Blaiwas Eagle
Kāhkaas Stork
Kówe Frog
Lok Bear
Swaiä Deer
Tcíkas Wren
Tcûskai Weasel
Tokwa Mole
Tsiwididik Road Runner
Tskel Mink
Tusasás Joker (Skunk)
Wámanik Bull Snake
Wekwek Magpie
Swaiä and her husband lived at the head of Sprague River, near a flat
where there were many roots. Swaiä had a baby, which she carried around
strapped on a board. One day when she was digging roots, Kówe came
along, and said: “Let me take care of your baby; then you can dig
faster.”
Swaiä’s husband had told her not to let Kówe touch the baby, but Swaiä
thought: “I will not go far; I can watch Kówe all the time.”
Kówe took the baby on her back and sat in a spring that was right there
where the mother was digging. After a while Swaiä said: “You needn’t
sit so long in one place; you can walk around a little.”
“I never dig roots. I will stay right here. I am afraid if I move
around, the baby will cry.” She held the baby all day, and Swaiä dug a
great many roots.
That night Swaiä’s husband told her to always keep her eyes on Kówe; if
she didn’t they might lose their baby. Kówe might steal it.
The next day Kówe said: “You can go as far as you like. You needn’t
watch. If the baby cries, I will take him to you.”
Kówe took such good care of the child that Swaiä began to feel easy, so
she went farther and farther. Once in a while she called: “Is the baby
crying?”
“No,” said Kówe, “the baby is good,” and she began to carry it around.
Swaiä said: “Don’t go near the spring again. If the baby drank water,
it might make him sick.”
“I won’t go there,” said Kówe. “I will just carry him around till he
goes to sleep.”
Swaiä was off near the hill. Kówe kept going nearer the spring; she was
waiting for a chance to steal the baby. At last Swaiä got so busy
digging that she forgot to watch Kówe. Then Kówe ran to the spring,
jumped in, went down under the water, and out of sight.
Just then Swaiä called, “Bring the baby here!” Kówe didn’t answer, and
Swaiä ran around calling: “Kówe! Kówe!” She nearly lost her mind; she
didn’t know which way she was going.
When her husband came, he said: “You must go one way, and I will go
another. We will look everywhere. We will turn to common deer, so that
we can look in the brush and among the rocks.”
Kówe traveled a long way, going underground from one spring to another.
At last she came to her own place. There were lots of people there.
Kówe had three babies, but she didn’t care for them; she spent all of
her time taking care of the baby she had stolen. She hid the child and
nobody knew that she had it till it began to walk. Then people asked
one another: “Whose child is that?” When they asked Kówe, she said: “It
is mine.” They didn’t believe her; some said: “No, that isn’t your
child. Look at your children. They are different; they are not like
this boy. Whose child is it?”
“It is mine,” said Kówe.
“No, it isn’t,” said one old woman. “Your children look just like you;
this one is nice-looking.”
“He is nice-looking because I carry him around all the time,” said
Kówe.
“Take up one of your own babies and carry it. Let us see if it will
look like this one.”
They talked till Kówe took up one of her children and carried it around
on her back. When she put it down, they said: “It hasn’t changed a bit.
We knew that it wouldn’t. This nice-looking boy is not yours; you stole
him.”
“I didn’t carry my baby far enough; that is why it didn’t change.”
They made her carry it again, but it didn’t change. Then they said: “We
know that this boy isn’t yours. If we can find his mother, we will give
him back to her.”
Kówe was scared, and she kept the boy out of sight as much as she
could. When he began to run about and play, she said to him: “You must
never play with any of the children around here. You must play with
your sisters.”
He thought Kówe’s girls were his sisters. The girls didn’t like him,
for their mother was kind to him and she scolded them. When he cried
she whipped them; she said that they abused him. Once, when one of the
girls was angry at him, she said: “You are not our brother. Our mother
isn’t your mother. What makes you call her mother?”
When the boy told Kówe what his sister said, she whipped the girl and
wouldn’t let her play with him again.
One day, when the boy was playing near the river, he found a mud-hole
and sat down by it and made balls to throw at birds. That night he said
to Kówe: “If I had a bow and arrow, I could shoot birds.” She gave them
to him, and the next morning he went to the mud-hole and watched for
birds. After a while he saw one with long legs,—a Tsiwididik; he shot
at it and hit it in the leg.
“Don’t shoot again!” called out Tsiwididik. “If you will take the arrow
out of my leg. I will tell you a story.”
Swaiä took the arrow out, then Tsiwididik said: “You think that Kówe is
your mother, but she isn’t; she stole you when you were a little baby.
Your father and mother mourned for you and hunted everywhere for you.”
The boy began to cry.
“Don’t cry,” said Tsiwididik. “Grow fast and get strong. You must stay
with Kówe till you are a big boy. If you ever see two deer together,
you mustn’t kill them or shoot at them. Maybe they are your father and
mother. This is all I have to tell you.”
Tsiwididik flew away and the boy went home. He could hardly see, his
eyes were so swollen from crying.
“What have you been crying about?” asked Kówe.
“I have lost my arrow.”
“You shouldn’t cry about that. I can make you all the arrows you want.”
The next morning, when the boy was going off to play, Kówe said: “You
must not go far, or stay long; I am lonesome when you are gone.”
The boy didn’t like Kówe now. He felt sorry for his father and mother;
he didn’t want to play. He went where the Kówe people were gambling
with sticks and watched them. He grew fast. After a while men taught
him to gamble; then he wanted to gamble all the time.
Kówe said: “You should stay at home. It isn’t right to gamble every
day.”
But the boy wouldn’t listen to her; he was thinking: “When I win
enough, I will go away from here.”
Kówe sat by and boasted: “You can’t beat my son; you can’t beat my son!
He is the best gambler in the world!”
Soon Swaiä won all the beads and shells the people had; then he stole
away in the night, left the Kówe people. While he was going along the
river, he saw Tcoóks. The old man sat by the water trying to catch fish
with a flint-pointed spear. Swaiä shouted to him; called him “Uncle.”
Just as he shouted, a big fish got away from the spear.
“You are not my nephew,” said Tcoóks. He was cross, for he had lost the
fish. He wouldn’t talk with Swaiä; he got up and went off toward the
hill.
Swaiä traveled on till he came to the edge of a village, then he turned
himself into an old man, and his shells and beads into dirty old
trinkets, and sat down by the trail.
Ndukis’ daughter saw the old man and right away she knew he was young.
She took him home and pounded seeds for him. Her sisters were angry at
her for bringing such a dirty old man into the house.
He made a pillow of his pack and lay down. He looked old and wretched.
The Ndukis people were nice-looking, and each one of them had a
duckskin blanket.
As soon as it was dark in Ndukis’ house, the old man became young and
bright and beautiful, and his bundle began to shine. The house was full
of light from Swaiä and his bundle.
When the people heard that the old man had changed, that he was young
and fine-looking, they came to see him. They asked him to run a race
with them. Blaiwas, Tcûskai, Tskel, Lok, Wekwek, Tokwa, Wámanik,
Tcíkas, Kāhkaas, Tusasás, were at the race; everybody was there.
When Swaiä began to run, he made himself old. As the runners passed
him, they laughed, and called out: “We can beat you easily! We can beat
you easily!” They ran around a hill. The first time around the old man
was behind. Then he became a young, fine-looking man and won the race
each time. He beat Tskel, a great runner, and Lok (whose name was
Kĭc—to look far off), for Swaiä could run faster than eyes could look.
Swaiä liked the Ndukis people. He stayed with them always.