round-dance, and the days of purification were over, they called
Sun-Arrow the greatest warrior of the Tée-wahn, and made him second
to the Cacique. Then all who had daughters looked at him with good
eyes, and all the maidens wished for so brave a husband. But he saw
none of them, except the youngest daughter of the Cacique; for he
loved her. When the Grandmother had spoken to the Cacique, and it was
well, they brought the young people together, and gave them to eat of
the betrothal corn--to Sun Arrow an ear of the blue corn, and to her
an ear of the white corn, because the hearts of maidens are whiter
than those of men. When both had eaten the raw corn, every seed of
it, the old folks said: “It is well! For truly they love each other.
And now let them run the marrying-race.”
Then all the people gathered yonder where are the ashes of the
evil-hearted ones who were burned when Antelope Boy won for his
people. And the elders marked a course, as of three miles, from
there to the sacred sand-hill beside the Kú-mai. When they said
the word, Sun-Arrow and the girl went running like young antelope,
side by side. Up to the Place of the Bell they ran, and turned back
running; and when they came to the people, the girl was a little in
front, and all cried:
“It is well! For now Eé-eh-chah has won a husband, and she shall
always be honored in her own house.”
So they were married, and the Cacique blessed them. They made a house
by the plaza,[85] and Sun-Arrow was given of the fields, that he
might plant.
[85] Public square in the center of the pueblo.
But of the maidens there was one who did not forgive Sun-Arrow that
he would not look at her; and in her heart she thought to pay him. So
she went to a Spider-woman,[86] and said: “Grandmother, help me! For
this young man despised me, and now I will punish him.”
[86] Here equivalent to a witch.
Then the Spider-woman made an accursed prayer-stick of the feathers
of the woodpecker, and spoke to the Ghosts, and said to the girl:
“It is well, daughter! For I am the one that will help you. Take
only this Toad, and bury it in your floor, _this_ way, and then ask
T’hoor-hlóh-ah to come to your house.”
The girl made a hole in her floor, and buried P’ah-foo-ée-deh, the
Toad. Then she went to Sun-Arrow and said: “Friend T’hoor-hlóh-ah,
come to my house a little; for I have to talk to you.”
But when Sun-Arrow sat down in her house, his feet were upon the
floor over the hole; and in a moment the Toad grew very great, and
began to swallow him by the feet. Sun-Arrow kicked and fought, for
he was very strong. But he could do nothing; and in a little, he was
swallowed to the knees. Then he called in a great voice for his wife;
and all the people of the Tée-wahn came running with her. When they
saw him so, they were very sad; and Eé-eh-chah took his hand, and the
Grandmother took his other, and all the people helped them. But all
were not so strong as the great Toad; and fast it was swallowing him,
until he was at the waist. Then he said:
“Go, my people! Go, my wife! For it is in vain. Go from this place,
that you may not see me. And pray to the Trues if they will help me.”
So they all went, mourning greatly.
In that time it came that Shee-íd-deh, the House-Mouse, stirred from
his hole; and seeing Sun-Arrow _so_, he came to him, weeping.
“Oh, Friend Sun-Arrow!” he cried. “You who have been a father to us
all, you who have fed us, and have proved yourself so brave--it is
not deserved that you should be thus. But we for whom you have cared,
we will be the ones to help you!”
Then Shee-íd-deh ran from the house until he found the Dog, and to
him told it all. And Quee-ah-níd-deh, whose voice was big, ran out
into the plains, up and down, _pregonando_[87] to all the animals;
and they came hurrying from all places. Soon all the birds and all
the four-feet were met in council in the room where Sun-Arrow was;
and the Mountain Lion was captain. When he had listened to them, he
said:
[87] The technical (Spanish) word for the official heralding by
which all announcements are still made among the Pueblos.
“Now let each tribe of you choose from it one who is young and
strong, to give help to him who has fed us. For we cannot leave him
to die so.”
When every kind that walks or flies had chosen its strongest one, the
chosen stood out; Kéem-ee-deh called them by name to take their turns.
“Kóo-ah-raí-deh!” he called; and the Bluebird of the mountains came
to Sun-Arrow, who was now swallowed up to his armpits. Sun-Arrow
grasped her long tail with both hands, and she flew and flew with all
her might, not caring for the pain, until her tail was pulled off.
But Sun-Arrow was not budged a hair.
Then the captain called Ku-íd-deh, the Bear, to try. He gave his
long tail to Sun-Arrow to hold; and when he had counted “One, two,
_three_!” he pulled with a great pull, so hard that his whole tail
came off. And still Sun-Arrow was not stirred.
Then it was to the Coyote. But _he_ said: “My ears are stronger”; for
he was a coward, and would not give to pull on his pretty tail, of
which he is proud. So he gave to Sun-Arrow to hold by his ears, and
began to pull backward. But soon it hurt him, and he stopped when his
ears were pulled forward.
“Now it is to you, Kahr-naí-deh,” said the Mountain Lion; and the
Badger came out to try. First he dug around Sun-Arrow, and gave him
to hold his tail. Then he counted _three_, and pulled greatly, so
that his tail came off--and Sun-Arrow was moved a very little. But
the Badger did not fear the pain, and said:
“Let it be to me twice again, Kah-báy-deh.”[88]
[88] Commander.
“It is well!” said the Mountain Lion. “So let it be.”
So the Badger dug again, and gave the stump of his tail, and pulled.
And Sun-Arrow was loosened a little more; but the stump slipped
through his hands, for it was very short.
“_Around_ me, friend,” said the Badger, when he had dug a third time;
and Sun-Arrow clasped his hands around the Badger’s body, behind the
fore legs. Then for the third time Kahr-naí-deh pulled--so mightily
that he dragged Sun-Arrow clear out from the Toad’s mouth. At that,
all the animals fell upon the wicked Toad, and killed it; and gave
thanks to Those Above for the deliverance of their friend.
When they had prayed, Sun-Arrow thanked all the animals, one by one;
and to the Bluebird, the Bear, and the Badger, he said:
“Friends, how shall I thank you who have suffered so much for me?
And how can I pay you for your help, and for the tails that you have
lost?” But to the Coyote he did not say a word.
Then said the Badger:
“Friend T’hoor-hlóh-ah, as for me, your hand has always been held out
to me. You have fed me, and have been as a father: I want no pay for
this tail that I have lost.”
And the Bear and the Bluebird both answered the same thing.
So Sun-Arrow again gave them many thanks, and they went away to
their homes. As for Sun-Arrow, he hurried to the Medicine House,
where all the Tée-wahn were making medicine[89] that he might be
saved. And when they saw him entering, his wife ran and cried on his
shoulder, and all the people gave thanks to the Trues.
[89] Not compounding remedies, but going through the magic
dance and incantations to which the Indians always resort in
time of trouble. For a description of a medicine-making, see
“Some Strange Corners of Our Country.”
Sun-Arrow told them all that was; and when the Father-of-all-Medicine
looked in the sacred _cajete_[90] he saw the evil-hearted girl paying
the Spider-woman. Then the Cum-pah-whít-la-wen[91] went running with
their bows and arrows, and brought the girl; and she was punished as
are they that have the evil road. As for the Spider-woman, she was
already dead of shame; for she knew all that had been.
[90] A jar of magic water, in which the chief conjuror is
supposed to see all that is going on in the world.
[91] Armed guards of the Medicine House.
In a time it came that his father-in-law the Cacique died; and they
made Sun-Arrow Cacique in his place. For many years he was so,
bringing great good to his people; for he was very wise.
As for the Bear, the Badger, and the Bluebird, they would never
go to the medicine-men of their tribes to have their tails mended
to grow again; for they were proud that they had suffered to help
their friend. And to this very day they go with short tails, and
are honored by all the animals, and by all True Believers. But
Too-wháy-deh, the coward, he who would not hurt himself with
pulling--he is a laughed-at to this day. For his ears cannot lie
back, as is well for beasts, but always point straight forward, as
Sun-Arrow pulled them.
* * * * *
Any one who has ever seen the Coyote, or any other of the wolf or
fox tribe, must have noticed the alert forward pricking of the ears.
Among the Pueblos, any such peculiarity of nature--and particularly
of animal life--is very sure to have a folk-story hung to it. It has
always seemed to me that the boy who always wants to know “why?” has
a better time of it among my Indian friends than anywhere else. For
there is always sure to be a why, and an interesting one--which is
much more satisfactory than only learning that “it’s bedtime now,” or
that “I’m busy.”
[Illustration: THE REVENGE of the FAWNS]
XXV
THE REVENGE OF THE FAWNS
“DON CARLOS,” said Vitorino, throwing another log upon the fire,
which caught his tall shadow and twisted it and set it dancing
against the rocky walls of the cañon in which we were camped for the
night, “did you ever hear why the Wolf and the Deer are enemies?” And
as he spoke he stretched out near me, looking up into my face to see
if I were going to be interested.
A few years ago it would have frightened me very seriously to find my
self thus--alone in one of the remotest corners of New Mexico save
for that swarthy face peering up into mine by the weird light of the
camp-fire. A stern, quiet but manly face it seems to me now; but once
I would have thought it a very savage one, with its frame of long,
jet hair, its piercing eyes, and the broad streak of red paint across
its cheeks. By this time, however, having lived long among the kindly
Pueblos, I had shaken off that strange, ignorant prejudice against
all that is unknown--which seems to be inborn in all of us--and
wondered that I could ever have believed in that brutal maxim, worthy
only of worse than savages, that “A good Indian is a dead Indian.”
For Indians are men, after all, and astonishingly like the rest of us
when one really comes to know them.
I pricked up my ears--very glad at his hint of another of these
folk-stories.
“No,” I answered. “I have noticed that the Wolf and the Deer are not
on good terms, but never knew the reason.”
“_Si, señor_,” said he,--for Vitorino knows no English, and most of
our talk was in Spanish, which is easier to me than the Tée-wahn
language,--“that was very long ago, and now all is changed. But once
the Wolf and the Deer were like brothers; and it is only because
the Wolf did very wickedly that they are enemies. _Con su licencia,
señor._”[92]
[92] “With your permission, sir.”
“_Bueno; anda!_”[93]
[93] “All right; go ahead!”
So Vitorino leaned his shoulders against a convenient rock and began.
* * * * *
Once upon a time, when the Wolf and the Deer were friends, there
were two neighbors in the country beyond the Rio Puerco, not far
from where the pueblo of Laguna (a Quères town) now is. One was a
Deer-mother who had two fawns, and the other a Wolf-mother with two
cubs. They had very good houses of adobe, just such as we live in
now, and lived like real people in every way. The two were great
friends, and neither thought of going to the mountain for firewood or
to dig _amole_[94] without calling for the other to accompany her.
[94] The root of the palmilla, generally used for soap
throughout the Southwest.
One day the Wolf came to the house of the Deer and said:
“Friend Peé-hlee-oh [Deer-woman], let us go to-day for wood and
_amole_, for I must wash to-morrow.”
“It is well, friend Káhr-hlee-oh,” replied the Deer. “I have nothing
to do, and there is food in the house for the children while I am
gone. _Toó-kwai!_ [Let us go].”
So they went together across the plain and into the hills till they
came to their customary spot. They gathered wood and tied it in
bundles to bring home on their backs, and dug _amole_, which they put
in their shawls to carry. Then the Wolf sat down under a cedar-tree
and said:
“_Ai!_ But I am tired! Sit down, friend Deer-woman, and lay your head
in my lap, that we may rest.”
“No, I am not tired,” replied the Deer.
“But just to rest a little,” urged the Wolf. The Deer good-naturedly
lay down with her head in the lap of her friend. But soon the Wolf
bent down and caught the trusting Deer by the throat, and killed
her. That was the first time in the world that any one betrayed a
friend, and from that deed comes all the treachery that is.
The false Wolf took off the hide of the Deer, and cut off some of the
meat and carried it home on her load of _amole_ and wood. She stopped
at the house of the Deer, and gave the Fawns some of the accursed
meat, saying:
“Friends, Deer-babies, do not fear, but eat; your mother met
relatives and went to their house, and she will not come to-night.”
The Fawns were very hungry, and as soon as the Wolf had gone home
they built a big fire in the fireplace and set the meat to cook. But
at once it began to sputter and to hiss, and the Fawn who was tending
it heard it cry, “Look out! look out! for this is your mother!”
He was greatly frightened, and called his brother to listen, and
again the same words came from the meat.
“The wicked old Wolf has killed our _nana_! [mama],” they cried, and,
pulling the meat from the fire, they laid it gently away and sobbed
themselves to sleep.
Next morning the Wolf went away to the mountain to bring the rest of
the deer-meat; and when she was gone her Cubs came over to play with
the Fawns, as they were used to doing. When they had played awhile,
the Cubs said:
“_Pee-oo-weé-deh_ [little Deer], why are you so prettily spotted, and
why do you have your eyelids red, while we are so ugly?”
“Oh,” said the Fawns, “that is because when we were little, like
you, our mother put us in a room and smoked us, and made us spotted.”
“Oh, Fawn-friends, can’t you spot us, too, so that we may be pretty?”
So the Fawns, anxious to avenge the death of their mother, built a
big fire of corn-cobs in the fireplace, and threw coyote-grass on it
to make a great smoke. Then, shutting the Cubs into the room, they
plastered up the door and windows with mud, and laid a flat rock on
top of the chimney and sealed it around with mud; and climbing down
from the roof, they took each other’s hands and ran away to the south
as fast as ever they could.
After they had gone a long way, they came to a Coyote. He was walking
back and forth with one paw to his face, howling dreadfully with the
toothache. The Fawns said to him very politely:
“_Ah-bóo!_ [poor thing]. Old-man friend, we are sorry your tooth
hurts. But an old Wolf is chasing us, and we cannot stay. If she
comes this way, asking about us, do not tell her, will you?”
“_Een-dah._ Little-Deer-friends, I will not tell her”--and he began
to howl again with pain, while the Fawns ran on.
When the Wolf came to her home with the rest of the meat, the Cubs
were not there; and she went over to the house of the Deer. It was
all sealed and still; and when she pushed in the door, there were her
Cubs dead in the smoke! When she saw that, the old Wolf was wild with
rage, and vowed to follow the Fawns and eat them without mercy. She
soon found their tracks leading away to the south, and began to
run very swiftly in pursuit.
[Illustration: THE WOLF, AND THE COYOTE WITH THE TOOTHACHE.]
In a little while she came to the Coyote, who was still walking up
and down, howling so that one could hear him a mile away. But not
pitying his pain, she snarled at him roughly:
“Say, old man! have you seen two Fawns running away?”
The Coyote paid no attention to her, but kept walking with his hand
to his mouth, groaning, “_Mm-m-páh! Mm-m-páh!_”
Again she asked him the same question, more snappishly, but he only
howled and groaned. Then she was very angry, and showed her big teeth
as she said:
“I don’t care about your ‘_Mm-m-páh! Mm-m-páh!_’ Tell me if you saw
those Fawns, or I’ll eat you this very now!”
“Fawns? _Fawns?_” groaned the Coyote--“I have been wandering with the
toothache ever since the world began. And do you think I have had
nothing to do but to watch for Fawns? Go along, and don’t bother me.”
So the Wolf, who was growing angrier all the time, went hunting
around till she found the trail, and set to running on it as fast as
she could go.
By this time the Fawns had come to where two Indian boys were playing
_k’wah-t’hím_[95] with their bows and arrows, and said to them:
[95] A sort of walking archery.
“Friends boys, if an old Wolf comes along and asks if you have seen
us, don’t tell her, will you?”
The boys promised that they would not, and the Fawns hurried on. But
the Wolf could run much faster, and soon she came to the boys, to
whom she cried gruffly:
“You boys! did you see two Fawns running this way?”
But the boys paid no attention to her, and went on playing their game
and disputing: “My arrows nearest!” “No; mine is!” “’T ain’t! Mine
is!” She repeated her question again and again, but got no answer
till she cried in a rage:
“You little rascals! Answer me about those Fawns, or I’ll eat you!”
At that the boys turned around and said:
“We have been here all day, playing _k’wah-t’hím_, and not hunting
Fawns. Go on, and do not disturb us.”
So the Wolf lost much time with her questions and with finding the
trail again; but then she began to run harder than ever.
In the mean time the Fawns had come to the bank of the Rio Grande,
and there was _P’ah-chah-hlóo-hli_, the Beaver, hard at work cutting
down a tree with his big teeth. And they said to him very politely:
“Friend Old-Crosser-of-the-Water, will you please pass us over the
river?”
The Beaver took them on his back and carried them safely across to
the other bank. When they had thanked him, they asked him not to tell
the old Wolf about them. He promised he would not, and swam back to
his work. The Fawns ran and ran, across the plain, till they came to
a big black hill of lava that stands alone in the valley southeast of
Tomé.
[Illustration: THE WOLF MEETS THE BOYS PLAYING WITH THEIR BOWS
AND ARROWS.]
“Here!” said one of the Fawns, “I am sure this must be the place
our mother told us about, where the Trues of our people live. Let us
look.”
And when they came to the top of the hill, they found a trap-door
in the solid rock. When they knocked, the door was opened and a
voice called, “Enter!” They went down the ladder into a great room
underground; and there they found all the Trues of the Deer-people,
who welcomed them and gave them food.
When they had told their story, the Trues said:
“Fear not, friends, for we will take care of you.”
And the War-captain picked out fifty strong young bucks for a guard.
By this time the Wolf had come to the river, and there she found the
Beaver hard at work and grunting as he cut the tree.
“Old man!” she snarled, “did you see two Fawns here?”
But the Beaver did not notice her, and kept on walking around the
tree, cutting it and grunting, “_Ah-oó-mah! Ah-oó-mah!_”
She was in a terrible rage now, and roared:
“I am not talking ‘_Ah-oó-mah!_’ to you. I’m asking if you saw two
Fawns.”
“Well,” said the Beaver, “I have been cutting trees here by the river
ever since I was born, and I have no time to think about Fawns.”
The Wolf, crazy with rage, ran up and down the bank, and at last came
back and said:
“Old man, if you will carry me over the river I will pay you; but if
you don’t, I’ll eat you up.”
“Well, wait then till I cut around the tree three times more,” said
the Beaver; and he made her wait. Then he jumped down in the water
and took her on his neck, and began to swim across. But as soon as
he came where the water was deep, he dived to the bottom and stayed
there as long as he could.
“Ah-h-h!” sputtered the Wolf when he came to the surface. As soon as
the Beaver got a breath, down he went again; and so he kept doing all
the way across, until the Wolf was nearly drowned--but she clung to
his neck desperately, and he could not shake her off.
When they came to the shore the old Wolf was choking, coughing, and
crying, and so mad that she would not pay the Beaver as she had
promised--and from that day to this the Beaver will never again ferry
a Wolf across the river.
Presently she found the trail, and came running to the hill. When she
knocked on the trap-door a voice from within called, “Who?”
“Wolf-woman,” she answered as politely as she could, restraining her
anger.
“Come down,” said the voice, and hearing her name the fifty young
Deer-warriors--who had carefully whetted their horns--stood ready.
The door flew open, and she started down the ladder. But as soon as
she set her foot on the first rung, all the Deer-people shouted:
“Look what feet!” For, though the Deer is so much larger than the
Wolf, it has smaller feet.
At this she was very much ashamed, and pulled back her foot; but soon
her anger was stronger, and she started down again. But each time
the Deer-people laughed and shouted, and she drew back.
[Illustration: “THE FAWNS APPEARED SUDDENLY, AND AT SIGHT OF
THEM THE WOLF DROPPED THE SPOONFUL OF SOUP.”]
At last they were quiet, and she came down the ladder. When she had
told her story the old men of the Deer-people said:
“This is a serious case, and we must not judge it lightly. Come,
we will make an agreement. Let soup be brought, and we will eat
together. And if you eat all your soup without spilling a drop, you
shall have the Fawns.”
“Ho!” thought the Wolf. “_That_ is easy enough, for I will be very
careful.” And aloud she said: “It is well. Let us eat.”
So a big bowl of soup was brought, and each took a _guayave_[96] and
rolled it like a spoon to dip up the soup. The old Wolf was very
careful, and had almost finished her soup without spilling a drop.
But just as she was lifting the last sup to her mouth the Fawns
appeared suddenly in the door of the next room, and at sight of them
she dropped the soup in her lap.
[96] An Indian bread made by spreading successive films of
blue corn-meal batter on a flat hot stone. It looks more like
a piece of wasp’s nest than anything else, but is very good to
eat.
“She spilled!” shouted all the Deer-people, and the fifty chosen
warriors rushed upon her and tore her to pieces with their sharp
horns.
That was the end of the treacherous Wolf; and from that day the Wolf
and the Deer have been enemies, and the Wolf is a little afraid of
the Deer. And the two Fawns? Oh, they still live with the Deer-people
in that black hill below Tomé.
XXVI
THE SOBBING PINE
ANOTHER folk-story told by the Quères colony in Isleta also relates
to Acoma, perched upon the great round cliff in its far, fair valley.
Among the folk-lore heroes of whom every Quères lad has heard is
Ees-tée-ah Muts, the Arrow Boy. He was a great hunter and did many
remarkable things, but there was once a time when all his courage
and strength were of no avail,--when but for the help of a little
squirrel he would have perished miserably.
On reaching manhood Ees-tée-ah Muts married the daughter of
the Kot-chin (chief). She was a very beautiful girl and her
hunter-husband was very fond of her. But, alas! she was secretly a
witch and every night when Ees-tée-ah Muts was asleep she used to fly
away to the mountains, where the witches held their uncanny meetings.
You must know that these witches have dreadful appetites, and that
there is nothing in the world of which they are so fond as boiled
baby.
Ees-tée-ah Muts, who was a very good man, had no suspicion that his
wife was guilty of such practices, and she was very careful to keep
him in ignorance of it.
One day, when the witch-wife was planning to go to a meeting, she
stole a fat young baby and put it to cook in a great _olla_ (earthen
jar) in the dark inner room. But before night she found she must go
for water, and as the strange stone reservoir at Acoma is a laborious
half-mile from the houses, she would be gone some time. So, as she
departed with a bright-painted _tinaja_ upon her head, she charged
her husband on no account to enter the inner room.
When she was gone Ees-tée-ah Muts began to ponder what she had said,
and he feared that all was not well. He went to the inner room and
looked around, and when he found the baby cooking he was grieved,
as any good husband would be, for then he knew that his wife was a
witch. But when his wife returned with water, he said not a word,
keeping only a sharp lookout to see what would come.
Very early that night Ees-tée-ah Muts pretended to go to sleep, but
he was really very wide awake. His wife was quiet, but he could feel
that she was watching him. Presently a cat came sneaking into the
room and whispered to the witch-wife:
“Why do you not come to the meeting, for we await you?”
“Wait me yet a little,” she whispered, “until the man is sound
asleep.”