Kéis Rattlesnake
Kékina Lizard
Kéwe Eel
Kûlta Otter
Moi Squirrel
Ndúkis Duck-hawk
Tcoóks Crane
Tusasás Joker (Skunk)
Wámanik Bull Snake
Wískäk Cedar-bird
Witkátkis A Hawk
Ygiak A Bird “that never sleeps.” (English name unknown.)
Ndúkis’ house was on the bank of Klamath Lake and near it was the house
of old man Tcoóks. On the south side of the lake lived Wískäk and her
two daughters. The daughters liked the Shasta people; they went often
to see them and carry them presents. Once, on the way home, the girls
stopped to dig roots west of where Ndúkis and Tcoóks lived. Ndúkis saw
them. He thought: “Those are nice-looking girls. They dig roots fast. I
like those girls.”
Now Witkátkis came to visit Ndúkis and his son; they were kin. Ndúkis’
wife said: “I’m glad you have come, there are nice-looking girls living
right south of here. They are good workers; they dig roots summer and
winter, you should get one of those girls for a wife.”
“I am afraid they wouldn’t like me,” said Witkátkis.
“Where do they live?” asked Ndúkis’ son.
“You have traveled all around,” said his mother. “You ought to know
where they live. When you are on the mountain, look toward the south,
and you will see a big house; they live in that house.”
The next time the sisters came from Shasta, they camped on the way, and
in the night one said to the other: “I can’t sleep; I feel that
somebody is looking at me.”
“I feel that way, too,” said her sister. They got up and started for
home.
Ndúkis’ mother said: “If you want to see those girls, you must go to
the mountain and watch for them. After a while you will see them
digging roots. Don’t go to their house. Wait a little while and watch
them, then go down the mountain till you come to a small house. An old
man lives in that house. He is kin of old man Tcoóks. Go in and talk to
him.”
Ndúkis went to the mountain and soon he heard the girls singing. They
always sang when they worked. He watched them and saw how quickly they
dug roots; then he went to Tcoóks’ house.
Tcoóks had been fishing. He was cooking fish when Ndúkis got there.
“What did you come for?” asked the old man. “You never thought of me
before—young men should travel around and see people; that is the way
to be strong. Do you want some fish?”
Tcoóks’ wife said: “Ndúkis never eats our kind of food; he eats ducks.”
“Cook him a duck,” said Tcoóks, but he thought in his head: “Why
doesn’t he eat fish?”
The old woman cooked a duck and gave it to the young man. He ate all
around the neck, but didn’t eat the rest of the duck.
“Why don’t you eat?” asked Tcoóks. “My old woman is kin to you; you
should eat lots. In a strange house it would be right not to eat much;
here it’s different.”
“He never eats much,” said the old woman. Ndúkis didn’t say anything.
“You are a young man, you should have a wife,” said Tcoóks. “There are
nice-looking young women in the next house; they are great workers.”
“They wouldn’t like me,” said Ndúkis.
“Once Kûlta tried to buy those girls,” said Tcoóks. “They wouldn’t go
with him. They said they didn’t belong to the water and they wouldn’t
marry a man who lived in the water. Maybe they will go with you; you
live on land. Every time a rain is over, they bring out nice
things,—beautiful shells, and beads.”
“I want you to go and buy them for me,” said Ndúkis. “I am kind of
scared.”
Tcoóks went to old woman Wískäk’s, and Ndúkis went home.
Tcoóks said: “Don’t you get tired of your girls sometimes? They are old
enough to get a man. They have lived single a long time.”
“Kûlta wanted them but I couldn’t make them go with him,” said Wískäk.
“My nephew wants them,” said Tcoóks. “He told me to ask you for them.
He will give you nice things.”
The girls were digging roots; when they started for home, and were near
the house, the elder said: “I hear somebody talking. Some man is in our
house. Let us sit down outside.”
“No,” said the younger. “It is better to go in.” They went in, sat by
the fire, and held their heads down. The elder whispered: “I wonder
what Tcoóks is here for?”
Their mother asked: “Will you marry this man’s nephew?”
The elder sister asked the younger: “What will you do?”
“Ndúkis lives on high rocks,” she said. “Maybe we would fall off. I
don’t like high rocks.”
Wískäk said: “I knew you would say something bad.” Then she asked the
elder sister: “Will you go with him?”
“No. Why do you ask a second time? Ndúkis is not like us. He doesn’t
live the way we do. I wish you would let us alone.”
Tcoóks said: “I am afraid of Ndúkis. He can beat everybody by getting
up early. That is the kind he is. If you go around digging roots, he
will be watching you. He won’t want you, but he will be mad. That is
his way.”
The next morning, when the girls started off, they said: “We are going
to Mlaiksi.” [14]
“Why do you go there so often?” asked their mother. “You had better not
go to-day, you might meet Ndúkis.”
“We will go where we like,” said the elder sister. “We are not afraid;
Ndúkis can’t hurt us.”
They started early, but Ndúkis was on the mountain, watching for them.
The elder sister walked ahead. Every step she took she stumbled, as if
the steps were telling her that she was going to meet somebody. At last
she said to her sister: “My steps stumble. That means something.”
“Tcoóks told us Ndúkis was a bad man when he got mad. It is your fault
if we meet trouble,” said the younger girl.
They looked around as they climbed the mountain, but Ndúkis was sitting
on the highest rocks and they didn’t look high enough to see him. When
they were on the other side of the mountain, the younger sister looked
back. She saw Ndúkis and screamed. She ran one way, and her sister ran
another. They were frightened. They went into thick bushes and stayed
there a long time. Ndúkis sat on the rocks and laughed to see how
frightened they were. He sat there till midday, then went home.
That day young man Moi was out hunting for deer. He was fine-looking.
He wore a beaded buckskin band around his head. All at once he came
upon the Wískäk girls hiding in the bushes. “Who are you?” asked he.
“You scared me.”
The elder sister said: “I know you; you are the little chief who lives
by the river. You are our kin.”
“Come out of the bushes,” said Moi. “Who frightened you?”
“We saw Ndúkis watching us,” the elder sister said.
“He is a nice young man,” said Moi. “He won’t hurt you, but you can go
with me if you are afraid of him.”
“No,” said the elder sister, “we are going to Mlaiksi.” And they
traveled on.
When Ndúkis passed Tcoóks’ house, the old man asked: “Where have you
been?”
“I have just been walking around,” said Ndúkis. “I met the two sisters.
They were scared and ran into the bushes. I don’t like them.”
When Tcoóks told Wískäk that Ndúkis was mad at her daughters, she
cried; she thought maybe he had killed them.
On the way home from Mlaiksi, the girls saw people digging roots in
places where they had always dug.
When they told their mother, she said: “Stay in the house. I will go
and see why they are digging around here.”
She took five steps and was there. The people were scared. They had
never seen Wískäk, for she always stayed at home and sent her daughters
to dig. When she found that they were getting all the roots, she went
home, and said: “Come and help me; we must dig fast and get as many
roots as we can.”
Those people lived near Shasta River. When they started, they sent word
to all their kin that they were going off to dig roots, but they forgot
to tell young man Wámanik, who lived on the north side of the digging
place, so he started off alone.
The elder Wískäk girl said to her mother: “You go straight ahead: we
will go on the north side, where there are nice long roots.” When they
got there, the ground was turned up and all the roots were gone.
Wámanik was there. When he found that the roots had been dug, he was
mad. He stood up tall and looked bright. The elder sister didn’t see
him. The younger one saw him and ran.
Wámanik fell in love with her right away. He thought she was so
nice-looking that he would like her for a wife, and in some way he took
hold of her heart, so she wouldn’t get frightened. He followed her to
the spring where she went to get water to drink.
Her sister was there. The younger asked: “Did you pass anybody?”
“No.”
“Then your eyes are poor, for I saw a nice-looking young man.”
The elder sister took her cap and was going to drink. Just then Wámanik
stood up in the form of a snake. She screamed, dropped her cap, and ran
off, when she came to where her mother was digging, she was so scared
that her eyes were sticking out, and she couldn’t speak.
Her mother asked: “Why don’t you talk?”
After a while she said: “There is a big snake in the spring.”
“Well, well,” said her mother, “what kind of a man do you want? You
can’t live single all your life.”
When the elder sister ran away, Wámanik turned to a nice-looking man.
He came up to the younger girl and said: “I can be a great many
different things. I am a spirit of this earth; I have seen you often,
but I didn’t want to show myself to your sister; I wanted to frighten
her. I don’t like her as well as I do you. I have heard you talk, and I
want you for a wife, for I like you. I can turn to a snake, but I am a
man, and I have lots of nice clothes.” Then he turned to a snake again,
for he saw the old woman and her daughter coming.
On the way home the younger girl said to her mother: “Make a bed for us
and put on our panther-skin blankets.”
Wámanik was under the ground just where the girls were sitting. In the
night when they woke up, they felt somebody between them. At daylight
Wámanik went down in the ground right where the bed was. Every night
after that the girls changed. If a person saw them one day they didn’t
know them the next. Wámanik came each night. In the daytime he was
under the ground near where they were digging roots.
There was a Tusasás among the people digging roots, and he said: “I am
going to marry those nice-looking girls. They are great workers; they
will get me lots to eat.”
People knew now that Wámanik was the husband of old Wískäk’s daughters,
and that that was why they looked different each morning, so they said
to Tusasás: “If you make Wámanik mad, you won’t be a person long. He is
a strong man; he can do anything.”
Tusasás said: “I am stronger than Wámanik. I am not afraid of him.”
Wámanik heard him talk about his wives and right away he was mad. He
made Tusasás itch till he scratched the skin and flesh off from his
body. People laughed at him, and said: “Maybe Wámanik will kill you; he
is a great doctor.”
Wámanik said to Kéwe: “Go and tell Tusasás to stop making fun of my
wives and stop talking about me. If he doesn’t, he’ll no longer be a
person.”
Wámanik was bright like the sun, and both his wives were bright. He was
so bright that people couldn’t go into old woman Wískäk’s house. He was
a man at night and when he went to hunt for deer, but if he got mad, or
didn’t want people to see him, he turned to a snake and went under the
ground. He was a great hunter. There was lots of deer meat in the old
woman’s house.
Wískäk’s brother had such a large family that his children were always
hungry. Wámanik told his mother-in-law to send for him to come and get
meat. The old woman sent a man for him, but the man came back alone,
and said: “He won’t come.” That made the old woman cry; she said: “My
kin hate us.”
The man said: “They are afraid of your son-in-law; that is why they
don’t come here. They don’t want to see him.”
“I won’t hurt them,” said Wámanik; “they are my wives’ kin. I have no
people; I belong to the Earth. I live under the mountains and under the
water. Go and tell them not to be afraid of me; tell them to come. I am
a person. Maybe they don’t know that.”
The man went back and talked nice, but they wouldn’t come. Then he
said: “If you don’t come, you will make Wámanik mad.”
They all came. Wámanik gave nice things to the youngest boy. “Are you
afraid of me now?” asked Wámanik. “I heard what you said. I can hear
what people say when they are far away. I like you and I want you to
like me.” The children ate lots. They felt glad.
One day old Wískäk said: “My girls are tired of digging roots, I want
to dig sometimes.”
“They’ll never get tired,” said Wámanik, “they’ll always work. You are
old and you must rest; you’ll die soon.”
Kékina said to Wámanik: “Your wives don’t love you. There is a young
man after them all the time. They wanted to marry Ndúkis.”
That made Wámanik feel badly. In the evening, when he went to his
mother-in-law’s house, he asked the elder sister: “Is any one in love
with you and your sister?”
“No,” said the woman. “Why do you ask that?”
“I don’t like the way you talk. You don’t tell me the truth,” said
Wámanik. “The first time I saw you, your eyes stuck out, as if you had
seen somebody; you looked scared. I won’t keep you if somebody else
wants you.”
Old Wískäk had been after red bark to color roots; when she came home
she found her younger daughter crying. The girl told her what Wámanik
had said. The old woman was angry, but she didn’t know what to do.
Kékina went to Ndúkis, and said: “Wámanik is saying bad things about
you.”
Ndúkis listened and heard what Wámanik said to his wife. The next
morning he went early, before anybody was up in the world, and sat on a
rock where he could see old Wískäk’s house; he looked awful ugly.
Ygiak, a man who never slept, was out hunting for sticks; when he saw
Ndúkis, he was so scared that he dropped his sticks and ran home.
At midday Ndúkis came down from the rocks. Somebody ran into Lok’s
house, and said: “There is going to be a great fight. Ndúkis is mad at
Wámanik and he will kill him.”
Lok said: “Ndúkis has a big spirit. Wámanik is strong, too. They will
scare each other, but they won’t fight.”
Old Wískäk was willing Ndúkis should kill her son-in-law, for she
didn’t like him. She said to her daughters: “I am going to leave you; I
have lived with you long enough. I don’t like your husband. When he
wanted you, why didn’t you say that you couldn’t live under the ground,
that you would smother? You should have taken Ndúkis; he is your kind.”
As she talked, she turned to a bird, and when she was through talking,
she flew off to the mountains. She did it herself; she didn’t want to
be a person any longer. But each day she came back and talked to her
daughters; she wanted to make them willing to turn to birds and go with
her to the mountains, for she could not go far away while they were
persons.
People heard Wískäk talk as she flew around. The youngest daughter
said: “I wouldn’t talk so much. You wanted us to marry. Wámanik is as
good as Ndúkis.”
“Ndúkis doesn’t turn to a snake every time he goes out of the house,”
said the old woman.
The elder daughter cried all the time, and didn’t eat anything. She
didn’t want to go to the mountains; she didn’t want to stay with
Wámanik, and she didn’t want to marry Ndúkis. She said to her mother:
“You mustn’t come around where people live; you must hide among the
brush and trees.”
Wískäk didn’t like that. She said: “I will turn you into a snake, and
when you cross the road in front of people they will throw dirt in your
face. You will deceive people; you will pretend to be kind, then you
will bite them.”
She turned her daughters into snakes, and then flew off toward the
east. As she started, she called out to her son-in-law: “You will never
be a man again; you will be a snake, with a body like your panther-skin
blanket.”
The old woman kept going east till she came to a place where there were
low cedar trees; she made her home there. She talks like a person yet,
and that place is full of her kin.