when he came to the Bad Hill and looked down into the valley of the
Rio Grande, his heart sank. All the grass and fields and trees were
dry and dead--for Nah-chu-rú-chu was the medicine-man who controlled
the clouds, so no rain could fall when he was gone; and the eight
days he had been a Coyote were in truth eight years. The river was
dry, and the springs; and many of the people were dead from thirst,
and the rest were dying. But as Nah-chu-rú-chu came down the hill, it
began to rain again, and all the people were glad.
When he came into the pueblo, all the famishing people came out to
welcome him. And soon came the false friend, making as if he had
never bewitched him nor had known whither he disappeared.
In a few days the false friend came again to propose a hunt; and
next morning they went to the mountain together. Nah-chu-rú-chu had
the pretty _faja_ wound around his waist; and when the wind blew his
blanket aside, the other saw it.
“Ay! What a pretty _faja_!” cried the false friend. “Give it to me,
friend Nah-chu-rú-chu.”
“_Een-dah!_” (No) said Nah-chu-rú-chu. But the false friend begged so
hard that at last he said:
“Then I will roll it to you; and if you can catch it before it
unwinds, you may have it.”
So he wound it up,[26] and holding by one end gave it a push so that
it ran away from him, unrolling as it went. The false friend jumped
for it, but it was unrolled before he caught it.
[26] Like a roll of tape.
“_Een-dah!_” said Nah-chu-rú-chu, pulling it back. “If you do not
care enough for it to be spryer than that, you cannot have it.”
[Illustration: “AS HE SEIZED IT HE WAS CHANGED FROM A TALL
YOUNG MAN INTO A GREAT RATTLESNAKE.”]
The false friend begged for another trial; so Nah-chu-rú-chu
rolled it again. This time the false friend caught it before it was
unrolled; and lo! instead of a tall young man, there lay a great
rattlesnake with tears rolling from his lidless eyes!
“We, too, do this to each other!” said Nah-chu-rú-chu. He took from
his medicine-pouch a pinch of the sacred meal and laid it on the
snake’s flat head for its food; and then a pinch of the corn-pollen
to tame it.[27] And the snake ran out its red forked tongue, and
licked them.
[27] This same spell is still used here by the _Hee-but-hái_,
or snake-charmers.
“Now,” said Nah-chu-rú-chu, “this mountain and all rocky places shall
be your home. But you can never again do to another harm, without
warning, as you did to me. For see, there is a _guaje_[28] in your
tail, and whenever you would do any one an injury, you must warn them
beforehand with your rattle.”
[28] Pronounced Gwáh-heh.
“And is that the reason why Ch’ah-rah-ráh-deh always rattles to give
warning before he bites?” asked Fat Juan, who is now quite as often
called Juan Biscocho (John Biscuit), since I photographed him one day
crawling out of the big adobe bake-oven where he had been hiding.
“That is the very reason. Then Nah-chu-rú-chu left his false friend,
from whom all the rattlesnakes are descended, and came back to his
village. From that time all went well with Isleta, for Nah-chu-rú-chu
was at home again to attend to the clouds. There was plenty of rain,
and the river began to run again, and the springs flowed. The people
plowed and planted again, as they had not been able to do for several
years, and all their work prospered. As for the people who lived in
the Place of the Red Earth, they all moved down here,[29] because the
Apaches were very bad; and here their descendants live to this day.”
[29] It is a proved fact that there was such a migration.
“Is that so?” sighed all the boys in chorus, sorry that the story was
so soon done.
“That is so,” replied old Patricio. “And now, _compadre_ Antonio,
there is a tail to you.”
“Well, then, I will tell a story which they showed me in Taos[30]
last year,” said the old man.
[30] The most northern of the Pueblo cities. Its people are
also Tée-wahn.
“Ah-h!” said the boys.
“It is about the Coyote and the Woodpecker.”
VII
THE COYOTE AND THE WOODPECKER
WELL, once upon a time a Coyote and his family lived near the
edge of a wood. There was a big hollow tree there, and in it
lived an old Woodpecker and his wife and children. One day as the
Coyote-father was strolling along the edge of the forest he met the
Woodpecker-father.
“_Hin-no-kah-kée-ma_” (Good evening), said the Coyote; “how do you do
to-day, friend Hloo-rée-deh?”
“Very well, thank you; and how are you, friend Too-wháy-deh?”
So they stopped and talked together awhile; and when they were about
to go apart the Coyote said:
“Friend Woodpecker, why do you not come as friends to see us? Come to
our house to supper this evening, and bring your family.”
“Thank you, friend Coyote,” said the Woodpecker; “we will come with
joy.”
[Illustration: THE COYOTES AT SUPPER WITH THE WOODPECKERS.]
So that evening, when the Coyote-mother had made supper ready, there
came the Woodpecker-father and the Woodpecker-mother with their
three children. When they had come in, all five of the Woodpeckers
stretched themselves as they do after flying, and by that showed
their pretty feathers--for the Hloo-rée-deh has yellow and red marks
under its wings. While they were eating supper, too, they sometimes
spread their wings, and displayed their bright under-side. They
praised the supper highly, and said the Coyote-mother was a perfect
housekeeper. When it was time to go, they thanked the Coyotes very
kindly and invited them to come to supper at their house the
following evening. But when they were gone, the Coyote-father could
hold himself no longer, and he said:
“Did you see what airs those Woodpeckers put on? Always showing off
their bright feathers? But I want them to know that the Coyotes are
equal to them. _I’ll_ show them!”
Next day, the Coyote-father had all his family at work bringing wood,
and built a great fire in front of his house. When it was time to go
to the house of the Woodpeckers he called his wife and children to
the fire, and lashed a burning stick under each of their arms, with
the burning end pointing forward; and then he fixed himself in the
same way.
“Now,” said he, “we will show them! When we get there, you must lift
up your arms now and then, to show them that we are as good as the
Woodpeckers.”
When they came to the house of the Woodpeckers and went in, all the
Coyotes kept lifting their arms often, to show the bright coals
underneath. But as they sat down to supper, one Coyote-girl gave a
shriek and said:
“Oh, _tata_! My fire is burning me!”
“Be patient, my daughter,” said the Coyote-father, severely, “and do
not cry about little things.”
“Ow!” cried the other Coyote-girl in a moment, “my fire has gone out!”
This was more than the Coyote-father could stand, and he reproved her
angrily.
“But how is it, friend Coyote,” said the Woodpecker, politely, “that
your colors are so bright at first, but very soon become black?”
“Oh, that is the beauty of our colors,” replied the Coyote,
smothering his rage; “that they are not always the same--like other
people’s--but turn all shades.”
But the Coyotes were very uncomfortable, and made an excuse to hurry
home as soon as they could. When they got there, the Coyote-father
whipped them all for exposing him to be laughed at. But the
Woodpecker-father gathered his children around him, and said:
“Now, my children, you see what the Coyotes have done. Never in your
life try to appear what you are not. Be just what you really are, and
put on no false colors.”
* * * * *
“Is that so?” cried the boys.
“That is so; and it is as true for people as for birds. Now,
_tóo-kwai_--for it is bedtime.”
[Illustration: THE MAN WHO MARRIED THE MOON]
VIII
THE MAN WHO MARRIED THE MOON
AMONG the principal heroes of the Tée-wahn folk-lore, I hear of none
more frequently in the winter story-tellings to which my aboriginal
neighbors admit me, than the mighty Nah-chu-rú-chu. To this day his
name, which means “The Bluish Light of Dawn,” is deeply revered by
the quaint people who claim him as one of their forefathers. He had
no parents, for he was created by the Trues themselves, and by them
was given such extraordinary powers as were second only to their own.
His wonderful feats and startling adventures--as still related by
the believing Isleteños--would fill a volume. One of these fanciful
myths has interested me particularly, not only for its important
bearing on certain ethnological matters, but for its intrinsic
qualities as well. It is a thoroughly characteristic leaf from the
legendary lore of the Southwest.
Long before the first Spaniards came to New Mexico (and _that_ was
three hundred and fifty years ago) Isleta stood where it stands
to-day--on a lava ridge that defies the gnawing current of the Rio
Grande.[31] In those far days, Nah-chu-rú-chu dwelt in Isleta, and
was a leader of his people. A weaver by trade,[32] his rude loom hung
from the dark rafters of his room; and in it he wove the strong black
_mantas_ which are the dress of Pueblo women to this day.
[31] Bandelier has published a contrary opinion, to which I do
not think he would now cling. The folk-lore and the very name
of the town fully prove to me that its site has not changed in
historic times.
[32] In the ancient days, weaving was practised only by the
men, among the Pueblos. This old usage is now reversed, and it
is the women who weave, except in the pueblos of Moqui.
Besides being very wise in medicine, Nah-chu-rú-chu was young, and
tall, and strong, and handsome; and all the girls of the village
thought it a shame that he did not care to take a wife. For him the
shyest dimples played, for him the whitest teeth flashed out, as the
owners passed him in the plaza; but he had no eyes for them. Then,
in the naïve custom of the Tée-wahn, bashful fingers worked wondrous
fringed shirts of buckskin, or gay awl-sheaths, which found their way
to his house by unknown messengers--each as much as to say, “She
who made this is yours, if you will have her.” But Nah-chu-rú-chu
paid no more attention to the gifts than to the smiles, and just kept
weaving and weaving such _mantas_ as were never seen in the land of
the Tée-wahn before or since.
The most persistent of his admirers were two sisters who were called
_Ee-eh-chóo-ri-ch’áhm-nin_--the Yellow-Corn-Maidens. They were both
young and pretty, but they “had the evil road”--which is the Indian
way of saying that they were possessed of a magic power which they
always used for ill. When all the other girls gave up, discouraged at
Nah-chu-rú-chu’s indifference, the Yellow-Corn-Maidens kept coming
day after day, trying to attract him. At last the matter became
such a nuisance to Nah-chu-rú-chu that he hired the deep-voiced
town-crier to go through all the streets and announce that in four
days Nah-chu-rú-chu would choose a wife.
For dippers, to take water from the big earthen _tinajas_, the
Tée-wahn used then, as they use to-day, queer little ladle-shaped
_omates_ made of a gourd; but Nah-chu-rú-chu, being a great
medicine-man and very rich, had a dipper of pure pearl, shaped like
the gourds, but wonderfully precious.
“On the fourth day,” proclaimed the crier, “Nah-chu-rú-chu will hang
his pearl _omate_ at his door, where every girl who will may throw a
handful of corn-meal at it. And she whose meal is so well ground that
it sticks to the _omate_, she shall be the wife of Nah-chu-rú-chu!”
When this strange news came rolling down the still evening air, there
was a great scampering of little moccasined feet. The girls ran out
from hundreds of gray adobe houses to catch every word; and when the
crier had passed on, they ran back into the store-rooms and began
to ransack the corn-bins for the biggest, evenest, and most perfect
ears. Shelling the choicest, each took her few handfuls of kernels
to the sloping _metate_,[33] and with the _mano_, or hand-stone,
scrubbed the grist up and down, and up and down, till the hard corn
was a soft, blue meal. All the next day, and the next, and the next,
they ground it over and over again, until it grew finer than ever
flour was before; and every girl felt sure that her meal would stick
to the _omate_ of the handsome young weaver. The Yellow-Corn-Maidens
worked hardest of all; day and night for four days they ground and
ground, with all the magic spells they knew.
[33] The slab of lava which still serves as a hand-mill in
Pueblo houses.
[Illustration: THE ISLETA GIRLS GRINDING CORN WITH THE “MANO”
ON THE “METATE.”]
Now, in those far-off days the Moon had not gone up into the sky
to live, but was a maiden of Shee-eh-whíb-bak. And a very beautiful
girl she was, though blind of one eye. She had long admired
Nah-chu-rú-chu, but was always too maidenly to try to attract his
attention as other girls had done; and at the time when the crier
made his proclamation, she happened to be away at her father’s ranch.
It was only upon the fourth day that she returned to town, and in a
few moments the girls were to go with their meal to test it upon the
magic dipper. The two Yellow-Corn-Maidens were just coming from their
house as she passed, and told her of what was to be done. They were
very confident of success, and told the Moon-girl only to pain her;
and laughed derisively as she went running to her home.
[Illustration: THE MOON-MAIDEN.]
By this time a long file of girls was coming to Nah-chu-rú-chu’s
house, outside whose door hung the pearl _omate_. Each girl carried
in her left hand a little jar of meal; and as they passed the door
one by one, each took from the jar a handful and threw it against
the magic dipper. But each time the meal dropped to the ground, and
left the pure pearl undimmed and radiant as ever.
At last came the Yellow-Corn-Maidens, who had waited to watch
the failure of the others. As they came where they could see
Nah-chu-rú-chu sitting at his loom, they called: “Ah! Here we have
the meal that will stick!” and each threw a handful at the _omate_.
But it did not stick at all; and still from his seat Nah-chu-rú-chu
could see, in that mirror-like surface, all that went on outside.
The Yellow-Corn-Maidens were very angry, and instead of passing on as
the others had done, they stood there and kept throwing and throwing
at the _omate_, which smiled back at them with undiminished luster.
Just then, last of all, came the Moon, with a single handful of meal
which she had hastily ground. The two sisters were in a fine rage by
this time, and mocked her, saying:
“Hoh! _P’áh-hlee-oh_,[34] you poor thing, we are very sorry for you!
Here we have been grinding our meal four days and still it will not
stick, and you we did not tell till to-day. How, then, can you ever
hope to win Nah-chu-rú-chu? Pooh, you silly little thing!”
[34] Tée-wahn name of the moon; literally, “Water-Maiden.”
But the Moon paid no attention whatever to their taunts. Drawing back
her little dimpled hand, she threw the meal gently against the pearl
_omate_, and so fine was it ground that every tiniest bit of it clung
to the polished shell, and not a particle fell to the ground.
[Illustration: THE YELLOW-CORN-MAIDENS THROWING MEAL AT THE
PEARL “OMATE.”]
When Nah-chu-rú-chu saw that, he rose up quickly from his loom and
came and took the Moon by the hand, saying, “You are she who shall be
my wife. You shall never want for anything, since I have very much.”
And he gave her many beautiful _mantas_, and cotton wraps, and fat
boots of buckskin that wrap round and round, that she might dress as
the wife of a rich chief. But the Yellow-Corn-Maidens, who had seen
it all, went away vowing vengeance on the Moon.
Nah-chu-rú-chu and his sweet Moon-wife were very happy together.
There was no other such housekeeper in all the pueblo as she, and
no other hunter brought home so much buffalo-meat from the vast
plains to the east, nor so many antelopes, and black-tailed deer,
and jack-rabbits from the Manzanos as did Nah-chu-rú-chu. But he
constantly was saying to her:
“Moon-wife, beware of the Yellow-Corn-Maidens, for they have the evil
road and will try to do you harm, but you must always refuse to do
whatever they propose.” And always the young wife promised.
One day the Yellow-Corn-Maidens came to the house and said:
“Friend Nah-chu-rú-chu, we are going to the _llano_[35] to gather
_amole_.[36] Will you not let your wife go with us?”
[35] Plain.
[36] The soapy root of the palmilla, used for washing.
“Oh, yes, she may go,” said Nah-chu-rú-chu; but taking her aside, he
said, “Now be sure that you refuse whatever they may propose.”
The Moon promised, and started away with the Yellow-Corn-Maidens.
In those days there was only a thick forest of cottonwoods where are
now the smiling vineyards, and gardens, and orchards of Isleta, and
to reach the _llano_ the three women had to go through this forest.
In the very center of it they came to a deep _pozo_--a square well,
with steps at one side leading down to the water’s edge.
“Ay!” said the Yellow-Corn-Maidens, “how hot and thirsty is our walk!
Come, let us get a drink of water.”
But the Moon, remembering her husband’s words, said politely that she
did not wish to drink. They urged in vain, but at last, looking down
into the _pozo_, called:
“Oh, Moon-friend! Come and look in this still water, and see how
pretty you are!”
The Moon, you must know, has always been just as fond of looking
at herself in the water as she is to this very day, and forgetting
Nah-chu-rú-chu’s warning, she came to the brink, and looked down upon
her fair reflection. But at that very moment, the two witch-sisters
pushed her head foremost into the _pozo_, and drowned her; and then
filled the well with earth, and went away as happy as wicked hearts
can be.
* * * * *
Nah-chu-rú-chu began to look oftener from his loom to the door as
the sun crept along the adobe floor, closer and closer to his seat;
and when the shadows were very long, he sprang suddenly to his feet,
and walked to the house of the Yellow-Corn-Maidens with long, strong
strides.
“_Ee-eh-chóo-ri-ch’áhm-nin_,” he said, very sternly, “where is my
little wife?”
“Why, isn’t she at home?” asked the wicked sisters as if in great
surprise. “She got enough _amole_ long before we did, and started
home with it. We supposed she had come long ago.”
“Ah,” groaned Nah-chu-rú-chu within himself; “it is as I
thought--they have done her ill.” But without a word to them he
turned on his heel and went away.
From that hour all went ill with Isleta, for Nah-chu-rú-chu held
the well-being of all his people, even unto life and death. Paying
no attention to what was going on about him, he sat motionless upon
the very crosspiece of the _estufa_ ladder--the highest point in
all the town--with his head bowed upon his hands. There he sat for
days, never speaking, never moving. The children that played along
the streets looked up to the motionless figure, and ceased their
boisterous play. The old men shook their heads gravely, and muttered:
“We are in evil times, for Nah-chu-rú-chu is mourning, and will not
be comforted. And there is no more rain, so that our crops are drying
in the fields. What shall we do?”
At last all the councilors met together, and decided that there must
be another effort made to find the lost wife. It was true that the
great Nah-chu-rú-chu had searched for her in vain, and the people had
helped him; but perhaps some one else might be more fortunate. So
they took some of the sacred smoking-weed wrapped in a corn-husk and
went to Shée-wid-deh, who has the sharpest eyes in all the world.
Giving him the sacred gift they said:
“Eagle-friend, we see Nah-chu-rú-chu in great trouble, for he has
lost his Moon-wife. Come, search for her, we pray you, if she be
alive or dead.”
So the Eagle took the offering, and smoked the smoke-prayer; and then
he went winging upward into the very sky. Higher and higher he rose,
in great upward circles, while his keen eyes noted every stick, and
stone, and animal on the face of all the world. But with all his
eyes, he could see nothing of the lost wife; and at last he came back
sadly, and said:
“People-friends, I went up to where I could see the whole world, but
I could not find her.”
Then the people went with an offering to the Coyote, whose nose is
sharpest in all the world; and besought him to try to find the Moon.
The Coyote smoked the smoke-prayer, and started off with his nose to
the ground, trying to find her tracks. He trotted all over the earth;
but at last he too came back without finding what he sought.
Then the troubled people got the Badger to search, for he is best of
all the beasts at digging--and he it was whom the Trues employed to
dig the caves in which the people first dwelt when they came to this
world. The Badger trotted and pawed, and dug everywhere, but he could
not find the Moon; and he came home very sad.
Then they asked the Osprey, who can see farthest under water, and
he sailed high above all the lakes and rivers in the world, till he
could count the pebbles and the fish in them, but he too failed to
discover the lost Moon.
[Illustration: THE GRIEF OF NAH-CHU-RÚ-CHU.]
By now the crops were dead and sere in the fields, and thirsty
animals walked crying along the dry river. Scarcely could the people
themselves dig deep enough to find so much water as would keep them
alive. They were at a loss which way to turn; but at last they
thought: We will go to P’ah-kú-ee-teh-áy-deh,[37] who can find the
dead--for surely she is dead, or the others would have found her.
[37] Turkey-buzzard; literally, “water-goose-grandfather.”
So they went to him and besought him. The Turkey-buzzard wept when
he saw Nah-chu-rú-chu still sitting there upon the ladder, and said:
“Truly it is sad for our great friend; but for me, I am afraid to
go, since they who are more mighty than I have already failed; but
I will try.” And spreading his broad wings he went climbing up the
spiral ladder of the sky. Higher he wheeled, and higher, till at last
not even the Eagle could see him. Up and up, till the hot sun began
to singe his head, and not even the Eagle had ever been so high. He
cried with pain, but still he kept mounting--until he was so close to
the sun that all the feathers were burned from his head and neck. But
he could see nothing; and at last, frantic with the burning, he came
wheeling downward. When he got back to the _estufa_ where all the
people were waiting, they saw that his head and neck had been burnt
bare of feathers--and from that day to this the feathers would never
grow out again.
“And did you see nothing?” they all asked, when they had bathed his
burns.
“Nothing,” he answered, “except that when I was half-way down I saw
in the middle of yon cottonwood forest a little mound covered with
all the beautiful flowers in the world.”
“Oh!” cried Nah-chu-rú-chu, speaking for the first time. “Go, friend,
and bring me one flower from the very middle of that mound.”
Off flew the Buzzard, and in a few minutes returned with a little
white flower. Nah-chu-rú-chu took it, and descending from the ladder
in silence, walked to his house, while all the wondering people
followed.
When Nah-chu-rú-chu came inside his home once more, he took a new
_manta_ and spread it in the middle of the room; and laying the wee
white flower tenderly in its center, he put another new _manta_ above
it. Then, dressing himself in the splendid buckskin suit the lost
wife had made him, and taking in his right hand the sacred _guaje_
(rattle), he seated himself at the head of the _mantas_ and sang:
“_Shú-nah, shú-nah!
Aí-ay-ay, aí-ay-ay, aí-ay-ay!_”
(Seeking her, seeking her!
There-away, there-away!)
When he had finished the song, all could see that the flower had
begun to grow, so that it lifted the upper _manta_ a little. Again
he sang, shaking his gourd; and still the flower kept growing. Again
and again he sang; and when he had finished for the fourth time, it
was plain to all that a human form lay between the two _mantas_. And
when he sang his song the fifth time, the form sat up and moved.
Tenderly he lifted away the over-cloth, and there sat his sweet
Moon-wife, fairer than ever, and alive as before![38]
[38] Nah-chu-rú-chu’s incantation followed the exact form
still used by the Indian conjurors of the Southwest in their
wonderful trick of making corn grow and mature from the kernel
in one day.
For four days the people danced and sang in the public square.
Nah-chu-rú-chu was happy again; and now the rain began to fall. The
choked earth drank and was glad and green, and the dead crops came to
life.