went home rejoicing at their success. The Coyote roamed away to
the west, and at last turned south. After a time he came across a
party of Isleteños[75] returning from a trading-trip to the Apache
country. He sneaked about their camp, snapping up odd scraps--for
he was nearly starved. In the morning the Indians spied this Coyote
sitting and watching them at a little distance, and they set their
dogs on him. But the Coyote did not run; and when the dogs came to
him they merely sniffed and came away without hurting him--though
every one knows that the dog and the Coyote have been enemies almost
ever since the world began. The Indians were greatly astonished; and
one of them, who was a medicine-man, began to suspect that there
was something wrong. So, without saying anything to the others, he
walked over to the Coyote and said: “Coyote, are you Coyote-true,
or somebody bewitched?” But the Coyote made no reply. Again the
medicine-man asked: “Coyote, are you a man?” At this the Coyote
nodded his head affirmatively, while tears rolled from his eyes.
[75] Pronounced Eez-lay-táyn-yos.
“Very well, then,” said the medicine-man, “come with me.” So the
Coyote rose and followed him to the camp; and the medicine-man fed
and cared for him as the party journeyed toward Isleta. The last
night they camped at the big barranca, just below the village;
and here the medicine-man told his companions the story of the
bewitchment,--for the Coyote had already told him,--and they were all
greatly astonished, and very sad to learn that this poor Coyote was
their handsome friend, K’oo-ah-máh-koo-hóo-oo-aí-deh.
“Now,” said the medicine-man, “we will make a nice hoop and try a
game.” He made it, and said to the Coyote: “Friend, go and stand over
there; and when I roll this hoop toward you, you must jump and put
your head through it before it stops rolling or falls over upon its
side.”
The Coyote stood off, and the medicine-man sent the hoop rolling
toward him very hard. Just as it came near enough the Coyote
made a wonderful jump and put his head squarely through the
middle of it--and there, instead of the gaunt Coyote, stood the
Young-Man-Who-Embraces-a-Corncob, handsome and well and strong as
ever. They all crowded around to congratulate him and to listen to
what had befallen him.
“Now,” said the medicine-man, “when we get home, the two
witch-sisters will come to congratulate you, and will pretend not to
know anything of the trouble that befell you, and when you see them
you must invite _them_ to a game of _mah-khúr_.”
It all came about as he said. When the party got back to Isleta all
the people welcomed the young man whose mysterious disappearance had
made all sad. The news of his return spread rapidly, and soon reached
the village of Poo-reh-tú-ai. In a day or two the witch-sisters came
to Isleta, bringing on their heads baskets of the choicest foods and
other gifts, which they presented to him in the most cordial manner.
To see how they welcomed him, one would never fancy that they had
been the wicked causes of his suffering. He played his part equally
well, and gave no sign that he saw through their duplicity. At last,
when they were about to start home, he said: “Sisters, let us come to
the sand-hill to-morrow to play a little game.”
An invitation--or rather a challenge--of that sort must be accepted
under all Indian etiquette; and the witch-sisters agreed. So at the
appointed hour they met him at the sacred hill. He had made a very
beautiful hoop, and when they saw it they were charmed, and took
their positions at the foot of the declivity. “One, two, three!”
he counted; and at the word “three!” sent the hoop rolling down to
them. They both grabbed it at the same instant, and lo! instead of
the pretty, but evil-minded sisters of Poo-reh-tú-ai, there lay
two huge rattlesnakes, with big tears falling from their eyes.
Young-Man-Who-Embraces-a-Corncob laid upon their ugly, flat heads a
pinch of the sacred meal, and they ran out their tongues and licked
it.
“Now,” he said, “this is what happens to the treacherous. Here in
these cliffs shall be your home forever. You must never go to the
river, so you will suffer with thirst and drag yourselves in the dust
all the days of your life.”
The Young-Man-Who-Embraces-a-Corncob went back to Isleta, where he
lived to a ripe old age. As for the snakes, they went to live in the
cliffs of their own mesa. The people of Poo-reh-tú-ai soon learned
of the fate of the witch-sisters, and knew that those two great
snakes, with tears in their eyes, were they. That was the beginning
of the downfall of Poo-reh-tú-ai; for the people grew fearful of
one another, lest there might be many more witches, unbeknown,
among them. The distrust and discontent grew rapidly--for to this
day nothing on earth will disrupt any Indian community so quickly
or so surely as the belief that some of the people are witches.
In a very short time the people decided to abandon Poo-reh-tú-ai
altogether. Most of them migrated to the Northwest, and I have not
as yet found even a legend to tell what became of them. The rest
settled in Isleta, where their descendants dwell to this day. There
are old men here now who claim that their great-grandfathers used to
see the two huge rattlesnakes basking on the cliffs of the mesa of
Shee-em-tóo-ai, and that the snakes always wept when people came near
them.
XXI
THE DROWNING OF PECOS
TWENTY-FIVE miles southeast of Santa Fé, New Mexico, lie the deserted
ruins of the ancient Pueblo town of Pecos. The village was finally
abandoned by the Indians in 1840; and their neat houses of adobe
bricks and stone, and their quaint adobe church, have sadly fallen
to decay. The history of the abandonment of Pecos is by no means
startling; but the Indian tradition--for they have already added this
to their countless myths--is decidedly so. The story is related by
two aged Pecos Indians who still live in the pueblo of Jemez.
“Now, this is a true story,” said my informant, an Isleteño, who had
often heard it from them.
Once Pecos was a large village, and had many people.[76] But it came
that nearly all of them had the evil road, and in the whole town were
but five True Believers (in the Indian religion). These were an old
woman, her two sons, and two other young men. Agostin, her elder son,
was a famous hunter, and very often went to the mountains with a
friend of his who had an evil spirit--though Agostin was not aware of
that.
[76] It was, indeed, the largest pueblo in New Mexico, having
at one time a population of about 2000.
One day the friend invited Agostin to go hunting, and next day they
went to the mountains. Just at the foot they found a herd of deer,
one of which Agostin wounded. The deer fled up the mountain, and the
two friends followed by the drops of blood. Half-way to the top they
came to a second herd, which ran off to the right of the trail they
were following, and the evil-spirited friend went in pursuit of them,
while Agostin kept on after the one he had wounded.
He came at last to the very top of the mountain, and there of a
sudden the trail ceased. Agostin hunted all about, but in vain, and
at last started down the other side of the mountain.
As he came to a deep cañon he heard singing, and, peering cautiously
through the bushes, he saw a lot of witch-men sitting around a fallen
pine and singing, while their chief was trying to raise the tree.
Agostin recognized them all, for they were of Pecos, and he was much
grieved when he saw his friend among them. Then he knew that the deer
had all been witches, and that they had led him off on a false trail.
Greatly alarmed, he crept back to a safe distance, and then hurried
home and told his aged mother all that had happened, asking her if he
should report it to the Cacique.
“No,” said she, with a sigh, “it is of no use; for he, too, has the
evil road. There are but few True Believers left, and the bad ones
are trying to use us up.”
Among the five good people was one of the Cum-pah-whit-lah-wen
(guards of the medicine-men); and to him Agostin told his story. But
he also said: “It is of no use. We are too few to do anything.”
At last the bad people falsely accused the old woman, saying that
her power was more than that of all the medicine-men put together
(which is a very serious charge, even to-day, among the Indians); and
challenged her to come before all the people in the medicine-house
and perform miracles with them, well knowing that she could not. The
challenge was for life or death; whichever side won was to kill the
others without being resisted.
The poor old woman told her sons, with tears, saying: “Already we are
killed. We know nothing of these things, and we may make ready to
die.”
“Nay, Nana,” said Agostin.[77] “Despair not yet, but prepare lunch
for Pedro[77] and me, that we go to other villages for advice.
Perhaps there the medicine-men will tell us something.”
[77] Pronounced Ah-gohs-téen and Páy-droh.
So the mother, still weeping, made some tortillas, and, strapping
these to their belts, the young men set out.
Pedro, the younger, went east, and Agostin took the road to the
north. Whatever person they met, or to whatever village they came,
they were to seek advice.
When Agostin came to the foot of the mountains, he was very
thirsty, but there was no water. As he entered a gorge he saw
Hyo-kwáh-kwah-báy-deh, a little bird which builds its nest with
pebbles and clay in the crannies of the cliffs, and is of exactly the
same color as the sandstones. He thought, “Ah, little bird, if you
could speak I would ask you where there is water, for I am fainting
with thirst, and dare not eat, for that would make it worse!”
But the little bird, knowing his thought, said:
“Friend Agostin, I see that you are one of the True Believers, and I
will show you where there is water; or wait, I will go and bring you
some, for it is very far.” And off he flew.
Agostin waited, and presently the little bird came back, bringing an
acorn-cup full of water. Then Agostin’s heart sank, and he thought:
“Alas! what good will that drop do me?”
But the little bird replied: “Do not think that way, friend. Here is
enough, and even more; for when you drink all you wish, there will
still be some left.”
And so it was. Agostin drank and drank, then ate some tortillas and
drank again; and when he was satisfied, the acorn-cup was still
nearly full.
Then the little bird said: “Now come, and I will lead you. But when
we come to the top of the mountain, and I say, ‘We are at the top,’
you must say, ‘No, we are down in the mountain--at the bottom of it.’
Do not forget.”
Agostin promised, and the little bird flew in front of him. At last
they were at the top, and the little bird said:
“Here we are, friend, at the top.”
“No,” answered Agostin, “we are down in the mountain--at the bottom
of it.”
Three times the little bird repeated his words, and three times
Agostin made the same answer.
At the third reply they found themselves in a room in the
mountain. There was a door in front of them, and beside it stood a
Cum-pah-whit-lah-wíd-deh (guard), who said to Agostin--for the little
bird had disappeared:
“Son, how came you here, where none ever think of coming? Do you
think you are a man?”
Agostin told the whole story of the witches’ challenge, and of how he
had gone out to seek advice, and of how the little bird had brought
him here, and the guard said:
“You are coming with the thought of a man; so now come in,” and he
opened the door.
But when Agostin entered the inner room, which was so large that no
end could be seen, he found himself in the presence of the Trues in
human shape.
There sat the divinities of the East, who are white; and of the
North, who are blue; and beyond them were the sacred animals--the
mountain lion, the eagle, bear, buffalo, badger, hawk, rabbit,
rattlesnake, and all the others that are of the Trues. Agostin was
very much afraid, but the guard said to him:
“Do not fear, son, but take the heart of a man, and pray to all
sides.” So he faced to the six sides, praying. When he had finished,
one of the Trues spoke to him, and said:
“What can it be that brought you here? Take the heart of a man and
tell us.”
Then Agostin told his whole story; after which the Trues said to him:
“Do not be worried, son. We will help you out of that.”
The principal True of the East said:
“Son, I will give you the clothes you must wear when you are in
the medicine-house for the contest of power”; and he gave Agostin
four dark-blue breech-clouts and some moccasins for himself and the
three other good young men, and a black _manta_ (robe) and pair of
moccasins for his mother.
“Now,” said the True, “the evil-spirited ones will have this
medicine-making contest in the _estufa_,[78] and when you enter, you
five, you must all be dressed in these clothes. The people will all
be there, old and young, and there will hardly be room for you to
stand; and they will all sneer at you and spit upon you. But do not
be sorry. And take this cane to hold between you. Let your mother
take it with one hand at the bottom, then the Whit-lah-wíd-deh’s
hand, then her other hand, and then his other hand; and last your
brother’s hand, your hand, then his other hand, and your other hand
at the top of all. And when you say, ‘We are at the top of the
mountain,’ he must answer, ‘No, we are down in the mountain--at the
bottom of it.’ This you must keep saying. Now go, son, with the heart
of a man.”
[78] Where it is sacrilegious to make medicine.
Then the Whit-lah-wíd-deh led Agostin out, and the little bird showed
him the way down the mountain.
When he reached home it was the afternoon of the appointed day, and
in the evening the medicine-making contest for life or death was to
come.
In a little while the younger brother arrived, with his new clothes
and moccasins torn to shreds; for he had traveled far in a rough
country, without meeting a soul from whom to ask advice.
Agostin called together the four other True Believers, and told them
all that had happened and what they must do, giving them the sacred
clothing.
In the evening they went to the _estufa_, which was crowded with the
witch-people, so that they had barely room to stand.
Then the evil-spirited ones began to make medicine, and turned
themselves into bears, coyotes, crows, owls, and other animals. When
they were done, they said to the old woman:
“Now it is your turn. We will see what you can do.”
“I know nothing about these things,” she said, “but I will do what I
can, and the Trues will help me.”
Then she and the four young men took hold of the sacred cane as the
Trues had showed Agostin.
“We are on the top of the mountain,” said he.
“No,” answered his brother, “we are down in the mountain--at the
bottom of it.”
This they said three times. At the third saying the people heard
on all sides the _guajes_ of the Trues.[79] At the same moment the
ladder[80] was jerked violently up out of the room, so that no one
could get out.
[79] The thunder is said by the Tée-wahn to be the sacred
dance-rattle of their gods.
[80] The only entrance to any _estufa_ is by a ladder let down
through a door in the roof.
Then the two brothers repeated their words again, and at the
third saying the thunder began to roar outside, and all could hear
plainly the singing and the _guajes_ of the Trues. It began to rain
violently, and the water poured down through the roof-door, and the
lightning stuck its tongue in. The brothers kept repeating their
words, and soon the water was knee-deep. But where the five True
Believers stood, holding the cane, the floor was dusty. Soon the
flood came to the waists of the witch-people, and then to their
necks, and the children were drowning. Then they cried out to the old
woman:
“Truly, mother, your power is greater than ours. We submit.”
But she paid no attention to them, and her sons continued their
words, and the water kept pouring in until it touched the very
ceiling. But all around the five it stood back like a wall, and they
were on dry ground.
At last all the evil-spirited ones were drowned. Then the rain ceased
and the water departed as fast as it had come. The ladder came down
through the roof-door again, and the five True Believers climbed out
and went to their homes.
But it was very desolate, for they were the only survivors. Their
nearest relatives and dearest friends had perished with the other
witch-people. At last they could no longer bear to live in the lonely
valley, and they decided to live elsewhere. On the way the old mother
and one of the men died. Agostin went to the pueblo of Cochití, and
Pedro and the Whit-lah-wíd-deh settled in the pueblo of Jemez, where
they are still living (or were in the spring of 1891).
Such is the Indian version of the abandonment of the great pueblo
which Coronado--that wonderful Spanish explorer--found in 1540. As a
matter of fact, the Hyó-qua-hoon, or people of Pecos, had dwindled
away by war, epidemics, and the like, until only five were left; and
in 1840 these lonely survivors moved to other pueblos, and abandoned
their ruined town forever. But the story is very valuable, not only
for the glimpse it affords of some of their most secret beliefs, but
also as showing how folk-stories of the most aboriginal stamp are
still coined.
Witchcraft is still a serious trouble in all the pueblos, despite
the efforts of the medicine-men, whose special duty it is to keep
down the witches. One little pueblo called Sandia is dying out--as
many others have done before it--because the medicine-men are
quietly killing those whom they suspect of being witches. In 1888 a
very estimable Indian woman of that town was slain by them in the
customary way,--shot through from side to side with an arrow,--and
this form of execution is still practised.
In Isleta they fear the Americans too much to indulge in
witch-killing, for Albuquerque is only a few miles away. But it is
only a little while ago that a young Isletan who was accused spent
three months in the neck-stocks in our aboriginal prison, and much
of the time had to “ride the horse,” sitting with his legs crossed
upon the adobe floor and the heavy weight of the stocks pressing him
down, a torture worthy of the Inquisition. The case was kept out of
the American courts only by the payment of a large sum to his parents
by his accusers.
One whose eyes or lids look red is always regarded with suspicion
here, for witch-people are supposed not to sleep at night, but to
change themselves into animals and roam over the world. Eccentric
actions also lay one open to accusation; and when I first came here I
was dangerously near being classed with the witches because, to amuse
my dusky little neighbors, I imitated various animal cries to their
great edification, but to the very serious doubt of their elders. The
fact that they doubt whether Americans know enough to be first-class
witches was largely instrumental in saving me from serious danger.
[Illustration: The Ants that Pushed on the Sky]
XXII
THE ANTS THAT PUSHED ON THE SKY
A VERY ancient and characteristic story about the origin of Isleta is
based on the historic fact that part of its founders came from east
of the Manzano Mountains, from one of the prehistoric pueblos whose
ruins are now barely visible in those broad plains.
Once upon a time there lived in one of those villages (so runs the
story) a young Indian named Kahp-too-óo-yoo, the Corn-stalk Young
Man. He was not only a famous hunter and a brave warrior against
the raiding Comanches, but a great wizard; and to him the Trues
had given the power of the clouds. When Kahp-too-óo-yoo willed it,
the glad rains fell, and made the dry fields laugh in green; and
without him no one could bring water from the sky. His father was
Old-Black-Cane, his mother was Corn-Woman, and his two sisters were
Yellow-Corn-Maiden, and Blue-Corn-Maiden.
Kahp-too-óo-yoo had a friend, a young man of about the same age. But,
as is often true, the friend was of a false heart, and was really a
witch, though Kahp-too-óo-yoo never dreamed of such a thing.
The two young men used to go together to the mountains to get wood,
and always carried their bows and arrows, to kill deer and antelopes,
or whatever game they might find.
One day the false friend came to Kahp-too-óo-yoo, and said:
“Friend, let us go to-morrow for wood, and to hunt.”
They agreed that so they would do. Next day they started before
sunrise, and came presently to the spot where they gathered wood.
Just there they started a herd of deer. Kahp-too-óo-yoo followed part
of the herd, which fled to the northwest, and the friend pursued
those that went southwest. After a long, hard chase, Kahp-too-óo-yoo
killed a deer with his swift arrows, and brought it on his strong
back to the place where they had separated. Presently came the
friend, very hot and tired, and with empty hands; and seeing the
deer, he was pinched with jealousy.
“Come, friend,” said Kahp-too-óo-yoo. “It is well for brothers to
share with brothers. Take of this deer and cook and eat; and carry a
part to your house, as if you had killed it yourself.”
“Thank you,” answered the other coldly, as one who will not; but he
did not accept.
When they had gathered each a load of wood, and lashed it with
rawhide thongs in bundles upon their shoulders, they trudged
home--Kahp-too-óo-yoo carrying the deer on top of his wood. His
sisters received him with joy, praising him as a hunter; and the
friend went away to his house, with a heavy face.
Several different days when they went to the mountain together, the
very same thing came to pass. Kahp-too-óo-yoo killed each time a
deer; and each time the friend came home with nothing, refusing all
offers to share as brothers. And he grew more jealous and more sullen
every day.
At last he came again to invite Kahp-too-óo-yoo to go; but this time
it was with an evil purpose that he asked. Then again the same things
happened. Again the unsuccessful friend refused to take a share of
Kahp-too-óo-yoo’s deer; and when he had sat long without a word, he
said:
“Friend Kahp-too-óo-yoo, now I will prove you if you are truly my
friend, for I do not think it.”
“Surely,” said Kahp-too-óo-yoo, “if there is any way to prove myself,
I will do it gladly, for truly I am your friend.”
“Then come, and we will play a game together, and with that I will
prove you.”
“It is well! But what game shall we play, for here we have nothing?”
Near them stood a broken pine-tree, with one great arm from its
twisted body. And looking at it, the false friend said:
“I see nothing but to play the _gallo_ race; and because we have no
horses[81] we will ride this arm of the pine-tree--first I will ride,
and then you.”
[81] This mention of the horse is, of course, modern. I think
it is an interpolation. The rest of the story bears traces of
great antiquity.
So he climbed the pine-tree, and sat astride the limb as upon a
horse, and rode, reaching over to the ground as if to pick up the
chicken.[82]
[82] In imitation of one of the most popular and exciting
sports of the Southwestern Indians and Mexicans.
“Now you,” he said, coming down; and Kahp-too-óo-yoo climbed the
tree and rode on the swinging branch. But the false friend bewitched
the pine, and suddenly it grew in a moment to the very sky, carrying
Kahp-too-óo-yoo.
“We do this to one another,” taunted the false friend, as the tree
shot up; and taking the wood, and the deer which Kahp-too-óo-yoo had
killed, he went to the village. There the sisters met him, and asked:
“Where is our brother?”
“Truly I know not, for he went northwest and I southwest; and though
I waited long at the meeting-place, he did not come. Probably he will
soon return. But take of this deer which I killed, for sisters should
share the labors of brothers.”
But the girls would take no meat, and went home sorrowful.
Time went on, and still there was no Kahp-too-óo-yoo. His sisters and
his old parents wept always, and all the village was sad. And soon
the crops grew yellow in the fields, and the springs failed, and the
animals walked like weary shadows; for Kahp-too-óo-yoo, he who had
the power of the clouds, was gone, and there was no rain. And then
perished all that is green; the animals fell in the brown fields; and
the gaunt people who sat to warm themselves in the sun began to die
there where they sat. At last the poor old man said to his daughters:
“Little daughters, prepare food, for again we will go to look for
your brother.”