for years. She looked out and said: “My grandchildren are coming,” and
she called to them: “I am so glad you have come!”
“Here, see what we have,” said the younger brother. “Here are your
grandchildren. Come and take them!”
“Oh, you miserable boy, you are always doing something foolish; where is
your wife?” asked the grandmother.
“Oh, I shot her!” was the response.
“Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t want my father, the Sun, to take them away with my wife. I
knew you would not care anything about my wife, but I knew you would be
very fond of the grandchildren. Here they are.”
But she wouldn’t look at all. So the younger brother drew his face down,
and taking the poor little children in his arms said: “You unnatural
grandmother, you! Here are two nice little grandchildren for you!”
She said: “How shall I feed them? or what shall I do with them?”
He replied: “Oh, take care of them, take care of them!”
She took a good look at them, and became a true grandmother. She ran and
clasped the little ones, crying out: “Let me take you away from these
miserable children of mine!” She made some beds of sand for them, as
Zuñi mothers do today, got some soft skins for them to lie on, and fed
them with a kind of milk made of corn toasted and ground and mixed with
water; so that they gradually enlarged and grew up to be nice children.
* * * * *
Thus it was in the days of the ancients, and has been told to us in
these days, that even the most cruel and heartless of the gods do these
things. Even they took these helpless children to their grandmother, and
she succored them and brought them up to the time of reason. Therefore
it is the duty of those who find helpless babies or children, inasmuch
as they are not so cruel and terrible as were the Gods of War,--not
nearly,--surely it is their duty to take those children and succor and
bring them up to the time of reason, when they can care for themselves.
That is why our people, when children have been abandoned, provide and
care for them as if they were their own.
Thus long is my story.
THE FOSTER-CHILD OF THE DEER
Once, long, long ago, at Háwikuh, there lived a maiden most beautiful.
In her earlier years her father, who was a great priest, had devoted her
to sacred things, and therefore he kept her always in the house secure
from the gaze of all men, and thus she grew.
She was so beautiful that when the Sun looked down along one of the
straight beams of his own light, if one of those beams chanced to pass
through a chink in the roof, the sky-hole, or the windows of the upper
part of the maiden’s room, he beheld her and wondered at her rare
beauty, unable to compare it with anything he saw in his great journeys
round about the worlds. Thus, as the maiden grew apace and became a
young woman, the Sun loved her exceedingly, and as time went on he
became so enamored of her that he descended to earth and entered on one
of his own beams of light into her apartment, so that suddenly, while
she was sitting one noon-day weaving pretty baskets, there stood before
her a glorious youth, gloriously dressed. It was the Sun-father. He
looked upon her gently and lovingly; she looked upon him not fearfully:
and so it came about that she loved him and he loved her, and he won her
to be his wife. And many were the days in which he visited her and dwelt
with her for a space at noon-time; but as she was alone mostly, or as
she kept sitting weaving her trays when any one of the family entered
her apartment, no one suspected this.
[Illustration: A BURRO TRAIN IN A ZUÑI STREET
Photo by Hillers]
Now, as she knew that she had been devoted to sacred things, and that if
she explained how it was that she was a mother she would not be
believed, she was greatly exercised in mind and heart. She therefore
decided that when her child was born she would put it away from her.
When the time came, the child one night was born. She carefully wrapped
the little baby boy in some soft cotton-wool, and in the middle of the
night stole out softly over the roof-tops, and, silently descending,
laid the child on the sheltered side of a heap of refuse near the little
stream that flows by Háwikuh, in the valley below. Then, mourning as a
mother will mourn for her offspring, she returned to her room and lay
herself down, poor thing, to rest.
As daylight was breaking in the east, and the hills and the valleys were
coming forth one after another from the shadows of night, a Deer with
her two little brightly-speckled fawns descended from the hills to the
south across the valley, with ears and eyes alert, and stopped at the
stream to drink. While drinking they were startled by an infant’s cry,
and, looking up, they saw dust and cotton-wool and other things flying
about in the air, almost as if a little whirlwind were blowing on the
site of the refuse-heap where the child had been laid. It was the child,
who, waking and finding itself alone, hungry, and cold, was crying and
throwing its little hands about.
“Bless my delight!” cried the Deer to her fawns. “I have this day found
a waif, a child, and though it be human it shall be mine; for, see, my
children, I love you so much that surely I could love another.”
Thereupon she approached the little infant, and breathed her warm breath
upon it and caressed it until it became quiet, and then after wrapping
about it the cotton-wool, she gently lifted it on her broad horns, and,
turning, carried it steadily away toward the south, followed on either
side by her children, who kept crying out “Neh! neh!” in their delight.
The home of this old Deer and her little ones, where all her children
had been born for years, was south of Háwikuh, in the valley that turns
off among the ledges of rocks near the little spring called Póshaan.
There, in the shelter of a clump of piñon and cedar trees, was a soft
and warm retreat, winter and summer, and this was the lair of the Deer
and her young.
The Deer was no less delighted than surprised next morning to find that
the infant had grown apace, for she had suckled it with her own milk,
and that before the declining of the sun it was already creeping about.
And greater was her surprise and delight, as day succeeded day, to find
that the child grew even more swiftly than grow the children of the
Deer. Behold! on the evening of the fourth day it was running about and
playing with its foster brother and sister. Nor was it slow of foot,
even as compared with those little Deer. Behold! yet greater cause for
wonder, on the eighth day it was a youth fair to look upon--looking upon
itself and seeing that it had no clothing, and wondering why it was not
clothed, like its brother and sister, in soft warm hair with pretty
spots upon it.
As time went on, this little foster-child of the Deer (it must always be
remembered that it was the offspring of the Sun-father himself), in
playing with his brother and sister, and in his runnings about, grew
wondrously strong, and even swifter of foot than the Deer themselves,
and learned the language of the Deer and all their ways.
When he had become perfected in all that a Deer should know, the
Deer-mother led him forth into the wilds and made him acquainted with
the great herd to which she belonged. They were exceedingly happy with
this addition to their number; much they loved him, and so sagacious was
the youth that he soon became the leader of the Deer of the Háwikuh
country.
When these Deer and the Antelopes were out on the mesas ranging to and
fro, there at their head ran the swift youth. The soles of his feet
became as hard as the hoofs of the Deer, the skin of his person strong
and dark, the hair of his head long and waving and as soft as the hair
on the sides of the Deer themselves.
It chanced one morning, late that summer, that the uncle of the maiden
who had cast away her child went out hunting, and he took his way
southward past Póshaan, the lair of the Deer-mother and her
foster-child. As he traversed the borders of the great mesas that lie
beyond, he saw a vast herd of Deer gathered, as people gather in
council. They were quiet and seemed to be listening intently to some one
in their midst. The hunter stole along carefully on hands and knees,
twisting himself among the bushes until he came nearer; and what was his
wonder when he beheld, in the midst of the Deer, a splendid youth, broad
of shoulder, tall and strong of limb, sitting nude and graceful on the
ground, and the old Deer and the young seemed to be paying attention to
what he was saying. The hunter rubbed his eyes and looked again; and
again he looked, shading his eyes with his hands. Then he elevated
himself to peer yet more closely, and the sharp eyes of the youth
discovered him. With a shout he lifted himself to his feet and sped away
like the wind, followed by the whole herd, their hoofs thundering, and
soon they were all out of sight.
The hunter dropped his bow and stood there musing; then picking it up,
he turned himself about and ran toward Háwikuh as fast as he could. When
he arrived he related to the father of the girl what he had seen. The
old priest summoned his hunters and warriors and bade the uncle repeat
the story. Many there were who said: “You have seen an apparition, and
of evil omen to your family, alas! alas!”
“No,” said he, “I looked, and again I looked, and yet again, and again,
and I avow to you that what I saw was as plain and as mortal as the Deer
themselves.”
Convinced at last, the council decided to form a grand hunt, and word
was given from the house-tops that on the fourth day from that day a
hunt should be undertaken--that the southern mesa should be surrounded,
and that the people should gather in from all sides and encompass the
herd there, in order that this wonderful youth should not escape being
seen, or possibly captured.
Now, when the Deer had gone to a safe distance they slackened their pace
and called to their leader not to fear. And the old foster-mother of the
youth for the first time related to him, as she had related to them long
ago, that he was the child of mortals, telling how she had found him.
The youth sat with his head bowed, thinking of these things. Then he
raised his head proudly, and said: “What though I be the child of
mortals, they have not loved me: they have cast me from their midst,
therefore will I be faithful to thee alone.”
But the old Deer-mother said to him: “Hush, my child! Thou art but a
mortal, and though thou might’st live on the roots of the trees and the
bushes and plants that mature in autumn, yet surely in the winter time
thou could’st not live, for my supply of milk will be withholden, and
the fruits and the nuts will all be gone.”
And the older members of that large herd gathered round and repeated
what she had been saying. And they said: “We are aware that we shall be
hunted now, as is the invariable custom when our herd has been
discovered, on the fourth day from the day on which we were first seen.
Amongst the people who come there will be, no doubt, those who will seek
you; and you must not endeavor to escape. Even we ourselves are
accustomed to give up our lives to the brave hunters among this people,
for many of them are sacred of thought, sacred of heart, and make due
sacrifices unto us, that our lives in other form may be spared
unceasingly.”
A splendid Deer rose from the midst of the herd, and, coming forward,
laid his cheek on the cheek of the boy, and said: “Yet we love you, but
we must now part from you. And, in order that you may be like unto other
mortals, only exceeding them, accompany me to the Land of the Souls of
Men, where sit in council the Gods of the Sacred Dance and Drama, the
Gods of the Spirit World.”
To all this the youth, being convinced, agreed. And on that same day the
Deer who had spoken set forward, the swift youth running by his side,
toward the Lake of the Dead. On and on they sped, and as night was
falling they came to the borders of that lake, and the lights were
shining over its middle and the Gardens of the Sacred Dance. And the old
Drama-woman and the old Drama-man were walking on its shores, back and
forth, calling across to each other.
As the Deer neared the shore of the lake, he turned and said to his
companion: “Step in boldly with me. Ladders of rushes will rise to
receive you, and down underneath the waters into the great Halls of the
Dead and of the Sacred Dance we will be borne gently and swiftly.”
Then they stepped into the lake. Brighter and lighter it grew. Great
ladders of rushes and flags lifted themselves from the water, and upon
them the Deer and his companion were borne downward into halls of
splendor, lighted by many lights and fires. And in the largest chamber
the gods were sitting in council silently. Páutiwa, the Sun-priest of
the Sacred Drama (_Kâkâ_), Shúlawitsi (the God of Fire), with his torch
of ever-living flame, and many others were there; and when the strangers
arrived they greeted and were greeted, and were given a place in the
light of the central fire. And in through the doors of the west and the
north and the east and the south filed long rows of sacred dancers,
those who had passed through the Lake of the Dead, clad in cotton
mantles, white as the daylight, finely embroidered, decked with many a
treasure shell and turquoise stone. These performed their sacred rites,
to the delight of the gods and the wonder of the Deer and his
foster-brother.
And when the dancers had retired, Páutiwa, the Sun-priest of the Sacred
Dance, arose, and said: “What would’st thou?”--though he knew full well
beforehand. “What would’st thou, oh, Deer of the forest mesas, with thy
companion, thy foster-brother; for not thinking of nothing would one
visit the home of the _Kâkâ_.”
Then the Deer lifted his head and told his story.
“It is well,” said the gods.
“Appear, my faithful one,” said Páutiwa to Shúlawitsi. And Shúlawitsi
appeared and waved his flame around the youth, so that he became
convinced of his mortal origin and of his dependence upon food prepared
by fire. Then the gods who speak the speech of men gathered around and
breathed upon the youth, and touched to his lips moisture from their own
mouths, and touched the portals of his ears with oil from their own
ears, and thus was the youth made acquainted with both the speech and
the understanding of the speech of mortal man. Then the gods called out,
and there were brought before them fine garments of white cotton
embroidered in many colors, rare necklaces of sacred shell with many
turquoises and coral-like stones and shells strung in their midst, and
all that the most beautifully clad of our ancients could have glorified
their appearance with. Such things they brought forth, and, making them
into a bundle, laid them at the feet of the youth. Then they said: “Oh,
youth, oh, brother and father, since thou art the child of the Sun, who
is the father of us all, go forth with thy foster-brother to thy last
meeting-place with him and with his people; and when on the day after
the morrow hunters shall gather from around thy country, some of ye, oh,
Deer,” said he, turning to the Deer, “yield thyselves up that ye may die
as must thy kind ever continue to die, for the sake of this thy
brother.”
“I will lead them,” simply replied the Deer. “Thanks.”
And Páutiwa continued: “Here full soon wilt thou be gathered in our
midst, or with the winds and the mists of the air at night-time wilt
sport, ever-living. Go ye forth, then, carrying this bundle, and, as ye
best know how, prepare this our father and child for his reception among
men. And, O son and father,” continued the priest-god, turning to the
youth, “Fear not! Happy wilt thou be in the days to come, and treasured
among men. Hence thy birth. Return with the Deer and do as thou art told
to do. Thy uncle, leading his priest-youths, will be foremost in the
hunt. He will pursue thee and thy foster-mother. Lead him far away; and
when thou hast so led him, cease running and turn and wait, and
peacefully go home whither he guides thee.”
The sounds of the Sacred Dance came in from the outer apartments, and
the youth and the Deer, taking their bundle, departed. More quickly than
they had come they sped away; and on the morning when the hunters of
Háwikuh were setting forth, the Deer gathered themselves in a vast herd
on the southern mesa, and they circled about the youth and instructed
him how to unloose the bundle he had brought. Then closer and closer
came the Deer to the youth and bade him stand in his nakedness, and they
ran swiftly about him, breathing fierce, moist breaths until hot steam
enveloped him and bathed him from head to foot, so that he was purified,
and his skin was softened, and his hair hung down in a smooth yet waving
mass at the back of his head. Then the youth put on the costume, one
article after another, he having seen them worn by the Gods of the
Sacred Dance, and by the dancers; and into his hair at the back, under
the band which he placed round his temples, he thrust the glowing
feathers of the macaw which had been given him. Then, seeing that there
was still one article left,--a little string of conical shells,--he
asked what that was for; and the Deer told him to tie it about his knee.
The Deer gathered around him once more, and the old chief said: “Who
among ye are willing to die?” And, as if it were a festive occasion to
which they were going, many a fine Deer bounded forth, striving for the
place of those who were to die, until a large number were gathered,
fearless and ready. Then the Deer began to move.
Soon there was an alarm. In the north and the west and the south and the
east there was cause for alarm. And the Deer began to scatter, and then
to assemble and scatter again. At last the hunters with drawn bows came
running in, and soon their arrows were flying in the midst of those who
were devoted, and Deer after Deer fell, pierced to the heart or other
vital part.
At last but few were left,--amongst them the kind old Deer-mother and
her two children; and, taking the lead, the glorious youth, although
encumbered by his new dress, sped forth with them. They ran and ran, the
fleetest of the tribe of Háwikuh pursuing them; but all save the uncle
and his brave sons were soon left far behind. The youth’s foster-brother
was soon slain, and the youth, growing angry, turned about; then
bethinking himself of the words of the gods, he sped away again. So his
foster-sister, too, was killed; but he kept on, his old mother alone
running behind him. At last the uncle and his sons overtook the old
mother, and they merely caught her and turned her away, saying:
“Faithful to the last she has been to this youth.” Then they renewed the
chase for the youth; and he at last, pretending weariness, faced about
and stood like a stag at bay. As soon as they approached, he dropped his
arms and lowered his head. Then he said: “Oh, my uncle” (for the gods
had told who would find him)--“Oh, my uncle, what wouldst thou? Thou
hast killed my brothers and sisters; what wouldst thou with me?”
The old man stopped and gazed at the youth in wonder and admiration of
his fine appearance and beautiful apparel. Then he said: “Why dost thou
call me uncle?”
“Because, verily,” replied the youth, “thou art my uncle, and thy niece,
my maiden-mother, gave birth to me and cast me away upon a dust-heap;
and then my noble Deer found me and nourished me and cherished me.”
The uncle and his sons gazed still with wonder. Then they thought they
saw in the youth’s clear eyes and his soft, oval face a likeness to the
mother, and they said: “Verily, this which he says is true.” Then they
turned about and took him by the hands gently and led him toward
Háwikuh, while one of them sped forward to test the truth of his
utterances.
When the messenger arrived at Háwikuh he took his way straight to the
house of the priest, and told him what he had heard. The priest in anger
summoned the maiden.
“Oh, my child,” said he, “hast thou done this thing which we are told
thou hast done?” And he related what he had been told.
“Nay, no such thing have I done,” said she.
“Yea, but thou hast, oh, unnatural mother! And who was the father?”
demanded the old priest with great severity.
Then the maiden, thinking of her Sun-lover, bowed her head in her lap
and rocked herself to and fro, and cried sorely. And then she said:
“Yea, it is true; so true that I feared thy wrath, oh, my father! I
feared thy shame, oh, my mother! and what could I do?” Then she told of
her lover, the Sun,--with tears she told it, and she cried out: “Bring
back my child that I may nurse him and love but him alone, and see him
the father of children!”
By this time the hunters arrived, some bringing game, but others
bringing in their midst this wondrous youth, on whom each man and maiden
in Háwikuh gazed with delight and admiration.
They took him to the home of his priest-grandfather; and as though he
knew the way he entered the apartment of his mother, and she, rising and
opening wide her arms, threw herself on his breast and cried and cried.
And he laid his hand on her head, and said: “Oh, mother, weep not, for I
have come to thee, and I will cherish thee.”
So was the foster-child of the Deer restored to his mother and his
people.
Wondrously wise in the ways of the Deer and their language was he--so
much so that, seeing them, he understood them. This youth made little
ado of hunting, for he knew that he could pay those rites and attentions
to the Deer that were most acceptable, and made them glad of death at
the hand of the hunter. And ere long, so great was his knowledge and
success, and his preciousness in the eyes of the Master of Life, that by
his will and his arm alone the tribe of Háwikuh was fed and was clad in
buckskins.
A rare and beautiful maiden he married, and most happy was he with her.
It was his custom to go forth early in the morning, when the Deer came
down to drink or stretch themselves and walk abroad and crop the grass;
and, taking his bow and quiver of arrows, he would go to a distant mesa,
and, calling the Deer around him, and following them as swiftly as they
ran, he would strike them down in great numbers, and, returning, say to
his people: “Go and bring in my game, giving me only parts of what I
have slain and taking the rest yourselves.”
So you can readily see how he and his people became the greatest people
of Háwikuh. Nor is it marvellous that the sorcerers of that tribe should
have grown envious of his prosperity, and sought to diminish it in many
ways, wherein they failed.
At last one night the Master of Sorcerers in secret places raised his
voice and cried: “_Weh-h-h-h! Weh-h-h-h-h-h!_” And round about him
presently gathered all the sorcerers of the place, and they entered into
a deep cavern, large and lighted by green, glowing fires, and there,
staring at each other, they devised means to destroy this splendid
youth, the child of the Sun.
One of their number stood forth and said: “I will destroy him in his own
vocation. He is a hunter, and the Coyote loves well to follow the
hunter.” His words were received with acclamation, and the youth who had
offered himself sped forth in the night to prepare, by incantation and
with his infernal appliances, a disguise for himself.
On the next morning, when the youth went forth to hunt, an old Coyote
sneaked behind him after he reached the mesas, and, following
stealthily, waited his throwing down of the Deer; and when the youth had
called and killed a number of Deer and sat down to rest on a fallen
tree, the Coyote sneaked into sight. The youth, looking at him, merely
thought: “He seeks the blood of my slain Deer,” and he went on with his
prayers and sacrifices to the dead of the Deer. But soon, stiffening his
limbs, the Coyote swiftly scudded across the open, and, with a puff from
his mouth and nostrils like a sneeze toward the youth, threw himself
against him and arose a man,--the same man who had offered his services
in the council of the wizards--while the poor youth, falling over, ran
away, a human being still in heart and mind, but in form a coyote.