angry; and that very day he made a beautiful hoop to play the
_mah-khúr_. He painted it, and put strings across it, decorated with
beaded buckskin.
“Now,” said he, “the wicked Yellow-Corn-Maidens will come to
congratulate you, and will pretend not to know where you were. You
must not speak of that, but invite them to go out and play a game
with you.”
In a day or two the witch-sisters did come, with deceitful words;
and the Moon invited them to go out and play a game. They went up to
the edge of the _llano_, and there she let them get a glimpse of the
pretty hoop.
“Oh, give us that, Moon-friend,” they teased. But she refused. At
last, however, she said:
“Well, we will play the hoop-game. I will stand here, and you there;
and if, when I roll it to you, you catch it before it falls upon its
side, you may have it.”
So the witch-sisters stood a little way down the hill, and she
rolled the bright hoop. As it came trundling to them, both grasped
it at the same instant; and lo! instead of the Yellow-Corn-Maidens,
there were two great snakes, with tears rolling down ugly faces. The
Moon came and put upon their heads a little of the pollen of the
corn-blossom (still used by Pueblo snake-charmers) to tame them, and
a pinch of the sacred meal for their food.
“Now,” said she, “you have the reward of treacherous friends. Here
shall be your home among these rocks and cliffs forever, but you must
never be found upon the prairie; and you must never bite a person.
Remember you are women, and must be gentle.”
And then the Moon went home to her husband, and they were very happy
together. As for the sister snakes, they still dwell where she bade
them, and never venture away; though sometimes the people bring them
to their houses to catch the mice, for these snakes never hurt a
person.
IX
THE MOTHER MOON
AND do you know why it is that the Moon has but one eye? It is a
short story, but one of the most poetic and beautiful in all the
pretty folk-lore of the Pueblos.
P’áh-hlee-oh, the Moon-Maiden, was the Tée-wahn Eve[39]--the first
and loveliest woman in all the world. She had neither father nor
mother, sister nor brother; and in her fair form were the seeds of
all humanity--of all life and love and goodness. The Trues, who are
the unseen spirits that are above all, made T’hoor-íd-deh, the Sun,
who was to be father of all things; and because he was alone, they
made for him a companion, the first to be of maids, the first to be a
wife. From them began the world and all that is in it; and all their
children were strong and good. Very happy were the Father-all and the
Mother-all, as they watched their happy brood. He guarded them by day
and she by night--only there _was_ no night, for then the Moon had
two eyes, and saw as clearly as the Sun, and with glance as bright.
It was all as one long day of golden light. The birds flew always,
the flowers never shut, the young people danced and sang, and none
knew how to rest.
[39] She is honored in almost every detail of the Pueblo
ceremonials. The most important charm or implement of the
medicine-men, the holiest fetish of all, is typical of her. It
is called Mah-pah-róo, the Mother, and is the most beautiful
article a Pueblo ever fashioned. A flawless ear of pure white
corn (a type of fertility or motherhood) is tricked out with a
downy mass of snow-white feathers, and hung with ornaments of
silver, coral, and the precious turquoise.
But at last the Trues thought better. For the endless light grew
heavy to the world’s young eyes that knew no tender lids of night.
And the Trues said:
“It is not well, for so there is no sleep, and the world is very
tired. We must not keep the Sun and Moon seeing alike. Let us put
out one of his eyes, that there may be darkness for half the time,
and then his children can rest.” And they called T’hoor-íd-deh and
P’áh-hlee-oh before them to say what must be done.
But when she heard that, the Moon-Mother wept for her strong and
handsome husband, and cried:
“No! No! Take my eyes, for my children, but do not blind the Sun! He
is the father, the provider--and how shall he watch against harm,
or how find us game without his bright eyes? Blind me, and keep him
all-seeing.”
And the Trues said: “It is well, daughter.” And so they took away one
of her eyes, so that she could never see again so well. Then night
came upon the tired earth, and the flowers and birds and people slept
their first sleep, and it was very good. But she who first had the
love of children, and paid for them with pain as mother’s pay, she
did not grow ugly by her sacrifice. Nay, she is lovelier than ever,
and we all love her to this day. For the Trues are good to her, and
gave her in place of the bloom of girlhood the beauty that is only in
the faces of mothers.
So mother-pale above us
She bends, her watch to keep,
Who of her sight dear-bought the night
To give her children sleep.
X
THE MAKER OF THE THUNDER-KNIVES
YOU have perhaps seen the beautiful arrow-heads of moss-agate,
petrified wood, or volcanic glass which were used, until very
recently, by the Indians of the Southwest, and are still treasured
by them. At least you are familiar with the commoner flint ones left
by the aboriginal tribes farther eastward. And seeing them, you must
have wondered how they were ever made from such fearfully stubborn
stone--always the very hardest that was accessible to the maker. I
have tried for six hours, with the finest drills, to make a little
hole in the thinnest part of an agate arrow-head, to put it on a
charm-ring; but when the drill and I were completely worn out, there
was not so much as a mark on the arrow-head to show what we had been
doing. If you will take one to your jeweler, he will have as poor
luck.
But the _making_ of the arrow-heads is really a very simple matter;
and I have fashioned many very fair ones. The only implements are
part of a peculiarly shaped bone--preferably from the thigh of the
elk--and a stick about the size of a lead-pencil, but of double the
diameter. The maker of _puntas_ takes the bone in his left hand;
in his right is the stick, against which the selected splinter of
stone is firmly pressed by the thumb. With a firm, steady pressure
against the sharp edge of the bone, a tiny flake is nicked from the
splinter. Then the splinter is turned, and a nick is similarly made
on the other side, just a little ahead of the first; and so on. It is
by this alternate nicking from opposite sides that the stone-splinter
grows less by tiny flakes, and is shaped by degrees to a perfect
arrow-head. If you will notice the edge of an arrow-head, you will
see plainly that the work was done in this way, for the edge is not
a straight but a wavy line--sometimes even a zigzag, recalling the
manner in which saw-teeth are “set.”
Every Indian, and every one who has studied the Indian, knows this.
But if I ask one of my brown old _compadres_ here, where he got the
arrow-head which he wears as a charm about his wrinkled neck, he will
not tell me any such story as that. No, indeed!
Quáh-le-kee-raí-deh, the Horned Toad, gave it to him. So? Oh, yes! He
talked so nicely to a Horned Toad on the mesa[40] the other day, that
the little creature put a _punta_ where he could find it the next
time he went thither.
[40] Table-land.
Whenever a Pueblo sees a Quáh-le-kee-raí-deh, he jumps from his
horse or his big farm-wagon, and makes every effort to capture the
_animalito_ before it can reach a hole. If successful, he pulls from
his blanket or his legging-garters a red thread--no other color will
do--and ties it necklace-fashion around the neck of his little
prisoner. Then he invokes all sorts of blessings on the Horned Toad,
assures it of his sincere respect and friendship, begs it to remember
him with a _punta_, and lets it go. Next time he goes to the mesa,
he fully expects to find an arrow-head, and generally _does_ find
one--doubtless because he then searches more carefully on that broad
reach where so many arrow-heads have been lost in ancient wars and
hunts. Finding one, he prays to the Sun-Father and the Moon-Mother
and all his other deities, and returns profound thanks to the Horned
Toad. Some finders put the arrow-head in the pouch which serves
Indians for a pocket.[41] Some wear it as an amulet on the necklace.
In either case, the belief is that no evil spirit can approach the
wearer while he has that charm about him. In fact, it is a sovereign
spell against witches.
[41] The “left-hand-bag,” _shur-taí-moo_, because it always
hangs from the right shoulder and under the left arm.
The common belief of the Pueblos is that the Horned Toad makes these
arrow-heads only during a storm, and deposits them at the very
instant when it thunders. For this reason an arrow-head is always
called _Kóh-un-shée-eh_, or thunder-knife. The strange appearance
of this quaint, spiked lizard--which is really not a “hop-toad” at
all--doubtless suggested the notion; for his whole back is covered
with peculiar points which have very much the shape and color of
Indian arrow-heads.
Quáh-le-kee-raí-deh is a very important personage in the Pueblo
folk-lore. He not only is the inventor and patentee of the arrow-head
and the scalping-knife,[42] but he also invented irrigation, and
taught it to man; and is a general benefactor of our race.
[42] Which were formerly about the same thing--a large and
sharp-edged arrow-head or similar stone being the only knife of
the Pueblos in prehistoric times.
There is one very sacred folk-story which tells why boys must never
smoke until they have proved their manhood. Pueblo etiquette is very
strict on all such points.[43]
[43] See my “Strange Corners of Our Country” (The Century Co.),
chap. xviii.
Once upon a time there lived in Isleta two boys who were cousins. One
day their grandfather, who was a True Believer (in all the ancient
rites), caught them in a corner smoking the _weer_. Greatly shocked,
he said to them:
“Sons, I see you want to be men; but you must prove yourselves before
you are thought to be. Know, then, that nobody is born with the
freedom of the smoke, but every one must earn it. So go now, each of
you, and bring me Quée-hla-kú-ee, the skin of the oak.”
Now, in the talk of men, Quée-hla-kú-ee is another thing; but
the boys did not know. They got their mothers to give them some
tortillas,[44] and with this lunch they started for the Bosque (a
10,000-foot peak twenty miles east of Isleta). Reaching the mountain,
they went to every kind of tree and cut a little piece of its
bark--for they were not sure which was the oak. Then they came home,
very tired, and carried the bark to their grandfather. But when he
had looked at it all he said:
[44] A cake of unleavened batter cooked on a hot stone. They
look something like a huge flapjack, but are very tough and
keep a long time.
“Young men, you have not yet proved yourselves. So now it is for you
to go again and look for the _oak_-bark.”
At this their hearts were heavy, but they took tortillas and started
again. On the way they met an old Horned Toad, who stopped them and
said:
“Young-men-friends, I know what trouble you are in. Your _tata_ has
sent you for the skin of the oak, but you do not know the oak he
means. But I will be the one to help you. Take these,” and he gave
them two large thunder-knives, “and with these in hand go up that
cañon yonder. In a little way you will see a great many of your
enemies, the Navajos, camping. On the first hill from which you see
their fire, there stop. In time, while you wait there, you will hear
a Coyote howling across the cañon. Then is the time to give your
enemy-yell [war-whoop] and attack them.”
The boys thanked the Horned Toad and went. Presently they saw the
camp-fire of the Navajos, and waiting till the Coyote called they
gave the enemy-yell and then attacked. They had no weapons except
their thunder-knives, but with these they killed several Navajos, and
the others ran away. In the dark and their hurry they made a mistake
and scalped a woman (which was never customary with the Pueblos).
Taking their scalps, they hurried home to their grandfather, and
when he saw that they had brought the real oak-skin (which is an
Indian euphemy for “scalp”), he led them proudly to the Cacique, and
the Cacique ordered the T’u-a-fú-ar (scalp-dance). After the inside
days, when the takers of scalps must stay in the _estufa_, was the
dance. And when it came to the round dance at night the two boys were
dancing side by side.
Then a young woman who was a stranger came and pushed them apart and
danced between them. She was very handsome, and both fell in love
with her. But as soon as their hearts thought of love, a skeleton was
between them in place of the girl--for they who go to war or take a
scalp have no right to think of love.
They were very frightened, but kept dancing until they were too
tired, and then went to the singers inside the circle to escape. But
the skeleton followed them and stood beside them, and they could not
hide from it.
At last they began to run away, and went to the east. Many moons they
kept running, but the skeleton was always at their heels. At last
they came to the Sunrise Lake, wherein dwell the Trues of the East.
The guards let them in, and they told the Trues all that had
happened, and the skeleton stood beside them. The Trues said: “Young
men, if you are men, sit down and we will protect you.”
But when the boys looked again at the skeleton they could not stop,
but ran away again. Many moons they ran north till they came to where
the Trues of the North dwell in the Black Lake of Tears.
The Trues of the North promised to defend them, but again the
skeleton came and scared them away; and they ran for many
moons until they came to the Trues of the West, who dwell in
T’hoor-kím-p’ah-whée-ay, the Yellow Lake Where the Sun Sets. And
there the same things happened; and they ran away again to the south,
till they found the Trues of the South in P’ah-chéer-p’ah-whée-ay,
the Lake of Smooth Pebbles.
But there again it was the same, and again they ran many moons till
they came to the Trues of the Center, who live here in Isleta. And
here the skeleton said to them:
“Why do you run from me now? For when you were dancing you looked at
me and loved me, but now you run away.”
But they could not answer her, and ran into the room of the Trues of
the Center, and told their story. Then the Trues gave power to the
Cum-pa-huit-la-wid-deh[45] to see the skeleton,--which no one else
in the world could see, except the Trues and the two young men,--and
said to him:
[45] Guard at the door of the gods.
“Shoot this person who follows these two.”
So the Cum-pa-huit-la-wid-deh shot the skeleton through with an arrow
from the left side to the right side,[46] and took the scalp.
[46] The only official method of killing a witch, which is one
of the chief duties of the Cum-pa-huit-la-wen.
That was the end of the skeleton, and the young men were free. And
when the Trues had given them counsel, they came to their people, and
told the Cacique all. He made a new scalp-dance, because they had not
stayed to finish the first one.
And when the dance was done, they told all the people what had
happened. Then the principals had a meeting and made a rule which is
to this day, that in the twelve days of the scalp[47] no warrior
shall think thoughts of love.
[47] The period of fasting and purification before and during
the scalp-dance.
For it was because they had love-thoughts of the Navajo girl that
her skeleton haunted them. And at the same time it was made the law,
which still is, that no one shall smoke till he has taken a scalp to
prove himself a man.
For if the boys had not been smoking when they had not freedom to,
their grandfather would not have sent them, and all that trouble
would not have come. And that is why.
XI
THE STONE-MOVING SONG
THE Horned Toad is also a famous musician--a sort of Pueblo Orpheus,
whose song charms the very stones and trees. A short folk-story of
Isleta refers to this.
One day Quáh-le-kee-raí-deh was working in his field. There were many
very large rocks, and to move them he sang a strong song as he pulled:
_Yah éh-ah, héh-ah háy-na,
Yah, éh-ah, heh-ah hay-na,
Wha-naí-kee-ay hee-e-wid-deh
Ah-kwe-ée-hee ai-yén-cheh,
Yahb-k’yáy-queer ah-chóo-hee._
When he sang this and touched the heaviest stone, it rose up from the
ground, and went over his head and fell far behind him.
While he worked so, Too-wháy-deh came along; and seeing what
happened, he wished to meddle, as his way is. So he said:
“Friend Quáh-le-kee-raí-deh, let _me_ do it.”
“No, friend,” said the Horned Toad. “It is better for every one to do
what he knows, and not to put himself in the work of others.”
“Do not think so,” answered the Coyote. “For I can do this also. It
is very easy.”
“It is well, then--but see that you are not afraid; for so it will be
bad.”
Too-wháy-deh laid off his blanket and took hold of the largest rock
there was, and sang the song. When he sang, the rock rose up in the
air to go over his head; but he, being scared, ducked his head. Then
at once the rock fell on him, and he had no bones left. Then the
Horned Toad laughed, and gave the enemy-yell (war-whoop), saying: “We
do this to one another!”
XII
THE COYOTE AND THE THUNDER-KNIFE
ANOTHER Isleta myth tells of an equally sad misadventure of the
Coyote.
Once upon a time an old Coyote-father took a walk away from home; for
in that season of the year his babies were so peevish they would not
let him sleep. It happened that a Locust was making pottery, under a
tree; and every time she moved the molding-spoon around the soft clay
jar, she sang a song. The Coyote, coming near and hearing, thought:
“Now that is the very song I need to put my _óo-un_ to sleep.” And
following the sound he came to the tree, and found Cheech-wée-deh at
work. But she had stopped singing.
“Locust-friend,” said he, “come teach me that song, so that I can
soothe my children to sleep.” But the Locust did not move to answer;
and he repeated:
“Locust-friend, come teach me that song.”
Still she did not answer, and the Coyote, losing his patience, said:
“Locust, if you don’t teach me that song, I will eat you up!”
At that, the Locust showed him the song, and he sang with her until
he knew how.
“Now I know it, thank you,” he said. “So I will go home and sing it
to my children, and they will sleep.”
So he went. But as he came to a pool, half-way home, a flock of
Afraids-of-the-Water[48] flew up at his very nose, and drove out his
memory. He went looking around, turning over the stones and peeping
in the grass; but he could not find the song anywhere. So he started
back at last to get the Locust to teach him again.
[48] The ironical Tée-wahn name for ducks.
But while he was yet far, the Locust saw him, so she shed her skin,
leaving a dry husk, as snakes do, and filled it with sand. Then she
made it to sit up, and put the molding-spoon in its hands, and the
clay jars in front of it; and she herself flew up into the tree.
Coming, the Coyote said: “Friend Locust, show that song again; for
I got scared, and the song was driven out of me.” But there was no
answer.
“Hear, Locust! I will ask just once more; and if you do not show me
the song, I’ll swallow you!”
Still she did not reply; and the Coyote, being angry, swallowed the
stuffed skin, sand, spoon, and all, and started homeward, saying:
“_Now_ I think I have that song in me!”
But when he was half-way home he stopped and struck himself, and
said: “What a fool, truly! For now I am going home without a song.
But if I had left the Locust alive, and bothered her long enough, she
would have shown me. I think now I will take her out, to see if she
will not sing for me.”
So he ran all around, hunting for a black thunder-knife,[49] and
singing:
[49] One of obsidian, or volcanic glass.
Where can I find Shée-eh-fóon?
Where can I find Shée-eh-fóon?
At last he found a large piece of the black-rock, and broke it until
he got a knife. He made a mark on his breast with his finger, saying:
“Here I will cut, and take her out.”
Then he cut. “Mercy!” said he, “but it bites!” He cut again, harder.
“Goodness! but how it bites!” he cried, very loud. And cutting a
third time, he fell down and died. So he did not learn the song of
the pottery-making.
* * * * *
The Quères Pueblos have exactly the same folk-story, except that
they make the Horned Toad, instead of the Locust, the music-teacher.
In their version, the Horned Toad, after being swallowed, kills the
Coyote by lifting its spines. Remembering what I have said of the
maker of the thunder-knives, you will readily see the analogy between
this and the obsidian splinter of the Tée-wahn story. It is, indeed,
one of the most characteristic and instructive examples of the manner
in which a folk-story becomes changed.
[Illustration: THE MAGIC HIDE-AND-SEEK]
XIII
THE MAGIC HIDE-AND-SEEK
I FANCY I must have been dozing after that hard ride; for when a
far-away, cracked voice that could be none other than Grandfather
Ysidro’s said, “_Kah-whee-cá-me, Lorenso-kaí-deh!_” I started up
so hastily as to bump my head against the whitewashed wall. That
may seem a queer sentence to rouse one so sharply; and especially
when you know what it means. It meant that old Ysidro[50] had just
finished a story, which I had altogether missed, and was now calling
upon the old man next him to tell one, by using the customary Pueblo
saying:
[50] Pronounced Ee-seé-droh.
“There is a tail to you, Father Lorenso!”
_Kah-whee-cá-me_ is what a Teé-wahn Indian always says in such a
case, instead of “Now _you_ tell a story, friend.” It is not intended
as an impolite remark, but merely refers to the firm belief of these
quaint people that if one were to act like a stubborn donkey, and
refuse to tell a story when called on, a donkey’s tail would grow
upon him!
With such a fate in prospect, you may be sure that the roundabout
invitation thus conveyed is never declined.
Grandfather Lorenso bows his head gravely, but seems in no haste.
He is indeed impressively deliberate as he slowly makes a cigarette
from a bit of corn-husk and a pinch of tobacco, lights it upon a coal
raked out of the fireplace by his withered fingers, blows a slow puff
eastward, then one to the north, another to the west, a fourth to the
south, one straight above his head, and one down toward the floor.
There is one part of the United States where the compass has _six_
cardinal points (those I have just named), and that is among these
Indians, and in fact all the others of the Southwest. The cigarette
plays a really important part in many sacred ceremonies of the
Pueblos; for, as I have explained, its collective smoke is thought to
be what makes the rain-clouds and brings the rain; and it is also a
charm against witches.
Having thus propitiated the divinities who dwell in the directions
named, Lorenso looks about the circle to see if all are listening.
The glance satisfies him--as well it may. There are no heedless eyes
or ears in the audience, of which I am the only white member--and a
very lucky one, in that I, an “Americano,” am allowed to hear these
jealously guarded stories, and to see the silent smoke-prayer which
would never be made if a stranger were present. There are seven agèd
men here, and nine bright-eyed boys--all _Isleteños_ (inhabitants of
Isleta). We are huddled around the fireplace in the corner of the
big, pleasant room, against whose dark rafters and farther white
walls the shadows dance and waver.
And now, taking a deep puff, Lorenso exclaims:
“_Nah-t’ hóo-ai!_” (In a house.) It has nothing to do with the story;
but is the prologue to inform the hearers that the story is about to
open.
“Ah-h-h!” we all responded, which is as much as to say, “We are
listening--go on”; and Lorenso begins his story.
* * * * *
Once upon a time there was a Teé-wahn village on the other side of
the mountain, and there lived a man and his wife who thought more
of the future of their children than did the others. To care better
for the children they moved to a little ranch some distance from the
village, and there taught their two little sons all they could. Both
boys loved the outdoors, and games, and hunting; and the parents were
well pleased, saying to each other:
“Perhaps some day they will be great hunters!”