world, and if you should go to some of those fearful places some time
and not come back, who would hunt for me? What should I do?” said the
mother.
“Don’t be troubled, mother, now,” said the boy. “I don’t think I will go
any more. There is nothing else of that kind around, is there, mother?”
“No, there is not,” she replied; “not a thing. There may be somewhere in
the world, but there is not anywhere here.”
In the evening, as he sat with his mother, the boy kept questioning and
teasing her to tell him of some other monsters--pulling on her skirts
and repeating his questions.
“I tell you,” she said, “there are no such creatures.”
“Oh, mother, I know there are,” said he, “and you must tell me about
them.”
So he continued to bother her until her patience gave out, and she told
him of another monster. Said she: “If you follow that cañon down to the
southeast, there is a very, very, very high cliff there, and the trail
that goes over that cliff runs close by the side of a precipice. Now,
that has been for ages a terrible place, for there is a Giant living
there, who wears a hair-knot on his forehead. He lies there at length,
sunning himself at his ease. He is very good-natured and very polite.
His legs stretch across the trail on which men have to go who pass that
way, and there is no other way to get by. And whenever a man tries to go
by that trail, he says: ‘Pass right along, pass right along; I am glad
to see you. Here is a fresh trail; some one has just passed. Don’t
disturb me; I am sunning myself.’ Down below is the den where his
children live, and on the flesh of these people he feeds them.”
“Mercy!” exclaimed the boy. “Fearful! I never shall go there, surely.
That is too terrible! Come, let us go to sleep; I don’t want to hear
anything more about it.”
But the next morning, just as soon as daylight appeared, he got up,
dressed himself, and snatched a morsel of food.
His mother said to him: “Where are you going? Are you thinking of that
place I told you about?”
“No,” said he; “I am going to kill some prairie-dogs right here in
sight. I will take my war-club.”
So he took his war-club, and thrust it into his belt in front, ran down
the hill on which the village stood, and straightway went off to the
place his mother had told him of. When he reached the top of the rocks
he looked down, and there, sure enough, lay the Giant with the forehead
knot.
The Giant looked up and said: “Ah, my son, glad to see you this morning;
glad to see you coming so early. Some one just passed here a little
while ago; you can see his tracks there.”
“Well,” said the boy, “make room for me.”
“Oh, just step right over,” said the old man; “step right over me.”
“I can’t step over your great legs,” said the boy; “draw them up.”
“All right,” said the old Demon. So he drew his knees up. “There, now,
there is plenty of room; pass right along, my son.”
Just as the boy got near the place, he thrust out his leg suddenly that
way, to kick him off the cliff; but the boy was too nimble for him, and
jumped aside.
“Oh, dear me,” cried the Monster; “I had a stitch in my leg; I had to
stretch it out.”
“Ah,” said the boy, “you tried to kick me off, did you?”
“Oh, no,” said the old villain; “I had a terrible stitch in my
knee,”--and he began to knead his knee in the most vehement manner.
“Just pass right along; I trust it won’t happen again.”
The boy again attempted to pass, and the same thing happened as before.
“Oh, my knee! my knee!” exclaimed the Monster.
“Yes, your knee, your knee!” said the boy, as he whipped out his
war-club and whacked the Giant on the head before he had time to recover
himself. “Thus unto me you would have done, thus unto you!” said the
boy.
No sooner had the Giant fallen than the little Top-knots gathered round
him and began to eat; and they ate and ate and ate,--there were many of
them, and they were voracious--until they came to the top-knot on the
old fellow’s head, and then one of them cried; “Oh, dear, alas and alas!
this is our own father!”
And while they were still crying, the boy cut out the Giant’s heart and
slung it over his shoulder; then he climbed down the cliff to where the
young Top-knots were, and slew them all except two,--a pair of them.
Then he took these two, who were still young, like little children, and
grasping one by the throat, wrung its neck and threw it into the air,
when it suddenly became a winged creature, and spread out its wings and
soared away, crying: “Peep, peep, peep,” just as the falcons of today
do. Then he took the other one by the neck, and swung it round and
round, and flung it into the air, and it flew away with a heavy motion,
and cried: “Boohoo, boohoo, boohoo!” and became an owl.
“Ah,” said the boy, “born for evil, changed for good! Ye shall be the
means whereby our children in the future shall sacrifice to the gods
themselves.”
Then he trudged along home with the Giant’s heart, and when he got
there, he hung it on the cross-piece of the ladder by the side of the
other hearts. It was almost night then.
“There, now!” said his mother, as he entered the house; “I have been
troubled almost to death by your not coming home sooner. You went off to
the place I told you of; I know you did!”
“Ha!” said he, “of course I did. I went up there, and the poor fellows
are all dead.”
“Why will you not listen to me?” said she.
“Oh, it is all right, mother,” said the boy. “It is all right.” She went
on scolding him in the usual fashion, but he paid no attention to her.
As soon as she had sat down to her evening tasks, he asked: “Now, is
there any other of these terrible creatures?”
“Well, I shall tell you of nothing more now,” said she.
“Why, is there anything more?” asked the boy.
“No, there is not,” replied she.
“Ah, mother, I think there must be.”
“No; there is nothing more, I tell you.”
“Ah, mother, I think there must be.”
And he kept bothering and teasing until she told him again (she knew she
would have to): “Yes, away down in the valley, some distance from here,
near the little Cold-making Hill, there lives a fearful creature, a
four-fold Elk or Bison, more enormous than any other living thing.
_Awiteli Wakashi_ he is called, and no one can go near him. He rushes
stamping and bellowing about the country, and people never pass through
that section from fear.”
“Ah,” said the boy; “don’t tell me any more; he must be a fearful
creature, indeed.”
“Yes; but you will be sure to go there,” said she.
“Oh, no, no, mother; no, indeed!”
But the next morning he went earlier than ever, carrying with him his
bows and arrows. He was so filled with dread, however, or pretended to
be, that as he went along the trail he began to cry and sniffle, and
walk very slowly, until he came near the hole of an old Gopher, his
grandfather. The old fellow was working away, digging another cellar,
throwing the dirt out, when he heard this crying. Said he: “That is my
grandson; I wonder what he is up to now.” So he ran and stuck his nose
out of the hole he was digging, and said: “Oh, my grandchild, where are
you going?”
The boy stopped and began to look around.
“Right here! right here!” cried the grandfather, calling his attention
to the hole. “Come, my boy.”
The boy put his foot in, and the hole enlarged, and he went down into
it.
“Now, dry your eyes, my grandchild, and tell me what is the matter.”
“Well,” said the boy, “I was going to find the four-fold Bison. I wanted
to take a look at him, but I am frightened!”
“Why, what is the matter? Why do you not go?” said the Gopher.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I thought I would try to kill him,” he
answered.
“Well, I will do what I can to help; you had better not try to do it
alone. Sit here comfortably; dry your eyes, and I will see what I can
do.”
The old Gopher began to dig, dig, dig under the ground for a long way,
making a fine tunnel, and packed it hard on the top and sides so that it
would not fall in. He finally came to hear the “thud, thud, thud” of the
heart of this creature, where it was lying, and dug the hole up to that
spot. When he got there he saw the long layers of hair on its body,
where no arrow could penetrate, and he cut the hair off, so that the
skin showed white. Then he silently stole back to where the boy was and
said: “Now, my boy, take your bow and arrows and go along through this
hole until you get to where the tunnel turns upward, and then, if you
look well, you will see a light patch. That is the skin next the heart
of the four-fold Bison. He is sleeping there. You will hear the ‘thud,
thud, thud’ of his heart. Shoot him exactly in the middle of that place,
and then, mind you, turn around and run for your life, and the moment
you get to my hole, tumble in, headforemost or any way.”
So the boy did as he was told--crawled through the tunnel until he came
to where it went upward, saw the light patch, and let fly an arrow with
all his might, then rushed and scrambled back as hard as he could. With
a roar that shook the earth the four-fold Bison fell over, then
struggled to his feet, snorted, bellowed, and stuck his great horn into
the tunnel, and like a flash of fire ripped it from end to end, just as
the boy came tumbling into the deeper hole of his grandfather.
“Ah!” exclaimed the Gopher.
“He almost got me,” said the boy.
“Sit still a moment and rest, my grandson,” said the Gopher. “He didn’t
catch you. I will go and see whether he is dead.”
So the Gopher stuck his nose out of the hole and saw there a great heap
of flesh lying. He went out, nosed around, and smelt, jumped back, and
went forward again until he came to the end of the creature, and then
he took one of his nails and scratched out an eye, and there was no sign
of life. So he ran back to the boy, and said: “Yes, he breathes no more;
you need not fear him longer.”
“Oh, thank you, my grandfather!” said the boy. And he climbed out, and
laid himself to work to skin the beast. He took off its great thick
skin, and cut off a suitable piece of it, for the whole pelt was so
large and heavy that he could not carry it; then he took out the
animal’s great heart, and finally one of the large intestines and filled
it with blood, then started for home. He went slowly, because his load
was so heavy, and when he arrived he hung the heart on the ladder by the
side of the others, and dragged the pelt to the sky-hole, and nearly
scared the wits out of his mother by dropping it into the room.
“Oh, my child, now, here you are! Where have you been?” cried she. “I
warned you of the place where the four-fold Bison was; I wonder that you
ever came home.”
“Ah, the poor creature!” said the boy; “he is dead. Just look at this.
He isn’t handsome any more; he isn’t strong and large any more.”
“Oh, you wretched, wretched boy! You will be the death of me, as well as
of yourself, some time,” said the mother.
“No, mother,” said the boy; “that is all nonsense.”
That evening the boy said to his mother: “Now, mother, is there anything
else of this kind left? If there is, I want to know it. Now, don’t
disappoint me by refusing to tell.”
“Oh, my dear son,” said she, “I wish you wouldn’t ask me; but indeed
there is. There are terrible birds, great Eagles, fearful Eagles, living
over on Shuntekia. In the very middle of an enormous cliff is a hollow
place in the rocks where is built their nest, and there are their young
ones. Day after day, far and near, they catch up children and young men
and women, and carry them away, never more to be seen. These birds are
more terrible than all the rest, because how can one get near to slay
them? My son, I do hope and trust that you will not go this time,--but,
you foolish little boy, I see that you will go.”
“Well, mother, let us go to sleep, and never mind anything about it,”
said the boy.
But after his mother had gone to sleep, he took the piece of rawhide he
had skinned from the four-fold Bison, and, cutting it out, made himself
a suit--a green rawhide suit, skin-tight almost, so that it was
perfectly smooth. Then he scraped the hair off, greased it all over, and
put it away inside a blanket so that it would not dry. In the morning,
quite early, he took his weapons, and taking also his rawhide suit, and
the section of the four-fold Bison’s intestine which he had filled with
blood, he ran into the inlet, and across it, and climbed the mesa near
the Shuntekia cliff. When he came within a short distance of the nest of
the Eagles, he stopped and slipped on his rawhide suit, and tied the
intestine of blood round his neck, like a sausage.
Then he began to cry and shake his head, and he cried louder than there
was any need of his doing in reality; for presently the old father of
the Eagles, who was away up in the sky, just a mere speck, heard and saw
him and came swishing down in a great circle, winding round and round
the boy, and the boy looked up and began to cry louder still, as if
frightened out of his wits, and finally rolled himself up like a
porcupine, and threw himself down into the trail, crying and howling
with apparent fear. The Eagle swooped down on him, and tried to grasp
him in his talons, and, _kopo kopooo_, his claws simply slipped off the
rawhide coat. Then the Eagle made a fiercer grab at him and grew angry,
but his claws would continually slip off, until he tore a rent in the
intestine about the boy’s neck, and the blood began to stream over the
boy’s coat, making it more slippery than ever. When the Eagle smelt the
blood, he thought he had got him, and it made him fiercer than ever; and
finally, during his struggling, he got one talon through a stitch in the
coat, and he spread out his wings, and flew up, and circled round and
round over the point where the young Eagles nest was, when he let go and
shook the boy free, and the boy rolled over and over and came down into
the nest; but he struck on a great heap of brush, which broke his fall.
He lay there quite still, and the old Eagle swooped down and poised
himself on a great crag of rock near by, which was his usual perching
place.
“There, my children, my little ones,” said he, “I have brought you food.
Feast yourselves! Feast yourselves! For that reason I brought it.”
So the little Eagles, who were very awkward, long-legged and
short-winged, limped up to the boy and reached out their claws and
opened their beaks, ready to strike him in the face. He lay there quite
still until they got very near, and then said to them: “_Shhsht!_” And
they tumbled back, being awkward little fellows, and stretched up their
necks and looked at him, as Eagles will.
Then the old Eagle said: “Why don’t you eat him? Feast yourselves, my
children, feast yourselves!”
So they advanced again, more cautiously this time, and a little more
determinedly too; and they reached out their beaks to tear him, and he
said: “_Shhsht!_” and, under his breath, “Don’t eat me!” And they jumped
back again.
“What in the world is the matter with you little fools?” said the old
Eagle. “Eat him! I can’t stay here any longer; I have to go away and
hunt to feed you; but you don’t seem to appreciate my efforts much.” And
he lifted his wings, rose into the air, and sailed off to the northward.
Then the two young Eagles began to walk around the boy, and to examine
him at all points. Finally they approached his feet and hands.
“Be careful, be careful, don’t eat me! Tell me about what time your
mother comes home,” said he, sitting up. “What time does she usually
come?”
“Well,” said the little Eagles, “she comes home when the clouds begin to
gather and throw their shadow over our nest.” (Really, it was the
shadow of the mother Eagle herself that was thrown over the nest.)
“Very well,” said the boy; “what time does your father come home?”
“When the fine rain begins to fall,” said they, meaning the dew.
“Oh,” said the boy. So he sat there, and by-and-by, sure enough, away
off in the sky, carrying something dangling from her feet, came the old
mother Eagle. She soared round and round until she was over the nest,
when she dropped her burden, and over and over it fell and tumbled into
the nest, a poor, dead, beautiful maiden. The young boy looked at her,
and his heart grew very hot, and when the old Eagle came and perched, in
a moment he let fly an arrow, and struck her down and dashed her brains
out.
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed the boy. “What you have done to many, thus unto
you.”
Then he took his station again, and by-and-by the old father Eagle came,
bearing a youth, fair to look upon, and dropped him into the nest. The
young boy shut his teeth, and he said: “Thus unto many you have done,
and thus unto me you would have done; so unto you.” And he drew an arrow
and shot him. Then he turned to the two young Eagles and killed them,
and plucked out all the beautiful colored feathers about their necks,
until he had a large bundle of fine plumes with which he thought to wing
his arrows or to waft his prayers.
Then he looked down the cliff and saw there was no way to climb down,
and there was no way to climb up. Then he began to cry, and sat on the
edge of the cliff, and cried so loud that the old Bat Woman, who was
gathering cactus-berries below, or thought she was, overheard the boy.
Said she: “Now, just listen to that. I warrant it is my fool of a
grandson, who is always trying to get himself into a scrape. I am sure
it must be so. Phoo! phoo!”
She spilled out all the berries she had found from the basket she had on
her back, and then labored up to where she could look over the edge of
the shelf.
“Yes, there you are,” said she; “you simpleton! you wretched boy! What
are you doing here?”
“Oh, my grandmother,” said he, “I have got into a place and I cannot get
out.”
“Yes,” said she; “if you were anything else but such a fool of a
grandson and such a hard-hearted wretch of a boy, I would help you get
down; but you never do as your mother and grandmother or grandfathers
tell you.”
“Ah, my grandmother, I will do just as you tell me this time,” said the
boy.
“Now, will you?” said she. “Now, can you be certain?--will you promise
me that you will keep your eyes shut, and join me, at least in your
heart, in the prayer which I sing when I fly down? _Yan lehalliah
kiana._ Never open your eyes; if you do, the gods will teach you a
lesson, and your poor old grandmother, too.”
“I will do just as you tell me,” said he, as he reached over and took up
his plumes and held them ready.
“Not so fast, my child,” said she; “you must promise me.”
“Oh, my grandmother, I will do just as you tell me,” said he.
“Well, step into my basket, very carefully now. As I go down I shall go
very prayerfully, depending on the gods to carry so much more than I
usually carry. Do you not wink once, my grandson.”
“All right; I will keep my eyes shut this time,” said he. So he sat down
and squeezed his eyes together, and held his plumes tight, and then the
old grandmother launched herself forth on her skin wings. After she had
struggled a little, she began to sing:
“Ha ash tchaa ni,--Ha ash tchaa ni:
Tche pa naa,--thlen-thle.
Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!”
“Now, just listen to that,” said the boy; “my old grandmother is singing
one of those tedious prayers; it will take us forever to go down.”
Then presently the old Bat Woman, perfectly unconscious of his state of
mind, began to sing again:
“Thlen thla kia yai na kia.”
“There she goes again,” said he to himself; “I declare, I must look up;
it will drive me wild to sit here all this time and hear my old
grandmother try to sing.”
Then, after a little while, she commenced again:
“Ha ash tchaa ni,--Ha ash tchaa ni:
Tche pa naa,--thlen-thle.
Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!”
The boy stretched himself up, and said: “Look here, grandmother! I have
heard your ‘_Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!_’ enough this time. I am going to open
my eyes.”
“Oh, my grandchild, never think of such a thing.” Then she began again
to sing:
“Ha ash tchaa ni,--Ha ash tchaa ni:
Tche pa naa,--thlen-thle.
Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!”
She was not near the ground when she finished it the fourth time, and
the boy would not stand it any more. Lo! he opened his eyes, and the old
grandmother knew it in a moment. Over and over, boy over bat, bat over
boy, and the basket between them, they went whirling and pitching down,
the old grandmother tugging at her basket and scolding the boy.
“Now, you foolish, disobedient one! I told you what would happen! You
see what you have done!” and so on until they fell to the ground. It
fairly knocked the breath out of the boy, and when he got up again he
yelled lustily.
The old grandmother picked herself up, stretched herself, and cried out
anew: “You wretched, foolish, hard-hearted boy; I never will do anything
for you again--never, never, never!”
“I know, my grandmother,” said the boy, “but you kept up that ‘_Thlen!
Thlen! Thlen!_’ so much. What in the world did you want to spend so much
time _thlening, thlening_, and buzzing round in that way for?”
“Ah, me!” said she, “he never did know anything--never will be taught
to know anything.”
“Now,” said she to him, “you might as well come and eat with me. I have
been gathering cactus-fruit, and you can eat and then go home.” She took
him to the place where she had poured out the contents of the basket,
but there was scarcely a cactus-berry. There were cedar-berries, cones,
sticks, little balls of dirt, coyote-berries, and everything else
uneatable.
“Sit down, my grandson, and eat; strengthen yourself after your various
adventures and exertions. I feel very weary myself,” said she. And she
took a nip of one of them; but the boy couldn’t exactly bring himself to
eat. The truth is, the old woman’s eyes were bad, in the same way that
bats’ eyes are usually bad, and she couldn’t tell a cactus-berry from
anything else round and rough.
“Well, inasmuch as you won’t eat, my grandson,” said she, “why, I can’t
conceive, for these are very good, it seems to me. You had better run
along home now, or your mother will be killing herself thinking of you.
Now, I have only one direction to give you. You don’t deserve any, but I
will give you one. See that you pay attention to it. If not, the worst
is your own. You have gathered a beautiful store of feathers. Now, be
very careful. Those creatures who bore those feathers have gained their
lives from the lives of living beings, and therefore their feathers
differ from other feathers. Heed what I say, my grandson. When you come
to any place where flowers are blooming,--where the sunflowers make the
field yellow,--walk round those flowers if you want to get home with
these feathers. And when you come to more flowers, walk round them. If
you do not do that, just as you came you will go back to your home.”
“All right, my grandmother,” said the boy. So, after bidding her
good-by, he trudged away with his bundle of feathers; and when he came
to a great plain of sunflowers and other flowers he walked round them;
and when he came to another large patch he walked round them, and then
another, and so on; but finally he stopped, for it seemed to him that
there were nothing but fields of flowers all the way home. He thought he
had never seen so many before.
“I declare,” said he, “I will not walk round those flowers any more. I
will hang on to these feathers, though.”
So he took a good hold of them and walked in amongst the flowers. But no
sooner had he entered the field than flutter, flutter, flutter, little
wings began to fly out from the bundle of feathers, and the bundle began
to grow smaller and smaller, until it wholly disappeared. These wings
which flew out were the wings of the Sacred Birds of Summerland, made
living by the lives that had supported the birds which bore those
feathers, and by coming into the environment which they had so loved,
the atmosphere which flowers always bring of summer.
Thus it was, my children, in the days of the ancients, and for that
reason we have little jay-birds, little sparrows, little finches, little
willow-birds, and all the beautiful little birds that bring the summer,
and they always hover over flowers.
“My friends” [said the story-teller], “that is the way we live. I am
very glad, otherwise I would not have told the story, for it is not
exactly right that I should,--I am very glad to demonstrate to you that
we also have books; only they are not books with marks in them, but
words in our hearts, which have been placed there by our ancients long
ago, even so long ago as when the world was new and young, like unripe
fruit. And I like you to know these things, because people say that the
Zuñis are dark people.”[4]
[4] That is, people in the dark--having no knowledge.
Thus shortens my story.
[Illustration: {Bird symbols}]
[Illustration: WAÍHUSIWA
Photo by A. C. Vroman]
THE SERPENT OF THE SEA