thinking, 'Oh, I am so old, I know nothing. I am weak, I am blind. Sometimes I do not know what I am doing. I think that I have done wrong to my son-in-law, my poor son-in-law.'"
Soon after Sas went out, and at one side near the door he dug a grave for the old woman, his wife. When he had dug it, he buried her and with her all the bears and snakes, and said, "These are my children." He put them in the same grave, and cried, singing as he cried,--
"Koki, koki, koki nom,
Koki, koki, koki nom."
(Creeping, creeping, creeping west,
Creeping, creeping, creeping west.)
While he was burying his wife and the bears and the snakes, he had beaver teeth hanging on strings at the back of his head and on each side of his face. After he had cried awhile he danced and sang, and these teeth rattled as his head swayed from side to side. Then he went into the house, sat down, looked at Tulchuherris, and said,--
"Tulchuherris, you are my son-in-law; your wives, those two women, are my daughters. There are some things which they have wanted to play with this long time, and they have begged me to go for them, but I am old and blind; if I were to go I could not get what they ask for. My daughters want pets. My son-in-law, on a small tree, not far from this house. is a nest, and young woodpeckers chirp every day in it. Your wives want these redheaded woodpeckers, but I am blind and old; I cannot climb the tree, but you can get the woodpeckers. I will show the nest."
"Go ahead," said Tulchuherris, "show me the nest."
The tree was a mile away. Sas went to it and stopped. Tulchuherris stood near. Both looked up. and Sas asked, "Do you see the nest?"
The tree was very straight, and so high that they could hardly see the top of it; the trunk was as smooth as ice.
"My father-in-law," said Tulchuherris. "I do not think that I can go up there; I do not believe that I can climb the tree."
"You can climb it if I help you," said Sas, who took out a rope made of single hairs tied end to end, a great many of them tied together, hairs from the heads of his daughters. He threw the rope very high over a limb near the nest, and said: "Now, my son-in-law, I will hold the rope; you climb."
Tulchuherris began to climb the rope. He went up, up, up, till he reached the limb and stood on it. Sas was on the ground, holding the other end of the rope. When Tulchuherris let go his hold, Sas pulled the rope down, and left Tulchuherris on the limb very high in the air. Sas turned home. When a short distance he said,--
"Now, Tulchuherris, you are nobody. Your grandmother, Nomhawena, is old. She dug you out of the ground with a root stick. You grew up in her petticoat. You are not strong, you are not wise, you are only Tulchuherris. I am Sas."
When Tulchuherris looked down he was terrified, it was so far to the ground.
"My brother," said Winishuyat, "we shall get down. Lengthen the pointed bone which you have, and go higher."
Tulchuherris went to the nest, looked in, and saw a great many heads peeping out in every direction,--all heads of rattlesnakes. He looked awhile; could not think what to do.
"Make the bone long," said Winishuyat. Tulchuherris stretched the bone. "Stick the bone into the head of each snake and gather them all on it."
Tulchuherris did this quickly; had them all; then he slipped them off and let them drop to the earth. After that he sat on the limb and thought: "What shall I do now?"
"My brother," said Winishuyat, "what are you thinking of? Why not try to do something? Do you want to die? If you cannot think of a way to escape, I will tell you a way."
"Tell me, my brother."
"Stretch your right hand toward the west. Something will come on it."
Tulchuherris stretched his hand toward the west, where his grandmother was, and immediately something came with a whirr and a flutter, and settled on his arm like a bird. It was a sky-strap, blue like the sky, narrow, and very strong. He fastened one end of it to the limb, knotting it in such a way that he could untie it with a jerk at the other end. He slipped down on it, and when on the ground jerked it loose. He strung the snakes on the long bone, they were all dead, and carried them to Sas's house. He laid them at the door, went in, sat down, and then said to the two women,--
"I have the woodpeckers if you wish to play with them. If you don't want them, you can send your father to look at them."
The girls told Sas. He went to the snakes and cried out: "Oh, my son-in-law, you are killing all my children." Sas buried them in the old woman's grave, and cried, and sang the same song over them as over his wife and the bears. Then he danced, wearing the beaver teeth.
Next morning old Sas rose first, and said: "My son-in-law, be up. My daughters always want me to fish and hunt; but I cannot fish now, I cannot hunt. I am old and weak. My feet are tender, I cannot walk; my head is dizzy. But you are young, my son-in-law. You can do many things. If you wish to hunt, I will show you where to find game in plenty. When I was young, I used to go to that place and kill game of every sort."
"I will go," said Tulchuherris.
When they were at the place, Tulchuherris saw only thick brush through which no man could pass. There was only one narrow opening, one little trail, and one tree at the end of it. "Stand against that tree," said Sas. "When deer come, they always run past that tree. I will drive deer in. You shoot."
Sas went north to drive deer in.
"Now, my brother," said Winishuyat, "be careful. You see the bones around here. They are people's bones. When Sas could not kill people elsewhere, he brought them to this place and killed them. He will drive ten grizzly bears up to kill us, and eat us. Tell your panther dog what to do."
"You, my dog," said Tulchuherris, "stand behind the tree till you see a grizzly bear spring at me. I will dodge. He will miss and turn again at me. Kill him when he turns."
Tulchuherris heard Sas driving bears in the distance. "Ha-ha, ho-ho! Ha-ha, ho-ho!" shouted Sas.
"Be ready; they are coming!" said Winishuyat.
Tulchuherris heard Sas coming. Then he saw a grizzly, and another, and another, till five were in sight. A little behind these were five others. When the first bear came near, he bounded at Tulchuherris, Tulchuherris dodged. The bear went past a good distance, and then turned to spring back. That moment the panther dog seized him by the throat and killed him. The second bear sprang at Tulchuherris. He dodged; the bear passed, and turned to come back. The panther dog seized and killed him right there. When he had chased the bears in, Sas turned home, saying as he went,--
"You are in a good place to-day, Tulchuherris. I have you now where my children will kill you. I know more than you; I am stronger than you. I am Sas."
After ten bears were killed and no more came, paragraph continues Tulchuherris stood awhile, and taking the bears in one hand by the paws, he walked home with them; carried them as he would little birds. He put them at Sas's door, went in, sat down, and said to his wives,--
"I have something outside. You call them deer, I give them another name. But this is the only kind of deer that your father drove to me. You eat this kind of deer, I suppose. Go and see them, or tell your father to go."
Sas went out and saw the ten grizzly bears lying dead. "Oh, my son-in-law," cried he, "you are killing all my children!" Then, singing and crying, he buried the bears.
Next morning Sas rose early. "My son-in-law," said he, "there is something which I would like you to do to-day. My daughters have been asking me to do this for a long time; but I am too old. I will show you a brush house. I made it to kill birds of every kind and all kinds of game. It is near a spring at which birds meet to drink. Come; I will show you the house and the spring."
"My brother, be careful to-day," said Winishuyat, at starting. "Sas is taking us to Wintubos, where he has killed many people. There is no water near that place; no spring; but the house is full of snakes, poisonous things, and bears. Take both your dogs with you."
After Tulchuherris and Sas had gone a short distance, Sas stopped and said,--
"My son-in-law, you see that little house down there? Go into it and wait till you see some nice birds or game coming, then kill them. I will go back. I am old and cannot stand or sit here and wait for you. I will go home and lie down till you come.
Sas went home.
Tulchuherris went near the house, and stopped. The two dogs sprang into the house at a leap, and killed all the snakes and the bears in it. When the dogs had come out, Tulchuherris went in to look at the house and the spring. He saw piles of bones everywhere. He cried when he looked at them. There was no water in the spring. It was mud, thick mud mixed with people's flesh. Tulchuherris looked toward the east, and far away he saw an open plain. Soon he saw what seemed a small speck at first. It was moving. As he watched, it came nearer, and he saw it was a person. Now far away he saw something else. The first was a small man; the second still smaller. Tulchuherris saw that they were running toward him. They came near and stopped.
"Have no fear. Come up to me," said Tulchuherris.
The larger said: "O my brother, my brother, I am thirsty."
"Oh. my brother," said the smaller one, "we are very thirsty."
Their hair was clipped close to their heads. Tulchuherris stepped back toward the north, struck the ground with his heel, and clear, cold water sprang up in a stream. He drank himself, and said, "Come and drink."
The first of these strangers was Anakurita (orphan), the second Biahori (lone man); only these two were left of all people in those parts. Sas had killed all the rest. "The last of our relatives were killed at this spring," said they. "We alone are left. We are going home."
"If you come here again," said Tulchuherris, "do not go near the spring at the house. That is a bad place. Drink this good water which I have given you."
The two went away. Tulchuherris put the sharp end of his bone through the heads of the snakes which the dogs had killed, there were hundreds of them. The ten grizzly bears he carried home in one hand.
"I have something outside," said he to Sas's daughters. "You call them birds, I believe; they are all the birds that I found at the brush house. Tell your father to look at them."
Sas went out and began to cry. He enlarged his wife's grave and buried them. "These are my children," said he; and he sang and danced as before.
Sas rose early next morning. "My son-in-law," said he, "your wives ask me to get fish for them, but I am too old. When I was young I used to fish, but now I cannot see. You are young; I will show you a good place for trout. My old pole and spear points are there; you may use them."
They started, came to a river with a bridge over it formed of one hair. "My brother," said Winishuyat, "this is a place where Sas has killed many of our people."
"My son-in-law," said Sas, "cross this bridge and catch fish; I will go home."
"Very well," answered Tulchuherris, who put his foot on the end of the bridge and crossed with one spring. On the other side he went to the fishing-hut, fixed so that a man could look up and down the river while fishing. Tulchuherris had his own spear-shaft, a sky-pole; the string was a sky-strap. He had his own point, too.
He waited for fish, and at last saw something come slowly from the south. It stopped, and then looked at him. Tulchuherris saw a face and a head with long hair tied in a knot with a band of woodpeckers' scalps, a long band wound around many times. Tulchuherris wore just such a band, but the scalps were of mountain woodpeckers.
"Ah, my brother-in-law," called out the person in the water, "let us exchange headdresses."
"I am sorry for you, my brother-in-law," said Tulchuherris. "I hate to kill you, but I must, for my father-in-law sent me to kill you."
"Go ahead, go ahead," said Winishuyat. "Don't spare him. Sas says he is a fish. He is Sas's son, Supchit. You must catch him or suffer."
Supchit turned, as it were, to go back. Tulchuherris hurled the pole, speared him under the arm, and the point went through to his other side. Supchit rushed toward the east with great force. Tulchuherris held to the spear with one hand, grasped tule grass with the other, used all his strength. Then he let the spear go, and held the strap. Though strong, he could not stop Supchit.
paragraph continues He was drawn into the water to his waist, then to his breast, and at last to his chin.
"My brother," said Winishuyat, "do you wish to drown? Call your gopher--he had a gopher in his moccasin--"send him to fill up the escapes, to block all the doors to Supchit's houses."
Tulchuherris sent his gopher to fill every hole, all Supchit's doors. Sas was at home now. He heard the great struggle, and said,--
"Oh, Tulchuherris, my son will finish you. This is your last day."
The gopher stopped every opening, and Supchit went from place to place. Every door was closed. He had to stay. Tulchuherris came out of the water little by little, and pulled till he drew Supchit to the bank, where he died. He carried him home in one hand, as if he had been a small fish.
"My father-in-law," said Tulchuherris, "I saw no fish except one little trout. I speared and brought home that little trout."
Sas went out; the two sisters went. That is our brother!" cried they. "That is my son," called out Sas, "the best son I had."
The old man buried Supchit with his head north, looking southward, and sang the same song that he had sung for his wife and the grizzlies. Sas and his daughters cut their hair in grief over Supchit.
"My son-in-law," said Sas, next morning early, "be up; I will show you a place where I used to play often when I was young. I am old now, and cannot play much, but I will show you the place, and I may play with you a little."
"I will go," said Tulchuherris; and they started.
"Now, my brother," said Winishuyat, "we are going to the place where Sas himself has always killed everyone who baffled him elsewhere. No man has ever escaped from the place to which Sas is now taking you. He will take you to a tree; he will ask you to climb it; he will bend it and let it spring back again; he will kill you if you are not careful."
They went to a very wide, level plain; in the middle of the plain stood a tremendous, big pine-tree, leaning to one side somewhat.
"My son-in-law," said Sas, "when I was young I used to play here. I cannot play much now, but I will show you how to play."
"My brother," said Winishuyat, "I will tell you what to do. Sas will try his best now to kill us. Do not kill him to-day; try him, lead him on, make him go higher and higher on the tree, and wait till to-morrow."
Sas climbed the tree some distance and said: "Now, my son-in-law, I am ready!"
Tulchuherris seized the top of the tree, pulled it toward him a little, and let it fly back. Sas kept his hold and slipped down.
"Now, my son-in-law, go up; go higher. I used to go very high when I was young like you." Tulchuherris went to where Sas had been.
"Go higher," said Sas.
"I wanted to stay where you were," answered Tulchuherris; "but I will go a little higher."
Sas took hold of the tree at the top, pulled it to the earth, and let it go. It sprang back into the sky with a noise like thunder. Tulchuherris held on and slipped down unhurt.
"Well, father-in-law," said Tulchuherris. "try again."
"I cannot go high," said Sas; "but I will go a little higher than I did the first time. Don't give the tree a big pull." He went up.
"Go higher," said Tulchuherris.
"My son-in-law, I cannot go higher; I am old."
Tulchuherris teased him till he went a little higher; then he gave a harder pull than before. Sas held on without trouble and slipped to the ground.
"Now," said Sas, "I'll give you a swing." Tulchuherris went up.
"Go higher," said Sas. He went higher.
"Go higher; you are young," urged Sas.
"I don't like to go up," said Tulchuherris. But he went a little higher.
Old Sas gave a good pull, stronger than before. Tulchuherris held on and came to the ground safely. Going to one side, he said: "Whu, whu! let this day be made short!" So the day was made short; evening came soon.
"Well, father-in-law, you try now."
"Very well," said Sas, "give me a small pull; my arms tremble; I am old. I cannot hold on, I am so weak." Old Sas went up.
"Go higher," said Tulchuherris.
"I cannot; I'm old."
Tulchuherris pulled down the top of the tree, but not so far. While he was pulling, Sas said: "Oh, my son-in-law, don't let it go hard."
Tulchuherris gave a pull that would leave Sas on the tree, and he came down unhurt.
"Now try once more," said Sas, "and we will go home."
"Very well," answered Tulchuherris.
"Now, my brother," said Winishuyat, "this is the last time to-day. He will try hard to kill you. Jump off before he lets the tree go."
Tulchuherris went up two-thirds of the way. Sas pulled the tree to the ground and thought that he would kill Tulchuherris surely; but just before he let it go, Tulchuherris slipped off behind him and rushed away. The tree flew up with the noise of heavy thunder. Sas looked everywhere, but could not see Tulchuherris.
"Now, Tulchuherris," said he, "I have finished you at last. You are nobody, you are dead;" and he started to go home, talking to himself as he went.
"Father-in-law, what are you saying, to whom are you talking?"
Sas turned around, amazed. "Oh, my son-in-law, I am glad that you are here. We must go home. We have no wood; we must get wood."
Tulchuherris thought: "My father-in-law wants to kill me. To-morrow I will do what I can to kill him. When my grandmother spoke to me of Sas, I knew nothing; I paid no heed to her. When she warned me, I did not listen, I did not believe; but I see now that she spoke truly when she told me of Sas's house."
He rose in the night, turned toward Sas, and said: "Whu! whu! I want you, Sas, to sleep soundly."
Then he reached his right hand toward the west, toward his grandmother's, and a stick came on it. He carved and painted the stick beautifully, red and black, and made a fire-drill. Then he reached his left hand toward the east, and wood for a mokos (arrow-straightener) came on it. He made the mokos and asked the fox dog for a fox-skin. The fox gave it. Of this he made a headband and painted it red. All these things he put in his quiver.
"We are ready," said Tulchuherris. "Now, Daylight, I wish you to come right away, to come quickly."
Daylight came. Sas rose, and they started soon after for the tree.
"My son-in-law, I will go first," said Sas; and he climbed the tree.
"Go higher!" said Tulchuherris. "I will not give a great pull, go up higher."
He went high, and Tulchuherris did not give a hard pull. Sas came down safely.
Tulchuherris now went high, almost to the top. Sas looked at him, saw that he was near the top, and then drew the great pine almost to the earth, standing with his back to the top of the tree. Tulchuherris sprang off behind Sas and ran away into the field. The tree sprang into the sky with a roar.
"You are killed now, my son-in-law," said Sas. "You will not trouble me hereafter He talked on to himself, and was glad.
"What are you saying, father-in-law?" asked Tulchuherris, coming up from behind.
Sas turned. "Oh, my son-in-law, I was afraid that I had hurt you. I was sorry."
"Now, my brother," said Winishuyat, "Sas will kill you unless you kill him. At midday he will kill you surely, unless you kill him. Are we not as strong as Sas?"
"Father-in-law, try again; then I will go to the very top and beat you," said Tulchuherris.
That morning Sas's elder daughter said to her sister, after Sas and Tulchuherris had gone,--
"My sister, our father Sas has tried all people, and has conquered all of them so far; but to-day he will not conquer, to-day he will die. I know this; do not look for him to-day, he will not come back; he will never come back to us."
Sas went up high. "I will kill him now," thought Tulchuherris, and he was sorry; still he cried: "Go a little higher; I went higher, I will go to the top next time. I will not hurt you, go a little higher."
Sas went higher and higher, till at last he said, "I cannot climb any more, I am at the top; don't give a big pull, my son-in-law."
Tulchuherris took hold of the tree with one hand, pulled it as far as it would bend, pulled it till it touched the earth, and then let it fly. When the tree rushed toward the sky, it made an awful noise, and soon after a crash was heard, a hundred times louder than any thunder. All living things heard it. The whole sky and earth shook. Olelbis, who lives in the highest place, heard it. All living things said,--
"Tulchuherris is killing his father-in-law. Tulchuherris has split Sas."
The awful noise was the splitting of Sas.
Tulchuherris stood waiting, waited three hours, perhaps, after the earth stopped trembling: then, far up in the sky he heard a voice, saying,--
"Oh, my son-in-law, I am split, I am dead. I thought that I was the strongest power living; but I am not. From this time on I shall say Tulchuherris is the greatest power in the world."
Tulchuherris could not see any one. He only heard a voice far up in the sky, saying,--
"My son-in-law, I will ask you for a few things. Will you give me your fox-skin headband?"
Tulchuherris put his hand into his fox-skin quiver, took out the band, and tossed it to him. It went straight up to Sas, and he caught it. "Now will you give me your mokos?" Tulchuherris took out the mokos and threw it. "Give me your fire-drill!" He threw that.
Another voice was heard now, not so loud: "I wish you would give me a headband of white quartz." This voice was the smaller part of Sas.
When Tulchuherris had given the headband, he said,--
"My father-in-law, you are split--you are two. The larger part of you will be Sas the sun, the smaller part Chanahl the moon, the white one; and this division is what you have needed for a long time, but no one had the strength to divide you.
You are in a good state now. You, Chanahl, will grow old quickly and die; then you will come to life and be young again. You will be always like that in this world. And, Sas, you will travel west all the time, travel every day without missing a day; you will travel day after day without resting. You will see all things in the world as they live and die. My father-in-law, take this, too, from me."
Tulchuherris threw up to Sas a quiver made of porcupine skin.
"I will take it," said Sas, "and I will carry it always."
Then Tulchuherris gave Chanahl the quartz headband and said,--
"Wear it around your head always so that when you travel in the night you will be seen by all people."
Sas put the fox-skin around his head, and fastened the mokos crosswise in front of his forehead. The fire-drill he fastened in his hair behind, placing it upright. At sunrise we see the hair of the fox-skin around Sas's head before we see Sas himself.
Next Tulchuherris threw up two red berries, saying,--
"Take these and make red cheeks on each side of your face, so that when you rise in the morning you will be bright, and make everything bright."
Tulchuherris went west and got some white roots from the mountain, threw them to Sas, and said, "Put these across your forehead."
Next he stretched his right hand westward, and two large shells, blue inside, came to his palm. He threw these to Sas and said,--
"Put these on your forehead for a sign when you come up in the morning. There is a place in the east which is all fire. When you reach that place, go in and warm yourself. Go to Olelpanti now. Olelbis, your father lives there. He will tell you where to go."
Sas went to Olelpanti, where he found a wonderful and very big sweat-house. It was toward morning, and Olelbis was lying down, covered with a blanket. While sleeping he heard a noise, and when he woke he saw some one near him. He knew who it was. Sas turned to him and said,--
"My father, I am split. I thought myself the strongest person in the world, but I was not. Tulchuherris is the strongest."
"Well, my son Sas," asked Olelbis, "where do you wish to be. and how do you wish to live?"
"I have come to ask you," replied Sas.
"Well," answered Olelbis, "you must travel all the time, and it is better that you go from east to west. If you go north and travel southward, I don't think that will be well. If you go west and travel eastward, I don't think that will be well, either. If you go south and travel northward, I don't think that will be right.
"I think that best which Tulchuherris told you. He told you to go east and travel to the west. He said that there is a hot place in the east, that you must go into that place and get hot before you start every morning. I will show you the road from east to west. In a place right south of this is a very big tree, a tobacco tree, just half-way between east and
west. When you come from the east, sit down in the shade of that tree, rest a few minutes, and go on. Never forget your porcupine quiver or other ornaments when you travel.
"While coming up from the east, you will see thick brush along the road on both sides. In that brush are the grizzly bears, your children. Be on your guard against them; they would kill you if they could. As you pass along, let your porcupine quiver touch the bushes; that will keep the bears away. When you go far west to the great water, jump into it; everybody will call that place Sasunhluaston. No one in the world will believe you except Sedit. You and Sedit want all things to die when they grow old. Go to the east; go into the hot place every morning. There is always a fire in it. Take a white oak staff, thrust the end of that staff into the fire till it is one glowing coal. When you travel westward carry this burning staff in your hand. In summer take a manzanita staff; put it in the fire, and burn the end. This staff will be red-hot all the day.
"Now you may go east and begin. You will travel all the time, day after day, without stopping. All living things will see you with your glowing staff You will see everything in the world, but you will be always alone. No one can ever keep you company or travel with you. I am your father and you are my son, but I could not let you stay with me." |
|
1 - 8 - 5 SEDIT AND THE TWO BROTHERS HUS 
After each name is given that of the beast, bird, or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.
Dokos, flint; Hus, turkey buzzard, Klak, rattlesnake; Sedit, coyote; Wima, grizzly bear.
THERE were two brothers Hus in Olelpanti, and Olelbis had given them a place in his sweat-house. Now, when Olelbis had made up his mind to send all things down to the earth, the people in Olelpanti were talking and saying,--
"What shall we do now? How will it be in the 'world? Dokos Herit, Klak Loimis, and Wima Loimis have done wrong. They are angry and think bad things. They will make trouble."
"Come into the sweat-house, you my people," said Olelbis, "and talk. Say what you think is best to do."
All who were in Olelpanti at that time went into the sweat-house, where they talked five nights and five days. On the sixth morning Olelbis called the two Hus brothers and said,--
"I have a great work for you. Go down to Tsarauheril, where the first tree is. Right there a people will come up out of the earth, and they will come soon. A little above that place, you two brothers must go to work and make a stone road from the earth up here to Olelpanti. You will find stones and pile them firmly. Make the building very strong. The road itself will be like steps, one higher than another. When you have built half-way up to Olelpanti, you will make a place in which people may spend a night. Put good water there. When you have finished the whole road, people will come up out of the earth, and when they have come up they will go around on the earth everywhere, and live and grow old. When they are old, they can go to the beginning of the road made by you and climb the steps. When they are at the water, which is half-way, they will drink of it, rest one night, and next day travel on till they come here to Olelpanti.
"I will put two springs of water at this end, one for them to bathe in, the other to drink. If an old man is coming up, he will drink of the water half-way, he will drink and feel better, and when he reaches this end and comes to the water here, he will bathe in one spring, drink from the other, and come out young, fresh, and strong. If an old woman comes, she will drink and bathe and come out a young girl. Then they will go down to the earth again young and healthy. When they grow old a second time, they will come up, drink, and bathe again, and be young a second time; and it will be this way forever. Nobody will die. No man will have a wife, no woman a husband; all will be as brothers and sisters. When the trees grow large which are small now, there will be no limbs except at the top, and the acorns on those trees will have no shells. They will be ready to eat without husking or cracking, and it will be so on all trees,--no husks or shells on the acorns; nobody will need to climb; the nuts will fall ready to be eaten."
When Olelbis had finished talking, he sent away the two brothers. "Go now," said he, "and make that great road."
The two brothers started. They came down at Sonomyai, looked around), and said,--
"This must be the place of which Olelbis told us. This must be the place where we are to work: we will begin here."
"My brother," said the elder Hus, "I will bring stones to you; plenty of them; big stones. You will put them together,--lay them in order and make the walls."
They began to work. On the first day they piled the road up as high as a big house. Next day they piled all day; made the road as high as a tall tree. The third day it was very high; the fourth still higher. It was rising very fast. The brothers worked well, and had great power. The building was already the largest ever seen on this earth. On the fifth day the top could hardly be seen. On the sixth day it was touching the clouds.
A little before noon of the sixth day the two brothers saw something moving from the southwest. When it came near they saw a man with mempak around his neck. He wore an otter-skin headband, an otter-skin quiver, and a Sedit skin, which he wore like a coat. He had on buckskin leggings ornamented with kobalus, and his shirt was stuck full of kobalus, the sharp end of the shell out. He was dressed beautifully. When this man had come near, he watched the two brothers at work. They did not speak to him.
This was Sedit. At last he said,--
"My grandsons, stop work; rest awhile; come and tell me what you are doing. Come and sit awhile here with me, and we will talk. When an uncle or a grandfather comes, people always stop work and talk with their relative."
The brothers made no answer; kept on at their work; paid no heed to Sedit.
"Grandsons," said he again, "stop awhile; come and talk with me; tell me what you are doing. I want to learn, come and tell me what you know; rest awhile. I might tell you something better than what you know. Perhaps you think, grandsons, that I don't know anything. Come and sit down and I will tell you something wise. If you don't come, I will spoil your work. I will destroy what you are doing."
When the two brothers heard this, they were frightened; they thought that he might injure their work, and they came. When they reached the ground and walked up to Sedit, they asked,--
"Which way did you come, grandfather? Where do you live?"
"My grandsons," said Sedit, "I came from a place not very far from this. I was walking around to see if I could see something. I heard people talking last night about you. They said that you were making a road, and I thought that I would come here to look at your work, and talk to you."
"Very well," said the brothers. "This work which we are doing is not for us. It is for others. Perhaps you think this work is for us; it is not, it is done at command of another. This work is for Olelbis. Olelbis sent us down here to make this great road."
"What!" cried Sedit, "are you working for Olelbis? Did he send you down here to do this? Did he tell you to make this road, and have you come here to make it for him, my grandsons? Do you believe what Olelbis says to you? Do you believe what he says to other people? Do you mind him and work for him? I don't believe in Olelbis. I don't believe what he says, I don't care for what he says."
"My grandfather," said the elder Hus, "hold on, stop talking. I don't like to hear you say such words, I don't like to hear you talk in that way. I am going to tell you why all this work is done, why this road is made. I have told you nothing."
Sedit sat down and said: "Well, tell me. I am glad to hear what you say. I am glad to hear why you are making this road."
The elder brother began: "Olelbis says that a new people will come on this earth soon, that they will live and go around, and after a while they will grow old. When very old, they will come to this road to go to Olelpanti and be young again. When half-way up, it will be evening. They will drink water from a spring and pass the night there. Next day they will go on, and be at the end of the road in the evening,--they will be in Olelpanti, where Olelbis lives. They will find water there. They will drink from one spring and bathe in the water of another. When they come out, they will be young. Next day they will come down half-way, drink of the water, stay one night, then come to the earth, and be young and fresh as they were at first.
"No man will have a wife, no woman a husband. They will be to one another as brothers and sisters. That is what Olelbis wishes, and because he wishes it he has sent us to make this road. When the road is built to Olelpanti, where Olelbis lives, these trees around here, which are small now, will be large. They will grow up and be very tall. They will have no limbs except those near the top, where branches will run out. On those branches acorns will come, and the acorns will have no shells on them. They will be all ready and fit to eat. The people who are to come out of the earth will not be able to climb these trees, and they will have no need to climb, for the acorns will fall, and the people will pick them up and have plenty of food without work, without trouble."
Sedit listened and looked at the elder Hus brother. Then he turned to the younger Hus and said sneeringly,--
"Hu! Do you believe all that? Do you think that every word is true which Olelbis says? Do you think it is wise? Do you think it is good? Now, my grandsons, you wait awhile, and I will tell you something. You ought to know that an old man like me has words to speak,--that he knows something wise. I have something to tell you which is better than all this. I will tell you what it is. I will tell you now. Suppose an old man goes up this road all alone, drinks from one spring, bathes in the other, and comes down young. He will be all alone just as he was when he went up."
Suppose an old woman and an old man go up, go alone, one after the other, and come back alone, young. They will be alone as before, and will grow old a second time, and go up again and come back young, but they will be alone, just the same as at first. They will have nothing on earth to be glad about. They will never have any friends, any children; they will never have any fun in the world; they will never have anything to do but to go up this road old and come back down young again.
"Now, my grandsons, I will tell you something better, and you will like what I tell you. I like it because it is good. I am going to say something wiser than anything Olelbis has told you yet. It will be better, very much better if trees have limbs to the ground, and if acorns have husks and shells on them. When trees have limbs to the ground, a man can climb them, take a long stick in his hand, and knock acorns to the ground. Others will come under the tree and gather them. When the acorns fall, women will jump and say, 'Oh! oh!' and laugh and talk and be glad and feel well. I think that is better. People can take the acorns home and put them on the ground. Then they will say, I Come, let us husk these acorns.' Men and women will go and sit down and husk the acorns. When they are doing this, they will throw husks back and forth at each other. They will have fun and laugh and be pleased and feel well. I think that this is better; I know that you will like it.
"Besides, what are people to eat if nothing dies? Deer will not die, fish will not die; the coming people cannot kill them. What are they to eat? They will have nothing to eat except acorns.
"I think it is better for women and men--young men and young women--to marry, live day and night with each other. When they get up in the morning, the man will work for the woman, the woman will work for the man, and they will help each other. I think that the better way. If a man has a wife, he will catch fish and kill deer, he will bring them in, and give them to his wife to cook. She will cook them, and both will eat. I think that is the right way. If people live in this manner, and a woman has a child, her neighbors will say, 'There is a nice baby over there,' and they will go to see it, and will say, 'What a nice baby that woman has!' I think this is better than anything Olelbis told you.
"When that baby grows up and another baby grows up, they will be a man and a woman, and the two will get married and have children themselves, and in that way there will be plenty of people always; new people, young people. When a man grows old, he will die; when a woman grows old, she will die. When they die, others will go around and tell their neighbors about it, and say, 'A woman died over there,' or 'A man died over here. They will bury
him to-morrow.' Then all the people will make ready to help the relatives of the dead man; they will cry, the dead man's relatives will cry and mourn. I think this is better. When a man dies, his nearest relatives will cut their hair very close, paint the face black; and when people see one of them coming or going, they will say, 'His father is dead,' or 'His wife is dead,' or 'His mother is dead,' and they will talk about that man and his dead father, or dead mother, or dead wife, and say, 'Poor man, he has lost his father, or his mother, or his wife.' I think this is better.
"When an old woman dies, she will leave a daughter, and that daughter will have a daughter, or an old man dies, he will leave a son, and that son will have a son. As men and women grow old, they will die, and their places will be taken by young people. I think this is the right way. I think this is the best way. All living things should go this way,--all should grow old and then die. When the new people come on this earth, they ought to go this way. When those people come and live all around on this earth, they will die in many ways,--they will fight with each other and die; when trees grow old, they will die and fall down; everything will die in like manner.
"When a man dies, his friends will put mempak on him, like this which I have around my neck, and an otter-skin band around his head, and give him a quiver, dress him, and then put him in the ground. When a man goes to some place, a grizzly bear may catch and kill him, or a rattlesnake will bite and kill him, and when people fight they will use flint and kill one another. People will get angry and fight. When there is a gathering, somebody will come running in and say, 'People over there are fighting.' Those inside will hurry to see, and will find a man killed, and say, 'A good man is killed;' then they will punish the others for killing him."
The two brothers sat there, made no answer.
"Well, my grandsons," continued Sedit, "I know that what I tell you is right. What do you think?"
The brothers said nothing at first. They thought and thought. After a while the elder looked at Sedit and said,--
"I think what you say is better. I think that it is right. I suppose it is true. I believe that you are old enough and ought to know. I think that you are right."
"Grandfather," said the younger brother, "would you like to die, too, the same as others, and be lying in the ground and not rise any more; never go around with an otter-skin band on your head, and a beautiful quiver at your back, and fine things such as you are wearing to-day? You want others to die; you want death in the world. What would you say if you had to die yourself? You want all the coming people to die, and all living things hereafter to die and be gone from here. Olelbis does not want any one to die, but you want all living things on this earth to die. You want to spoil all the work which Olelbis sent us down here to do."
When the younger brother said this, the two stood up and walked off a little way, and Sedit said,--
"My grandsons, come back, come back. We have not finished talking yet. We must talk more. We will talk this all over again. Come back, my grandsons, come back."
But the two brothers did not turn back; they walked on, walked toward the east always--said nothing. After a time they turned and went to where their road was. They pulled out some great stones, and the whole road fell to the ground.
The two brothers flew up then, circling around for a while. They went higher and higher, till at last they disappeared and went to Olelpanti.
Sedit saw them fly up, watched them till they disappeared. He stood looking around for a long time. At last he said,--
"What am I to do now? I wish I had not said all that, I wish I had not said so much. I wish I had not said anything."
He stood around there and kept repeating: "What am I to do now? I am sorry. Why did I talk so much? Hus asked me if I wanted to die. He said that all on earth here will have to die now. That is what Hus said. I don't know what to do. What can I do?"
He looked around and found a plant with long, broad leaves, the wild sunflower. He found this plant in great plenty, and took many leaves from it. He pulled off all his fine clothes, threw them aside, then stuck the leaves into his body, all the way up and down his legs, body, and arms, and said,--
"Now I will go up to Olelpanti. I am not going to stay down here where people die. I am going up to the place where the Hus brothers went."
He made a tail of leaves; then he rose and flew around and around, rose pretty high; the leaves began to get dry and break one after another. After awhile Sedit, whirling round and round, came down with great force, struck the ground, and was crushed to pieces.
The Hus brothers went up to Olelpanti. Olelbis said,--
"There are rocks at the south not far from the sweat-house; go there and stay."
Olelbis looked down, and saw Sedit trying to fly to Olelpanti; he saw him fall.
"It is his own fault," said Olelbis. "Sedit is the first to die, killed by his own words; hereafter all his people will fall around and die and be found dead at roadsides and places where people pass. The people to come will see them there."
The name of the place where the ruined road was is Sonomyai.
Our Wintu people say that ever since white men settled in the country they have been drawing away the stones which the Hus brothers piled up. They have taken them as far as fifteen miles to build chimneys. |
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1 - 8 - 6 HAWT PERSONAGES 
After each name is given that of the beast, bird, or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.
Chirchihas, mountain squirrel (red); Handokmit, striped snake; Hau, red fox; Hawt, eel; Hus, turkey buzzard; Kanhlalas, weasel; Karkit, raven; Kinus, wood dove; Kiriú, loon; Lutchi, hummingbird; Memtulit, otter; Múrope, bull snake; Nomhawena; Nop, deer; Patkilis, jack rabbit; Patit, panther; Sedit, coyote; Tichelis, ground squirrel; Tsaik, bluejay; Tsárarok, kingfisher; Tsaroki Sakahl, brown-green snake; Tsihl, black bear; Tsileu, yellowhammer; Tsudi, mouse; Tunhlucha, frog; Waida Dikit, Dolly Varden trout; Waida Werris, Polar star; Wai Hau, silver-gray fox; Waiti, north side; Watwut, mountain bluejay; Wima, grizzly bear; Yípokos, black fox.
On the south side of Bohem Puyuk is a small mountain called Tede Puyuk. Near that small mountain lived Waida Dikit Kiemila. He lived all alone, without neighbors. There was no house near his. He lived long in that place, thinking what was best for him to do, thinking, thinking. After a great while he thought: "The best thing to do is to build a sweat-house."
He built a sweat-house about a mile west of the place where he was living. When he had finished, he took a kind of red earth and painted the eastern half of the house red on the outside. The western half he painted green with paint made from leaves of bushes. After he had painted the western half, all the different kinds of bushes whose leaves he had used for paint grew out of that side of the sweat-house.
The sweat-house was ready for use now, and Waida Dikit went to see a man, Tsaroki Sakahl, who lived farther south.
"My grandson," said Waida Dikit, "I wish you would come up and stay in my house. I have no one to keep me company. I wish you would come and live with me."
"I will go with you," said Tsaroki, and he went to live with the old man.
Waida Dikit had not told Tsaroki of the sweat-house, he took him to the old house. After two or three nights Waida Dikit said,--
"My grandson, what shall we do? What would you like to do? What will be best for us? We must talk about something. There should be something for us to talk about. We must have something to say."
"Well," said Tsaroki. "I think that you want what is best; you want to see somebody, to see something. I think that is what you want. I think I know what you want. The best way to get what you want is to build a sweat-house."
"That is wise talk, my grandson, I like to hear it. I have a sweat-house built--all finished."
"Where is it?" asked Tsaroki.
"I will show it to you soon," answered Waida Dikit.
Putting his hand behind him, he picked up a small basket, took out yellow paint with his thumb and forefinger, and drew a yellow streak from Tsaroki's
head down his back. The young man had been all green; now there was yellow on his back. Next Waida Dikit took a net woven of grass fibre, like a woman's hair net, and put it on Tsaroki's head. "You are ready now," said he. Then he led him out of the house and said, pointing to the west,--
"Look! There is our sweat-house. Now, my grandson, I am going to take you to that house. The east side is painted red. When we are there, don't go near the sweat-house on this eastern side; pass by, but not too near, a little way off. When we go in I will take the eastern half and stay in it; you will take the other half and stay on the western side, where there is green paint. That is where you are to lie, on the green side."
They started. The old man walked ahead. When they went in, Waida Dikit took the eastern half of the house and Tsaroki the western. The young man sat down, and then Waida Dikit took a pipe which was in the sweat-house.
"My grandson," said he, "you will find a pipe right there on your side of the house and a sack of tobacco. You may smoke if you wish."
Tsaroki took the pipe, looked at it, liked it well. This pipe was from Wai Hola Puyuk. When he drew in the smoke and puffed out the first whiff, the whole house was filled so that nothing was seen in it. Waida Dikit put his head outside the door. There was smoke outside everywhere. He could see nothing. Then he turned back and said,--
"My grandson, you are a good man. You are a strong man. You smoke well. This will do for the first time.--If he does that again," thought the old man, "there will be nothing seen in this world; all will be covered with smoke;" and he said, "You are a strong man; that is enough for this time."
"I should like to know why he says, 'That is enough.' What does he want to do with me?" thought Tsaroki. "Maybe he is trying me in some way.
"My grandson," said the old man, after a while, "I should like to see somebody; I should like to see something, see people; I should like to have fun and see games of some sort."
"I should like to see them too," answered Tsaroki; "I should like to see them, my grandfather. You are older than I; if you tell me what to do. I will do it."
"My grandson, can you play on anything?"
"I should like to play if you would teach me," said Tsaroki.
The old man put his hand behind him into a basket of things, drew out a flute and gave it to Tsaroki. who took it quickly, he was so glad. He sat down. crossed his legs, and before he had blown into the flute, just as he touched his lips with it, beautiful sounds came out.
The young man was glad, wonderfully glad. The old man, who sat looking at him, asked,--
"How do you like the flute, my grandson?"
"I like it well," said Tsaroki.
"I am glad to hear you play, my grandson; I am glad when you do something good. When I was young, I used to say good things, I used to do good things. Now, my grandson, think what you would like best to do."
"I should like to hear something nice, to hear music, to hear beautiful sounds."
After he had taken the flute Tsaroki did not sleep; he played for three days and three nights without stopping; then he stopped and asked,--
"What is this flute? What is it made of? It sounds so sweetly."
"My grandson, I will tell you; that flute is of wood,--alder wood. That is an alder flute, but the wood is people's bones. There were people long ago, and that alder wood grew out of their bones. My grandson, would you like to have another young man with you, or do you wish to be alone? I think it would be better for you to have company."
"My grandfather, I should like to have another man with me; I could talk with him. I could live then more pleasantly."
"My grandson, to see another young man you must go to the west; you must go in the middle of the night, when it is very dark, so that no one may see you. My grandson, it is better for you to go to-night."
"Where? Which way do you want me to go, my grandfather?"
"Go west from here, far away; you will start when it is dark; you will get there in the dark. You will go to where the old woman Nomhawena Pokaila lives: she is your grandmother. When you go to her house, ask her about your brother; she will tell you where he is."
"My grandfather, I don't believe that I can find her house. I don't know what kind of house it is."
"You cannot miss it, my grandson. The night will be very dark; no one will be able to see anything, but you cannot miss the house. It is a little house; no one can see it, but you cannot miss it. You will go there very quickly, though 't is far from here and the night is dark."
Then the old man showed him a small sand trail; it was bright, just like a ray of light in the darkness, though it was very narrow, as narrow as a hair, and all around it was dark night. The old man had made this trail purposely.
Tsaroki started, and could see the trail straight ahead of him; he went over it as swiftly as an arrow goes from a bow. He travelled right on, and at the end of the trail, just on the trail itself, was a little bark house. He went into this house, and saw an old woman lying there with her back to the fire; she was sleeping on the south side of it. He walked in and stood at the north side. He sat down then, and was sitting a while when the old woman woke, turned her face to the fire, and saw some one opposite. She rose, stirred the fire to make light, looked at the young man, and said,--
"I see some person over there; who is it?"
My grandmother, I am Tsaroki Sakahl. I have come because my grandfather, Waida Dikit, sent me to see you, so that you might tell me about my brother. I should like to know where my brother lives. I have come to see my brother and speak to him."
"Very well, my grandson, I will tell you. He lives right over here on the west."
As soon as she had finished speaking, Tsaroki stood up and went toward the west. He had not made many steps when he saw a large space, a broad space on which a great many people were sitting. The place was dark, but the people could see one another. Tsaroki saw all, and looked around carefully. He saw that all were at work except one man, who was sitting in the middle in a. good place. He looked a long time, not knowing what to do, for Waida Dikit had said to him,--
"You must not let any one know but your brother why I sent you, and tell him not to tell others."
No one present saw Tsaroki, and he thought: "I don't know how I shall go to my brother without letting any one know." At last he made up his mind what to do. He went down under the ground where he had been sitting, and came up just in front of the great man, his brother.
The people were dressing skins, making arrow-points, and finishing arrows. All were at work but the man in the middle. Tsaroki came up in front of him and whispered,--
"My brother, I have come for you. My grandfather sent me to ask you to go to him and not to tell any one."
"That is well. I will go. Let us start."
That was all he said. This big man was Hawt.
Tsaroki had brought his flute, but he could not use it, for he had to keep his journey secret and not let himself be seen; he held the flute hidden under his arm.
"Let us go," said Hawt; "you go ahead."
Tsaroki went into the ground, came out where he had been sitting at first, and then went to the house of the old woman, his grandmother. Hawt stood up to make ready for the journey. The people kept on working. They were all of the Hawt people, and the big man was their chief.
Hawt dressed, and took his bow and arrows. When ready, he turned and said,--
"My people, I am going to leave you, to be gone two or three days, perhaps longer."
That was all he said; he did not say where he was going, nor why. He walked away and went to Nomhawena's house, where Tsaroki was waiting. The two brothers had been sitting just a little while when the old woman said to them,--
"Now, my grandsons, you must go; you must be at Waida Dikit's before daylight; you must travel while it is dark, we do not wish to let other people know of your journey. Go. I shall be in this house, but shall hear all that is happening at your place."
They left the old woman, and reached Waida Dikit's before daylight. The old man was up already, and standing by the fire in the middle of the sweat-house combing his red hair, which touched his feet. The moment he went into the house Tsaroki took his flute, Jay on his back, and began to play. Hawt stood a while; didn't know where to sit. At last Waida Dikit said to him,--
"My grandson, I am living here in a small house. There isn't much room in it, but go north of the fire and sit there."
just as Hawt was sitting down at the appointed side, daylight came. Tsaroki played two nights and two days. Hawt lay in his place and listened.
"My grandson," said Waida Dikit to Tsaroki, "I should like to hear you both play. You must give that flute to Hawt some of the time."
Tsaroki gave the flute to his brother, and from time to time they passed it from one to the other. Both played; both made beautiful music. They played day after day, night after night, ten days and ten nights.
"You play well now, both of you, my grandsons. Would you not like to hear other persons play?"
"Oh. we should like that very much; we: should like to hear other persons play," said Tsaroki and Hawt.
"I used to hear a friend of mine long ago," said Waida Dikit, "and he played very well. Would you like to have him play with you?"
"Yes, yes; maybe he would teach us to play better."
"My friend is very old now," said Waida Dikit: "he is Kanhlalas Kiemila."
"I will go and bring him," said Tsaroki.
"Go, my grandson. I will show you a trail, but do not go near the east side of my sweat-house. It is not far. Kanhlalas lives northeast from here."
Tsaroki found Kanhlalas's sweat-house on the trail. He heard music inside, beautiful music. He stood awhile listening, then went in and saw an old man lying on his back playing. The old man stopped playing, but did not speak. Tsaroki touched him on the shoulder and said,--
"My grandfather, I have come for you. Waida Dikit, my grandfather, sent me to ask you to visit him."
"I will go," was all that the old man said. No questions were asked or answered. "I have come for you," "I will go;" no more. Those people of long ago talked in that way; they didn't talk much.
Tsaroki went home. Kanhlalas made ready to go, and went under the ground. Waida Dikit was lying in his house when on a sudden Kanhlalas rose at his feet. Waida Dikit sat up when he saw him. took a pipe, and told him to smoke. Kanhlalas smoked, and the two old men talked a good while. The young men played, first one, then the other. It was dark in the sweat-house, but after Kanhlalas came he shone and gave light like a torch in a dark house. You could see some, but not very much. Kanhlalas was a grandfather of Waida Werris.
"I sent for you," said Waida Dikit, "for I thought you might teach my grandsons to play better. They like to make music. They think of nothing else."
"I am old," said Kanhlalas. "I am not as I used to be. I cannot play much now. When I was a boy, when I was young, I could play. But I will play a little."
About dark he said a second time. "I will play a little." So he lay on his back, took his own flute, which he had brought with him, and began. The two brothers lay and listened. Kanhlalas never took the flute out of his mouth from the dark of evening until daylight. Next day he played, and all night again. When morning came there was a light stripe down his breast, and when the sun rose his breast was white, for the breath was nearly out of his body. That morning old Waida Dikit said,--
"Now we will invite all people in the world who can play, to come here."
"If you invite all people in the world who can play," said Tsaroki, "this house will be too small for them."
"No," said the old man, "it will not be too small. You will find it large enough when they come."
Tsaroki was sent to the northwest to invite people. He went very fast. In a little while he was at a place just this side of where the sky touches the earth. He went to Nop Hlut. When near the sweat-house he heard stamping in a dance. He went in and saw a very big house full of people sitting around at the wall. Only one woman and a young girl were dancing in the middle of the house, Nop Pokte and Nop Loimis. The girl was very small, and had fawn's feet tied behind her head. These rattled so sharply that you could hear them when far away. As Tsaroki was coming in through the door on the south, he saw an old man lying on the north side. This was Nop Kiemila, the master of the house. Tsaroki went straight to him, put his hand on his shoulder, and said,--
"I have come for you."
"What kind of call do you make?" asked Nop.
"My grandfather is going to have a playing on flutes."
"I will go," said Nop.
"My grandfather is inviting people from all parts of the world. All will be invited who can play on the flute."
Waida Dikit himself went south to invite people living in the water, and sent Tsaroki to invite all the land people. They went far and near to invite all. After a time both grew wearied, and wanted to get some one to take invitations. They thought who would be best in heat and cold, light and darkness, and thought that Kinus would be; so they called him, and hired him to go.
Kinus went as far as he could go, went around the whole world to a distance a little this side of where the sky comes down. After a time he returned and said,--
"This world is wide and big. I called all the people as far as I went, but I was not able to go everywhere,--this world goes farther than I went. Whole days I could get no water, no food; but I invited all the people that I saw."
Now, while Kinus was speaking the invited people were listening; and there were many of them then at Waida Dikit's. Lutchi sat at one side and listened.
"There is," said Waida Dikit, "a man that we should like to see here. Waida Werris and also a man who lives far in the East, Patkilis; he lives behind the sky, beyond the place where the sky touches the earth, and Sedit lives with him. We want these three. Now Kinus cannot go to them,--nobody that we know is able to go to them. What shall we do?"
All talked about this. Lutchi sat back in silence, and listened to what they were saying.
"This sweat-house is too small," said Kanhlalas.
"You will see," answered Waida Dikit.
The sweat-house was spreading out, growing gradually, growing all the time as the people came. A great many came that afternoon. The house extended now as far as the eye could see. Whenever new people came, Waida Dikit would blow and say, "I wish this house to be larger!" And the house stretched, became wider and longer and higher. In the evening great crowds were there already.
Kinus and the rest talked all night and the next day. "Nobody can go to Waida Werris, Patkilis, and Sedit. That was what they said."
They asked all present, and each answered, "I cannot go to them." They talked and talked. At last one man said to another, "Let's ask that Lutchi Herit over there; maybe he can go." A third said, "Yes, let's ask him." And the three said to Waida Dikit, "Ask that little man; perhaps he can go." "He is small," said Waida Dikit, "but I will ask him." He went up to Lutchi, touched him on the shoulder, and asked,--
"My grandson, can you do something for me? You are small, but I am asking you."
Lutchi said nothing; just raised his brows, which meant "Yes." As soon as he did this, Waida Dikit put his hand under his arm and took out a kunluli (a delicate blue flower that grows near the water), and gave it to Lutchi. Lutchi took it in his open palm, looked at it, rubbed it between his two hands, spat on it, and made a paste which was a beautiful blue paint. Then he rubbed his face, arms, breast--he became blue all over (to this day Lutchi is blue, he was white before). He went out among the people then, and said,--
"People, look at me! What do I look like? Haven't I a nice color now?"
"You are beautiful," said the people. "You look well."
It was at the point of daybreak. They could see just a bit of light. When he was ready to start, Lutchi said,--
"I don't know how far it is, but if I go to those places I shall be back here at sunrise. If they are very far away, I shall be here when the sun is as high as the tree-tops."
"Do you think you will be back by sunrise?" asked Kinus. "Those places are very far away."
"I know they are far away," said Lutchi.
"I have been all over the world," added Kinus. "I was gone a long time, but those places are farther away than any spot where I have been."
"Ho! Now I am going!" said Lutchi; and he
darted straight up into the sky, next down, and up and down again. Then he called out,--
"How do you like that? Do you think I can go to those people? This is the way I travel."
He shot away east and returned. Then he went west and came back in a twinkle. Next he turned north and was gone. He had never travelled through the air before. Till that morning he had always walked on the ground, just as we do now. He went straight to Waida Werris's house and went in. It was dazzling there, and seemed to him just as bright as daylight seems to a man coming out of a dark place.
Lutchi saw some one inside, who was young and beautiful. He could not look at his face, it was so bright. There were two brothers in the house. The younger was Waiti, the elder Waida Werris. Waiti never left the house; never went abroad or wandered, stayed at home all the time.
"I have come," said Lutchi, "to invite you to meet people from all the world at a flute-playing in Waida Dikit's sweat-house."
"I will go," said Waida Werris. He knew all that was going on. He had seen it while travelling early, before daylight.
"I am going now," said Lutchi to Waida Werris. And as soon as he was outside he rushed off toward the west, came back, rose in the air, came down, and then shot away, like a lightning flash, eastward to find Patkilis and Sedit. Soon he was in the east, where the sky comes to the earth. He took a sky stick, which he had brought with him, pried up the sky, raised it a little, and then he went under to the other side. When the sky came down again behind him and struck the earth, it made an awful noise which was heard over the world. The whole world shook. All the people at Waida Dikit's heard the noise and wondered.
"What can that be?" asked they. "What awful noise is that?" Waida Dikit knew what the noise was, but he never told any one.
Lutchi went straight east from the other side of the sky, and never stopped till he found Patkilis and Sedit. They were in another world, another sky came down to their world, and they lived almost at the edge of that second sky. Lutchi went into their sweat-house. They were sitting just inside the door, one at one side, the other at the other; the door was on the east side. When Lutchi had sat a little while, Sedit rose and said,--
"My grandson, which way have you come?"
"I come here for you and Patkilis," answered Lutchi. "Waida Dikit sent me to invite you to a flute-playing at his sweat-house. Nobody else could come to you, so he asked me to come."
"We are glad," answered they. "We will go. You go ahead. But how shall we pass the sky?"
"I will wait at the edge for you," said Lutchi; and he went on.
When Sedit and Patkilis were ready, Sedit said, "I wish this road on which I must travel to be short, very short."
They started, and found the road so short that paragraph continues Lutchi was waiting at the edge of the sky only a little while when they were with him. Lutchi pried up the sky a second time, and the three passed under to the western side. Again there was an awful noise, and the whole world trembled.
"Now I am going quickly; you can move as you like," said Lutchi. He went west like a flash, and just as the sun was peeping over the mountains he was back at Waida Dikit's.
"Have you heard what is going on in this world that makes such a noise?" asked Waida Dikit. "These people heard an awfully big noise."
"That was my travelling," said Lutchi. "Kinus, whom you sent first, could not go to those three people. I went. They are on the road, and will be here in a few days."
All the people heard this and were glad.
"Now we shall hear great music," said they.
While travelling along together, Patkilis spoke to Sedit and advised him. "When we are in Waida Dikit's house," said he, "don't talk much. Sit down like a wise man and look on; be silent; don't act like a little boy."
Sedit was talking all the time. He told Patkilis what he was going to do. He would do this and do that, he said.
Two days passed, and the two men had not come. On the third day, near the middle of the forenoon, people saw a beautiful little arrow come down just by the door of the sweat-house,--a bright arrow. When it struck the ground, it made a grating noise, and they said,--
"That is a nice arrow. Who sent such an arrow?" And all liked it.
There were crowds of people in the sweat-house. Some of them wanted the arrow. "Let's pull it up!" said they, "and see who made it;" but Waida Dikit would not let them touch it. "Let it stay where it is. Do not touch it," said he, for he knew that it was Patkilis's arrow, and that it meant: "I am coming. I shall be there soon."
While the people were talking about the arrow, two men swept in through the door. No one saw their faces or their heads, just their legs and shadows.
"Give them room, let them in," said Waida Dikit.
"Where can they sit?" asked Tsaroki.
"Give each a place on the east side," said Waida Dikit.
The two, Patkilis and Sedit, went to the east side and sat down. Nobody had seen Waida Werris come, but he was in the house.
When leaving home that morning, Waida Werris said to Waiti, his brother,--
"You will stay and keep house, as you do always. You will be here, but you will see me all the time, you will see me night and day. Watch me; they will do other things there besides playing on flutes."
Patkilis and Sedit asked Waida Dikit if Waida Werris had come.
"I do not know where he is," replied the old man. "No one has seen him."
"Oh, he will not come," said many people. "What kind of a person is Waida Werris? He is nobody. What do we want of him?"
Waida Werris was sitting there all the time listening. Waida Dikit knew well what kind of person he was, but said nothing. That night after all invited people had come, Waida Dikit said:
"Listen, all you people here present. I have called this gathering to find who is the best flute-player, who can make the best music in this world. Let us begin. Let each play alone."
Tsaroki began the trial. "I will begin," said he to his brother Hawt, "then let the others play. You can play when you like."
"I am satisfied," said Hawt. "I will play last."
"That is well," answered Tsaroki. "I will play first, all will follow, and you may play last."
Tsaroki began. He played a little while, not long; played well. Kanhlalas played next. All liked his music. Watwut Kiemila played third; played splendidly.
"Go ahead and play, all you people," said Waida Dikit.
Tsileu Herit played best up to his time, played till almost morning till just before daylight. The inside of the sweat-house had become red, and some asked,--
"Why is it red everywhere inside the sweat-house?"
"We do not know," answered others; "something makes it red."
One man went up to Waida Dikit and asked, "Why is it red inside the sweat-house?"
"I will tell you. Do you see Tsileu Herit there? Well, he has been playing all night, the breath is gone out of him, he is all red, and the whole sweat-house is red from him."
About daylight Tsileu stopped, and then it grew as dark as in a house when a fire is put out in the night. Now Tsaik played all day, and at sundown the sweat-house was blue, for Tsaik had grown blue.
All played to see who could play best. Every kind of people played. When any one was out of breath, he stopped playing, and received a new color. When Murope lost breath, he was spotted. When Handokmit lost breath, he became striped. Patkilis played three nights and two days, and when he gave out after sundown, he was roan. Wai Hau played five nights, and at sunrise the fifth morning he was red. Kiriu Herit played five nights, and at the middle of the sixth night he was black, and his breath gone.
And so for many days and nights they played, one person after another, till one night all had finished except Hawt. Hawt was the last to play. All were asleep now. All had lost breath, and received new colors. Tsaroki went to his brother on the north side of the house, and said,--
"Begin, my brother; over near the fire there is a place for you; go under the ground, and when you come out, you will play."
Hawt went under the ground, and came out near the fireplace. He lay on his back and began to play. He had two rows of holes in his body, one on each side; he fingered these holes, drew in air through his nostrils, and sent it out through the holes in both sides. Hawt was playing on his own body. At first, all the people were asleep, except one person, Tsudi Herit. Tsudi heard Hawt, and he heard, as in a doze, wonderful sounds. He listened a long time, thinking it a dream. When Tsudi found that he was not sleeping, he shook the man next him, and said,--
"Wake up, wake up! Who is playing? All have played, but I have never heard music like this. Many have played here, but no one played in this way."
The person he roused was Hus. Hus said nothing, he was old and nearly bald, he took a pipe and began to smoke. Tsudi roused other people, one after another.
"Wake up, rise, sit up; listen to the music somebody is playing."
They woke, one after another. "Who is playing?" asked one. "Who is it?" asked another. "We have played many days and nights, but no one played like that. All have their own flutes. Who can this be?"
At last some one said: "I know who is playing. It is Hawt."
"How could Hawt play?" asked others. "Whose flute has Hawt? He has none of his own. Each of us brought a flute, but Hawt brought none. Whose flute has he now?"
Every one heard the wonderful music, and every one said, "We should like to see the man who plays in this way."
It was night, and dark in the sweat-house. All began to say how much they wanted light to see who was playing. Waida Werris was lying back in the east half of the sweat-house, and heard every word. He. too, wanted to look at the player. He sat up, pulled one hair out of his beard, gave it to Tsudi, and said,--
"Go down near that man who is playing, and hold up this hair so that people may see him."
Tsudi took the hair and went along quietly. No one heard him. He held the hair over Hawt's head, and there was a light from it that filled the whole house. It was as bright as day there. All the People were seen sitting up, each hugging his flute. No man would lend his flute to any one else in the world for any price. All were looking toward the spot whence the music came. In the light they saw a man lying on his back with his arms across his breast, but they could not see that he was doing anything. He had no flute, he made no motion with his mouth, for he fingered his sides as he would a flute, and made the music by drawing in air through his nostrils, and sending it out through the holes in his sides.
Tsudi held up Waida Werris's single hair, and people watched Hawt to see how he made the beautiful music. He was lying on his back making wonderful sounds. He played the music of Tsaik's song, of Waida Werris's song, of Tsaroki's song. They could hear the music, but there was no motion of Hawt's mouth and they could not see his fingers play. He gave the music of Patkilis's song and of Sedit's. He gave the music of the songs of all people in the sweat-house.
"Hawt has beaten the world!" cried the assembly. "He can do more than we can; we yield, we are silent. Hawt is the best player in the world! No one can play as he plays!"
Hawt gave his own music next. No one knew that music but him, no one could play it but him. There was no other music so loud and strong, no other music so soft and low.
When the people had watched Hawt a long time and listened a long time, he stopped. All cried out then,--
"Hawt is the one great musician, the only great player on earth!"
Tsudi put down the hair and all were in the dark. He carried the hair back and gave it to Waida Werris.
People began to talk and ask one another:
"Where did that light come from; whose is it?" One said Tsudi had it; another said, "No, he never had a light like that." "Who gave it to him?" asked a third. "Some one must have given it to Tsudi. Let us ask him about this!'
Here and there people said. "Only Waida Werris could make such a light. What kind of person is Waida Werris? We should like to see Waida Werris."
"I have never seen Waida Werris, but I have heard people tell how nice looking he is, and that he can be seen from afar," said Patkilis. "If he were here he might make such a light, but he is not here, or we should all see him right away."
Waida Werris was lying near them, and heard all they said.
"Let us ask Waida Dikit," said Karkit Kiemila, a big man, lying on the west side, facing Waida Werris; and he began to talk to Waida Dikit.
"The people wish to see Waida Werris," said he. "You have invited all people in the world, and you have invited him. What will you do? Is he here? Will you let every one see him?"
"Oh, no," said one old man. "Waida Werris is bad. I don't want to see him." "We have heard that he is good," said others. "We want to see him." So they were divided.
Waida Werris smoked a while in silence. At last Waida Dikit bent toward Patkilis and Sedit and asked,--
"What do you think, shall I let people see Waida Werris or not?"
"They want to see him," answered the two. "You have invited them and invited him. If people wish to see Waida Werris, let them see him."
"Where shall I let them see him?"
"Let all the people go outside the sweat-house," said Patkilis, "and stand in two long rows, one on each side of the door, and let Waida Werris go out between them. If he goes out, every one can look at him; only a few would see him inside the house."
"Very well," answered Waida Dikit. "Now all you people go outside the house."
Tsaroki opened the door, and went out first. All followed, each saying as he went, "It is dark: we shall not see Waida Werris."
"You can see him in the dark," said Waida Dikit. "Join hands, all of you, and go around to the north side of the sweat-house."
"Go you," said Waida Dikit to Tsudi, "and search inside. Tell me when all the people are out."
Tsudi searched everywhere. "All have gone out," said he.
Waida Dikit closed the door and said: "Some of you people are sleepy, but wake up, open your eyes, be ready to see--look north."
"What can we do here? Why did we come out in the dark?" asked a certain Chirchihas. "We can see nothing at this time of night;" and, turning to Lutchi, he asked: "Have you seen him, or his brother? What sort of a place do they live in?"
"I cannot tell you now; you will see him soon."
"Be ready, all of you," said Waida Dikit. "Look north."
All looked. There was a pointed mountain not far away, and straight out before them. They saw a small light rising till it reached the top of that mountain; there it settled, and soon it seemed near them, just a few steps from the faces of the people. That was Waida Werris. The place around was as if in daylight. All could see him; all looked at him.
"Now, you people, there is Waida Werris before you; do you see him?"
"We see him."
"Hereafter all people will see him there in the north, as you see him now," said Waida Dikit. "Come back to the sweat-house, all of you."
Tsaroki opened the door, and all went in. "We will talk," said the old man, "then eat, and after that separate."
Day had come--there was light in the sweat-house. They heard some one coming, and soon they saw an old woman in the door. This was Tunhlucha Pokaila. She would not go in, but stood a while holding in both hands two beautiful baskets of water. These she put down at the door. looked in, and went away. Waida Dikit took the baskets, put them on the ground north of the fire, and said,--
"Here is a little water, but come all and use it,--wash."
The old woman was Waida Dikit's sister; she lived north of her brother's, not far away. There was a rock at that place, with a spring in it. The rock was her house. Water rose in that rock to the surface and went into the earth again in another part of the same house. The old woman had two baskets; the smaller one held water for drinking, the larger one water for washing. Great crowds of people drank from the smaller basket and washed from the other; each used what he needed, the water never grew less; it remained the same always in quantity.
"Have all washed and drunk?" asked Waida Dikit.
"We have all washed and drunk."
The old man removed the baskets, and set out two others which the old woman had just brought,--one of cooked venison, and another a very small basket of acorn porridge. He put the baskets in the middle of the sweat-house and said,--
"Now, all people, I ask you to eat."
"I will try that food," said Karkit. He went and ate. Next Hus ate, then Yipokos. Now these three men ate deer meat since that time, and will always find meat by the smell,--this was the first time they ate venison. Tsihl and Wima, called also Bohemba, ate all they could from the little basket, yet the food was not less by one bit. Patit ate plenty. Hus ate, and so did Sedit. All ate as much as they could; still each basket was full. The food grew no less. Waida Dikit kept saying,--
"You people, here is food. I do not need it. Come and eat what there is."
He sent Tsudi around to ask each man if he had eaten. All said they had eaten till Tsudi went half around, when he found one man, Memtulit, who said that he had not eaten, but was willing to eat.
"I will eat if I see anything good," said he.
"Well, go and eat," said Tsudi.
"What kind of food have you?
"Venison and acorn porridge."
"I do not eat that kind of food."
"Here is a man who has not eaten," said Tsudi; "he cannot eat that food."
Farther on was found Kiriu, who had not eaten, and a third, a very young man, Tsararok. "I should like to eat," said he, "but I am timid. There are so many people here eating."
"What kind of food do you eat, Kiriu?" asked Tsudi.
"I cannot eat venison. I eat what lives in the water." The other two men said the same.
Waida Dikit went to his old house, where he had dried fish. He caught besides a net full of little fish. He cooked both kinds and carried them to the sweat-house, set them down in the middle. and said, "Now come and eat."
Memtulit ate, so did Kiriu. Tsararok came after a while. He began to eat the little fish, didn't see the other kind; this is why Tsararok likes small fish to this day.
The old man asked again, "Have all eaten?"
"We have," answered all.
There was as much food in the two baskets as at first, and the old man put them outside the house. Sedit saw this, and was angry. He said that people should leave nothing.
"Don't talk so," said Patkilis. "What is done is right."
"You are all free to stay longer," said Waida Dikit, "but I suppose that you wish to go home, I suppose you are in a hurry."
"Why should we go so soon?" asked Sedit, "The people from the west might tell us what they know; we ought to tell them something."
"Keep quiet, Sedit," said Patkilis. "I told you not to talk. There are many big men here, better men than you, but they don't talk. Waida Dikit says that we have stayed long enough; that is what he means; you ought to know it. He spoke as he did because he wished to say something nice to us and be friends; but you must keep still."
A man on the west side rose now and came toward the middle of the house, near the fire, stood there, looked about, and spat on the ground. All the people saw him spit, and in an instant they saw a small basket rise out of the spittle. Inside the basket were acorns of mountain live oak. This man was Patit. He went back to his place and lay down. Waida Dikit set the basket in the middle of the sweat-house, picked out an acorn, ate it, and said,--
"People, come and eat. My friend Patit has made this for you,--this is his food."
They never had acorns of that kind till then. Nop came first to the basket to eat, and to this day he is fond of acorns. Then Tsihl and Wima and Tichelis and Tsudi and Tsaik went to the basket and ate, and all are fond of acorns now. No matter how many they took from the basket, the acorns were none the less.
Sedit sat back ill-natured; he wanted them to eat all the acorns. Waida Dikit put the basket outside.
Tsihl rose now, went to the place where Patit had spat, and put an empty basket on the ground. He untied a wide strap, or braid of grass, which he wore around his wrist, and held down his hand. Something flowed out of it, like water, till the basket was filled. Then he tied up his wrist again. The basket
was full of seeds of sugar pine. Waida Dikit ate of them; then called all to eat. People came and ate all they wanted. The basket was as full as before. Sedit was very angry.
Hau came forward and put down a stone cup. He held his ear over it, scratched the ear, and out came a stream of manzanita berries. These were the first manzanita. No one had ever seen those berries in the world before. Waida Dikit ate a handful of the berries and sat down--said nothing. All the people hurried to eat, crowded around the cup, ate as long as they were able, but could not decrease the berries. Presently Waida Dikit began to itch. He did not know what troubled him. Soon spots came out all over his body--red, yellow, and black. This was because he had eaten the berries. His spirit was afraid of what he had eaten. His spirit did not wish that he should eat berries, they were not his kind of food; and that was why the spots came out on him. It was his spirit's fear that brought out the spots, and he has been spotted ever since. He ate not because he wished, but because he was master of the house. It was for him to taste everything, or people would think it bad food.
Now Wima came, put down a basket, and untied a white wristband which he wore, held his hand down, and wild plums dropped into the basket and filled it.
This time Waida Dikit sent Tichelis to taste the plums and set out the basket. People ate, but there were as many plums as before.
These different kinds of food were given to the world for the first time then, and this is why we have them now.
Tsaik came to the middle of the sweat-house. He tapped the ground with his nose, and out came a great pile of acorns.
Sedit had eaten as much as he could, and was angry because any was put away. He kept saying to Patkilis. "I don't like that."
"Sedit," answered Patkilis. "I have warned you against talking so much. Don't you know that after a while all the new kind of people, the people to come. will use food in this way, eat what they want, and put the rest away?"
"You people have talked and been friendly," said Waida Dikit. "This is the food we need; this will be our only food hereafter."
"Well," said Kanhlalas, standing up, "I think we have almost finished. If we stay here too long, some bad people may see us and talk about what we are doing."
Others said: "Yes, we have given all the food we have. If this gathering lasts longer, bad people may find us and make trouble."
"That is true," said the assembly; "let us part."
"We will part," said Waida Dikit. "I am going to my old house and will stay there forever. If salmon come up the Wini Mem, they will come as far as my house and go back."
Next morning all set out for their homes. Tsihl changed his mind on the road, and went back to Tede Puyuk, where he found that all had gone except Sedit, Patkilis, Nop, and Hau. These four were outside the sweat-house, and Tsihl said,--
"We have comeback to look at this place again; it pleases us."
They stayed awhile, travelled through the country, and when Olelbis sent people down here, coyotes, jack rabbits, deer, red-foxes, and black bear came to Tede Puyuk, and there were many of them ever after around that whole country. |
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1 - 8 - 7 NORWANCHAKUS & KERIHA PERSONAGES 
After each name is given that of the creature or thing unto which the personage was changed subsequently.
Eltuluma, ----; Hubit, wasp; Kériha, ----; Kuntihlé, a small bird unknown; Lasaswa, large spider; Nodal Mónoko, ----; Norwanchakus, ----; Norwinte, ----, Patkilis, jack rabbit; Pawnit, kangaroo rat; Pom Norwanen Pitchen, daughter of the Southern Border, the same as Norwan; Puriwa, dark; Supchit, ----; Sanihas, daylight; Tsaik, blue jay; Tsiwihl, blue-breasted lizard; Waida Werris, polar star.
THE two brothers Norwanchakus and Keriha were on this earth before any place or thing had a name. When Olelbis took the sky pole and made a deep furrow from the foot of Bohem Puyuk to the lower valley, and a river came, the two brothers were at the end of the furrow and started toward the north. Norwanchakus was the elder; Keriha was very small.
When the brothers started, they could not see well. There was no sun then; there was only a kind of dim twilight. Waida Werris was in the sky, and saw the brothers. Fish had got into all rivers now from the southern pond, where Kuntihle Herit had caught the first fish.
"There are fish in the river," said Keriha; "let us catch some. Let us take a net up the river and come down with it."
"We have no net, and there is no light; we cannot see anything," said the elder brother.
"Go, my brother," said Keriha, "to where the sky comes down on the northwest; go out under it. You will find there the plant kúruti; bring it."
"I cannot go there," said Norwanchakus; "you go, my brother."
Keriha went through the air quickly; brought the plant--brought all there was.
"We must have more," said Norwanchakus.
"Well, go and get it," answered Keriha. "It grows beyond the sky in the southwest."
"I cannot go there; go you," said the elder brother.
Keriha went beyond the sky on the southeast; found plenty of kúruti. The elder brother made strings of the fibre.
"I am in a hurry to fish," said Keriha. "You are slow, my brother."
"Go straight east beyond the sky," said the other, "and get ash wood while I am making a net."
Keriha brought the ash. Norwanchakus had the net made, and now he fixed the ash stick.
"My brother," said Keriha, "we cannot see anything. How can we fish? There are people around us in the world, perhaps, but we have no good light to find them."
There was a kind of dim light all the time. The two brothers started, came north as far as Nomlopi, opposite Pas Puisono, and sat down.
Keriha heard voices in the north and asked, "Do you hear shouting?"
"No; I hear nothing," answered Norwanchakus.
"Let us go toward the shouting," said Keriha.
They went to a place about six miles beyond the river, where they found a sweat-house.
"These are the first people we have seen," said Keriha. "We shall call this place Tsarau Heril." They stood near the door of the sweat-house.
"Oh, my brother," said a big man who saw them and came to the door.
"Yes," said Keriha, "you are our brother, you are Norwinte."
Another came and said, "Oh, my brother!"
"You are our brother, too," said Keriha "you are Eltuluma."
"It is dark. We do not know what to do," said Norwinte.
"And we do not know," answered Keriha.
"Not far from here are more people," said Norwinte. "Let us send to them to come here. Perhaps we may learn what to do."
Norwinte sent a messenger to the north. He brought a new person soon, a good-looking man; and when this stranger had talked a while he said, "There is a person in the southeast who can help us."
"Will you bring him here?" asked Norwinte.
"I cannot go there," said the stranger.
"You go, Keriha," said Norwanchakus. "No one can go there but you."
Keriha went, and was not long gone. He brought back Patkilis.
"My brother Patkilis, do you know of any more people anywhere?"
"I know of no more people. I have seen none; but in the far east I hear shouting, with dancing and singing."
"Well, my brother, I wish you would go and see what kind of people are making that noise there."
"I will go," said Patkilis. "I don't think. it is very far from here to where they are."
Patkilis was gone a long time. When he came back, he said: "I saw many people, but they did not see me. There is a hill beyond the sky in the east. On the northern slope of it are houses. On the southern slope there are houses, also. A river flows from this hill westward. South of the hill every one is dancing. I went into the houses; on the north side. All were empty except one. In the middle house of the village I found a blind boy. I looked around and saw much in the house. 'Why have you so many things here?' asked I of the boy. 'What are they good for? I live on the other side. We haven't such things in our houses.' He said nothing. I talked a long time to him, asked many questions, but got no answer. All he said was, 'My people have gone to dance.' There were piles of acorns inside and outside, great baskets of them put around everywhere. I sat down. 'What is this?' asked I. 'What is that? What is in those baskets there?' 'Oh, something,' said the blind boy; and that was all the answer he made. There were many bags, all full of something. I saw two small bags hanging in the house, and they were very full. 'What is in those small bags that are so full?' asked I. 'Can you tell me, little
boy?' 'Why do you want to know everything?' asked the blind boy. I asked about those two bags in different ways, but he wouldn't tell me for a long time. I teased him and teased him to tell. 'You want to know everything,' said he, at last; 'I will tell you. In one is Puriwa.' 'Well, what is in the other bag? Tell me. You have told about one, now tell about the other.' He thought a while and asked, 'Why do you want to know so much? Sanihas is in the other bag.' He would tell no more, and I came away."
When Patkilis had told all this, Keriha said, after thinking a while: "This is the best news that we have heard in this world yet; some one of us ought to go there. We must bring those two bags here. If we open one, the world will be dark; if we open the other, there will be daylight. Those acorns, too, are good. You must send some one for those two bags."
"There is a man up north here, Pawnit. He could go; send for him," said Patkilis.
They sent for him, and he came. They told him what they wanted.
"I can go for those things," said he, "but I don't like to go alone. My brothers, you bring a man here who lives up north, Tsaik. He is blind of one eye."
When Tsaik came and heard about the acorns, he said: "I should like to have them; they are good. If I go, I will take the acorns, and you can bring the two bags," said he to Pawnit.
"When you come to that hill in the east," said Patkilis to Pawnit, "you will see many houses on the north side of it, and many on the south, where people are dancing; but go to the north, and right in the middle of the village you will see a big house, with the door toward the south. When you go in, don't let the blind boy know that there are two of you. Let one talk to him while the other takes the bags. The one talking will make him believe that he came from the south side of the hill, where people are dancing. When you are going in through the door, you will see the two bags right opposite, both smooth and very full. Get those bags, so that we can see what kind of place this is. We want plenty of light. We want darkness, too, so that there may not be too much light."
Pawnit and Tsaik started off on their journey. How long the journey lasted no one knows. They went beyond the sky and reached the eastern hill, they saw the villages south and north of it, and heard a great noise of dancing at the south. They went to the northern village, found the big house in the middle of it, and stopped before the door.
"Go in," said Tsaik. "I will stay outside. I have a strap. I am going to carry away the acorn baskets. You go in. I will stay here and tie them together."
Pawnit went in and sat down on the west side. The blind boy was lying on the east side.
"Well, blind boy," said Pawnit, "I am cold. I have been dancing. I have come here to warm myself"
"I should like to know why you people come here while there is dancing at the other side," said the blind boy.
Pawnit made no answer, but went out to see what Tsaik was doing. "Where are you, Tsaik? "asked he.
"I am here making ready to carry acorns," answered Tsaik.
Just then they saw some one near them. "Who is this?" asked Pawnit.
"I am here," said Patkilis. "Come, Pawnit, you and I will go in and get the two bags. You, Tsaik, take the acorns."
Tsaik put a big load on his back and started on, while the others were in the house. Patkilis took daylight, and Pawnit took darkness. As soon as they were outside the house, the blind boy stood up and screamed,--
"Who was that? Some one has stolen something!"
He felt for the bags, then ran out and screamed,--
"Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas! Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas! Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas!"
The people who were dancing heard. him and said, "Some one is screaming!" Then they heard plainly,--
"Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas! They have run west with them!"
When they heard this, the dancers stopped dancing and ran west. Soon they saw the three men racing off with the bags.
They saw Tsaik far ahead with a pack of acorns on his back. They could see him a long way, for the pack was a big one. Pawnit and Patkilis carried their bags in their hands. The people ran fast and shouted to each other,--
"Catch them! Catch them! Do your best! Head them off! Surround them!"
They could not overtake Tsaik. He went through under the sky before they could come up.
When Pawnit and Patkilis were rising from under the edge of the sky, those behind were ready to seize Pawnit and would have caught him, but he tore open the mouth of his bag, and that instant thick darkness spread everywhere. No one could see; all were as if blind in one moment.
The eastern people had to stop. They could follow no farther. Patkilis knew the country west of the sky, and he and Pawnit stumbled on, came along slowly in the dark, and groped westward a good while. At last Patkilis opened his bag, and that moment daylight went out of it. They could see a great distance; they were very glad now, travelled quickly, and were soon at Norwinte's.
Keriha and Norwanchakus lived for a time with Norwinte (it is unknown how long), and then took their net and went up the river to fish downward. They went up Bohema Mem and Pui Mem as far as Panti Tsarau.
"Let us fish down from this, my brother," said Keriha. "I will hold the end of the net stick that goes out in the river, so that I may take the fish quickly when they are caught. You can go along the bank."
They fished down to Nomlupi, and Keriha named all the places as he and his brother came down. He gave them the names which they have now. the names by which we Wintus call them. The first place below Panti Tsarau was Lorus Pom and Keriha left no place unnamed between Panti Tsarau and Nomlupi. They stopped at Nomlupi, built a brush house there, and lived some time in it.
One day the two brothers went to Norwanbuli to the great sweat-house where the woman Pom Norwanen Pitchen or Norwan lived.
"My brother, you must not make this woman angry," said Norwanchakus, when they were near Norwanbuli. "This is a very powerful woman; she has a great deal of food, a great deal to eat, but you must not take anything; eat nothing except what she gives; don't talk much; do just what I tell you."
"I will do what you tell me," said Keriha.
They went in at the south side of Norwanbuli, and stopped east of the door. Norwanchakus sat down, and held Keriha between his knees. The woman put her hand behind her, took acorn bread, held it toward the brothers, and said,--
"Take this, you two men, eat it, and then go away."
"This woman has a great deal to eat," said Keriha. "Let's stay here a while with her. Let's not go away, my brother."
"Be still," whispered Norwanchakus. "Don't talk."
"My brother, I'm hungry. Tell her to give us more bread. This isn't enough."
Norwanchakus barely tasted the bread, but Keriha ate with great relish. "Now, my brother," said Norwanchakus,--we must go. I will carry you." He put his brother on his back, drew Keriha's arms around his own neck closely, and started. When they were almost out of the house, Keriha began to struggle and kick.
"Let me go, my brother," said he, "let me go!"
Norwanchakus held him firmly. Keriha pulled and pulled till he got his right arm free. At the door was a large basket of acorns. He seized a handful of those and kept them. Norwanchakus went out, and when a short distance from the house he felt the ground swaying, rising, and falling. He stopped and saw the earth open around him and sink slowly. Then he made one great spring and came down on Bohem Buli. He was barely on that mountain when it began to crack, and he was sinking again. He made a second leap, and came down far away southwest.
Keriha dropped the acorns, and the earth stopped opening that moment. The brothers stayed some time in the southwest, then went to Tsik Tepji. This was a strong eddy of the river in which it was easy to catch salmon. They made a brush hut at the river bank, and a house not far from the river, on a hill. Norwanchakus caught a great many salmon, and Keriha ate and ate; he ate all the time and never grew larger. Norwanchakus scarcely ate anything. One morning Keriha was in the house while his brother was fishing. A stranger came, a very small man, no larger than a boy five years old. Keriha looked at him, then jumped up and ran to his brother.
"Oh. my brother," said he, "some one has come to our house." Norwanchakus said nothing.
"There is some one at our house," repeated Keriha.
"Did he say anything?" asked Norwanchakus. "No."
"Did you talk to him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't like him, he is so little."
"Never mind, go back and give him something to eat; call him uncle."
Keriha went back and stared at the stranger. After a while the little man looked up and asked,--
"Why do you look at me so? I left a small bag of roots north of the house. Would you bring it here? The roots are very good to eat."
Keriha went. The bag was small. There were roots in one corner of it. not many. He snatched at the bag, but could not lift it; he tried with both hands, couldn't stir it; tried every way, couldn't move it; scratched his arms and legs in trying, left the bag, and went back without it.
"I cannot lift that bag," said he to the little man. "How did you bring it, you are so small?"
The stranger, who was Nodal Monoko, went out, brought the bag to the house in one hand, and put it down outside. Norwanchakus knew who the stranger was, and he brought up a great sturgeon.
Keriha cooked the fish, put it down before their guest, and said, "Eat this."
The little man said nothing, waited till the fish was cool, then raising it to his mouth in one hand, he swallowed all at a mouthful.
Keriha cooked for the little man all the forenoon, while Norwanchakus was fishing. About midday their wood was nearly all burned.
"My uncle," said Keriha, "we are going to cook a great deal of fish. Would you help me and bring wood?"
The little man said nothing.
"My uncle, will you bring wood for me?" asked Keriha.
The stranger sat a while, then went out to a mountain, took the largest dry trees, pulled them up by the roots with one hand, put a great many in a pile, and tore up two young green trees; with these he bound the dry ones, and took them on his shoulder to Keriha.
Now Keriha saw what kind of person the little man was. He cooked salmon and sturgeon till midnight without stopping, and still the little man was hungry. Keriha cooked fish the whole night, and Nodal Monoko ate till daylight.
Norwanchakus came up from the river next morning and said to the little man, who looked as if he had eaten nothing,--
"My uncle, you wish to go home, I suppose. If you want fish, fill your bag; it will hold a couple of good ones. The fish did not come up last night very well, but I can give you enough to fill your bag."
So saying, Norwanchakus went back to the fishing-place. Nodal Monoko went out and emptied his bag. When the roots were thrown out, there was a pile of them many times higher and bigger than the house. It covered all the open space, while some roots rolled down the hillside and fell into the river.
Nodal Monoko's bag would hold mountains. He could put the whole world into it. Nodal took his bag to the river, where Norwanchakus had been fishing all night, and saw salmon in piles there.
"Take all the salmon you can," said Norwanchakus.
The stranger put two hundred salmon in one corner of his bag, two hundred more in the other, two hundred in the middle--all large fish--and the bottom of the bag was hardly covered. He twisted the top of the bag then, and tied it. Nodal Monoko had a beaver-skin quiver. In this he was carrying five great baskets of acorns, each basket holding three bushels, and these acorns filled only the very tip of the beaver tail.
He went down to the river to swim across.
"He cannot cross the river with that bag and quiver," said Keriha.
At the edge of the water Nodal Monoko took the bag and quiver in one hand, and swam across with the other.
The two brothers stayed fishing at Tsik Tepji till a day when Keriha said, "Let us go up the river, my brother." They went to Bohem Tehil and stopped at a large tree. Keriha hung a salmon on a limb of it. "I will watch this fish," said he; "I'll see if Hubit comes here to eat it."
He watched that day from dawn till dark; no one came. He watched five days more; no one. Five other days, and five days more, and then five days,--twenty-one in all; he saw no one.
Next morning he was waiting, when all at once he heard a noise, and looking he saw Hubit come from the west and go to the salmon. Norwanchakus sat some distance away, watching Keriha.
"Oh, my brother," cried Keriha, "Hubit has come. He is at the salmon. What shall I do? I want to know where Hubit lives, I want to see his house. I must follow him."
"My brother," answered Norwanchakus, "you say that you know more than I. You think that you know everything. You must know what to do with Hubit."
"Oh, my brother," said Keriha, "do not tease me. Tell me quickly what I am to do with Hubit."
"Go straight south to a level place, get a pawit, and bring it. I will watch Hubit while you are gone.
Keriha brought some pawit quickly. "Now what shall I do?"
"Stick one tuft in the salmon's tail, and fasten it well," said Norwanchakus. "Let Hubit carry off the fish. You can see the tuft far away, and follow."
Keriha fastened the tuft to the salmon, gave the fish to Hubit, and watched. Hubit wouldn't bite, wouldn't taste. Keriha tried all day to make him taste the salmon, tried a second day, tried five days. Hubit wouldn't even bite it. On the sixth day Keriha said,--
"Hubit, why are you here? I thought you came to eat salmon, but now you will not taste it."
Keriha talked five days more to Hubit, ten days in all. "Hubit, I wish you would eat some fish and take home the rest." Hubit made no answer.
Five days more Keriha teased him, and then five days longer, twenty days in all.
"Hubit," said Keriha on the twenty-first day, "tell me what you are going to do; I'd like to know;" and he pushed him. Not a word from Hubit. "Are you asleep or dead?" asked Keriha. "Hubit, you make me so angry that I want to kill you."
All these days Keriha had watched Hubit from daylight till dark, giving him no chance to steal the fish. and Hubit wanted salmon so much that he would not go without it. Norwanchakus sat watching Keriha.
"My brother," said Keriha, "I cannot make that Hubit take the salmon; what shall I do? Tell me."
Norwanchakus said nothing.
"I am getting angry. If you cannot tell me what to do, I will kill Hubit to-morrow."
"Why kill Hubit? You have teased him a long time; tease him a little longer. How will you find Hubit's house, if you kill him?"
"Hubit, will you bite this salmon?" asked
Keriha, next morning. "I have bothered long enough. Will you bite to-day?" He put the salmon to Hubit's mouth. Hubit bit a little. Keriha lifted the salmon with Hubit on it, and threw it in the air to make Hubit fly. All came down like a stone. Keriha threw it a second time. It fell again. He tried all day.
"I don't know what kind of man that Hubit is; he won't eat, he won't talk, won't go home, won't do anything," said Keriha.
Next morning he said to Hubit: "Hubit, what kind of person are you? I wish you would go home."
But Hubit wouldn't go without the salmon, and wouldn't take it for fear that Keriha would follow him. Keriha threw him up again with the salmon. Again he fell with the salmon, and he teased Hubit for five days more. On the sixth morning Hubit began to eat.
"Ah, you are eating!" said Keriha; "will you go to-day?"
He threw the salmon; it fell again. Five days more he tried. Hubit would eat. but wouldn't fly. Now he had tried twenty days more. On the twentieth evening he said to Norwanchakus, "I will kill Hubit to-morrow."
"Oh. you are not angry," said Norwanchakus. "Play with him a little longer. You want to know everything, to see everything, to have everything. You ought to find out what he means; he has some reason for doing as he does."
Next morning Keriha went to Hubit. "Will you tell me what you are going to do? Unless you tell me I will kill you. When I throw you up, I will kill you unless you fly."
He threw up the salmon. Hubit moved his wings and flew along a little above the ground, then settled down.
"Oh, he is going now, he is going! I'm so glad," cried Keriha; and he threw the salmon a second time.
Hubit opened his wings and flew around Keriha, flew around the tree.
"Go, go!" cried Keriha, clapping his hands.
Hubit shot away toward the north, near the ground, and Keriha ran with all speed, but Hubit went far ahead; then he flew a little toward the west, turned, and darted off directly northward.
Keriha did not lose sight of him, but rose in the air and flew north, going parallel with Hubit and going faster. He was at the sky first. A moment later Hubit came.
"I am here before you!" cried out Keriha.
"You cannot go out here!"
Hubit flew around a while and shot back to Bohem Tehil. Keriha was just behind him.
"Hubit, you are so slow," called out Keriha. "I want to go fast, I like to see you go fast."
Hubit flew around the tree a little, then darted to the south. Keriha went a little to one side, was at the south before him, clapping his hands.
"No escape on this side, Hubit; I am here before you."
Hubit turned to Bohem Tehil. From the tree he rushed east to where the sky comes down. Keriha was there before him. He rushed to the west, to where the sky comes down. Keriha was there before his face, barring the way. Hubit had been at all four points,--no escape at any of them; still he wouldn't drop the salmon. He turned a fifth time to Bohem Tehil with Keriha behind him. He flew around the tree a few times, then rose straight in the air, carrying the salmon. He rose quickly, went very high. Keriha stood looking at Hubit, watched him growing smaller and smaller. Keriha shaded his eyes.
Hubit was nearly out of sight. Keriha could barely see him with the salmon and the tuft, a little spot in the sky. He looked very hard, strained his eyes till blood was running down both his cheeks; still he kept looking.
Hubit thought he was out of sight now, and soon Keriha saw him turn to the west and come down. When he was above Bohem Buli, he dropped straight to it on the north side and went in.
"I'm glad, I'm glad. Oh, I'm so glad!" cried out Keriha, clapping his hands. "I know now where Hubit's house is. Get ready quickly, my brother, we will go and see Hubit. Oh, you are so slow, my brother, I can't wait for you. Come when you can; I'll go on alone."
Keriha hurried to Bohem Buli. Norwanchakus followed, and saw Keriha doing strange things; didn't know what he was doing; wondered at him. He was dodging from side to side, lying down and springing up again. Norwanchakus went toward him.
"What are you doing?" cried he. "What is the matter!"
"Don't come so near," called Keriha. "Stop, stop!"
When Hubit dropped down to his house in Bohem Buli, he began that minute to make it bigger. He was hurling out immense rocks, and Keriha was dodging them. They came quickly one after another (there are many of those rocks now all around Bohem Buli, at Puitiel Ton, at Waikidi Pom, and on the west beyond Tayam Norel). After the rocks Hubit hurled out great showers of earth; then he stopped.
"How shall I get at that Hubit?" asked Keriha of his brother.
"Go south to a level valley where sakkus grows. Get the tops of that plant."
Keriha brought plenty of sakkus tops quickly.
"Go now to Halat Pom, in the east, and bring the longest vines possible."
Keriha brought ten very long vines and made a rope of them, and tied it around a great bundle of sakkus tops, to which he set fire, and then lowered the bundle. He stopped the door with grass and sticks. Soon there was a great rumbling, struggling, and roaring in Hubit's house. After a while it stopped and all was still.
"Now, my brother," said Keriha, "Hubit is dead, and I am going to have his honeycombs."
He took a large sharp stone, drew a great circle around the entrance to Hubit's; house, and said: "You, Hubit's honeycomb, be as large as this circle
is. Now, my brother," said he, "you can go to Bohem Tehil. I will come soon."
Norwanchakus went home. Keriha began to dig, found many combs, dug till night, stayed all night in Hubit's house--stayed there digging honey and eating, for twenty-five days.
Norwanchakus waited at home for his brother, waited that evening till midnight, waited till morning, saw no sign of Keriha. He waited the next day; then two, three, five days; then twenty days more.
"Well," said Norwanchakus, "I can do nothing. Perhaps he is dead, perhaps he is working yet."
On the twenty-sixth night after Hubit's death, some one came into the house. Norwanchakus looked up. It was Keriha.
After that the two brothers went to Puri Buli. At the foot of the mountain they saw some one half sitting, half lying, and looking at them. When they came nearer, it went into an opening.
"My brother," said Keriha, "I want that."
"Nothing can pass you," said the elder brother. "You want everything. You would better let this go."
Keriha paid no heed to Norwanchakus: he split the earth with his little finger and killed the stranger, a Supchit. He skinned the body and said, "I think that this skin will be warm; I will sleep on it."
"My brother," said Norwanchakus, "you are the only person who has ever killed a Supchit--you may be sorry."
Next morning a terrible snow came. It snowed five days and nights; everything was buried under snow. Keriha and Norwanchakus lay twenty-one days under the snow without food. On the twenty-first night, the Supchit woman whom Keriha had killed came and stole him away.
Next morning Norwanchakus looked outside. Keriha was gone; the snow was gone. He looked for tracks, looked all day, found no tracks. He searched five days, ten, twenty days--searched all the mountains, went down the rivers, up the rivers, north, south, east, west. He searched one year, found neither track nor trail; searched ten years, then ten years more; inquired of every one in all the world--no one knew of Keriha.
At last he went back to the house where Keriha had been lost to see if there was track or trail there. Behind Keriha's sleeping-place he saw a large stone. He raised it, found an opening and a passage sloping northward, saw tracks made when the Supchit woman took Keriha away. He went into the passage, followed the trail till he came to the top of Bohem Puyuk. He came out on the top, went in again and followed a trail going south; followed it, winding west and east, till he came out at Waikidi Pom. There he saw tracks on the ground, lost them, found them again, found them going under the ground, travelled under the ground, came out, lost and found tracks till he lost them for good.
He inquired in the west for five years without finding trail or tidings of Keriha. At last he said,--
"I have asked every one in this world, except my two cousins Lasaswa at Lasan Holok."
He turned east, then, and went to Lasan Holok, near Pas Puisono, where he found a big house with a door on the south side. One old man was sitting on the east, and another on the west side of the door. The house was full of people. The two old men were rubbing their thighs and rolling something. All the people inside were doing the same, all were making ropes.
Five years before these old men had heard that Norwanchakus had lost his brother. All people had been telling one another that Norwanchakus was looking for Keriha. As soon as the old men heard of this, they began to make ropes.
Norwanchakus stood in the door, and raised one foot to walk in.
"Don't step this way; step east," said the old man on the west.
"Don't step this way; step west," said the old man on the east.
"I'll go straight ahead," thought Norwanchakus.
"Don't come this way! Don't come this way!" cried all those in front.
One small boy was sitting behind all the others. As shreds of fibre dropped from the hands of those in front, he picked them up and twisted them into a rope.
"I suppose you have been travelling a long time, my grandson," said the old man on the west side of the door.
"I have travelled a very long time, and have come at last to talk with you. I have asked all who live on this earth about my brother, and no one can tell me where Keriha is."
"We heard about your brother five years ago," said the old men, "and we told our sons to make ropes because you had lost Keriha."
"How much rope have you made?"
"We can tell to-morrow."
Next morning they cleared a broad space in front of the house. While they were doing this, Norwanchakus said to the rope-makers,--
"I wish you would send for Tsiwihl, an old man near by here."
They brought him quickly. After Tsiwihl came, Norwanchakus said,--
"I want some of you young men to try to go up and ask Sas if he knows where my brother is. I think Sas must know."
"I will try first," said the old man at the western side of the door; "I think that I have the longest rope."
"I will give you something for Sas," said Norwanchakus. "Here is an arrow-straightener, a headband of silver gray-fox skin, and a fire-drill. If you go to the top of the sky, you will see a road from east to west. Sit at the south side of it under a tobacco tree which is there. Soon Sas will come from the east, going west. He will stop at the tree. Give him the three things."
The old man brought out a great coil of rope to unwind and go up with it.
"Who is to stand and watch?" asked the other old man.
"Tsiwihl," said Norwanchakus.
Tsiwihl put oak leaves near the coil, lay on them, and looked up. Old Lasaswa took one end of his rope, pulled it, and started. The rope was unwinding, and he was going up. Tsiwihl kept his eyes on Lasaswa. After a while he said, "Lasaswa is half-way up." A little later he said, "He is more than half-way up!"
"But the rope is gone," said Norwanchakus.
"Lasaswa is coming down," said Tsiwihl.
The old man came to the ground. "My rope is too short. Some one else must try now," said he.
"I will try," said the other old man. This one had more rope. Five men had to help him roll it out of the house, there was so much. He took the presents for Sas and began to go up.
Tsiwihl watched closely. The rope was unwinding and Lasaswa was going up. "He is half-way up!" said Tsiwihl; "he is near where the first man was." Tsiwihl moved his head a little, but never lost sight of Lasaswa. "He is as high as the other was; he is higher; he is going still higher!"
"But the rope has given out," said Norwanchakus.
"He is coming down!" cried Tsiwihl.
All were looking at the sky except the small boy, who was inside making rope as before.
"We are old," said the second Lasaswa; "our ropes are too short. You young men must try to-morrow."
Each old man had nine sons. Each person was one day making the trial--all were twenty days trying--no one had a rope long enough, "What shall we do now?" asked the old men on the twenty-first day.
"There is a boy in the house making rope yet; let him try," said Norwanchakus.
"Oh. he is only playing. He hasn't much rope; he just makes ropes of the shreds that others throw away," said one of the old men.
"Go in and ask him," said the second old man.
Norwanchakus went in and said, "You are a small boy, but will you try your rope for me?" and he took hold of the boy's hand. He kept his rope in a little basket. When Norwanchakus took his hand, he seized the basket with the other hand and carried it out.
"Why do they bring out that little boy?" cried the young men. "He hasn't any rope. We had long ropes, and all were too short; his rope is only to play with."
"My cousin," said Norwanchakus, "you are small, but I think you know something. Here are three presents. When you reach the sky, give them to Sas." Then he told him what to do.
When Norwanchakus had finished, the boy bowed his head and said "Yes" to him. "You men have long ropes, but they were too short. My rope may not reach the sky, but I will try;" and he started.
Tsiwihl's breast and stomach were as blue now as the sky, and blood was trickling from his eyes, he had looked so long and so hard. After the boy was some distance up, those below could not see him, and they said to Tsiwihl, "Tell us, tell us often what he is doing."
After a while Tsiwihl said: "He is almost as high as the others were. He is as high; he is as high as the highest was."
They looked at his rope. There seemed to be more than when he started. It seemed to grow all the time.
"He is higher than any--he is going and going."
"Do not lose sight of him," said Norwanchakus.
Tsiwihl's eyes were full of blood.
"How much rope is there?" asked Norwanchakus.
"Oh, there is plenty of rope," cried the others.
"He is going and going," said Tsiwihl.
"How far up is he? Can you see him?"
"He is high, very high, almost as high as I can see--he is nearly at the sky."
"He will go to it, he will go to it!" cried some.
"He is at the sky," said Tsiwihl. "He is there, he is there! He has his hand on it--he is on the top of it--he is there!"
There was plenty of rope on the ground yet.
"Well," said one of the old men, "he is on the sky. He never talked much, that little boy, or seemed to know much, but he has gone to a place where we could not go."
The sun was almost half-way up in the sky. Tsiwihl lay watching, watching, looking hard. Sas had passed the middle of the sky when Tsiwihl said: "I see the boy. He is coming down, he is coming nearer and nearer."
Soon all could see him. At last he was standing on the ground.
"Now, my cousin," said Norwanchakus, "tell me. Let me know what you saw and what you heard. What do you think of that country up there?"
"I went to the top," said the boy. "The country up there is good. I saw a road from east to west. I went east a little, and at the south of the road saw a tobacco tree. I sat under the tree and looked east. Far off I saw an old man coming with a pack on his back. I sat watching him. At last he came to where I was and passed without looking at me, went forward a little, stopped, put down his pack on the south side of the road, and then came toward me. I was sitting with my face to the north. He sat down at my left side, looked at me. looked at the headband, the fire-drill, and the straightener, and laughed. 'What are you doing here?' asked he. 'From what place are you? How did you come up to this land, where no one ever travels but me, where I have never seen any one? You are small. How could you come here?' 'I am here,' answered I, 'because Norwanchakus sent me. He sent me because he has lost his brother, Keriha. He has looked for him all over the world, has asked every one, and no one knows about Keriha. He sent me here to ask you about Keriha. He said that you must know, for you look over the whole world, see all people, see everything.' I put the three things down before him and said, 'Norwanchakus told me to give you these things for your trouble in telling about Keriha.' Sas smiled again, took up the headband, the fire-drill and straightener, held them in his hand, and said: 'These are good paragraph continues --I know all that is passing in the world. I know where Keriha is. I have seen him every day since he went from his brother--I know where he is now. The Supchit woman took him one night, took him under the ground, came out on the top of Bohem Puyuk, went down again, came out, travelled by crooked roads westward, crossed the bridge made of one hair, went under the sky to the other side, to the middle house in a large village. She put Keriha in a little room in that house; he has been there ever since, he is there now. He is very weak and will die to-morrow unless some one saves him. Tell Norwanchakus to start to-night and be there in the morning if he wants to save Keriha.'"
"Then Sas put his hand in his bosom and took out a kolchi bisi sky cap, gave it to me, and said, 'Take this to Norwanchakus, and tell him to give it to Tsiwihl for his trouble.' Sas gave me also a piece of the sky. 'This is for Tsiwihl, too,' said he; 'let him wear it on his breast for a blue facing.'"
Norwanchakus gave these to Tsiwihl, and then made him a blanket of oak leaves. He wears all these things to this day.
"My cousin, are you sure that Sas said this?" asked Norwanchakus.
"I am sure. Sas told me all this."
"Wait now, my cousin." Norwanchakus went northeast, stretched his hand out; an armful of kúruti (silkweed which grows at the end of the world) came on it. "Now, my cousin," said he, "I will pay you well for your trouble. All your life you can make as much rope as you like of this kúruti, and you can go up on it anywhere,--north, south. east, or west."
Norwanchakus started at midnight, and went westward quickly. He knew the way well. He crossed ridges and valleys, passed places where he had found tracks of Keriha and lost them, went to the bridge of one hair, sprang from the bank to the middle of the bridge. The bridge swayed and swayed. Underneath was a wide, rushing river, but Norwanchakus did not fall. With one spring more he touched the other bank, ran swiftly till he reached the big village beyond the sky. He saw the chief house, ran in through its door at the east, went to the little room. and found Keriha with his head on the palm of the Supchit woman's hand. He caught his brother and rushed out, shot past all the people, and stopped only when he was far outside the village.
"Now, my brother," said he, "you told me always that you knew something great, that you wanted to do something great, that you wanted to be something great. What have you been doing here thirty years? I have looked for you everywhere. You never let me know where you were."
"Oh, my brother," said Keriha, "I am so drowsy, I was sleeping, I didn't know where I was."
Norwanchakus crossed the river at a bound, without touching the bridge of one hair. He went on then, never stopped till he reached Keri Buli.
Next morning at daybreak Keriha heard a voice from above. The voice said,--
"Leave that place, Norwanchakus and Keriha. The world will change soon. You two must come here. Leave that place down there quickly."
"Now, my brother," said Keriha, "you are so slow, I don't know where you wish to go, or what you want to do."
"My brother," said Norwanchakus, "I will do the best I can, and do you do the best you can. We have finished our work here. People to come will know the names that you gave to rivers, mountains, rocks, and hills. Hereafter they will call these places by the names we gave them."
While in this world Keriha wore a duck-skin, and when they were ready to go he threw off this skin on the other side of Bohema Mem, and from it have come all the ducks on the rivers of this country.
Norwanchakus had always carried his ash stick from the fish-net. When he was going, he thrust it into the ground at Tsarau Heril. "I will leave this here," said he, "and people to come will make pipes of it." There is plenty of ash to this day in Tsarau Heril.
At the other side of the sky the brothers parted. Norwanchakus went up on high, and stayed there. Keriha went far away to the east, and is living there now. |
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1 - 8 - 8 KELE & SEDIT 
After each name is given that of the creature or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.
Hinwu, big owl; Kele, mountain wolf; Kleréu Lúlimet, wild lily; Pili Lúlimet, reed grass blossom; Pokok, ground owl; Pom Piweki, crooked land; Satok Pokaila, ----; Sas the sun; Tsurat, red-headed woodpecker; Tunhlucha, frog.
In Puidal Winnem lived Kele. Olelbis built a great sweat-house there, and told him to stay in it. Kele was old and lived all alone in that place; lived there a long time, thinking, making up his mind what to do,--he was lonely and thirsty. "Why did Olelbis put me here?" thought he.
Once he rose about daybreak, hurried out, went westward, went to a creek. A great clump of mountain maples stood near the bank. Kele saw a straight stick among all the others. He cut the stick, drew it out, and took off a short piece. On the way home he split the stick, smoothed it, and fixed it as he walked. He put the two sticks overhead in the sweat-house, went out a second time. found a white oak sapling, firm and strong, cut a piece two feet long from it, put it at the hearth. The next day he lay with his back to the fire, lay there all night without sleeping. Just before daybreak he heard steps, and was struck on the back.
A minute later he was struck again in the same place. The old man rose then and made a good fire of manzanita wood.
It was daylight, and Kele said: "My children, come to the fire, warm yourselves, sweat, and then swim in the creek."
Two girls came to the fire, warmed themselves standing, and soon they were sweating from heat.
"My daughters," said Kele, "there is a creek near here. Go and swim in it."
These girls were from the stick that Kele had split in two parts and put in the house wall. The girls bathed in the creek, came back, and were good-looking. When they came in, Kele brought venison for his two daughters to eat.
"My daughters," said the old man, "I will tell you something. You must go to work, do good things. There are roots in the woods all around us, roots fit for food. You need to walk. Go out and get roots." They went out to dig wild lily roots. After that they went every morning.
Soon they began to say: "We should like to have other food; we should like to have game to eat. We saw mountain quail to-day; we saw deer." At last they talked this way every night. Kele listened, thinking what to do. These girls had a nice bed made of skins, and they talked every night to each other; but one night they went to bed early and fell asleep right away. Kele had wished them to sleep; that is why they fell asleep quickly. He hurried down to some mountain-ash trees, went to the middle of them, and cut off five sticks. He whittled these, made them smooth, cut each in two. He had ten smooth sticks then. Next he cut five other sticks. These he left rough; cut them also in two; had ten of them. Kele placed the twenty sticks overhead in the house on the north side, and lay with his back to the fire. The fire was a good one, a hot manzanita fire. His club of green oak was there at the fireplace.
Kele lay without sleeping and waited. He was awake and was thinking. The two girls were sound asleep all the time. just before daybreak he heard a sound as if some barefooted person had sprung from above to the floor. Next moment some one took the club and struck him. Another came down in the same way and struck him. Ten times he was struck with the club.
The ten smooth sticks had turned into people. Each man gave him a blow, went to the wall of the house, and sat there. Kele did not rise yet. He heard some one barefoot jump down and seize the club. This one hit Kele once. A second one sprang down and hit him twice, a third three times, a fourth four times, and so on to the tenth, who struck him ten times. There were twenty in all; ten from the smooth and ten from the rough sticks.
The first ten sticks he had whittled smooth, and they made ten good sons, but from the ten untrimmed sticks came ten rough, uproarious sons. Kele hadn't smoothed them, and they struck him many times. When the tenth rough son struck him the last blow, Kele stood up and made a big fire; he could barely move, he had been so beaten with the club. He lay down then and said,--
"Now, my boys, come here; warm yourselves, dance and sweat, then go to the creek to swim, and come here again." He sang then, and made his sons dance. The boys danced, and hurried to the creek to swim, shouting as they went. They came back to the sweat-house good-looking persons.
The two girls rose now. They knew already what their father had done.
"Go, my daughters, and cook for your brothers," said Kele.
The two sisters made the food ready and placed it before their brothers.
"Now, my sons, eat what we have," said Kele. "You will go out after that, you will hunt, and bring game."
The first ten, the smooth men, had good sense; the second ten were inferior; the ninth and tenth of the second ten were very bad. The first ten took each only one mouthful; of the second ten, the first took one mouthful, the second two, the third three, and so on to the tenth, who took ten mouthfuls. After that they sat back and made ready to go out.
"What are we to do?" asked the first ten. We have nothing to hunt with."
Kele brought out bows and quivers with arrows, and gave them to each; gave five ropes to them also, ropes of grass fibre. "You are armed now," said Kele; and he showed them where to set snares for deer.
They went far down to the foot of the mountain and set snares. The ten smooth brothers stood on the mountain top; the second ten, who were rough, drove the deer. "You must shout so that we can hear you all the time," said the smooth brothers. Toward evening the smooth brothers saw deer in the snares. The smooth ten took the bodies, the best of the game; the rough ten the legs, ears, horns, all the poor parts. The smooth ten took the best meat to the house; the rough ten made a great uproar--they had little sense. The two sisters cooked roots and venison for all.
Next morning Kele made a big fire of manzanita, wood. "Be up, my boys," called he. "Go and swim." That day the twenty stayed at home, and the sisters went for roots.
They lived this way a long time, the brothers hunting, the sisters digging roots and cooking, till at last the sisters wished to see other persons besides their brothers. One day when they went for roots they sat down on the mountain slope. "What are we to do?" said one sister; "we wish to see people, we see no one now but our brothers and father."
That evening, when all had lain down, the elder sister went to Kele and sat near him. "My father," said she, "I wish to know my name."
"Your name is Klereu Lulimet," said Kele; "your sister's name is Pili Lulimet."
She told her sister what their names were. Both liked the names, and were glad to have them. Every day the men sweated and swam, killed deer and snared them. The sisters dug lily roots and cooked them.
One time instead of digging roots they went high on the mountain side and sat there, sat looking westward. They could see very far, and things seemed right there before them, though away off near the edge of the great western water.
This was the first time that the sisters had a chance to see far. Till that day they had only a mountain slope or a forest opening in front of them; now they had the whole country to look at. just after midday they saw a man going northward, going slowly.
"What a nice man that is! Look at him," said one sister to the other.
He stopped all at once, seemed to sit down and disappear through the earth. That day they saw him no more.
"Oh, we should like to see that man," said the sisters, "and talk to him." They watched, talked, and forgot to dig roots. At last, a short time before sunset, they said, "Let us go for roots!" They ran down the mountain, dug a basketful quickly, and hurried home.
"Oh, father, will you teach us how to sing?" said the younger sister to Kele that evening. "We tried all day to sing. I tried to teach my sister, she tried to teach me. We could do nothing."
"You can sing this way," said Kele, and he began,--
"O wi, no á, O wi, no í,
O wi, no á, O wi, no í"
That is good," said she, going away. She said nothing to her sister and lay down.
Soon after the twenty brothers came. Ten of them made a great noise. The house just trembled and shook from the uproar. The second ten had smeared themselves with deer blood, hung deer entrails around their necks. They looked wild and ferocious. When inside, they were quiet; in going out and coming in they always rushed and shouted.
Next morning Kele kept the twenty brothers in the sweat-house. "Rest a day," said he.
The sisters went to the mountain top and looked westward. Soon they saw some one go toward the north, as on the first day.
"Did our father tell you how to sing?" asked the elder sister.
"He did, but I have forgotten."
She tried to remember the song, and soon after it came to her,--
"O wi, no á, O wi, no í,
O wi, no á, O wi, no í"
"This is the way our father sang," said she. "You try it, sister."
The elder began; soon both sang together.
"Oh, we have a nice song now," said they.
Their song went straight to where the man was, a long distance. This man was Sedit. He was getting red earth for acorn bread. Water soaked through red earth was used to moisten acorn meal. Sedit was covered with shells. He was very splendid to look at. As he dug the earth, it seemed to him that he heard something. He stopped, listened, listened with all his ears. The sisters stopped singing, and he dug again; again he heard the singing and stopped. When he stopped, the sisters ceased to sing; when he dug, they began again. Thus it continued the whole afternoon. They kept Sedit all day there doing little, almost nothing.
Sometime before sunset the sisters dug their roots and went home. Sedit went home too. He lived at the house of Satok Pokaila.
"What were you doing? I waited all day, forenoon and afternoon, for you. It is too late to make bread now," said Satok.
This old woman lived alone till Sedit in his wanderings came to her and worked, brought wood, and dug red earth for her.
"I got a headache," said he, "and had to lie down all day nearly."
"I am sorry," said the old woman; and she gave him food, but he did not want any. Next day Sedit went for red earth. He did not eat much that morning. He had not slept all the night. He was thinking of that song on the mountain.
That day the sisters went to the mountain top, looked westward. Soon Sedit came to the same place and worked, put two or three handfuls in his basket, heard singing, heard it plainly, stopped, strained his eyes to see who was singing, saw no one. Again he dug, again they sang; again he stopped work, again they ceased singing; again he worked, again they sang. Sedit thinks now how to follow the singers, tries to whistle their music--cannot catch it--looks around, sees no one. "Well, I must sing," says he. He sings, and this time he catches the music.
The sisters sang now in response to him. They moved on, as he thought, and he followed. But they were not moving, they stayed in one place. They simply made their singing seem farther each time.
Sedit followed till they stopped at last, would not sing any longer. He could not tell what to do. "It is better for me to go back to my basket," said he at last. He went back, put his basket on the bank east of the pit, and said: "Now, my basket, I will leave you a while, I am going away. I place you east of the pit. Rootstick, I place you east of the basket. If Satok Pokaila asks where I am, you will move east, basket, and you will fall east, rootstick. She will know which way I went."
He went eastward, went a short distance, forgot the song, stopped, thought what to do. The song then came back to him. The sisters began to sing again. Sedit followed their song.
Satok Pokaila waited for red earth, waited till midday, then thought, "I'll go and see if Sedit has a headache." She found the basket partly filled with red earth, and the stick standing east of it. She looked in the pit where Sedit had dug, and thought, "He must he here somewhere." She searched, but could not find him.
"Where is Sedit?" asked she of the basket. "Where did he go?--Where is Sedit?" asked she of the rootstick.
The basket moved eastward till it reached the stick, the stick fell toward the east. Old Satok knew now what had happened. She took the basket and digging-stick home with her, put them up safely.
Sedit followed the sisters, sang himself, and listened to their song. The song went southward, went away from the mountain. He followed till he reached Tayam Norel. Sedit sat down. People asked where he came from, where he was going. He would not tell, would not talk, did not care for people's words. He thought of nothing, heard nothing but the song of Kele's daughters.
He sat only a little while, and went away singing and listening to the song of the sisters. Now it went eastward. He followed it to a mountain, where he saw an old man setting a trap. This was old Pokok.
"Uncle, where are you going in such a great hurry?" asked Pokok.
"I am going east," replied Sedit. "You will not see me pass this way again."
He hurried down the mountain, crossed a creek, and went straight up another mountain; was just at the top, when he saw a very big man coming toward him on the right hand as Sedit was going east. Sedit stopped, looked, was afraid somewhat. The two stared at each other. The stranger was very tall and very thick. Sedit was frightened. The big man never stopped, went straight ahead westward. Sedit looked at him a long time, didn't move, watched him going down the mountain. After he had gone Sedit stood a long time, and then sat down.
"Why did he not speak to me?" thought Sedit. "He is the first person I have met who wouldn't speak to me. Who is he? I should like to know."
Sedit sat and thought all that day about the big man. He heard the song always, at times very near him, but he thought so much about the big man that he didn't follow it. He wondered if the big man would come again, and said to himself, "I will wait and see."
About night Sedit thought, "If he comes and will not speak to me, I'll kill him." All night he waited. He rose very early, had not slept any. About sunrise he saw a man coming from afar, from the east, moving westward. Sedit watched, had his bow and arrows ready. It was he who would not speak the day before. Sedit shot him in the breast, shot again. The big man paid no heed, passed right along. Sedit shot twenty arrows. The stranger looked all the time at Sedit, said nothing. Sedit shot twenty arrows more--spent all his arrows.
After he had shot away the forty arrows, and the man had passed right close to him, Sedit sat down and thought, "Who is this that I cannot kill him?" He thought a long time, and then knew that he must be Sas Kiemila.
It was old Sas. Sas had been fooling Sedit, just as Kele's daughters had fooled him.
Sedit heard the song again, and followed it. He went to the Bohema Mem at Sawal Pom, went up Norken Mem till he came to Hin Pom where he heard a great noise. Many people were dancing there.
"Oh. there is Sedit coming," said they. "Where is he going so fast?"
"Uncle, where are you going in such a great hurry?" asked one of the men. "What news have you? Tell us what you have seen on your journey."
"I am travelling this country to look at it. I saw no one, can give you no tidings of any one. I shall not pass this way again."
The man who spoke and the dancers were Hinwa people. Sedit rushed on, came to a flat, saw a spring, and many persons drinking water.
"My grandsons, what are you doing, why do you drink so much water? Water is bad for young people" (these people were birds of all sorts). Sedit called the place Chilchil balus (bird drinking). He went on without stopping or talking,--had no time for either. He listened, heard the singing near a hill, ran there; heard talking of many people, the Tsurats arguing about acorns.
Sedit passed these people, crossed the Norken Mem, ran along the trail, came to an old man lying across it at the foot of a mountain. Sedit, going fast, thought to jump over the old man, but he moved, and Sedit stopped. "Grandson, what are you doing?" asked Sedit. This was Pom Piweki. "I cannot tell what to do," said Pom. "I am old, I cannot travel; so I lay down here."
"I will go on," said Sedit, "and come back this way, I think." He heard the song nearer now; followed it, followed till sunset, when it ceased. He stayed all night in that place.
Next morning, some time after sunrise, the song began again. Sedit answered, and followed it. Then it ceased; he stopped again; then the song began a second time; he followed; the song ceased. The song circled around the mountain, going a little higher gradually; sometimes it was near, sometimes it seemed far away, but he never came up to it.
After wandering ten days, perhaps, he reached the top of the mountain by going round and round the side of it. The singing was in the mountain now all the time. He was on the highest part of Kele's sweat-house. Kele, his twenty sons, and two daughters were inside, and the girls and old man knew that some one was walking on the roof of their sweat-house. Kele's sons went out each morning, and so did his daughters. Although they were many, Sedit never saw one of them,--they fooled him. At last, when Sedit was on the mountain, Kele shouted,--
"If any one is on my house, let him go down to the western door of it."
Sedit heard, and went back the way by which he came. He went to Pom Piweki and asked: "Do you know where the door to this sweat-house is?"
Pom Piweki made no answer. He stood up and pulled open a door; it seemed as though he had been lying across the entrance. When he opened the door, Sedit saw far into the house.
"Sedit, if you are here to go in, this is the way for you," said Pom Piweki. "You will see an old man lying on the east side, go to him and talk; this is his sweat-house."
Sedit went in and sat down near Kele, said nothing. Kele rose up and gave Sedit food, talked to him, told him what kind of person he, Kele, was, and about his children, and said: "Sedit, if you have come here to stay, you must do what I tell you; you must be careful. I have rough sons; if they know that you are here, they will make trouble. I will hide you. They will make a noise, but you will not suffer if you keep quiet; if you move, they will find you, and abuse you, surely."
Kele put Sedit in a basket in the ground, hid him there, leaving a small hole to look through. "You may look out, but do not move," said Kele.
As soon as Sedit was hidden the girls came in with roots, and sat down at their sleeping-place. Sedit was near them. He thrust out his hand and pinched the younger sister. She said nothing.
"Sister, have you seen any one?" asked she, after a time; "some one pinched me."
"`Sh!" said the elder, "be quiet and say nothing; don't let our father hear."
The elder went to cook, and Kele's twenty sons came hammering and tramping.
The first ten, the smooth ones, came, as always, quietly; the second ten came with a rush and an uproar. Sedit peeped out at them.
The younger sister pushed him back. "Be still," said she.
Sedit tried to rise; she kept him down.
The first man of the second ten cried, "Pshu! I smell Sedit."
The second said, "Pshu! I smell Sedit; throw him out!"
"Be quiet, boys; don't talk so," said Kele. "Sedit is your uncle."
"Phew! I smell Sedit," cried all the second ten.
Kele could hardly keep his sons from taking Sedit. After they had eaten they grew more excited. "Where is Sedit?" cried they. "Let us find Sedit!"
At last they found Sedit, dragged him out, played ball with him, threw him around the whole night from one side of the great house to the other. Kele could do nothing, could not stop them. He went and lay down. About sunrise Sedit screamed. He was almost dead. Kele's ten rough sons were covered with deer blood and shouted all night. The smooth ten sat still, could do nothing against the rough ten.
About sunrise Sedit could hardly breathe. He had a root under his left arm, and as he was hurled across the house it fell into the fire and made a great smoke. The odor was very pleasant. Kele's sons liked it. They threw Sedit back to where they found him, left him, and began to breathe in the smoke.
"My sons," said Kele, "I told you last night not to hurt or harm Sedit; let him alone. That root which he dropped will be good for you, and hereafter you will like it. Future people when going to hunt will take this root, tsarauhosi, hold it out, and say, 'Kele, give us deer.' They will give you the root, and you will give them deer. When they go hunting and have bad luck, they will make a fire, burn this root, hold it out while it smokes, and say, 'Kele, will you put deer where we can see and kill them?'" (Wintu hunters carry this root and burn it if they have bad luck in finding deer. Kele likes the odor and sends them deer). Kele rubbed Sedit with deer marrow, put him on the west side of the sweat-house, and said, "This is your place; you will stay here."
The boys went to hunt, the girls to dig roots as before.
"How did you get those sons, brother?" asked Sedit once.
"You have no need to know; I will not tell you," replied Kele.
"How did you build this house? Two old men should not live in one house. If I had a house, your sons could visit me when they wished, see their uncle's house, and stay all night, perhaps."
"I don't think you could have sons, Sedit, or keep a house. I don't believe you have strength for it; these things are hard to do," said Kele.
But Sedit talked on about sons and a sweat-house. Kele asked Sedit to sing for his sons while they danced and sweated. He sang twice and sang fairly. "I could sing well if I had a house and sons of my own," remarked Sedit.
"I will build a sweat-house for him," thought Kele, at last. "He may go through as I have. I don't think he will, but I can let him try."
The next night Kele made all sleep soundly. He went north a short distance and wished for a sweat-house.
A mountain stood in front of him next moment. Kele went home before daylight and lay down. That day Sedit talked on as before.
"Come," said Kele; and he took him to the new mountain. "You can live here if you like. This is your house." Kele left him then.
Sedit made a fire, found a pipe and tobacco, smoked, stayed many days and nights by himself there. "I should like to know how Kele got his sons," thought he one night. "I must ask him."
"I come to tell you," said Sedit one morning, "that I am lonesome. I want to know how you got your sons and daughters."
Kele made no answer for a long time. At last he told him how he got his daughters.
Sedit went home, did exactly as Kele had done, then lay down without sleeping. Toward morning he heard some one jump to the floor; next he got a blow on the back, then a second. The two persons went away and sat down. Sedit rose, made a big fire, and began singing for a sweat-dance. Two girls stood near the fire, sweated, then went to the creek, swam, and went home. They had very long hair and were nice looking. Sedit gave them wooden combs and mink-skins for their hair, gave them food and nice baskets painted red, told each to dig roots and cook them.
Sedit lived a while with his daughters, till he thought once, "I want to have sons." He went to Kele, and Kele told how he had got sons, told carefully.
Sedit cut the sticks, did everything as Kele said, and lay by the fire, but he could not keep from looking up; the moment he looked all the sticks fell to the ground. Sedit put them in place again, lay by the fire, looked up. The sticks fell a second time; he put them up again, lay down, looked a third time. The sticks fell a third time. He was putting the sticks up till daylight, when he had to stop. Sedit went to Kele that day. "My sticks were falling all night," said he.
Kele knew what had happened already. "Why not do as I told you? I told you not to look up."
"I will not look any more," said Sedit.
Next night he put up sticks again and waited, took the blows till the last one of the second ten was giving him ten blows, then he sprang up and screamed. All the twenty sons dropped down and were sticks again. It was just daylight. Sedit gathered the sticks into a basket, and looked to see if the girls were awake. They were sticks as well as the others.
Sedit felt very sorry, could not tell what to do. He put the two sticks with the other twenty, took one at a time, held it up, and said, "This was my son, this was my daughter." He was sorry and wondered if he could make others. He went to Kele and said,--
"My brother, I could not stand it."
"What did I tell you?"
"Can I not make more?"
"Perhaps you cannot endure it." Kele did not want him to try.
"I am sorry for my girls," said Sedit, "I want them back; I was fond of them."
"You may try for sons, but those girls will not come back."
Sedit tried a third time. The beating was so hard that he almost screamed; but he held out this time, and had twenty sons. Sedit's house was full of sons, but he had no daughters; the sticks would not turn to girls again, though he did with them as he had the first time.
Sedit sent his sons to hunt. "Go wherever you like," said he. "On the west side is a ridge; go on that ridge, keep in one line, and when you turn some one may see you and think, 'What a crowd of nice boys!'"
Kele's boys were hunting that day, and saw Sedit's sons in a long line. "Look at that row of men on the ridge," said they. "Those are our cousins," said one of the smooth ten; "those are Sedit's sons."
Sedit's sons went to a flat, danced and played all the day, took yellow clay, made paste of it, painted themselves yellow--that is why coyotes are yellow to this day; the paint would not wash off All went home in a line. Sedit had supper for them.
"Why do you come without deer?" asked Sedit.
"We danced on the flat and painted."
Sedit said nothing. All ate; then Sedit thought,
"I wish you boys to sleep." All fell asleep. Sedit went to Kele, woke him up, and said,--
"My sons went to hunt, but came home without deer. What shall I do with them?"
"Let them hunt birds. Let them hunt gophers and grasshoppers in the meadows. Gophers are as good as deer."
"All right," said Sedit; and he went home and slept.
They brought grasshoppers and gophers from the hunt next day, and Sedit was satisfied.
"Let them live on that kind of food," thought he.
They told of their hunting that day. "We wanted water," said one of them, "and met an old woman. 'We are dry and cannot find water,' said we to her. 'I will give you water,' said the old woman; 'come with me.' We followed her a while. I was afraid and said to my brothers, 'Do not drink the water she gives.' One of my brothers shouted at the old woman and frightened her. She fell back and turned into a swamp with a spring in the middle of it. We didn't go near the spring, but were nearly lost in the swamp."
"That is a wicked old woman, said Sedit. "That is Tunhlucha Pokaila. She drowns people often. I met her once and she came near drowning me. Don't you go near her again. Hunt gophers and grasshoppers elsewhere."
"Now, my sons," said Sedit, some days later, "go and scatter around through this country. Whenever you want to see me come here to my sweat-house."
Sedit's sons scattered north, south, east, and west. They were at every ridge and point, in every valley and meadow, at every spring and river.
Kele's sons stayed at their great mountain sweat-house, doing the same things, living in the same way. The two sisters never married, and all Kele's people are in that mountain now. When they go out they look like wolves; but when inside, when at home in the mountain, they are people. |
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1 - 8 - 9 KOL TIBICHI 
Kol Tibichi was born at Norpat Kodiheril on Wini Mem, just before daylight. When a small boy, he used to go out by himself. If he went to play with other boys sometimes, he would not stay with them. He went out of sight, disappeared, and was lost. Then his father or mother or others would find him in this place or that unexpectedly. Sometimes they found him at home, sometimes at a distance, far away in some gulch or on some mountain. It happened that his mother would look at his bed in the night-time and see him there sleeping. She would look again and find that he was gone. She would look a third time, and find him just as at first. In the day he would be seen in one place and be gone the next moment.
Once he was playing with children; they turned aside to see something, then looked at him. He was gone. After a while they saw him in the water under the salmon-house. Another time he disappeared.
"Where has he gone?" asked one boy.
"I cannot tell," answered another.
Soon they heard singing.
One asked, "Do you hear that?
"Yes," said the other; "where is it?
They listened and looked. Soon they saw Kol Tibichi sitting near the north bank of the river, under water.
"We must run and tell his father and mother."
Two of the boys ran to tell his father and mother.
"We lost your son," said they. "He went away from us. We looked for him a long time and could not find him. Now we have found him; we have seen him sitting under water; we don't know what he is doing."
His mother hurried out; ran to the river.
"We think he must be dead," said people who had gathered there. "We think that some yapaitu spirit has killed him."
They soon saw that he was alive; he was moving. "Come, my son," called his mother, stretching her hands to him,--"come, my son; come out, come to me." But he stayed there, sitting under water.
A quarter of an hour later they saw that the boy had gone from the river. The people heard singing in some place between them and the village. They looked up and saw that the boy was half-way home and going from the river.
"That is your son," called they to the woman.
"Oh, no," said the woman; but she ran up and found that it was her son.
Another time the boy goes south with some children. These lose him, just as the others had. In half an hour they hear singing.
"Where is he?" ask some.
"On this side," says one.
"On that," says another.
South of the river is a great sugar-pine on a steep bank. They look, and high on a limb pointing northward they see him hanging, head downward, singing.
They run to his mother. "We see your son hanging by his feet from a tree."
The woman hurries to the river, runs in among the rocks and rubbish around the tree, reaches toward the boy, throws herself on the rocks, crying, "Oh, my child, you'll be killed!"
In a moment he is gone; there is no sign of him on the tree. Soon a shouting is heard at the house: "My wife, come up; don't cry, our son is here!"
She crawls out of the rocks and dirt, runs home, finds the boy safe with his father.
The people began now to talk of the wonderful boy. Soon every one was talking of him. There were many people in the place. Norpat Kodiheril was a very big village.
"Some yapaitu is going to take that boy's life," said they; "some yapaitu will kill him."
One morning the boy went down on the north side of the river with children, but apart from them, behind, by himself. He looked up, saw a great bird in the air flying above him. "Oh, if I had those wing feathers!" thought the boy. Then he blew upward and wished (olpuhlcha). That moment the great bird Komos Kulit fell down before him. just after the bird fell he heard a voice in the sky, a voice high, very high up, crying,--
"Now, you little man, you must call yourself Kol Tibichi. You are to be the greatest Hlahi doctor on Wini Mem."
"Look at that boy!" cried the other boys. "See! he has something."
They were afraid when they saw the great bird, and the boy stretching the wings and handling the wonderful Komos Kulit. Some of them ran to his mother and said to her,--
"Your son has a very big bird. It fell down from the sky to him. We are afraid of that bird. We could not lift such a big bird."
Old people ran down; saw the boy handling Komos Kulit. "How did you get that bird?" asked they. "Did he fall to you?"
"Yes. I saw the shadow of a big bird on the ground. I looked up. It fell, and was here."
The old people talked,--talked much, talked a long time. There were many of them.
"We do not know what to do; we do not know what to think. We do not know why that bird fell," said some. "We ought not to talk about the bird, but we ought to think about this boy, find out what he is doing."
"Oh," said others, "he made that bird fall by blowing at it. That boy will be a great Hlahi."
The boy killed the bird with a yapaitu dokos (spirit flint); he wanted its wings.
The father and mother of the boy said: "Two wise men should pull out the longest wing feathers for the boy. He wants them; he wants them to keep."
"Let that be done," said the people; and they found two men to pull out the two longest wing feathers. The boy went to one side while they were pulling them, pretended not to see or care what they were doing; but the two men knew that he knew why he did so. When the two men had pulled out the feathers, the boy said to his father,--
"I like those feathers; save them for me; I want them."
His father took the feathers home and saved them.
Another time this boy was walking up Wini Mem--some time before he had been at a Hlahi dance, and had seen there beautiful collars of flicker-tail feathers, and remembered them. He walked forward and said to himself,--
"I wonder where that man found those feathers. I would like to have feathers like them."
"Pluck a bunch of grass with your mouth," said the yapaitu, "drop it into your hand, and look at it."
He did so, and flicker feathers were in his hands. He counted them. and found five hundred. "These are nice feathers; I will keep them," said the boy.
"Kol Tibichi is your name," said the yapaitu. "You will be the greatest Hlahi on Wini Mem, but you must obey us. You must listen to our words, you must do what we tell you."
Kol Tibichi took the flicker feathers and walked westward, walked across a wide gulch till he came to a black-oak tree above Norpat Kodiheril.
"I like that oak-tree," said Kol Tibichi. "I think that is a good place for my mother to get acorns." He blew then, and said: "You must be very big, wide, and high, give many acorns every fall. I will call your place Olpuhlchiton" (blowing upward place, i. e. wishing place).
He went home then, and gave the flicker-tail feathers to his mother. "Now, my mother," said he, "I wish you to keep these feathers for me."
"Where did you find them, my son?" asked she. "You are always doing something. You did not find these yourself; the yapaitu got them. I will keep them. I am sorry for you, but I cannot stop what you are doing. You cannot stop it yourself. But I will keep these feathers for you; I will keep them safely."
All the people talked much of Kol Tibichi now.
Once there was a doctor's dance. and the boy remained at home till one night when the yapaitu came to him and he began to hlaha. His father and mother did not know what the trouble was.
"Bring him here," said the oldest doctor.
"He is a Hlahi," said the doctors, when they saw him. "Sak hikai the rainbow is his yapaitu. You must give him to us till the yapaitu leaves him. While the yapaitu is with him, let him stay inside."
They were five or six days making Hlahis (doctors). The boy stayed in the sweat-house six days, never eating, never drinking; some others ate and drank, but Kol Tibichi neither ate nor drank.
"Something must "be done to make that yapaitu leave him. You must put a band around Kol Tibichi's head," said the chief, 'and the yapaitu will leave him."
They got a white wolf-tail headband. The yapaitu did not go. "This is not the right kind of a headband," said the doctor, after a while. They tried fox, wildcat, coyote, a white-deer band, without effect.
"We don't know what he wants," said some Hlahis.
Next they tried otter, fisher, coon, badger, black bear, grizzly bear, silver-gray fox, mink, beaver, rabbit, red-headed woodpecker.
"What does he want?" asked some.
"Now," said the old doctor, "you ought, to know that this boy should have food and drink, and he cannot have them till the yapaitu goes. You should know that the headband that his yapaitu wants is a tsahai loiyas" (woman's front apron made of maple bark, painted red).
They brought this apron, made the headband, and tied it on his head.
"This is the one," said the yapaitu.
Kol Tibichi began to sing; the Hlahi danced a few minutes. The boy blew then, and the yapaitu. left him. Kol Tibichi ate venison first and drank water, then took other kinds of food. From that time on Kol Tibichi was a Hlahi.
Soon after the great Hlahi dance, perhaps two weeks, Notisa, chief of Norpat Kodiheril, fell sick; he began to have a bad feeling at midday, and in the evening all his friends thought he would die. In the early night people in Norpat Kodi saw a light going to Kol Tibichi's house.
"People are coming; there must be some one sick in the village," said the boy's father and mother. "People are coming. See, there is a big light moving this way."
Two men came to the door. "Come in," said Kol Tibichi's father. "We thought some one was sick when we saw your light coming."
"We are here because Notisa is sick," said the men. "He got sick at noon."
The two men spread out a marten skin and said: "We brought this to show it to you and your son. We have heard that he is a powerful Hlahi. The chief gave us this skin to show you. We are afraid that Notisa will die. We want your son to go with us to see him."
They gave the skin to Kol Tibichi. It was the best skin in the chief's house.
"We will go," said Kol Tibichi's father. "I do not say that my son is a Hlahi, but he can do something."
They waked the boy, made him ready to go.
"Come," said his mother; and she carried him to the chief's house.
"My mother, put me down," said Kol Tibichi, when they had come near the house.
"I do not like to put you down," said the mother.
Put me down, put me down a moment," said the boy.
His mother put him down. Then he saw some one looking around Notisa's house, pushing about, looking, watching in the dark, lurking around, holding arrows. This was a yapaitu, ready to shoot Notisa and kill him.
Kol Tibichi called his own yapaitu, who went to the one who was watching and said: "What are you doing here? What do you want at this house?
"I am doing nothing," answered the yapaitu.
"You are waiting to do something. You want to do harm."
"Oh no; I am only looking around here, just trying to find the door. I wanted to see some one.
"You are ready to shoot a yapaitu dokos. You want to kill Notisa. You are watching around here to kill him."
"Oh, no, I am not. I am just looking around, not doing anything."
"You are ready to kill Notisa, the chief. You are waiting to kill him," said Kol Tibichi's yapaitu, who just took hold of the strange yapaitu, twisted him, killed him right there, and buried him.
Kol Tibichi's mother took her son into the chief's house. The boy knew what had been done. His yapaitu told him what he had done, and came in with him. The boy sat down near Notisa.
People thought the chief ready to die, thought that he might die any moment. "Let the boy put his hand on the sick man," said they.
"Put your hand on the chief," said the father.
"You must do what you can. You must try, do your best to cure him."
Kol Tibichi spat on his hands, passed them over Notisa's breast and face. "I am sleepy, my mother, oh, I am so sleepy," said the boy, when he had passed his hands over the chief
"He cannot do more to-night," said the father. "We will go home."
Next morning people in the sweat-house heard a man talking outside. He came in and said, "I am well!" This was Notisa.
"We are glad," said the people. "Kol Tibichi has saved you."
The boy grew up and became a great Hlahi. When twenty years old, he was the greatest Hlahi on Wini Mem.
One year there was a Hlahi dance in El Hakam. Kol Tibichi was a man. He was thirty years old then. He went to the dance. Tulitot was the great Hlahi in that place, and he thought himself better than Kol Tibichi. While dancing, Tuletot took a snake from his mouth, a large rattlesnake, and held it in both hands as he danced. The snake was his own child. Kol Tibichi looked, and thought he could do better; and, dancing forward, he blew, as Hlahis do, and threw out long burning flames on both sides of his mouth. All present were afraid, and with Tulitot ran back before him in fear.
When the dance was over, Kol Tibichi went to Norpat Kodi and lived on, a great Hlahi: lived till he was a hundred years of age and more. He could not walk any longer. He knew that he could not live. "I cannot live any more," said he. "My yapaitu tells me this,--I cannot walk. I cannot do anything. My yapaitu tells me that I must leave Norpat Kodiheril. He was not sick, but decrepit. My yapaitu is going to take me and leave my bones in this place with you. When I go from my body, do not bury it. Leave it on the ground out there. Let it lie one night. Next morning you will see a large rock in place of it. When people are sick, let them come and take a piece of the rock, or some earth, or some moss from it that will cure them."
We will not do that," said Notisa, a son of the first chief; "we bury every body, and we will bury yours like all others."
"Do not bury my bones," said Kol Tibichi.
"We should not like to see your bones all the time. We have no wish to see a rock in place of them."
"Well, take my body to the black-oak tree, put it eight or ten feet from the ground, leave it there one night; next morning you will see water in a hollow of the oak. Any man may come and get that water, rub it on his body, and drink some. It will cure him."
"No," said the chief, "we don't want to see the tree there every day. We do not wish to look at it all the time."
"Dig a deep grave, then," said Kol Tibichi, "put my body in with nothing around it. When you come to mourn, do not stand east of the grave-mound. On the morning after my burial you will see a rainbow coming out of the grave."
Kol Tibichi died. They did everything just as he told them. All saw the rainbow and said, "We ought to have left his body above ground, and to have done all that he asked of us at first. The yapaitu is mourning for him."
The rainbow stood there two days and two nights at the grave, then moved two feet eastward. Next morning it was four feet away, then eight, going farther day by day till it was at the salmon-house where Kol Tibichi used to go when a boy. It stood there by the salmon-house five days. Next it was on the north bank of the river, then on the hillside beyond, then on the hilltop, then on the mountain-slope, then on the mountain-top. Next all the people in Norpat Kodiheril heard a noise and knocking in the grave-mound one night, and early next morning they saw an immense bird rising out of Kol Tibichi's grave. First the head came, and then the body. At sunrise it came out altogether, and flew to the sugar-pine from which Kol Tibichi had hung head downward in childhood. It perched on the tree, stayed five minutes, and then flew away, flew to the mountain, to the rainbow, went into the rainbow. The bird and rainbow went away, disappeared together. The bird was Komus Kulit. The rainbow was Kol Tibichi's yapaitu. |
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1 - 9 Yana: WINNING OF HALAI AUNA AT THE HOUSE OF TUINA
THIS myth and all that follow it belong to the Yanas, a nation of Indians described in the notes. The nine preceding myths are of the Wintus, neighbors of the Yanas.
The languages of these two nations are radically different.
PERSONAGES
After each name is given that of the creature or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.
Chuhna, spider; Halai Auna, morning star; Igupa Topa, ----; Ochúl Márimi, mountain lion; Pul Miauna, colored bow, the rainbow; Pun Miaupa, son of rainbow; Tuina, the sun; Utjamhji, mock sun; Wakara, the moon; Wediko, meteor; Marimi means woman.
Old Pul Miauna had a son, Pun Miaupa, a wife, and two daughters.
Pun Miaupa had a quarrel with his father and made up his mind to leave him. "I am going away," said he to his father and mother one day.
"I am tired of living here."
The mother began to cry.
"Which way are you going?" asked the father.
Pun Miaupa gave no answer; wouldn't tell his father where he was going. The father stood up and walked out of the house. The mother stopped crying and said,--
"I want you to go straight to my brother, your uncle Igupa Topa. Tell him where you are going. Do not go without seeing him."
Pun Miaupa left his mother, went to his uncle's, stood on the roof of the sweat-house. The old man was very busy throwing out grass that day. A great many people had gambled at his house a day earlier; they had left much grass in it.
"Uncle, are you alive?" asked Pun Miaupa.
The old uncle looked up and saw his nephew, who said,--
"Uncle, I am full grown. I am going on a very long journey, I am going far away. My mother told me to come here and see you."
"Where are you going, my nephew?"
"To the north."
"I thought so," said the old man, who knew that his nephew would go to get Wakara's youngest daughter.
Wakara took all his daughter's suitors to Tuina's sweat-house, and they were killed there. Igupa Topa knew this and said, "Wait a little, nephew, I will go with you."
"Uncle," said Pun Miaupa, "you are too old. I don't want you to go; the journey would kill you. I want to travel very fast on this journey."
"I will go at my own pace, I will go as I like," said the uncle.
"Well, come with me if you can go fast."
Igupa Topa dressed, took a staff, and looked very old. "Go on, I am ready," said he.
Pun Miaupa started. He turned around to look at his uncle, and saw the old man; saw him fall while coming out of the sweat-house. Pun Miaupa stopped, held down his head, and thought, "He will not go, even as far as Wajami."
The uncle rose and followed on.
"You are too old, uncle; you cannot walk well. Stay at home; that is better for you."
"Go ahead," said the old man; "walk fast. I will come as I can."
Pun Miaupa went on; his uncle followed. Igupa Topa stumbled every few steps, fell, hurt himself, tore his skin. Pun Miaupa looked back very often. The uncle was always tumbling. "He must be bruised and broken from these falls," thought the nephew.
Pun Miaupa was on a hill beyond Chichipana. He sat down and smoked. His uncle came up while he was sitting there.
"Let me smoke; then I want to see you jump to that mountain over there," said the old man, pointing to it.
"I shall leave you behind if I do that."
"Leave me to myself," said the old man.
Pun Miaupa put on deerskin leggings and a beaded shirt,--a splendid dress. He went then with one spring to the top of the opposite mountain and looked back to see his uncle; but old Igupa Topa had jumped too. He was just passing Pun Miaupa and went far beyond him.
"I thought you were too old to jump," said Pun Miaupa, coming up to him.
They jumped again, jumped to a second mountain, and the uncle was ahead the second time. After that they walked on. The old man fell very often, but Pun Miaupa did not pity him any longer; he laughed when his uncle fell. They travelled a good while, travelled fast, and when both reached Wajami Mountain, they sat down to rest there.
"I want Wakara to send out his youngest daughter for wood," said Pun Miaupa in his mind; and the next minute Wakara, who was far away in his own sweat-house, told his youngest daughter to take a basket and go for wood. This daughter was Halai Auna.
At that moment, too, Wakara's wife, Ochul Marimi, said to the girl: "Why do you lie asleep all the time and not help me? I want you to get me leaves for acorn bread."
Halai Auna took the basket and went upon the mountain side to find wood and leaves. Pun Miaupa saw the girl filling her basket.
"That is Wakara's daughter," said he to his uncle.
"Stop! Be careful!" said Igupa Topa.
The uncle put himself into his nephew's heart now to strengthen him. There was only one person to be seen. Igupa Topa went into his nephew, went in because he knew that Tuina killed all men who tried to get Halai Auna, and he wished to save his sister's son, Pun Miaupa.
When the girl had her basket full and turned to place it on her back, she saw Pun Miaupa behind her; she could not move, she was so frightened.
"Why are you afraid? Am I so ugly?" asked Pun Miaupa.
He pleased her; but she said not a word, just ran, hurried home with the basket, and threw it down at the door.
"What is your trouble?" asked the mother. "You don't like to work, I think."
"What is the matter?" asked Wakara. "You are frightened."
"I saw a man on the mountain, a man with woodpecker scalps on his head."
"The southern people wear woodpecker scalps," said Wakara; "that must be one of the southern people."
Pun Miaupa sprang through the air, came down in front of Wakara's sweat-house, went in and sat near Halai Auna on a bear-skin. Nice food was brought for all, and when they had finished eating, Wakara said,--
"Now, my daughters, and you, my wife, Ochul Marima, make ready; let us go. I wish to see my brother, Tuina, and hear what he says of Halai Auna's new husband."
They dressed, put on beads, and put red paint on their faces. Halai Auna said nothing. She sat with her head down; she was sorry; she liked Pun Miaupa, she felt sure that they would kill him.
When all were ready, Wakara took his wife's hand and danced around the fire with her. He had two unmarried daughters besides Halai Auna; one of these took her father's hand, the other took Halai Auna's, and all danced around the fire and circled about Pun Miaupa. They put him in the middle and danced in a circle; they began to sing, and rose in the air then and danced right up out of the sweat-house, went through the smoke-hole and moved westward, singing as they went,--
"I-nó, i-nó, i-nó, no-má
I-nó, i-nó, i-nó, no-má."
They moved faster as they went, and danced all the time. It was dark when they danced up through the roof of the sweat-house; no one saw them, though there were many people round about. Old Wakara's sons-in-law lived in that place; all the stars were his daughters, and his daughters were married, except Halai Auna and the two who danced around the fire. Wakara went without being seen. He would let no one have Halai Auna unless one whom Tuina could not kill.
Now, a little before daylight they reached Tuina's house. Wakara stood on the roof of the sweat-house and called, "My brother, I want you to spring out of bed."
Tuina was asleep in the sweat-house- He had three daughters and no son. The daughters were called Wediko, and his wife was Utjamhji. Wakara went down into the sweat-house and sat at the side of Tuina. Tuina took a bear-skin and put it down at his other hand, and told Halai Auna and her husband to sit on it. Tuina took up a big sack of tobacco and a large pipe cut out of maple wood. The tobacco was made of his own hair, rolled and cut fine. He put this in the pipe and gave it to Pun Miaupa. Wakara and Tuina watched now, and looked at him. The young man smoked all the tobacco and gave back the pipe.
Tuina filled the pipe now with a different, a stronger tobacco. He used to rub his skin often, and what he rubbed off he dried and made fine. This was his tobacco of the second kind. He had a sackful of this stored away, and he filled his pipe now with it.
Pun Miaupa smoked, seemed to swallow the smoke. It was not he who was smoking, though, but the uncle in his heart. He emptied the pipe and returned it. Tuina took now tobacco of a third kind,--his own flesh dried and rubbed fine. He filled the pipe, gave it to Pun Miaupa, and waited to see him fall dead at the second if not at the first whiff.
The country outside the sweat-house was full of dead people, all killed by Tuina's tobacco. Some of the bodies were fresh, others decayed; some were sound skeletons, others a few old bones.
Pun Miaupa smoked out this pipe, gave it back empty. Tuina handed him a fourth pipe. The tobacco was made of his own brains, dried and rubbed fine. Pun Miaupa smoked this and gave the empty pipe back to Tuina.
Tuina now tried the fifth pipe. He filled it with marrow from his own bones, gave it to Halai Auna's husband. Wakara, and Tuina watched now, waiting to see him fall. Pun Miaupa swallowed all and gave the pipe back.
Tuina had no other kind of tobacco and could do no more. He dropped his head. "I don't know what kind of person this is," thought he. All at once he remembered old Igupa Topa, and thought:
"This may be a young one of that kind. I can do nothing with him, he has beaten me."
Halai Auna was very glad to have such a husband. This was the first man of all who had come to see her who had not been killed by Tuina. She laughed all this time in her mind.
Pun Miaupa went out, killed five deer, and brought them in. The women cooked a great deal that day. Wakara and Tuina sat in the house, talked and ate Pun Miaupa's fresh venison. The next night all slept. Igupa Topa went out of Pun Miaupa's heart, went about midnight, and sat north of the pillar in the side of the house, sat without saying a word. He had a white-feather in his head, and looked very angry and greatly dissatisfied.
Early next morning Tuina and Wakara were up and saw the old man sitting there with that big feather in his head, and they looked at him.
"Oh," said Tuina. "I know now why Halai Auna's husband can smoke my tobacco. I know that old Igupa Topa this long time. I know what that old fellow can do."
They put plenty of food before Igupa Topa, but he would eat none of it. Pun Miaupa killed five deer that morning and brought them in. The two old men were glad to see such nice venison, and see so much of it. Igupa Topa sat by himself, and ate nothing.
"Uncle, why do you not eat?" asked Pun Miaupa.
He made no answer, but watched till all were asleep; then he stood up and ate, ate the whole night through, ate all the acorn bread, all the roots, ate all that there was in the house, except venison. That was not his kind of food; he would not touch it. He sat down on the north side of the central pillar when he had finished eating.
"You must work hard to cook food enough," said Tuina next morning to the women. "Some one in this house must be very hungry."
The women worked hard all that day; in the evening the house was full of good food again. Pun Miaupa's uncle would not eat a morsel placed before him, but when night came he ate everything there was except venison.
"There must be some one in this house who is very hungry," said Tuina, when he rose the next morning. "Make ready more food to-day, work hard, my daughters."
"We will not work to-day; that nasty old fellow eats everything in the night time. We will not carry wood and water all day and have nothing to eat the next morning."
"I don't like him, either," said Tuina; "he will go very soon, I hope."
Igupa Topa heard these words and remembered them. Tuina's wife and Wakara's wife, both old women, had to work that day without assistance. In the middle of the forenoon a great cloud rose in the south. Pun Miaupa's uncle raised it. "Let rain come, thick heavy rain," said he in his mind. "I want darkness, I want a big storm and cold rain."
The cloud was black; it covered all the sky; every one came in, and soon the rain began. It rained in streams, in rivers; it filled the valleys, filled all places. The water reached Tuina's sweat-house, rushed in, and filled the whole place; all had to stand in water; and the rain was very cold.
Old Tuina and Wakara were shivering; their teeth knocked together; their wives and daughters were crying. Igupa Topa had taken his nephew and Halai Auna up to his place on the north side, near the roof of his sweat-house, where they were dry.
The sweat-house was nearly full of water. All were crying now. Some time before daylight one of Tuina's daughters was drowned, and then the other two, and Wakara's two daughters. About dawn Tuina and Wakara with their two wives were drowned. All were dead in the sweat-house except Igupa Topa, his nephew, and Halai Auna. At daylight the rain stopped, the water began to go down, and all the bodies floated out through the doorway. The place was dry. Pun Miaupa made a fire. Halai Auna came to the fire and began to cry for her father, her mother and sisters.
"You must not cry," said Pun Miaupa; "my uncle did this. He will bring all to life again quickly."
But Halai Auna was afraid, and she cried for some time.
Just after midday Igupa Topa went outside, saw the dead bodies, and said: "Why sleep all day?
It is time to be up, you two old men and you five young girls!"
Tuina and Wakara sprang up, went to the creek, and swam. "No one but Igupa Topa could have done this to us," said they.
All the women rose up as if they had been only sleeping.
"My brother, I shall go home to-morrow," said Wakara. "It is time for me."
Very early next morning Wakara and his wife began to dance, then the two daughters, then Halai Auna and her husband. They danced out by the smoke-hole, rose through the air, sang, and danced themselves home.
Wakara had been five days away, and all his daughters' husbands were saying: "Where is our father-in-law? He may have been killed." All were very glad when they saw old Wakara in the sweat-house next morning.
Before leaving Tuina's sweat-house Igupa Topa had gone into his nephew's heart again. When Wakara came home, he took his new son-in-law to try a sport which he had. The old man had made a great pole out of deer sinews. This pole was fixed in the ground and was taller than the highest tree. Wakara played in this way: A man climbed the pole, a second bent it down and brought the top as near the foot as possible. He let the top go then, and it shot into the air. If the man on the pole held firmly, he was safe; if he lost his grip he was hurled up high, then fell and was killed.
"Come, my son-in-law," said Wakara one day, "I will show you the place where I play sometimes pleasantly."
They went to the place. The old man climbed first, grasped the pole near the top. Pun Miaupa pulled it down; his uncle was in his heart, and he was very strong. He brought the top toward the ground, did not draw very hard, and let the pole fly back again. It sprang into the air. Wakara was not hurled away; he held firmly. Pun Miaupa brought down the pole a second time, he brought it down rather softly, and let it go. Wakara held his place yet. He tried a third time. Wakara was unshaken.
"That will do for me," said Wakara. "Go up now; it is your time."
Pun Miaupa went on the pole and held with his uncle's power. It was not he who held the pole, but Igupa Topa. "I will end you this time," thought Wakara. He bent the pole close to the ground and let go. Wakara looked sharply to see his son-in-law shoot through the air,--looked a good while, did not see him. "My son-in-law has gone very high," thought he. He looked a while yet in the sky; at last he looked at the pole, and there was his son-in-law.
He bent the pole a second time, bent it lower than before; then let it fly. This time Wakara looked at the pole, and Pun Miaupa was on the top of it.
Wakara was angry. He bent the pole to the ground, bent angrily, and let it go. "He will fly away this time, surely," thought he, and looked to the sky to see Pun Miaupa, did not see him; looked at the pole, he was on it. "What kind of person is my son-in-law?" thought Wakara.
It was Wakara's turn now to go on the pole, and he climbed it. Pun Miaupa gave his father-in-law a harder pull this time, but he held his place. The second time Pun Miaupa spoke to Wakara in his own mind: "You don't like me, I don't like you; you want to kill me. I will send you high now."
He bent the pole, brought the top almost to the foot of it, and let it fly. He looked to the top, Wakara was gone. He had been hurled up to the sky, and he stayed there.
Pun Miaupa laughed. "Now, my father-in-law," said he, "you will never come down here to live again; you will stay where you are now forever, you will become small and die, then you will come to life and grow large. You will be that way always, growing old and becoming young again."
Pun Miaupa went home alone.
Wakara's daughters waited for their father, and when he didn't come back they began to cry. At last, when it was dark and they saw their father far up in the sky, they cried very bitterly.
Next morning Pun Miaupa took Halai Auna, his wife, and his uncle, and went to his father's house.
Chuhna, the greatest spinner in the world, lived among Wakara's daughters. All day those women cried and lamented.
"What shall we do?" said they; "we want to go and live near our father. Who can take us up to him?"
"I will take you up to him," said Chuhna, the spinner, who had a great rope fastened to the sky.
Chuhna made an immense basket, put in all the daughters with their husbands, and drew them up till they reached the sky; and Wakara's daughters, the stars, are there on the sky yet. |
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1 - 10 Zuni
In time these two gave birth to twelve children. No, they were neither man-children nor woman-children! For look now! The first was a woman in fulness of contour, but a man in stature and muscle. From the mingling of too much seed in one kind comes the two-fold one kind, 'hláhmon , being man and woman combined—even as from a kernel of corn with two hearts ripens an ear that is neither one kind nor the other, but both! Yet not all ill was this first child, because she was bon of love—even though insane!—before her parents were changed; thus she did not share their distortions. Not so with her brothers; they resembled males but like boys, for the fruit of sex was not in them! For the fruit of mere lust comes to nothing, even as Corn, self-sown out of season, does not ripens. For their parents7 being changed to hideousness, lived together witlessly and consorted idly or in passion not quickened of favor to the eye or the heart. And see! like to their father were his later children, but varied as his moods; for then, as now, what the mother looked most on while withholding them, according to its shape they were formed as clay by the thought of the potter; wherefore we cherished our matrons and do not reveal to them the evil dramas or the slaughtered nor hamstrung game lest their children be weakly or go maimed. Thus they were strapping louts, but earth-colored and marked with the welts of their father. They were silly yet wise as the gods and high priests; for as simpletons and the crazed speak from the things seen in the instant, uttering both wise words and prophecy, so the spoke, and became the attendants and fosterers, and also the sages and interpreters, of the ancient of dance-dramas or the K&aicrc;'kâ.
They are named not with the names of men but with names of mismeaning, for there is Pékwina, Priest-speaker of the Sun. He is meditative even in the liveliest part of day, after the fashion of his father when shamed, saying little and then as irrelevantly as a child or dotard.
Then there is Pí'hlan Shíwani (Bow Priest-warrior). He is so cowardly that he dodges behind ladders, thinking them trees no doubt, and lags after all the others whenever he is frightened, even at a fluttering leaf or a crippled spider, and looks in every direction but the straight one whenever danger threatens!
There is Éshotsi (the Bat) who can see better in the sunlight than any of them but would maim himself in a shadow and will avoid a hole in the ground as a woman would a dark place, even were it no bigger than a beetle burrow.
Also there is Muíyapona (Wearer of the Eyelets of Invisibility). He has horns like the catfish and is knobbed like a bludgeon-squash. But he never by any chance disappears, even when he hides his head behind a ladder rung or turkey quill, yet thinks himself quite out of sight. And he sports with his face as though it were as smooth as a clam-shell's.
There is Pótsoki (tbe Pouter), who does little but laugh and look bland, for he can not grin; and his younger brother, Ná'häshi (Aged Buck), who is the biggest of them all, and what with having grieved and nearly rubbed his eyes out (when his younger brother was captured and carried off by the K'yámak'ya-kwe or Snail Kâ'kâ of the South), looks as ancient as a horned toad; yet he is as frisky as a fawn and giggles like a girl; indeed, and bawls as lustily as a small boy playing games.
The next brother, Ítseposa (the Glum or Aggrieved), mourned also for his nearest brother who was stolen by the Kâ'kâ, too, until his eyes were utterly dry and his chin chapped to protrusion; but nevertheless he is lively and cheerful and ever as ready as the most complaisant of beings.
K`yä'lutsi (the Suckling) and Tsa'hläshi (Old-youth), the youngest, are the most wilfully important of the nine, always advising others and strutting like a young priest in his first dance, or like the youthful warrior made too aged-thinking and self-notioned with early honoring.
And while the father stands dazed, with his head bowed and his hands clasped before him or like broken bows hanging by his sides, these children romp and play (as he and his sister did when turned childish), and are just like idiots or dotards and crones turned young again, inconstant as laughter7, startled to new thought by every flitting thing around them; but in the presence of the Kâ'kâ of old, they are grave but uncouth. And they are the oracles of all ancient sayings of deep meanings; for this reason they are called the Kâ'yemashi (Husbandmen of the Kâ'kâ or sacred drama-dance); and they are spoken of even by the Fathers of the people as the Á'hläshi Tséwashi (Sages of the Ancients). And they are most precious in the sight of the beings and men! But for their birth and the manner of their birth, it is said that all had been different; for from it many things came to be as they are both for men and gods and even the souls of the dead!
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