"My pitiful relatives, I will pity you and you will pity me.
This spread-out-thing, the world, is covered with feathers, because
of my sadness, and the mountains are covered with soft feathers.
Over these the sun comes, but gives me no light, I am so sad.
And the night comes, and has no darkness to rest me, because my eyes
are open all night.
(This has happened to me, O all my relatives.)
And it was my own bones that I raked up, and with them made a fire
that showed me the opposite land, the Land of the Enemy.
(This was done, my relatives.)
The sticks I cut for the number of days were my own sinews, cut and
bound together.
It was my own rib that I used as an eev-a-dah-kote, or fire rubbing
stick.
It was my own bowels that I used for a belt.
And it was my scalp, and my own hair, that I used for sandals.
It was my own skull that I filled with my own blood, and drank from,
and talked like a drunkard.
And I wandered where the ashes are dumped, and I wandered over the
hills, and I found it could be done, and went to the shadows of the
trees and found the same thing.
On the level ground I fell, and the Sun, the Traveller, was overhead,
and from above my brother came down, and I tried to hug him, but only
hugged myself.
And I thought I was holding all sadness, but there was a yet stronger
sadness, for my brother came down and stood on my breast, and the
tears fell down and watered the ground.
And I tried to hug him, but only hugged myself.
And this was my desire, that I should go to the powerful woman,
and I reached her quietly where she lived.
And I spoke to her this way:
'You were living over there.
You are the person who makes a hoop for her gyihhaw from the Apaches'
bow, and with their arrows makes the back-stop, the oam-muck, and
with their blood you color the gyihhaw prettily; and you split the
arrow-heads and make from them the ov-a-nuck, and tie it in with the
Apaches' hair, weaving the hair to the left and then binding it on.'
And this way I spoke to her.
And then she gave me good news of the weakness of the Apaches and I
ran out full of joy.
And from there I rose up and reached the Feather-Nested Doctor,
Quotaveech, and I spoke to him this way:
'And you belong here.
And you make the ribs of your kee from the Apache bows, and you tie
the arrows across with the bow strings, and with the sinews of their
bows you tie them.
And with the robes of the Apaches, and with their head-wear, and with
their moccasins, you cover the kee instead of with arrow weeds.
And inside, at the four corners, there are hung locks of Apaches' hair,
and at the corners are the stumps of the cane-tube pipes, smoking
themselves, and forming the smoke into all colors of flowers--white
and glittering and gray and yellow.'
And this way I spoke to him, and he gave me the good news of the
weakness of the Apaches.
And I came down and went Southward to the other doctor, called
Vahk-lohn Mahkai and there I reached him.
And this way I spoke to him:
'And here is where you belong.
The Apache bow you make into the likeness of the pretty rainbow,
and the arrows you make into the likeness of the white-headed grass.
And the fore shaft of the arrows you turn into water moss, and the
arrows into resemblance of flat clay.