both were very expert with the little bows and arrows their father
carefully made them; and already they began to bring home many
rabbits when they were allowed to go a little way from home. There
was only one command their parents gave about their hunts; and that
was that they must never, never go south. They could hunt to the
east, north, and west, but not south.
Day after day they went hunting, and more and more rabbits they
killed, growing always more expert.
One day when they had hunted eastward, the elder boy said:
“Brother, can you say any reason why we must not go south?”
“I know nothing,” replied the younger, “except what I overheard our
parents saying one day. They spoke of an old woman who lives in the
south who eats children; and for that they said they would never let
us go south.”
“Pooh!” said the elder, “I think nothing of _that_. The real reason
must be that they wish to save the rabbits in the south, and are
afraid we would kill them all. There must be many rabbits in that
_bosque_ [forest] away down there. Let’s go and see--_they_ won’t
know!”
The younger boy being persuaded, they started off together, and after
a long walk came to the _bosque_. It was full of rabbits, and they
were having great sport, when suddenly they heard a motherly voice
calling through the woods. In a moment they saw an old woman coming
from the south, who said to the boys:
“_Mah-kóo-oon_ [grandchildren], what are you doing here, where no one
ever thinks to come?”
“We are hunting, Grandmother,” they replied. “Our parents would never
let us come south; but to-day we came to see if the rabbits are more
numerous here than above.”
“Oh!” said the old woman, “this game you see here is _nothing_. Come,
and I will show you where there is much, and you can carry very large
rabbits home to your parents.” But she was deceiving them.
She had a big basket upon her back, and stooping for the boys to get
into it, she carried them farther and farther into the woods. At last
they came to an old, battered house; and setting the basket down, she
said:
“Now we have come all the way here, where no one ever came before,
and there is no way out. You can find no trail, and you will have to
stay here contented, or I will eat you up!”
The boys were much afraid, and said they would stay and be contented.
But the old woman went into the house and told her husband--who
was as wicked as she--to get wood and build a big fire in the
_horno_.[51] All day long the fire burned, and the oven became hotter
than it had ever been. In the evening the old witch-woman raked out
the coals, and calling the boys seized them and forced them into the
fiery oven.
[51] An outdoor bake-oven, made of clay, and shaped like a
beehive.
* * * * *
“_Tahb-kóon-nahm?_” (Is that so?) we all exclaimed--that being the
proper response whenever the narrator pauses a moment.
“That is so,” replied Lorenso, and went on.
* * * * *
Then the old woman put a flat rock over the little door of the oven,
and another over the smoke-hole, and sealed them both tight with
clay. All that night she and her husband were chuckling to think what
a nice breakfast they would have--for both of them were witch-people,
and ate all the children they could find.
But in the morning when she unsealed the oven, there were the two
boys, laughing and playing together unhurt--for the Wháy-nin[52] had
come to their aid and protected them from the heat.
[52] “The Trues,” as the Pueblos call their highest divinities.
Leaving the boys to crawl out, the old woman ran to the house and
scolded the old man terribly for not having made the oven hot enough.
“Go this minute,” she said, “and put in the oven all the wood that it
will hold, and keep it burning all day!”
When night came, the old woman cleaned the oven, which was twice as
hot as before; and again she put in the boys and sealed it up. But
the next morning the boys were unhurt and went to playing.
The witch-woman was very angry then; and giving the boys their bows
and arrows, told them to go and play. She stayed at home and abused
the old witch-man all day for a poor fire-maker.
When the boys returned in the evening, she said:
“To-morrow, grandchildren, we will play _Nah-oo-p’ah-chée_
(hide-and-seek), and the one who is found three times by the other
shall pay his life.”
The boys agreed,[53] and secretly prayed to the Trues to help
them--for by this time they knew that the old man and the old woman
“had the bad road.”
[53] For such a challenge, which was once a common one with the
Indians, could not possibly be declined.
[Illustration]
The next day came; and very soon the old woman called them to begin
the game. The boys were to hide first; and when the old woman had
turned her eyes and vowed not to look, they went to the door and hid,
one against each of its jambs. There you could look and look, and
see the wood through them--for the Trues, to help them, made them
invisible. When they were safely hidden they whooped, “_Hee-táh!_”
and the old woman began to hunt, singing the hide-and-seek song:
_Hee-táh yahn
Hee choo-ah-kóo
Mee, mee, mee?_
(Now, now,
Which way
Went they, went they, went they?)
After hunting some time she called:
“You little fellows are on the door-posts. Come out!”
So the boys came out and “made blind” (covered their eyes) while the
old woman went to hide. There was a pond close by, with many ducks on
it; and making herself very little, she went and hid under the left
wing of the duck with a blue head.[54]
[54] I should tell you that, being a witch, she could not
possibly have gone under the right wing. Everything that is to
the left belongs to the witches.
When they heard her “_Hee-táh!_” the boys went searching and singing;
and at last the elder cried out:
“Old woman, you are under the left wing of the whitest duck on the
lake--the one with the blue head. Come out!”
This time the boys made themselves small and crawled into the quivers
beside their bows and arrows. The old woman had to sing her song over
a great many times, as she went hunting all around; but at last she
called:
“Come out of the quivers where you are!”
Then the witch made herself very small indeed, and went behind the
foot of a big crane that was standing on one leg near the lake. But
at last the boys found her even there.
[Illustration: “THE WITCH MADE HERSELF VERY SMALL, AND WENT
BEHIND THE FOOT OF A BIG CRANE.”]
It was their last turn now, and the old woman felt very triumphant
as she waited for them to hide. But this time they went up and hid
themselves under the right arm of the Sun.[55] The old witch hunted
everywhere, and used all her bad power, but in vain; and when she was
tired out she had to cry, “_Hee-táh-ow!_” And then the boys came
down from under the Sun’s arm rejoicing.
[55] Who is, in the Pueblo belief, the father of all things.
The old witch, taking her last turn, went to the lake and entered
into a fish, thinking that there she would be perfectly safe from
discovery. It did take the boys a great while to find her; but at
last they shouted:
“Old woman, you are in the biggest fish in the lake. Come out!”
As she came walking toward them in her natural shape again, they
called: “Remember the agreement!” and with their sharp arrows they
killed the old witch-woman and then the old witch-man. Then they took
away the two wicked old hearts, and put in place of each a kernel of
spotless corn; so that if the witches should ever come to life again
they would no longer be witches, but people with pure, good hearts.
They never did come to life, however, which was just as well.
Taking their bows and arrows, the boys--now young men, for the
four “days” they had been with the witches were really four
years--returned home. At the village they found their anxious
parents, who had come to ask the Cacique to order all the people out
to search.
When all saw the boys and heard their story, there was great
rejoicing, for those two witch-people had been terrors to the village
for years. On their account no one had dared go hunting to the south.
And to this day the game is thicker there than anywhere else in the
country, because it has not been hunted there for so long as in other
places. The two young men were forgiven for disobedience (which is
a very serious thing at any age, among the Pueblos), and were made
heroes. The Cacique gave them his two daughters for wives, and all
the people did them honor.[56]
[56] This story seems to be one of the myths about the Hero
Twin Brothers, the children of the Sun. They are, next to
Sun-Father and Moon-Mother, the chief deities of all the
southwestern tribes. In the Quères folk-lore they figure very
prominently; but in the Tée-wahn are more disguised.
* * * * *
“Is that so?” we responded; and Lorenso replied, “That is so,”
gathering his blanket and rising to go without “putting a tail” to
any one, for it was already late.
I may add that the game of hide-and-seek is still played by my dusky
little neighbors, the Pueblo children, and the searching-song is
still sung by them, exactly as the boys and the old witch played and
sang--but of course without their magical talent at hiding.
XIV
THE RACE OF THE TAILS
NEARLY every people has its own version of the race of the Hare and
the Tortoise. That current among the Pueblos makes the Rabbit the
hero, by a trick rather cleverer than Æsop’s.
Once the Coyote came where Pee-oo-ée-deh, the little “cotton-tail”
rabbit, sat at the door of his house, thinking.
“What do you think, friend Pee-oo-ée-deh?” said the Coyote.
“I am thinking, friend Too-wháy-deh, why some have large tails like
you; but we have no tails. Perhaps if we had tails like yours, we
could run straight; but now we have to hop.”
“It is true, _ah-bóo_,”[57] said the Coyote, not knowing that the
Rabbit laughed in his heart. “For I can run faster than any one, and
never did any gain from me in the foot-races. But _you_,--you just
hop like a bird.”
[57] Poor thing.
The Rabbit made a sad face, and the Coyote said: “But come, friend
Pee-oo-ée-deh, let us run a race. We will run around the world, and
see who will win. And whichever shall come in first, he shall kill
the other and eat him.”[58]
[58] A challenge of this sort, with life as the stake, was
very common among all Indians; and it was impossible for the
challenged to decline. This story recalls that of the Antelope
Boy. Four days always elapsed between the challenge and the
race.
“It is well,” answered the Rabbit. “In four days we will run.”
Then the Coyote went home very glad. But Pee-oo-ée-deh called a
_junta_ of all his tribe, and told them how it was, and the way he
thought to win the race. And when they had heard, they all said: “It
is well. Fear not, for we will be the ones that will help you.”
When the fourth day came, the Coyote arrived smiling, and threw down
his blanket, and stood ready in only the dark blue _taparabo_,[59]
saying: “But what is the use to run? For I shall win. It is better
that I eat you now, before you are tired.”
[59] Breech-clout, which is the only thing worn in a foot-race.
But the Rabbit threw off his blanket, and tightened his _taparabo_,
and said: “Pooh! For the end of the race is far away, and _there_ is
time to talk of eating. Come, we will run around the four sides of
the world.[60] But _I_ shall run underground, for so it is easier for
me.”
[60] Which the Pueblos believe to be flat and square.
Then they stood up side by side. And when they were ready, the
Capitan shouted “_Haí-koo!_” and they ran. The Coyote ran with all
his legs; but the Rabbit jumped into his hole and threw out sand, as
those who dig very fast.
Now for many days the Coyote kept running to the east, and saw
nothing of Pee-oo-ée-deh. But just as he came to the east and was
turning to the north, up jumped a rabbit from under the ground in
front of him, and shouted: “We do this to one another”; and jumped
back in the hole and began to throw out dirt very hard.
“Ai!” said the Coyote. “I wish I could run under the ground like
that, for it seems very easy. For all these days I have run faster
than ever any one ran; yet Pe-oo-ée-deh comes to the east ahead of
me.” But he did not know it was the brother of Pee-oo-ée-deh, who had
come out to the east to wait for him.
So Too-wháy-deh ran harder; and after many days he came to the end of
the world, to the north. But just as he was to turn west, up sprang a
rabbit in front of him, and taunted him, and went back in its hole,
digging.
The Coyote’s heart was heavy, but he ran _very_ hard. “Surely,” he
said, “no one can run so fast as _this_.”
But when he came to the west, a rabbit sprang up ahead of him, and
mocked him, and went again under the ground. And when he had run to
the south, there was the same thing. At last, very tired and with his
tongue out, he came in sight of the starting-point, and there was
Pee-oo-ée-deh, sitting at the door of his house, smoothing his hair.
And he said: “Pooh! Coyote-friend, we do this to one another. For now
it is clear that big tails are not good to run with, since I have
been waiting here a long time for you. Come here, then, that I may
eat you, though you are tough.”
But Too-wháy-deh, being a coward, ran away and would not pay his
bet. And all the brothers of Pee-oo-ée-deh laughed for the trick they
had put upon the Coyote.
* * * * *
In a case which I knew of, years ago, this folk-story seems to have
given a hint to human racers. A Mexican who owned a large and very
fleet-footed burro, challenged a young Indian of Acoma to a ten-mile
race. The Indian was a very famous runner, and the challenger
depended on the distance alone to wear him out. In accordance with
the conditions the rivals started together from the goal, the Indian
on foot, the Mexican on his burro. For about four miles the Indian
left the galloping donkey far behind; but he could not keep up such
a tremendous pace, and the burro began to gain. About midway of the
course where the trail touches a great lava-flow, the Indian dove
into a cave. Just as the Mexican was passing, out came an Indian,
passed the burro with a magnificent spurt, and after a long run
reached the farther goal about a hundred feet ahead. Unfortunately
for him, however, the trick was detected--he was the twin brother of
the challenged man, and had awaited him in the cave, taking up the
race fresh when the first runner was tired!
XV
HONEST BIG-EARS
NEARLY all of you have seen pictures of the Burro, the quaint little
donkey of the Southwest. He is very small,--not more than half the
weight of a smallish mule,--but very strong, very sure-footed,
and very reliable. And he is one of the drollest, “cutest,”
wisest-looking creatures on earth.
T’ah-hlá-a-hloon, or Big-ears, as the Tée-wahn call him, does not
appear very often in their folk-lore--and for a very natural reason.
Most of these myths were made centuries before a white man ever saw
this country; and until Europeans came, there were neither horses,
donkeys, sheep, goats, cats, nor cattle (except the buffalo) in
either America. It was the Spanish pioneers who gave all these
animals to the Pueblos. Nor did the Indians have milk, cheese, wheat,
or metals of any sort. So when we see a story in which any of these
things are mentioned, we may know that it was made within the last
three hundred and fifty years--or that an old story has been modified
to include them.
There is one of these comparatively modern nursery-tales which is
designed to show the honesty and wisdom of the Burro.
Once Big-ears was coming alone from the farm of his master to Isleta,
carrying a load of curd cheeses done up in buckskin bags. As he came
through the hills he met a Coyote, who said:
“Friend Big-ears, what do you carry on your back?”
“I carry many cheeses for my master, friend Too-wháy-deh,” answered
the Burro.
“Then give me one, friend, for I am hunger-dying.”
“No,” said the Burro, “I cannot give you one, for my master would
blame me--since they are not mine but his, and a man of the pueblo
waits for them.”
Many times the Coyote asked him, with soft words; but Big-ears would
not, and went his way. Then Too-wháy-deh followed him behind, without
noise, and slyly bit the bag and stole a cheese. But Big-ears did not
know it, for he could not see behind.
When he came to the pueblo, the man who awaited him unloaded the
cheeses and counted them. “There lacks one,” he said; “for thy master
said he would send _so_ many. Where is the other?”
“Truly, I know not,” answered Big-ears, “but I think Too-wháy-deh
stole it; for he asked me on the way to give him a cheese. But
wait--I will pay him!”
So Big-ears went back to the hills and looked for the house of
Too-wháy-deh. At last he found it, but the Coyote was nowhere. So he
lay down near the hole, and stretched his legs out as if dead, and
opened his mouth wide, and was very still.
Time passing so, the Old-Woman-Coyote came out of the house to bring
a jar of water. But when she saw the Burro lying there, she dropped
her _tinaja_, and ran in crying:
“_Hloo-hli!_[61] come out and see! For a _buffalo_ has died out here,
and we must take in some meat.”
[61] Old Man.
So Old-Man-Coyote came out, and was very glad, and began to sharpen
his knife.
But his wife said: “But before you cut him up, get me the liver, for
I am very hungry”--and the liver is that which all the foxes like
best.
Then the Old-Man-Coyote, thinking to please her, went into the
Burro’s mouth to get the liver; but Big-ears shut his teeth on
Too-wháy-deh’s head, and jumped up and ran home. The Old-Woman-Coyote
followed running, crying: “_Ay, Nana!_ Let go!” But Big-ears would
not listen to her, and brought the thief to his master. When the
master heard what had been, he killed the Coyote, and thanked
Big-ears, and gave him much grass. And this is why, ever since,
Big-ears strikes with his hind feet if anything comes behind him
slyly; for he remembers how Too-wháy-deh stole the cheese.
XVI
THE FEATHERED BARBERS
THE coyote, one summer day, having taken a bath in the river, lay
down in the hot sand to dry himself. While he was sleeping there, a
crowd of Quails came along; and seeing that he was asleep, they said:
“Huh! Here is that foolish Too-wháy-deh. Let us give him a trick!”
So they cut off all his hair, which makes one to be laughed at, and
ran away.
When the Coyote woke up he was ashamed, and wished to punish those
who had made him _pelado_; and he ran around to see if he could find
the tracks of an enemy. There were only the tracks of the Quails, so
he knew they had done it. Very angry, he followed the trail until it
went into a large hole. He went all around to see if they had come
out; but there were no other tracks, so he went in. First the hole
was big, but then it grew small, and he had to dig. When he had dug a
long time, he caught a Quail, and he said:
“Ho, Ch’um-níd-deh! It is you that cut my hair and left me a
laughed-at. But I am going to eat you this very now!”
“No, friend Too-wháy-deh, it was another who did it. You will find
him farther in, with the scissors[62] still in his hand.”
[62] This indicates that the tale is comparatively modern.
So the Coyote let that Quail go, and dug and dug till he caught
another. But that one said the same thing; and Too-wháy-deh let him
go, and dug after the next one. So it was, until he had let them all
go, one by one; and when he came to the very end of the hole, there
were no more.
With this, the Coyote was very angry, and ran out of the hole,
promising to catch and eat them all. As he came out he met the
Cotton-tail, and cried with a fierce face:
“Hear, you Pee-oo-ée-deh! If you don’t catch me the Ch’úm-nin that
cut my hair, I’ll eat _you_!”
“Oh, I can catch them, friend Coyote,” said the Rabbit. “See, here is
their trail!”
When they had followed the trail a long way, they saw the birds
sitting and laughing under a bush.
“Now you wait here while I go and catch them,” said Pee-oo-ée-deh. So
the Coyote sat down to rest. As soon as the Rabbit was near them, the
Quails flew a little way, and he kept running after them. But as soon
as they were over a little hill, he turned aside and ran home, and
the Coyote never knew if the Quails were caught or not.
[Illustration: THE ACCURSED LAKE]
XVII
THE ACCURSED LAKE
AWAY to the southeast of the Manzano Mountains, two days’ journey
from my pueblo of Isleta, are the shallow salt lakes. For scores of
miles their dazzling sheen is visible--a strange patch of silver on
the vast brown plains. They are near the noblest ruins in our North
America--the wondrous piles of massive masonry of Abó, Cuaray, and
the so-called “Gran Quivira”--the latter the home of the silliest
delusion that ever lured treasure-hunters to their death. The whole
region has a romantic history, and is important to the scientific
student. From that locality came, centuries ago, part of the people
who then founded Isleta, and whose descendants dwell here to this
day. Perhaps you would like to know _why_ those lakes are salt
now--for my Indian neighbors say that once they were fresh and full
of fish, and that the deer and buffalo came from all the country
round to drink there. The story is very important ethnologically,
for it tells much of the strange secret religion of the Pueblos, and
more concerning the method of initiating a young Indian into one of
the orders of medicine-men--both matters which men of science have
found extremely difficult to be learned. Here is the story as it is
believed by the Tée-wahn, and as it was related to me by one of them.
* * * * *
Long ago there was still a village east of Shoo-paht-hóo-eh, the
Eagle-Feather (Manzano) Mountains, and in it lived a famous hunter.
One day, going out on the plains to the east, he stalked a herd of
antelopes, and wounded one with his arrows. It fled eastward, while
the herd went south; and the hunter began to trail it by the drops of
blood. Presently he came to the largest lake, into which the trail
led. As he stood on the bank, wondering what to do, a fish thrust its
head from the water and said:
“Friend Hunter, you are on dangerous ground!” and off it went
swimming. Before the Hunter could recover from his surprise, a
Lake-Man came up out of the water and said:
“How is it that you are here, where no human ever came?”
The Hunter told his story, and the Lake-Man invited him to come in.
When he had entered the lake, he came to a house with doors to the
east, north, west, and south, and a trap-door in the roof, with a
ladder; and by the latter door they entered. In their talk together
the Lake-Man learned that the Hunter had a wife and little son at
home.
“If that is so,” said he, “why do you not come and live with me? I
am here alone, and have plenty of other food, but I am no hunter. We
could live very well here together.” And opening doors on four sides
of the room he showed the Hunter four other huge rooms, all piled
from floor to ceiling with corn and wheat and dried squash and the
like.
“That is a very good offer,” said the astonished Hunter. “I will come
again in four days; and if my Cacique will let me, I will bring my
family and stay.”
So the Hunter went home--killing an antelope on the way--and told
his wife all. She thought very well of the offer; and he went to ask
permission of the Cacique. The Cacique demurred, for this was the
best hunter in all the pueblo,[63] but at last consented and gave him
his blessing.
[63] All hunters give the Cacique a tenth of their game, for
his support.
So on the fourth day the Hunter and his wife and little boy came to
the lake with all their property. The Lake-Man met them cordially,
and gave the house and all its contents into the charge of the
woman.[64]
[64] As is the custom among all Pueblo Indians.
[Illustration: THE HUNTER AND THE LAKE-MAN.]
Some time passed very pleasantly, the Hunter going out daily and
bringing back great quantities of game. At last the Lake-Man, who
was of an evil heart, pretended to show the Hunter something in the
east room; and pushing him in, locked the great door and left him
there to starve--for the room was full of the bones of men whom he
had already entrapped in the same way.
The boy was now big enough to use his bow and arrows so well that he
brought home many rabbits; and the witch-hearted Lake-Man began to
plot to get him, too, out of the way.
So one morning when the boy was about to start for a hunt, he heard
his mother groaning as if about to die; and the Lake-Man said to him:
“My boy, your mother has a terrible pain, and the only thing that
will cure her is some ice from T’hoor-p’ah-whée-ai [Lake of the
Sun],[65] the water from which the sun rises.”
[65] Located “somewhere to the east”; perhaps the ocean.
“Then,” said the boy, straightway, “if that is so, I will take the
heart of a man [that is, be brave] and go and get the ice for my
little mother.” And away he started toward the unknown east.