of her father and mother; and as she went into the town, staggering
under her load of rabbits, the young men and the old men and women and
children beheld her with wonder; and no hunter in that town thought of
comparing himself with the Maiden Huntress of K’yawana Tehua-tsana. The
old man and the old woman, who had mourned the night through and sat up
anxiously watching, were overcome with happiness when they saw their
daughter returning; and as she laid the rabbits at their feet, she said:
“Behold! my father and my mother, foolish have I been, and much danger
have I passed through, because I forgot the ways of a woman and assumed
the ways of a man. But two wondrous youths have taught me that a woman
may be a huntress and yet never leave her own fireside. Behold! I will
marry, when some good youth comes to me, and he will hunt rabbits and
deer for me, for my parents and my children.”
So, one day, when one of those youths who had seen her come in laden
with rabbits, and who had admired her time out of mind, presented
himself with a bundle at the maiden’s fireside, behold! she smilingly
and delightedly accepted him. And from that day to this, when women
would hunt rabbits or deer, they marry, and behold, the rabbits and deer
are hunted.
Thus shortens my story.
THE UGLY WILD BOY WHO DROVE THE BEAR AWAY FROM SOUTHEASTERN MESA
In the days of the ancients there lived with his old grandmother, not
far from K’iákime, east, where the sweet wafer-bread is pictured on the
rocks, a frightfully ugly boy. The color of his body and face was blue.
He had a twisted nose, crooked scars of various colors ran down each
side of his face, and he had a bunch of red things like peppers on his
head; in fact, in all ways he resembled the _Héhea_, or the wild men of
the Sacred Dance who serve as runners to the priest-clowns.
Now, one season it had rained so much that the piñon trees were laden
with nuts, and the datilas were heavy with fruit, and the gray grass and
red-top were so heavy with seeds that even when the wind did not blow
they bent as if in a breeze.
In vain the people of K’iákime went to the Southeastern Mesa, where the
nut trees and datilas and grass grew. They could not gather the nuts and
the fruit and the seeds, because of the ugly old Bear who claimed the
country and its products for his own, and waxed fat thereon. Some of the
people were killed by him, others were maimed, and all the rest were
driven away.
One day the ugly little boy said to his grandmother: “O grandmother, I
am going out to gather datilas and piñon nuts on the Southeastern Mesa.”
“Child, child!” cried the grandmother, “do not go; do not, by any
means, go! You know very well there is an ugly Bear there who will
either kill you or maim you frightfully.”
“I don’t care for all that!” cried the boy; “I am going!” Whereupon he
went.
He followed the trail called the Road of the Pending Meal-sack, and he
climbed the crooked path up Shoyakoskwe (Southeastern Mesa), and
advanced over the wide plateau. No sooner had he begun to pluck the
sweet datila fruit and eat of it, and had cracked between his teeth an
occasional piñon nut, than “_Wha-a-a-a!_” snarled the old Bear; and he
came rushing out of the nearest thicket toward the boy.
“_U shoma kutchi kihe!_” shouted the boy. “Friend, friend, don’t bite
me! It’ll hurt! Don’t bite me! I came to make a bargain with you.”
“I’d like to know why I shouldn’t bite you!” growled the Bear. “I’ll
tear you to pieces. What have you come to my country for, stealing my
fruit and nuts and grass-seed?”
“I came to get something to eat,” replied the boy. “You have plenty.”
“Indeed, I have not. I will let you pick nothing. I will tear you to
pieces!” said the Bear.
“Don’t, don’t, and I will make a bargain with you,” said the boy.
“Who should talk of bargains to me?” yelled the Bear, cracking a small
pine-tree to pieces with his paws and teeth, so great was his rage.
“These things are no more yours than mine,” said the boy, “and I’ll
prove it.”
“How?” asked the Bear.
“They are mine; they are not yours!” cried the boy.
“They are mine, I tell you! They are not yours!” replied the Bear.
“They are mine!” retorted the boy.
And so they might have wrangled till sunset, or torn one another into
pieces, had it not been for a suggestion that the boy made.
“Look here! I’ll make a proposition to you,” said he.
“What’s that?” asked the Bear.
“Whoever is certain of his rights on this plateau and the things that
grow on it must prove it by not being scared by anything that the other
does,” said the boy.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Bear, in his big, coarse voice. “That is a good
plan, indeed. I am perfectly willing to stand the test.”
“Well, now, one of us must run away and hide,” said the boy, “and then
the other must come on him unaware in some way and frighten him, if he
can.”
“All right,” said the Bear. “Who first?”
“Just as you say,” said the boy.
“Well, then, I will try you first,” said the Bear, “for this place
belongs to me.” Whereupon he turned and fled into the thicket. And the
boy went around picking datilas and eating them, and throwing the skins
away. Presently the Bear came rushing out of the thicket, snapping the
trees and twigs, and throwing them about at such a rate that you would
have thought there was a sandstorm raging through the forest.
“_Ku hai yaau!
Ku pekwia nu!
Ha! ha! ha! haaaa!_”
he exclaimed, rushing at the boy from the rear.
The boy stirred never so much as a leaf, only kept on champing his
datilas.
Again the Bear retired, and again he came rushing forth and snarling
out: “_Ha! ha! ha! hu! hu! hu!_” in a terrific voice, and grabbed the
boy; but never so much as the boy’s heart stirred.
“By my senses!” exclaimed the Bear; “you are a man, and I must give it
up. Now, suppose you try me. I can stand as much frightening as you,
and, unless you can frighten me, I tell you you must keep away from my
datila and piñon patch.”
Then the boy turned on his heel and fled away toward his grandmother’s
house, singing as he went:
“_Kuyaina itoshlakyanaa!
Kuyaina itoshlakyanaa!_”
He of the piñon patch frightened shall be!
He of the piñon patch frightened shall be!
“Oh! shall he?” cried his grandmother. “I declare, I am surprised to see
you come back alive and well.”
“Hurry up, grandmother,” said the boy, “and paint me as frightfully as
you can.”
“All right, my son; I will help you!” So she blackened the right side
of his face with soot, and painted the left side with ashes, until he
looked like a veritable demon. Then she gave him a stone axe of ancient
time and magic power, and she said: “Take this, my son, and see what you
can do with it.”
The boy ran back to the mountain. The Bear was wandering around eating
datilas. The boy suddenly ran toward him, and exclaimed:
“_Ai yaaaa!
He! he! he! he! he! he! he! tooh!_”--
and he whacked the side of a hollow piñon tree with his axe. The tree
was shivered with a thundering noise, the earth shook, and the Bear
jumped as if he had been struck by one of the flying splinters. Then,
recovering himself and catching sight of the boy, he exclaimed: “What a
fool I am, to be scared by that little wretch of a boy!” But presently,
seeing the boy’s face, he was startled again, and exclaimed: “By my
eyes, the Death Demon is after me, surely!”
Again the boy, as he came near, whacked with his magic axe the body of
another tree, calling out in a still louder voice. The earth shook so
much and the noise was so thunderous that the Bear sneezed with
agitation. And again, as the boy came still nearer, once more he struck
a tree a tremendous blow, and again the earth thundered and trembled
more violently than ever, and the Bear almost lost his senses with
fright and thought surely the Corpse Demon was coming this time. When,
for the fourth time, the boy struck a tree, close to the Bear, the old
fellow was thrown violently to the ground with the heaving of the earth
and the bellowing of the sounds that issued forth. Picking himself up as
fast as he could, never stopping to see whether it was a boy or a devil,
he fled to the eastward as fast as his legs would carry him, and, as he
heard the boy following him, he never stopped until he reached the Zuñi
Mountains.
“There!” said the boy; “I’ll chase the old rogue no farther. He’s been
living all these years on the mountain where more fruit and nuts and
grass-seed grow than a thousand Bears could eat, and yet he’s never let
so much as a single soul of the town of K’iákime gather a bit.”
Then the boy returned to his grandmother, and related to her what had
taken place.
“Go,” said she, “and tell the people of K’iákime, from the top of yonder
high rock, that those who wish to go out to gather grass-seed and
datilas and piñon nuts need fear no longer.”
So the boy went out, and, mounting the high rock, informed and directed
the people as follows:
“Ye of the Home of the Eagles! Ye do I now inform, whomsoever of ye
would gather datilas, whomsoever of ye would gather piñon nuts,
whomsoever of ye would gather grass-seed, that bread may be made, hie ye
over the mountains, and gather them to your hearts’ content, for I have
driven the Bear away!”
A few believed in what the boy said; and some, because he was ugly,
would not believe it and would not go; and thus were as much hindered
from gathering grass-seed and nuts for daily food as if the Bear had
been really there. You know people nowadays are often frightened by such
a kind of Bear as this.
* * * * *
Thus it was in the days of the ancients. And therefore the Zuñi
Mountains to this day are filled with bears; but they rarely descend to
the mesas in the southwest, being fully convinced from the experience of
their ancestor that the Corpse Demon is near and continues to lie in
wait for them. And our people go over the mountains as they will, even
women and children, and gather datila fruit, piñon nuts, and grass-seed
without hindrance.
Thus shortens my story.
THE REVENGE OF THE TWO BROTHERS ON THE HÁWIKUHKWE, OR THE TWO LITTLE
ONES[16] AND THEIR TURKEYS
(THE ORIGIN OF THE PRIESTS AND CHIEFS OF THE DANCE OF VICTORY)
[16] This term refers to the two Gods of War, Áhaiyúta and
Mátsailéma, who, as has been seen in previous tales, were
accounted immortal twin youths of small size.
Long, long ago, there lived on Twin Mountain, Áhaiyúta and his younger
brother, with their grandmother. They had a large flock of Turkeys of
which they were very fond, but were not so attentive to them as they
should have been. Said the grandmother to the boys, late one morning:
“Let your poor Turkeys out, for they will starve, poor birds, if you do
not let them out oftener.”
“But they will run away, grandmother,” said the two boys, who did not
fancy herding them much of the time.
“Why should they run away?” asked the vexed grandmother, who had a sorry
enough time managing the two heedless boys. “Rest assured they will come
back when roosting-time comes, for such is their custom.”
So the Twain ran down and reluctantly let their Turkeys go. The Turkeys
were many--dirty old hens, piping, long-legged youngsters, and noisy
old cocks; but they were all more noisy when they were let out, and not
long was it before they were straying far beyond the border of woods and
toward Háwikuh.
Not long after noon the flock of Turkeys strolled, gobbling and
chirping, into the valley north of Háwikuh[17] where many of the people
of that pueblo had corn-fields. Some young men who were resting from
their hoeing heard the calls of the Turkeys, and, starting up, saw
across the valley a larger flock than they had ever been wont to find.
Of course they were crazy. They started up and ran as fast as they could
toward the pueblo, calling out as they went what they had discovered, so
that all the people in the fields began to gather in. As soon as they
came within the pueblo, they sought out the Priests of the Bow and told
them what they had discovered.
[17] Háwikuh, or Aguico of the Spaniards, a pueblo now in ruins
across the valley northwestward from Ojo Caliente, the
southwestern farming town of the Zuñis.
Very quickly ran the priests to the tops of the houses, and they began
to call out to their people: “Ye we would this day make wise, for our
sons tell us of many Turkeys in the valley over the hill; so hasten ye
to gather together good bows and arrows, boomerangs, and strings, that
ye may be made happy and add unto your flocks and make more plentiful
the plumes in your feather boxes.”
In a very short time the people were rushing out of their doorways all
prepared for the chase, and they ran after the young men and leaders as
though in a race of the kicked stick.
Now, the sage-bushes and grasses grow tall to this day in the valley
north of Háwikuh, and so they grew in the days long, long ago that I
tell of. It thus happened that the poor Turkeys who were racing after
grasshoppers, and peeping, and calling, and gobbling, did not know that
the Háwikuh people were after them until they heard some old hens
calling out in alarm from behind. Even then they were unable to get
away, for the people were around them shouting and hurling crooked
sticks, and shooting sharp arrows at them in all directions. Soon they
began to fall on every side, especially the long-legged young ones, who
so tangled their legs in the grasses that they could not keep up with
their mothers, and were easily overtaken by the hunters of Háwikuh; and
the old hens who stayed behind to look after the young ones were no
better, and the cocks who stayed back to look after the old hens were
even worse off, for the people sought them most because their feathers
were so much brighter.
So it happened in a very short time that more than half the flock were
killed and others were falling when a half-grown Long-leg started as
fast as he could alone toward Twin Mountain.
It was growing late, and Áhaiyúta and his younger brother and their old
grandmother were on top of their house shading their eyes and watching
for the return of the Turkeys, when they saw the solitary young Long-leg
coming, all out of breath and his wings dragging, over the hill below
Master Cañon.
“Ha!” said the younger brother; “look! there comes a Long-legs,--and
what is he shouting?--Jump up, brother, jump up! Do you hear that?”
“_I-wo-loh-kia-a--a--a!_” called the Turkey, so that they could just
hear him; and as that means “Murder! Murder!” you may think to yourself
how much they were excited; but they were not so much alarmed as the old
grandmother, “for,” said they, one to the other, “it is nothing but a
youngster, anyway, and they are always more scared than the old ones.”
Nevertheless, they hastened down to meet him, and as they approached
they saw that he was terribly frightened, so they anxiously waited until
he breathed more easily and would stand still; then they asked: “What is
it? Where is it? Why do you come alone, crying ‘Murder, Murder!’”
“Alas! my fathers,” exclaimed the Turkey. “Alas! I, alone, am left to
tell of it; ere I left they were thrown down all around me.”
“Who did this?” angrily demanded the boys.
“The people of Háwikuh,” exclaimed the Turkey, glancing apprehensively
around.
“Ha! we shall yet win back our loss,” ejaculated the boys to one
another; and then they turned to the Turkey. “Are they all murdered and
gone?” they asked.
“Yes, alas! yes; I alone am left,” moaned the young Turkey.
“Oh, no!” broke in the elder brother, “there will yet many return, for
this is but a Long-leg, and surely when he could save himself others and
older ones could.” Even then they heard some of the Turkeys calling to
one another, out of breath over the low hills. “_U-kwa-tchi!_” (“Didn’t
I tell you!”) exclaimed Áhaiyúta, and they started toward the mountain.
One by one, or in little bunches, the Turkeys came fleeing in, scared,
weary, and bedraggled; and the boys knew by this, and that only a few
after all returned, that the Long-leg had not been for nothing taught to
fear. They betook themselves to their house. There they sat down to eat
with their grandmother, and after the eating was finished, they poked
little sticks into the blazing fire on the hearth, and cried out to
their grandmother: “Tomorrow, grandmother, we will gather fagots.”
“Foolish, foolish boys!” crooned the old grandmother.
“Aye, tomorrow we will gather sprouts. Where do they grow thickest and
straightest, grandmother?”
“Now, you boys had better let sprouts and war alone,” retorted the
grandmother.
“But we must win back our losing,” cried the boys, with so much
vehemence that the grandmother only shook her head and exclaimed:
“_A-ti-ki!_ (“Blood!”) Strange creatures, my grandchildren, both!”
whereupon the two boys poked one the other and laughed.
“Well,” added the grandmother, “I have warned you; now act your own
thoughts”;--and the boys looked at her as earnestly as though they knew
nothing of what she would say. “Fine warriors, indeed, who do not know
where to look for arrow-sticks! But if you will go sprouting, why, over
there in the Rain-pond Basin are plenty of sprouts, and then north on
Scale Ridge grow more, and over in Oak Cañon are fine oak-sprouts, more
than ten boys like you could carry, and above here around Great Mountain
are other kinds, and everywhere grow sprouts enough, if people weren’t
beasts passing understanding; and, what’s more, I could tell you boys
something to your advantage if you would ever listen to your old
grandmother, but--”
“What is it? What is it?” interrupted the boys excitedly, just as if
they knew nothing of what she would say.
“Why, over there by the Rain-pond Basin lives your grandfather--”
“Who’s that? Who’s that?” interrupted the boys again.
“I’ve a mind not to tell you, you shameless little beasts, another
word,” jerked out the old grandmother, sucking her lips as if they were
marrowbones, and digging into the pudding she was stirring as though it
were alive enough to be killed,--“just as though I were not telling you
as fast as I could; and, besides, anything but little beasts would know
their grandfather--why, the Rainbow-worm, of course!”[18]
[18] One of the “measuring-worms” which is named the rainbow, on
account of his streaked back and habit of bending double when
travelling.
“The Rainbow-worm our grandfather, indeed!” persisted the boys; and
they would have said more had not their grandmother, getting cross,
raised the pudding-stick at them, and bid them “shut up!” So they
subsided, and the old woman continued: “Yes, your grandfather, and for
shame!--You may sit there and giggle all you please, but your
grandfather the Rainbow-worm is a great warrior, I can tell you, and if
you boys will go sprouting, why, I can tell you, you will fare but with
poverty the day after, if you do not get him to help you, that’s all!”
“Indeed,” replied the boys, quite respectfully.
“Yes, that I tell you; and, moresoever, over there beyond at the wood
border, in a pond, is your other grandfather, and he is a great warrior,
too.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the boys, as though they did not know that already,
also.
“Yes, and you must go to see him, too; for you can’t get along without
him any more than without the other. Now, you boys go to sleep, for you
will want to get up very early in the morning, and you must go down the
path and straight over the little hills to where your grandfathers live,
and not up into the Master Cañon to gather your sticks, for if you do
you will forget all I’ve told you. You are creatures who pass
comprehension, you two grandchildren of mine.”
So the two boys lay down in the corner together under one robe, like a
man and his wife, for they did not sleep apart like our boys. But, do
you know, those two mischievous boys giggled and kicked one another,
and kept turning about, just as though they never dreamed of the
morning. Then they fell to quarrelling about who could turn over the
quicker.
“I can,” said the elder brother.
“You can’t!”
“I can!”
“No, you can’t!”
“Yes, I can, and I’ll show you”; and he was about to brace himself for
the trial when the old grandmother strode over with her pudding-stick,
lifting it in the air, with her usual expression of “Blood! my
grandchildren both,” when they quieted down and pretended to sleep; but
still they kept giggling and trying to pull the cover off each other.
“Stop that gaping and fooling, will you? And go to sleep, you nasty
little cubs!” cried the irritated old woman; and laughing outright at
their poor old grandmother, they put their arms around each other and
fell asleep.
Next morning the sun rose, till he shone straight over the mountain, but
still the two boys were asleep. The old grandmother had gone out to
water her garden, and now she was sitting on the house-top shading her
eyes and looking down the trail she had told the boys to follow, to see
them come out of the shadow.
After she had strained her poor old eyes till they watered, she grew
impatient: “Did I ever see such boys! Now they’ve gone and played me
another trick. They’ll rue their pranks some day.” Then she thought she
would go down and get some mush for breakfast. As she climbed down the
ladder, she heard a tremendous snoring. “Ho, ho!” exclaimed the old
grandmother; and striding across the room she shook the boys soundly.
“Get up, get up! you lazy creatures; fine sprouters, you!”
The boys rolled over, rubbed their eyes, and began to stretch.
“Get up, get up! the day is warmed long ago; fine warriors, you!”
reiterated the old woman, giving them another shaking.
The boys sat up, stretched, gaped, rubbed their eyes, and scratched
their heads--the dirtiest little fellows ever seen--but they were only
making believe. Their arms were crusty with dirt, and their hair stood
out like down on a wild milkweed after a rain-storm, and yet these boys
were the handsomest children that ever lived--only they were fooling
their old grandmother, you see.
“You’d better be down at the spring washing your eyes at sunrise,
instead of scratching your heads here with the sun shining already down
the sky-hole”; croaked the old woman.
“What! is the sun out?” cried the boys in mock surprise; but they knew
what time it was as well as the old crone did.
“Out! I should say it was! You boys might as well go to sleep again. A
fine bundle of sticks you could get today, with the sun done climbing up
already.”
So the boys pretended to be in a great hurry and, grabbing up their
bows and quivers, never stopped to half dress nor heeded the old woman’s
offer of food, but were jumping down the crags like mountain goats
before the old woman was up the ladder.
“_Atiki!_” exclaimed the grandmother; “these beasts that cause
meditation!” Then she climbed the terrace and watched and watched and
watched; but the boys liked nothing better than to worry their old
grandmother, so they ran up Master Cañon and into the woods and so
across to Rain-pond Basin, leaving the old woman to look as she would.
“_Uhh!_” groaned the old woman; “they are down among the rocks playing.
Fine warriors, they!” and with this she went back to her cooking.
By-and-by the boys came to the edge of the basin where the pod plant
grew. Sure enough, there was the Rainbow-worm, eating leaves as though
he were dying of hunger--a great fat fellow, as big as the boys
themselves; for long, long ago, in the days I tell you of, the
Rainbow-worm was much bigger than he is now.
“Hold on,” said the younger brother. “Let’s frighten the old fellow.”
So they sneaked up until they were close to the grandfather, and then
they began to tickle him with a stalk. Amiwili--that was his
name--twitched his skin and bit away faster and faster at the leaves,
until Áhaiyúta shouted at the top of his voice, “_Ha-u-thla!_” which
made the old man jump and turn back so quickly that he would have
broken his back had he a back-bone.
“_Shoma!_” he exclaimed. “It’s my grandchildren, is it? I am old and a
little deaf, and you frightened me, my boys.”
“Did we frighten you, grandfather? That’s too bad. Well, never mind;
we’ve come to you for advice.”
“What’s that, my grandchildren?” looking out of his yellow eyes as
though he were very wise, and standing up on his head and tail as though
they had been two feet.
“Why, you see,” said the boys, “we had a big drove of Turkeys, and we
let them out to feed yesterday, but the fools got too near Háwikuh and
the people there killed many, many of them; so we have decided to get
back our winnings and even the game with them, the shameless beasts!”