Góshgoise Rabbit (small)
Juljulcus Cricket
Kaudokis Worm
Lóluk Fire
Skóla Meadow Lark
Tsmuk Darkness
Yaukûl Stone People
Five brothers lived together on the east side of Tula Lake; all had the
same name, Yaukûl; the youngest was chief. Not far away lived the five
Tcpun brothers, kin of the Yaukûls; each brother had one child. The
wives of those men had been captured by the Yaukûl brothers, and made
servants.
Each day old woman Yaukûl went to the top of her house and watched the
trail. Whenever she saw people coming, she called to her sons, who sat
by the fire, with long spears stuck in the ground around them. They
went out, killed the men, and brought the women home. The brothers
never left the house except when they went to kill people.
Each morning old Yaukûl went to every house in the village and sent the
women to dig roots; then she watched them from the top of the house,
and if a woman ate even one little root, she had her punished.
One morning, the old woman said to her sons: “There is snow on the
ground.”
The youngest son said: “Tell the Tcpun brothers to go for rabbits.”
She went to the house of the five brothers, and said: “Go and hunt
rabbits; my sons are hungry for meat.”
Four of the Tcpun brothers had been worked so hard that they were only
skin and bones. The fifth brother was able to hunt, for while hunting
he always stole and ate a rabbit. The brothers had only ragged bark
blankets; the old woman took away the rabbit skins.
The youngest brother got ready and started; as he went along, he picked
up pieces of bark to tie on his feet to keep them from freezing. While
hunting he kept saying: “I am hunting as though I were going to eat,
but I never eat.”
Each day for three days an orphan boy heard those words. When he got
home, the third night, he said: “Grandmother, in the woods I hear a man
talking and crying. I thought no one lived around here.”
“What does he say?”
When the boy told, the old woman said: “That is my brother,” and she
began to cry. Then she told Góshgoise, the boy, about the Yaukûl
brothers. “To-morrow I am going to see that man,” thought Góshgoise.
The grandmother knew his thoughts; she knew he would try to kill the
Yaukûls.
The next morning old Yaukûl said to her sons: “There is snow on the
ground.”
The youngest son said: “Tell the Tcpun brothers to go for rabbits.”
She went to their house and said: “This is a good day to hunt rabbits;
my sons are hungry for meat.”
The youngest brother started off. He killed rabbits by calling them to
him and dropping large stones on them. That day the boy was watching;
he saw the man a long way off, saw him kill a rabbit, skin it, and then
build a fire. He went toward him, and when near hid behind bushes. When
the man turned to pick up sticks, he saw the boy and was scared. He
said: “I never saw you before; I didn’t know there was any one like you
living around here.”
“My grandmother and I live among the rocks,” said the boy. “I came to
see you; I often hear you cry. Why can’t you eat what you kill? I
wouldn’t kill, if I couldn’t eat.”
“Where I live, nobody can eat,” said the man; “the Yaukûls would kill
them. They have killed your father and all your people. I am sorry you
heard me crying. I don’t want them to find you; I want you to grow to
be a man. That is why I never looked for you.”
“Why don’t you cook another rabbit?”
“They will kill me if I carry home only a few. The old woman never has
enough.”
The boy had his belt full of rabbits; he gave them to the man, and
said: “Stay here and cook these; don’t go home till it is dark, don’t
go till you are sure the old woman can’t see you. Then feed your
brothers and the children. To-morrow I will come and see you.”
“It is a bad place; don’t come,” said the man. “The Yaukûls will kill
you. You must stay away and grow up.”
When the boy got home, his grandmother said: “You are late, but you
haven’t any rabbits.”
“I met my uncle and gave him my rabbits. I have found out why he cries
so. He has to hunt rabbits for the Yaukûl brothers, but if they knew
that he ate even one little rabbit they would kill him. To-morrow I am
going to see my uncles.”
The grandmother said: “If you go, you will not come back; the Yaukûl
people will kill you.”
“I am going,” said the boy. “Get my things ready.”
His grandmother gave him a spear like the spears used by the Yaukûl
brothers.
“I don’t want that spear,” said the boy, “it will break.”
She gave him a thick axe, and he said: “That is too heavy.” She gave
him a knife, made of wood and covered with pitch, and he said: “That is
not strong enough; it will break.”
That night, while the boy was asleep, the old woman made a quiver out
of her own hair. The quiver was blue and bright. Then she made a spear
that would last always and never get old or break. At daylight she said
to him: “Now, my grandson, it is time to get ready. Wash and eat, then
I will tell you what to do.”
He washed in the brook and ate pounded seeds. Then she gave him the
spear, and said: “Go to the rock out there and try this spear. Stand on
the right side of the rock and strike it five times.” He struck four
times, and each time great pieces of rock fell; the fifth time the rock
split in the center. Every time he struck, the spear looked like a
flash of lightning.
His grandmother said: “Look at your spear and see if it is hurt.”
“No,” said the boy, “it is as good as ever.”
“Well, put it in its quiver; then stand up straight.”
He stood up straight. She made him tall and covered his body with five
kinds of rock. The outside cover was of granite.
Then the boy asked: “How many places are there where people kill
folks?”
“The Yaukûl place is the worst of all,” said his grandmother, “but
between that place and the end of the world in the north there are
three bad places.”
“Don’t get frightened if I am gone a long time,” said the boy. “I am
going to all those bad places.” And he started.
Old woman Yaukûl, from the top of her house, saw him coming. Her sons
were lying on their backs and looking at her through the smoke hole;
they thought she saw some one, and the chief called out: “Whom do you
see?”
“I see a man who is just big enough to bring water. He has a
rabbit-skin blanket, and he has something on his back, something that
is nice and bright.”
“Go and get him,” said the chief, “and the thing he is carrying. I
wonder who it is that has never heard of me!”
When the old woman got to Góshgoise, she said: “Give me your blanket
and quiver.”
The boy walked along; he didn’t say a word.
She went back to her sons, and said: “He looks like a bad man; he won’t
say a word, and he won’t give me what he has on his back.” She called
him names; she was mad.
Her son said: “Go again!”
When she came to Góshgoise the second time, she said: “Give those
things to me, quick; my son is mad.”
Góshgoise was lying on the ground with his head on his hands. He didn’t
say a word, didn’t notice her. She talked and talked, but couldn’t get
the things. She went and told her sons that the man wouldn’t give her
his blanket and quiver, and wouldn’t speak to her.
The youngest son said: “Who can that man be? Has he never heard of me?
I thought every one knew about me. Go again, and this time be sure to
get the things.”
The old woman ran to Góshgoise, and screamed: “Give me your blanket and
quiver! This is the last time I’m going to ask for them! My sons are as
strong as you are. You’ll give up your things when they come!” She was
mad, she looked ready to fight. The Tcpun brothers were watching; they
were scared. Still the boy didn’t say a word. When she couldn’t make
him speak, she went back to the house.
Her son screamed: “Where are the things?”
“He won’t give them up.”
“I’ll go and kill him,” said the eldest brother. When he stood up, he
was so tall and heavy that he shook the house. He thought he could kill
the boy easily, so he didn’t put on his stone cover. With one step he
reached Góshgoise. “Give me those things!” shouted he.
Góshgoise stood up. With his right hand he held his spear under his
left arm, but his head was covered with his blanket, as if he didn’t
hear or see the man.
When Góshgoise didn’t answer, Yaukûl screamed: “Don’t you hear?” and he
raised his spear to strike. That minute Góshgoise’s spear flashed out
and took Yaukûl’s head off with one blow.
Góshgoise threw the head over the house, and the body after it. The old
woman cried out: “What is that? It looks like my son’s head!” and she
ran around the house to see what had fallen.
Góshgoise went into his uncle’s house, and said: “Cut a hole through
the wall, so that I can see out.”
When the Yaukûls saw that Góshgoise had killed their brother, they got
ready to fight. They had a sister, who had never been out of the house,
and had never spoken to any one. When the brothers were putting on
their stone bodies, the sister said: “You will find that you are not
the strongest people in this world,” and she began to cry. The brothers
were frightened. They had never heard their sister’s voice before.
Góshgoise gave a spear to each of the five Tcpun brothers and said: “If
the last Yaukûl comes, you must help me fight him.”
When the second brother was half-way to the house Góshgoise met him,
and the two began to fight. At the first blow the boy struck Yaukûl
with his spear; the first kind of rock flew off. When Yaukûl struck the
boy, only dust flew. The boy hit Yaukûl five blows. At each blow a
different kind of rock was broken. When the fifth cover broke, Yaukûl
died. Each blow of the boy’s spear was a flash of lightning. The third
and fourth brother came out to fight. Every time they struck Góshgoise
a blow, he said: “In another place,” so they never hit him twice in the
same place. Góshgoise struck their covers off and killed them.
When the fifth brother came, he struck first, and raised a flash of
fire that went through three of the boy’s stone covers. Góshgoise
struck off two of Yaukûl’s stone covers, then told his uncles to strike
right where he had struck. They broke all the covers and killed the
man. As he died, the boy said to him: “Hereafter, you and your brothers
will be nothing but water fowls, you will eat only dead fish. People
will laugh at you, for you will always sit by the water, whichever way
the wind blows.”
Góshgoise killed old woman Yaukûl and threw her body off; she became
the same kind of bird as her sons. The daughter he took for a wife.
Among the captives in Yaukûl’s house he found his mother and aunts.
“I am going away,” said Góshgoise to his uncles. “You mustn’t stay
here; you and all these women must go to my grandmother’s place.” He
knew that his grandmother would have a big house ready for them.
He asked his mother how many people there were at the next bad place.
“There are five brothers,” said she. “The eldest brother has a
beautiful wife. Those brothers have killed all the men and children in
that country. The women are captives and have to dig roots for the five
brothers. The eldest brother’s wife goes with them to watch them while
they dig.”
Góshgoise traveled on. He went to the top of a high mountain, looked
down on the other side, and saw, on the flat below, women digging
roots. The first woman was his father’s sister; her head was covered
with pitch, for she was mourning for her husband. When Góshgoise got
near, he crept along quietly till he stood behind his aunt. She saw a
second shadow and turned around to see what made it. The minute she saw
Góshgoise, she knew he was her nephew; she cried out: “Go away! Why did
you come here? This is a bad place!” Góshgoise didn’t answer. “How did
you pass the Yaukûl brothers?” asked his aunt.
“I killed them.”
“The five Kaudokis brothers live here,” said the woman. “We have to
work for them. If we didn’t work, they would cut our legs or ears off
and make us eat them. The eldest brother has a beautiful wife—that
bright woman over there—she looks like the moon.”
“I have come here for a wife,” said Góshgoise. “Have those men
sisters?”
“Oh, my nephew,” said his aunt, “go away, you will be killed. We are
all captives. There is no woman here for you.”
“I want that bright woman,” said Góshgoise, “and I’m going to fight for
her.”
He ran to the woman, caught hold of her, and made her sit down; then he
put his head on her knees.
“Who are you?” cried the woman. “Go away! The five brothers will see
you and they will kill you. Go away!”
She cried, and all the women cried and begged Góshgoise to go away; but
he stayed there; he wouldn’t get up, and he wouldn’t let the woman get
up.
The Kaudokis brothers wore blankets made of untanned elk-skin.
Góshgoise heard the noise of some one running and at the same time
pounding a dry, stiff hide. The eldest brother was coming.
The women cried: “Run away; he will kill you!”
“No, he won’t,” said Góshgoise, and he covered his head with his
blanket. Mole was Góshgoise’s medicine, and was always with him. He
said to Mole: “Make holes around here!”
Mole made a great many holes. When Kaudokis came rushing along with a
spear in his hand, he fell into one of the holes, and Góshgoise cut his
head off. The second brother came and was killed in the same way. The
women were watching; they were glad. Each time they called out:
“Another is coming!”
As the third brother came near, he called out: “Where did you come
from? What do you want here? Nobody can beat me!”
That minute he fell into a hole, and Góshgoise cut his head off. Each
time Góshgoise killed a Kaudokis, he pulled off his elk-skin blanket,
and put it on himself.
The women said: “Now the youngest brother is coming! He is stronger
than the others.”
The fifth brother came in a terrible whirlwind. Góshgoise thought:
“Maybe he will kill me,” and he cried to Mole: “Dig deeper holes!” Just
as Kaudokis raised his spear to strike, he stumbled and fell into a
hole. Góshgoise cut his head off, put on his elk-skin blanket, and
said: “Hereafter, you and your brothers will be nothing but creeping
things.” That minute the souls of the Kaudokis brothers flew out and
became worms.
Góshgoise took the eldest brother’s wife for his own wife; then he
freed all the captives and sent them, with his wife and his aunt, to
stay with his grandmother, while he went farther.
His aunt said: “As you travel, you will come to a high mountain; from
the top of the mountain you will see a large village. Old man Juljulcus
lives there. He has one son and one daughter, and if any man falls in
love with the girl, her brother kills him.”
Góshgoise traveled very fast; that night he camped on a high mountain,
and the next morning he looked down into the valley. There was a river
in the valley, and many women were walking along the bank; they were
hunting for roots. Behind them all, Góshgoise saw Skóla, one of his
aunts. As he went down the mountain, he stopped often to listen, for
all those women were singing. He could hear his aunt’s voice. She was
cleaning roots and throwing them into a basket that she had on her
back. When Góshgoise came behind her, she saw two shadows. She turned
around and looked up; when she saw who it was, she cried out: “Why did
you come here? This is a bad place.”
“Do you know me?” asked Góshgoise.
“You are my nephew. How did you pass the house of the five Kaudokis
brothers?”
“I killed them.”
When Góshgoise saw the daughter of old Juljulcus, he told his aunt he
was going to her.
“What are you going to her for?” asked Skóla. “Don’t go there; you will
get killed. Don’t you see that great pile of bones there by the house?
Those are the bones of men who have come for old Juljulcus’ daughter.”
That minute the wind began to blow, and Skóla said: “They know that you
are here. They know everything. The brother is coming to kill you.”
“Who is ‘Two-Tongued’ talking to?” asked one woman of another. (They
called Skóla two-tongued, because she could talk two ways.) “He is a
nice-looking man, but Juljulcus will kill him.”
Góshgoise ran to old Juljulcus’ daughter, caught hold of her, drew her
down, and put his head on her knees.
She was scared and tried to get away. “Let me go!” said she. “No man
can fall in love with me; if he does, my brother will kill him.”
The brother was coming in the middle of a whirlwind. His blanket, made
of the dried skin of people, rattled terribly.
The sister bent over Góshgoise to save him. He said: “You mustn’t do
that; you might kill me.” He told Mole to dig a great hole right there
near him. The wind blew so hard that the women fell down and were blown
along over the flat, but Góshgoise held himself and the girl to the
ground.
Just as Juljulcus’ son lifted his spear to strike, he fell into the
hole Mole had made, and Góshgoise killed him. “Hereafter,” said
Góshgoise, “you will be small and weak; nothing but a cricket. You will
lie near roots, and wherever people put their seeds and dried roots
under the ground, there you will be.”
Juljulcus’ spirit came out and was a cricket. When the girl stepped
over her brother’s body, the cricket jumped on Góshgoise; it seemed to
like him.
Góshgoise spent the night at old Juljulcus’ house; in the morning he
asked his wife: “Are all the great fighters dead?”
She asked her father, and he said: “My son-in-law, bad people live near
the ocean. As you travel, you will come to a high mountain; from the
top of that mountain, if you look toward the ocean, you will see a
village, with smoke rising from each house. You must get to that
village after dark. Don’t go there in daylight.”
Góshgoise told his father-in-law and all the women to go to his
grandmother’s place and stay there till he came.
“How far away is your grandmother’s house?” asked the old man.
“It is on the other side of the world, in the south,” said Góshgoise.
Old Juljulcus’ spear was the little lightning that flashes all around
the sky. Góshgoise gave his spear, long lightning, to his
father-in-law, and took the old man’s spear. His wife gave him seed to
eat on the road, and they started. Old Juljulcus looked back, and said:
“Son-in-law, don’t forget what I have told you.”
It took Góshgoise two days to reach the mountain, but his wife and his
father-in-law camped a good many times before they got to his
grandmother’s house.
When Góshgoise reached the top of the mountain, he found a spring; he
talked to the spring, and to the earth, and to the trees, and to the
rocks; asked them not to hurt him. When he looked toward the ocean he
saw many houses and smoke coming out of each house; then he remembered
what his father-in-law had told him. As soon as he saw the smoke, the
sun went down.
The village was full of people; they looked like lightning bugs,
throwing fire, for each person had a lighted torch. When Góshgoise got
to the village, he found the people killing one another. He crept up
carefully, and with his short lightning spear began to cut off heads.
All night he killed people and burned houses. At daybreak, when there
was no one left to kill, Góshgoise went to the mountain, and standing
on the top, looked down. Only one house was left; that was the house of
old Tsmuk. (The people he had killed were Lóluks.) Góshgoise stayed all
day on the mountain, and when night came he went to Tsmuk’s house. (Day
was night for the people who lived with Tsmuk and night was day.)
In Tsmuk’s house there was a great ball of light; the light was so
strong that no one could look at it. Góshgoise held his lightning spear
in front of the ball, and said: “My spear is as bright as this ball; my
long spear would be stronger and brighter than the ball.”
Tsmuk’s daughter was near the door. She had the bright ball right there
at her side. Góshgoise sat down by her and turned his spear over. It
frightened those in the house, and one man called out: “What is that? I
saw something flash.” Góshgoise held the spear near his head, and they
didn’t see it again.
There were six persons in the house,—the old grandmother, Tsmuk, his
wife, his two sons, and his daughter. When the elder son was going to
make a fire, Góshgoise held out his spear. The young man saw it and was
scared. In the morning it was night for him, and he could see
Góshgoise. He pushed his brother, and said: “That is what came in here
last night.” He pushed his father, and said: “That is what came in here
last night!”
Old Tsmuk and his family were terribly scared, for lightning was
darting among them, and it was red like fire. The three men ran out of
the house, for they were afraid the thing would kill them.
Gushwean, an orphan, who had run away when Góshgoise was killing the
Lóluk people, came to the old man’s house. “Something strange got into
our house last night,” said old Tsmuk; “we didn’t know it was there. It
is bright and nice, but it scares us.” Then the old man asked: “Where
did you come from?”
“I live near here. Some one has killed all my people.”
“Maybe this thing killed them,” said the old man; “it is bloody. Look
in and see it.”
“No,” said the boy. “It will kill me.”
Old Tsmuk and his sons were afraid to look in. The mother and daughter
were in the house. The girl was crying; she was sorry for her father
and brothers. When she cried, Góshgoise asked: “Why do you cry?”
“This is the first time my father and brothers have ever been out of
the house.”
“Tell them to come in,” said Góshgoise. She told them, but they
wouldn’t come; they were afraid.
Old Tsmuk asked: “Can I live if I come in?” His voice trembled. “If you
will put that thing away, I will come.” Old woman Tsmuk told him that
the stranger had put his spear under his arm. Then Tsmuk said: “Ask the
stranger if he has come for my daughter.”
“I have come for her,” said Góshgoise.
Then the old woman asked: “Where will you stay?”
“I won’t stay here; my old grandmother is far away in the north. I will
take my wife to that place.”
When old man Tsmuk came in, Góshgoise put lightning above his head, and
it shot through the house and up to the sky. He did this to let his
grandmother know that he was at the end of his journey. Then he gave
the spear to his father-in-law to pay him for his daughter. Since that
time old Tsmuk has had short lightning.
Tsmuk took hold of Góshgoise’s hand, called him son-in-law, and began
to cry because he had nothing to give him. Tsmuk and his family were
naked; they had no beads or blankets.
“Why do you cry?” asked his wife. (She was a powerful old woman; she
could do anything.) When he told her, she said: “There is an island off
in the water; my brother lives there. You can go to that island and get
shells for our son-in-law. I will make you an elk-skin canoe.” She cut
an elk-skin into four pieces; one piece was for the bottom of the
canoe, one for the top and one for each side. “This canoe is strong,”
said she. “Don’t be afraid, and don’t think of anything bad. If a storm
comes, it will go around the canoe.”
Tsmuk and his younger son got into the canoe; the old woman raised a
strong wind behind it, and the canoe flew over the water. When it was
going very fast, old Tsmuk thought: “What would happen if a storm
came?” That minute a terrible whirlwind struck the canoe and drove it
back to the shore.
Then the water was calm. The old woman felt badly; she knew Tsmuk had
thought of a storm. She told him again not to think of anything, not to
be afraid, then she made a strong wind behind the canoe, and that time
it reached the island.
“What did you come for?” asked the brother-in-law.
“A man has come for my sister,” said Tsmuk’s son. “My father has
nothing to give him.”
The uncle brought beautiful shells and beads. As he loaded them into
the canoe, the canoe grew larger and larger, till Tsmuk had as many
shells and beads as he wanted.
The day that Tsmuk started for the island, his daughter had a little
girl. After fasting, Góshgoise wanted to go to his own home, for he was
hungry. He was a great hunter, but he couldn’t hunt in Tsmuk’s country,
and he couldn’t eat what the Tsmuk people ate.
“You mustn’t go,” said his mother-in-law; “you must wait for the
canoe.”
He went to the top of the high mountain, and looking off, saw on the
water something as big as a hill. “That must be an island,” thought he.
When he went back to Tsmuk’s house, he said to his mother-in-law: “In
the water there is an island as big as a hill.”
“That must be the canoe,” said the mother-in-law, and she went out to
see.
As soon as Tsmuk and his son left the island, they fell asleep, and
they slept till they were near land. Old Tsmuk woke up first. He wanted
to talk; he shook his son, and asked: “What do you think of your
brother-in-law?”
“I like him,” said the son.
That moment the canoe stopped; it was sinking, but the old woman spoke
to it, called: “Come farther! Come farther!” The canoe stopped sinking.
She made a rope of deerskin, threw one end of it to Tsmuk and began to
pull the canoe toward land. Under her arm she had her daughter’s baby.
When Tsmuk saw the baby, he was glad; he wanted to get ashore quickly.
He went to the end of the canoe and ran forward to jump, but he hit the
canoe and pushed it away. The old woman had to talk a long time and
make the wind blow in every direction, before she could get it back
again. Old Tsmuk was so scared that he couldn’t speak, and he couldn’t
hear.
His wife was scared and mad; she screamed to him: “You have made lots
of trouble. You will no longer be a person; you will be darkness, to be
used when people want to sleep!” And so it was.
Góshgoise and his wife went to his grandmother’s house, and old woman
Tsmuk and her sons went with them. The daughter kept the ball of light
by her side, and when people saw them coming they were scared, and
said: “Those people are coming to kill us.” But as soon as the
grandmother saw them, she said: “That man is my grandson!” Then every
one was glad.
After that, Góshgoise lived in his own country, with his wives, his
grandmother, and all his kin.