he had brought in, opened it and disclosed thousands of shell beads, red
and white, and thousands more of brilliant turquoises. These he poured
into the great tray at the door-side, and gave them to the grandmother,
who forthwith began to sort them with great rapidity. But, ere she had
done, the Sun-father took them from her; part of them he took out with
unerring judgment and cast them abroad into the great waters as we cast
sacred prayer-meal. The others he brought below and gave them to the
grandmother for safe-keeping.
Then he turned once more to the youth and the maiden, and said to the
former: “So thou hast come, my child, even as I commanded. It is well,
and I am thankful.” Then, in a stern and louder voice, which yet sounded
like the voice of a father, he asked: “Hast thou brought with thee that
whereby we are made happy with our children?”
And the young man said: “Aye, I have.”
“It is well; and if it be well, then shalt thou precious be; for knowest
thou not that I recognize the really good from the evil,--even of the
thoughts of men,--and that I know the prayer and sacrifice that is
meant, from the words and treasures of those who do but lie in
addressing them to me, and speak and act as children in a joke? Behold
the treasure which I brought with me from the cities of mankind today!
Some of them I cherished preciously, for they are the gifts to me of
good hearts and I treasure them that I may return them in good fortune
and blessing to those who gave them. But some thou sawest I cast abroad
into the great waters that they may again be gathered up and presented
to me; for they were the gifts of double and foolish hearts, and as such
cannot be treasured by me nor returned unto those who gave them. Bring
forth, my child, the plumes and gifts thou hast brought. Thy mother
dwelleth in the next room, and when she appeareth in this, thou shalt
with thine own hand present to her thy sacrifice.”
So the youth, bowing his head, unwrapped his bundle and laid before the
Sun-father the plumes he had brought. And the Sun-father took them and
breathed upon them and upon the youth, and said: “Thanks, this day. Thou
hast straightened thy crooked thoughts.”
And when the beautiful Mother of Men, the Moon-mother--the wife of the
Sun-father--appeared, the boy placed before her the plumes he had
brought, and she, too, breathed upon them, and said: “Thanks, this day,”
even as the Sun-father had.
Then the Sun-father turned to the youth and said: “Thou shalt join me in
my journey round the world, that thou mayest see the towns and nations
of mankind--my children; that thou mayest realize how many are my
children. Four days shalt thou join me in my journeyings, and then shalt
thou return to the home of thy fathers.”
And the young man said: “It is well!” but he turned his eyes to the
maiden.
“Fear not, my child,” added the Father, “she shall sit preciously in my
house until we have returned.”
And after they had feasted, the Sun-father again enrobed himself, and
the youth he dressed in appearance as he himself was dressed. Then,
taking the sun-dress from the wall, he led the way down through the four
great apartments of the world, and came out into the Lower Country of
the Earth.
Behold! as they entered that great world, it was filled with snow and
cold below, and the tracks of men led out over great white plains, and
as they passed the cities of these nether countries people strange to
see were clearing away the snow from their house-tops and doorways.
And so they journeyed to the other House of the Sun, and, passing up
through the four great rooms, entered the home of the aunts of the
Sun-father; and here, too, the young man presented plumes of prayer and
sacrifice to the inmates, and received their thanks and blessings.
Again they started together on their journey; and behold! as they came
out into the World of Daylight, the skies below them were filled with
the rain of summer-time.
Across the great world they journeyed, and they saw city after city of
men, and many tribes of strange peoples. Here they were engaged in wars
and in wasting the lives of one another; there they were dying of famine
and disease; and more of misery and poverty than of happiness saw the
young man among the nations of men. “For,” said the Sun-father, “these
be, alas! my children, who waste their lives in foolishness, or slay one
another in useless anger; yet they are brothers to one another, and I am
the father of all.”
Thus journeyed they four days; and each evening when they returned to
the home where the Sun-father enters, he gave to his grandmother the
great package of treasure which his children among men had sacrificed to
him, and each day he cast the treasures of the bad and double-hearted
into the great waters.
On the fourth day, when they had entered the western home of the
Sun-father, said the latter to the youth: “Thy task is meted out and
finished; thou shalt now return unto the home of thy fathers--my
children below the mountains of Shíwina. How many days, thinkest thou,
shalt thou journey?”
“Many days more than ten,” replied the youth with a sigh.
“Ah! no, my child,” said the Sun-father. “Listen; thou shalt in one day
reach the banks of the river whence thou camest. Listen! Thou shalt take
this, my shaft of strong lightning; thou shalt grasp its neck with firm
hands, and as thou extendest it, it will stretch out far to thy front
and draw thee more swiftly than the arrow’s flight through the water.
Take with thee this quiver of unerring arrows, and this strong bow, that
by their will thou mayest seek life; but forget not thy sacrifices nor
that they are to be made with true word and a faithful heart. Take also
with thee thy guide and companion, the Rattlesnake maiden. When thou
hast arrived at the shore of the country of her people, let go the
lightning, and it will land thee high. On the morrow I will journey
slowly, that ere I be done rising thou mayest reach the home of the
maiden. There thou must stop but briefly, for thy fathers, the
Rattle-tailed Serpents, will instruct thee, and to their counsel thou
must pay strict heed, for thus only will it be well. Thou shalt present
to them the plumes of the Prey-beings thou bringest, and when thou hast
presented these, thou must continue thy journey. Rest thou until the
morrow, and early as the light speed hence toward the home of thy
fathers. May all days find ye, children, happy.” With this, the
Sun-father, scarce listening to the prayers and thanks of the youth and
maiden, vanished below.
Thus, when morning approached, the youth and the maiden entered the
hollow house and closed it. Scarce did the youth grasp the lightning
when, drawn by the bright shaft, the log shot far out into the great
waters and was skimming, too fast to be seen, toward the home of the
Rattle-tailed Serpents.
And the Sun had but just climbed above the mountains of this world of
daylight when the little tube was thrown high above the banks of the
great island whither they were journeying.
Then the youth and the maiden again entered the council of the
Rattlesnakes, and when they saw the shining black paint on his face they
asked that they too might paint their faces like his own; but they
painted their cheeks awkwardly, as to this day may be seen; for all
rattlesnakes are painted unevenly in the face. Then the young man
presented to each the plumes he had brought, and told the elders that he
would return with their maiden to the home of his father.
“Be it well, that it may be well,” they replied; and they thanked him
with delight for the treasure-plumes he had bestowed upon them.
“Go ye happily all days,” said the elders. “Listen, child, and father,
to our words of advice. But a little while, and thou wilt reach the bank
whence thou started. Let go the shaft of lightning, and, behold, the
tube thou hast journeyed with will plunge far down into the river. Then
shalt thou journey with this our maiden three days. Care not to embrace
her, for if thou doest this, it will not be well. Journey ye preciously,
our children, and may ye be happy one with the other.”
So again they entered their hollow log, and, before entering, the maiden
placed her rattlesnake skin as before on the fangs. With incredible
swiftness the lightning drew them up the great surging river to the
banks where the cottonwood forests grow, and when the lad pressed the
shaft it landed them high among the forest trees above the steep bank.
Then the youth pressed the lightning-shaft with all his might, and the
log was dashed into the great river. While yet he gazed at the bounding
log, behold! the fangs which the maiden had fixed into it turned to
living serpents; hence today, throughout the whole great world, from the
Land of Summer to the Waters of Sunset, are found the Rattlesnakes and
their children.
Then the young man journeyed with the maiden southward; and on the way,
with the bow and arrows the Sun-father had given him, he killed game,
that they might have meat to eat. Nor did he forget the commandments of
his Sun-father. At night he built a fire in a forest of piñons, and made
a bower for the maiden near to it; but she could not sit there, for she
feared the fire, and its light pained her eyes. Nor could she eat at
first of the food he cooked for her, but only tasted a few mouthfuls of
it. Then the young man made a bed for her under the trees, and told her
to rest peacefully, for he would guard her through the night.
And thus they journeyed and rested until the fourth day, when at evening
they entered the town under the mountains of Shíwina and were happily
welcomed by the father, sister, and relatives of the young man. Blessed
by the old priest-chief, the youth and the maiden dwelt with the younger
sister Waíasialuhtitsa, in the high house of the upper part of the town.
And the boy was as before a mighty hunter, and the maiden at last grew
used to the food and ways of mortals.
After they had thus lived together for a long time, there were born of
the maiden two children, twins.
Wonderful to relate, these children grew to the power of wandering, in a
single day and night; and hence, when they appeared suddenly on the
house-tops and in the plazas, people said to one another:
“Who are these strange people, and whence came they?”--and talked much
after the manner of our foolish people. And the other little children in
the town beat them and quarrelled with them, as strange children are
apt to do with strange children. And when the twins ran in to their
mother, crying and complaining, the poor young woman was saddened; so
she said to the father when he returned from hunting in the evening:
“Ah! ‘their father,’ it is not well that we remain longer here. No,
alas! I must return to the country of my fathers, and take with me these
little ones,” and, although the father prayed her not, she said only:
“It must be,” and he was forced to consent.
Then for four days the Rattlesnake woman instructed him in the prayers
and chants of her people, and she took him forth and showed him the
medicines whereby the bite of her fathers might be assuaged, and how to
prepare them. Again and again the young man urged her not to leave him,
saying: “The way is long and filled with dangers. How, alas! will you
reach it in safety?”
“Fear not,” said she; “go with me only to the shore of the great river,
and my fathers will come to meet me and take me home.”
Sadly, on the last morning, the father accompanied his wife and children
to the forests of the great river. There she said he must not follow;
but as he embraced them he cried out:
“Ah, alas! my beautiful wife, my beloved children, flesh of my flesh,
how shall I not follow ye?”
Then his wife answered: “Fear not, nor trouble thyself with sad
thoughts. Whither we go thou canst not follow, for thou eatest cooked
food--(thou art a mortal); but soon thy fathers and mine will come for
thee, and thou wilt follow us, never to return.” Then she turned from
him with the little children and was seen no more, and the young man
silently returned to his home below the mountains of Shíwina.
It happened here and there in time that young men of his tribe were
bitten by rattlesnakes; but the young man had only to suck their wounds,
and apply his medicines, and sing his incantations and prayers, to cure
them. Whenever this happened, he breathed the sacred breath upon them,
and enjoined them to secrecy of the rituals and chants he taught them,
save only to such as they should choose and teach the practice of their
prayers.
Thus he had cured and taught eight, when one day he ascended the
mountains for wood. There, alone in the forest, he was met and bitten by
his fathers. Although he slowly and painfully crawled home, long ere he
reached his town he was so swollen that the eight whom he had instructed
tried in vain to cure him, and, bidding them cherish as a precious gift
the knowledge of his beloved wife, he died.
Immediately his fathers met his breath and being and took them to the
home of the Maiden of the Rattlesnakes and of his lost children. Need we
ask why he was not cured by his disciples?
Thus it was in the days of the ancients, and hence today we have fathers
amongst us to whom the dread bite of the rattlesnake need cause no sad
thoughts,--the _Tchi Kialikwe_ (Society of the Rattlesnakes).
Thus much and thus shortened is my story.
[Illustration: {Masks}]
[Illustration: THUNDER MOUNTAIN FROM ZUÑI
Photo by A. C. Vroman]
HOW ÁHAIYÚTA AND MÁTSAILÉMA STOLE THE THUNDER-STONE AND THE
LIGHTNING-SHAFT
Áhaiyúta and Mátsailéma, with their grandmother, lived where now stands
the ancient Middle Place of Sacrifice on Thunder Mountain.
One day they went out hunting prairie-dogs, and while they were running
about from one prairie-dog village to another, it began to rain, which
made the trail slippery and the ground muddy, so that the boys became a
little wrathful. Then they sat down and cursed the rain for a brief
space. Off in the south it thundered until the earth trembled, and the
lightning-shafts flew about the red-bordered clouds until the two
brothers were nearly blinded with the beholding of it. Presently the
younger brother smoothed his brow, and jumped up with an exclamation
somewhat profane, and cried out: “Elder brother, let us go to the Land
of Everlasting Summer and steal from the gods in council their thunder
and lightning. I think it would be fine fun to do that sort of thing we
have just been looking at and listening to.”
The elder brother was somewhat more cautious; still, on the whole, he
liked the idea. So he said: “Let us take our prairie-dogs home to the
grandmother, that she shall have something to eat meanwhile, and we will
think about going tomorrow morning.”
The next morning, bright and early, they started out. In vain the old
grandmother called rather crossly after them: “Where are you going now?”
She could get no satisfaction, for she knew they lied when they called
back: “Oh, we are only going to hunt more prairie-dogs.” It is true that
they skulked round in the plains about Thunder Mountain a little while,
as if looking for prairie-dogs. Then, picking up their wondrously swift
heels, they sped away toward that beautiful country of the corals, the
Land of Everlasting Summer.
At last,--it may be in the mountains of that country, which are said to
glow like shells of the sea or the clouds of the sunset,--they came to
the House of the Beloved Gods themselves. And that red house was a
wondrous terrace, rising wall after wall, and step after step, like a
high mountain, grand and stately; and the walls were so smooth and high
that the skill and power of the little War-gods availed them nothing;
they could not get in.
“What shall we do?” asked the younger brother.
“Go home,” said the elder, “and mind our own affairs.”
“Oh, no,” urged the younger; “I have it, elder brother. Let us hunt up
our grandfather, the Centipede.”
“Good!” replied the elder. “A happy thought is that of yours, my brother
younger.”
Forthwith they laid down their bows and quivers of mountain-lion skin,
their shields, and other things, and set about turning over all the flat
stones they could find. Presently, lifting one with their united
strength, they found under it the very old fellow they sought. He
doubled himself, and covered his eyes from the sharpness of the
daylight. He did not much like being thus disturbed, even by his
grandchildren, the War-gods, in the middle of his noon-day nap, and was
by no means polite to them. But they prodded him a little in the side,
and said: “Now, grandfather, look here! We are in difficulty, and there
is no one in the wide world who can help us out as you will.”
The old Centipede was naturally flattered. He unrolled himself and
viewed them with a look which he intended to be extremely reproachful
and belittling. “Ah, my grandchildren,” said he, “what are you up to
now? Are you trying to get yourselves into trouble, as usual? No doubt
of it! I will help you all I can; but the consequences be on your own
heads!”
“That’s right, grandfather, that’s right! No one in the world could help
us as you can,” said one of them. “The fact is, we want to get hold of
the thunder-stone and the lightning-shaft which the Rain-gods up there
in the tremendous house keep and guard so carefully, we understand. Now,
in the first place, we cannot get up the wall; in the second place, if
we did, we would probably have a fuss with them in trying to steal these
things. Therefore, we want you to help us, if you will.”
“With all my heart, my boys! But I should advise you to run along home
to your grandmother, and let these things alone.”
“Oh, pshaw, nonsense! We are only going to play a little while with the
thunder and lightning.”
“All right,” replied the old Worm; “sit here and wait for me.” He
wriggled himself and stirred about, and his countless legs were more
countless than ever with rapid motions as he ran toward the walls of
that stately terrace. A vine could not have run up more closely, nor a
bird more rapidly; for if one foot slipped, another held on; so the old
Centipede wriggled himself up the sides and over the roof, down into the
great sky-hole; and, scorning the ladder, which he feared might creak,
he went along, head-downward, on the ceiling to the end of the room over
the altar, ran down the side, and approached that most forbidden of
places, the altar of the gods themselves. The beloved gods, in silent
majesty, were sitting there with their heads bowed in meditation so deep
that they heard not the faint scuffle of the Centipede’s feet as he
wound himself down into the altar and stole the thunder-stone. He took
it in his mouth--which was larger than the mouths of Centipedes are
now--and carried it silently, weighty as it was, up the way he had come,
over the roof, down the wall, and back to the flat stone where he made
his home, and where, hardly able to contain themselves with impatience,
the two youthful gods were awaiting him.
“Here he comes!” cried the younger brother, “and he’s got it! By my
war-bonnet, he’s got it!”
The old grandfather threw the stone down. It began to sound, but
Áhaiyúta grabbed it, and, as it were, throttled its world-stirring
speech. “Good! good!” he cried to the grandfather; “thank you, old
grandfather, thank you!”
“Hold on!” cried the younger brother; “you didn’t bring both. What can
we do with the one without the other?”
“Shut up!” cried the old Worm. “I know what I am about!” And before they
could say any more he was off again. Ere long he returned, carrying the
shaft of lightning, with its blue, shimmering point, in his mouth.
“Good!” cried the War-gods. And the younger brother caught up the
lightning, and almost forgot his weapons, which, however, he did stop to
take up, and started on a full run for Thunder Mountain, followed by his
more deliberate, but equally interested elder brother, who brought along
the thunder-stone, which he found a somewhat heavier burden than he had
supposed.
It was not long, you may well imagine, so powerful were these Gods of
War, ere they reached the home of their grandmother on the top of
Thunder Mountain. They had carefully concealed the thunder-stone and the
shaft of lightning meanwhile, and had taken care to provide themselves
with a few prairie-dogs by way of deception.
Still, in majestic revery, unmoved, and apparently unwitting of what had
taken place, sat the Rain-gods in their home in the mountains of
Summerland.
Not long after they arrived, the young gods began to grow curious and
anxious to try their new playthings. They poked one another
considerably, and whispered a great deal, so that their grandmother
began to suspect they were about to play some rash joke or other, and
presently she espied the point of lightning gleaming under Mátsailéma’s
dirty jacket.
“Demons and corpses!” she cried. “By the moon! You have stolen the
thunder-stone and lightning-shaft from the Gods of Rain themselves! Go
this instant and return them, and never do such a thing again!” she
cried, with the utmost severity; and, making a quick step for the
fireplace, she picked up a poker with which to belabor their backs, when
they whisked out of the room and into another. They slammed the door in
their grandmother’s face and braced it, and, clearing away a lot of
rubbish that was lying around the rear room, they established themselves
in one end, and, nodding and winking at one another, cried out: “Now,
then!” The younger let go the lightning-shaft; the elder rolled the
thunder-stone. The lightning hissed through the air, and far out into
the sky, and returned. The thunder-stone rolled and rumbled until it
shook the foundations of the mountain. “Glorious fun!” cried the boys,
rubbing their thighs in ecstasy of delight. “Do it again!” And again
they sent forth the lightning and rolled the thunder-stone.
And now the gods in Summerland arose in their majesty and breathed upon
the skies; and the winds rose, and the rains fell like rivers from the
clouds, centering their violence upon the roof of the poor old
grandmother’s house. Heedlessly those reckless wretches kept on playing
the thunder-stone and lightning-shaft without the slightest regard to
the tremendous commotion they were raising all through the skies and all
over Thunder Mountain; but nowhere else as above the house where their
poor old grandmother lived fell the torrent of the rain, and there
alone, of course, burst the lightning and rolled the thunder.
Soon the water poured through the roof of the house; but, move the
things as the old grandmother would, she could not keep them dry; scold
the boys as she would, she could not make them desist. No, they would
only go on with their play more violently than ever, exclaiming: “What
has she to say, anyway? It won’t hurt her to get a good ducking, and
this is fun!” By-and-by the waters rose so high that they extinguished
the fire. Soon they rose still higher, so that the War-gods had to
paddle around half submerged. Still they kept rolling the thunder-stone
and shooting the lightning. The old grandmother scolded harder and
harder, but after awhile desisted and climbed to the top of the
fireplace, whence, after recovering from her exertion, she began again.
But the boys heeded her not, only saying: “Let her yell! Let her scold!
This is fun!” At last they began to take the old grandmother’s scolding
as a matter of course, and allowed nothing but the water to interrupt
their pastime. It rose so high, finally, that they were near drowning.
Then they climbed to the roof, but still they kept on.
“By the bones of the dead! why did we not think to come here before?
’Tis ten times as fine up here. See him shoot!” cried one to the other,
as the lightning sped through the sky, ever returning.
“Hear it mutter and roll!” cried the other, as the thunder bellowed and
grumbled.
But no sooner had the Two begun their sport on the roof, than the rain
fell in one vast sheet all about them; and it was not long ere the house
was so full that the old grandmother--locked in as she was--bobbed her
poor pate on the rafters in trying to keep it above the water. She
gulped water, and gasped, coughed, strangled, and shrieked to no
purpose.
“What a fuss our old grandmother is making, to be sure!” cried the boys.
And they kept on, until, forsooth, the water had completely filled the
room, and the grandmother’s cries gurgled away and ceased. Finally, the
thunder-stone grew so terrific, and the lightning so hot and
unmanageable, that the boys, drawing a long breath and thinking with
immense satisfaction of the fun they had had, possibly also influenced
as to the safety of the house, which was beginning to totter, flung the
thunder-stone and the lightning-shaft into the sky, where, rattling and
flashing away, they finally disappeared over the mountains in the south.