Blaiwas Eagle
Gäk Crow
Gapni Louse
Kāhkaas Stork
Kaiutois Wolf
Kaltsik Spider
Kéis Rattlesnake
Kékina Lizard
Kówe Frog
Kûlta Otter
Leméis Thunder
Lok Bear
Moi Squirrel
Näníhläs Bat
Skóŭks Woodtick
Súbbas Sun
Sukas
Tcûskai Weasel
Tskel Mink
Tusasás Skunk
Wŏn Elk
Two brothers, Tskel and Tcûskai, lived together not far from Klamath
Lake. Tskel’s wife was Skóŭks. Tcûskai was a little fellow. One day
when Skóŭks was outside cooking deer meat and was blowing the fire to
make it burn, she saw Tcûskai watching her; that made her mad and she
threw the meat into the fire. Tskel hit Tcûskai and told him to stay in
the house when Skóŭks was cooking; then he said to Skóŭks: “Cook more
meat; Tcûskai and I are going to the mountain to hunt for deer. If I
kill a big deer, we will camp and stay all night.” Tskel never killed a
deer; no matter how many he saw, he always let them get away.
When they got to the mountain, they saw a large deer; Tcûskai killed
it, and they camped in sight of a big hole between the rocks. Tskel
wouldn’t camp very near the hole, for he was afraid his brother would
go into it and get hurt. Tcûskai would go anywhere, he wasn’t afraid of
anything.
Tskel cut up the deer; then he and Tcûskai lay down, one on each side
of the fire. As soon as Tcûskai was asleep, Gopher came and ran across
him, just to tease him. Tcûskai woke up and called his brother: “Come
here! Come and see this little fellow! I will give him a piece of our
meat, and we will catch him.”
Tskel didn’t move; he was asleep. Tcûskai gave Gopher a small piece of
meat. He took it and ran off to the rocks, then came back for more,
carried that off and came back again. Each time he came Tcûskai gave
him a larger piece. At last all the deer meat was gone; then Tcûskai
went to Tskel, shook him, and said: “Get up! Get up! This little fellow
has carried off all of our meat.”
Tskel didn’t move or say a word. Tcûskai gave Gopher all the roots
Tskel had brought from home; then he took off Tskel’s belt and gave it
to him. Gopher carried it under the rocks. He gave him Tskel’s deerskin
cap and his rabbit-skin blanket.
In the morning when Tskel woke up, the north wind was blowing and he
was almost frozen. He asked Tcûskai where the blanket was. Tcûskai
said: “Gopher took it.”
“Then you gave it to him,” said Tskel; “Gopher couldn’t unwrap me.”
Tcûskai began to feel cold; he wanted to get into Tskel’s ear, but
Tskel was mad, and threw him out. Then he tried to get under Tskel’s
arm, but Tskel pushed him away and sat with his arms folded across his
breast, for he had no blanket and he was cold.
“Why are you so mad?” asked Tcûskai. “I will get those things back;
they are over there under the rocks.”
It was near daylight; Tcûskai was freezing to death. Tskel made a fire
and told him to lie down near it and get warm. Then he made himself a
bark blanket. When Tcûskai was warm, his brother said: “Now you must
get back the things you gave to Gopher.”
Tcûskai ran to the rock and looked into the hole; he thought it was
awful deep, but he ran back, and said: “The hole isn’t deep; we can
build a fire and drive Gopher out.”
“I want my blanket,” said Tskel; “maybe you can crawl in and get it.”
The mountain was Gopher’s house. The rocks were only the roof of it.
Tcûskai saw his brother’s belt, but he was afraid to go and get it.
Tskel said: “Make a fire and blow the smoke into the hole. How long can
you fan the fire without getting tired?”
“I can fan it till Gopher comes out,” said Tcûskai.
“But there are many holes,” said his brother. “You will have lots of
trouble. Do you think you can fill the holes with stones?”
“I can fill them quickly,” said Tskel. He ran around, threw stones into
the holes, then came back and blew the fire. But the smoke came out
through other holes, and Tskel said: “Go and stop up every hole you can
find.”
Tskel, to make Tcûskai sorry for what he had done, hid all the water in
a hole where he couldn’t find it. Little Tcûskai got very thirsty. He
ran from one spring to another but couldn’t find water; then he knew
that his brother had hidden it and he said: “I want some water.”
“You can’t have any until you have killed Gopher,” said Tskel. “When he
is dead, I will give you some.”
Tcûskai filled all the little holes and fanned smoke into the big hole.
At midday he said to his brother: “I am stronger than you are; you
never could have filled all these holes.” He went again to hunt for
water. At last he found the place where Tskel had hidden it; then he
drank and drank, drank nearly all the water there was in the hole.
Tskel wondered why Tcûskai didn’t come back. At last he thought: “Maybe
he has found the water; I will go and see.” Tcûskai was still drinking,
and only a little water was left. If Tskel hadn’t thought of the water
and gone to look for his brother, he would have drunk it all and there
would have been no water in the world.
Tskel caught hold of Tcûskai and threw him against the rocks so hard
that he killed him; then he scattered the water. There was only a
little left, but it spread fast, spread until there were rivers and
lakes. Then Tskel went to his brother, took off the string of rattles
he wore around his neck, and struck him five times with it. Tcûskai
came to life. Tskel said: “The holes are stopped up; now I will help
you kill Gopher. He is terrible to look at when he is mad. You must
keep your eyes closed; if you see him, you will die.”
Tskel had two stone knives. He gave one to Tcûskai, then he built a
fire and blew the smoke into the big hole. Tcûskai listened; there was
a noise of some one moving around in the hole. He was so scared that he
died. Tskel brought him to life, and said: “You mustn’t get scared.
That was only a young Gopher; old Gopher hasn’t moved yet.”
Tskel blew more smoke into the hole. There was a roar as though the
mountain was going to burst open. Tcûskai died again. Tskel brought him
to life, and said: “You have played with these people and made all this
trouble; now you must stay here till it is over. Don’t get scared every
time you hear a noise.”
Just then old Gopher moved and the earth shook. Tcûskai was dreadfully
frightened. (He was on one side of the hole and Tskel was on the
other.) There was a shaking and roar, then a great, red, fiery head
came out of the hole. Tskel cut the head off with his long knife,
skinned it, and made a cap of the skin; then he buried the head under
great flat rocks. Right away the rocks were as red as blood. (They are
red to this day.)
Tskel said to Gopher: “Hereafter you will be of no account. You will
dig in the ground and people will make fun of you.”
If Tskel hadn’t killed Gopher, there would be no one living in the
world now.
In the hole where Gopher was it is always hot, no matter how cold it is
outside. Gopher’s body, turned to stone, is still in the hole.
After Tskel killed Gopher, he and Tcûskai went home, but Tskel didn’t
want to stay there. He thought about his cousin, Kaiutois. One day he
said to Skóŭks: “I am going to see my cousin,” and he sent Tcûskai to
ask Gäk if he would go with them. Gäk was willing and the three started
off. As they traveled, people told them they mustn’t go near the Leméis
family, that they were killing everybody, that each day they carried
off men to eat. Tskel said: “I am traveling around the world to see
people; I’m not afraid of Leméis.”
When they got near Leméis’ house, Tskel put on his gopher-skin cap and
put little Tcûskai under his arm, where he couldn’t do any mischief.
Then he gave Gäk a sharp bone, and said: “When they give you dead men’s
meat to eat, make a hole in your throat and let it out; don’t swallow
it.”
The five Kaiutois brothers and old man Leméis with his wife and five
boys lived in one house. The five Kaiutois lived on one side of the
house and old Leméis on the other. When Tskel went to the house, the
Kaiutois brothers and Leméis boys were off hunting for deer.
Old Leméis and his wife saw Tskel’s gopher-skin cap and they were so
scared that they ran out of the house. They built a fire and began
cooking; they were afraid to go inside. The wives and children of the
Kaiutois brothers were frightened, too.
Tskel sat in the house with his head down. Tcûskai teased him to let
him put the cap on and run out and scare the old man, but Tskel pinched
him and told him to keep still where he was, under his arm. Gäk was
lying on the ground and looking at Tskel.
Soon old Leméis’ eldest son came home. When he saw his father and
mother outside, he asked: “What are you doing out here?”
The old man said: “There is something strange in our house. We can’t
stay there. We have never seen anything like it before. It is
terrible!”
“What is there stronger than I am?” asked the son. “I have been off
killing men. I am not afraid of this thing.”
“You haven’t seen it,” said old Leméis. “You can’t go into the house.”
The young man went to the house. He took one step down the ladder, saw
Tskel’s cap, and turned back, screaming so loud that the ground shook.
He said to his father, “There is something there stronger than I am; I
can’t go in.”
The second brother came home. He saw his father outside and asked: “Why
are you out here?”
“There is something in our house stronger than we are. We can’t go in,”
said the father.
The young man laughed, and asked: “What is there stronger than I am?
There is nothing I can’t kill.” He was down two steps of the ladder
when he saw the cap; he screamed and ran out.
One after another the five brothers came home. Each brother got one
step farther into the house; each one screamed and ran out. The fourth
brother said: “I am stronger than anybody. If this man had ever heard
of me, he wouldn’t have come here.” He took four steps into the house,
roared with fright, and ran away. The fifth brother was the strongest
of all the brothers. There were five steps down into the house; he was
on the last step when he saw Tskel’s cap. He roared and with one step
was out.
The five Kaiutois brothers came home just at sundown. When Tskel saw
them, he looked up and they knew him. He took off his cap, put it
behind him, and they all went in. Then they called their wives, and
asked: “Why didn’t you cook for this man? He is hungry. Come in and
cook deer meat for him.”
Tskel said: “Tell Leméis and his sons to come in. It is cold outside.”
They were glad; they went in, and right away they began to cook dead
men.
Kaiutois’ meat was done first, and Gäk and Tskel ate deer meat. Little
Tcûskai said: “Let me down, brother; I want to eat. I am hungry.”
Tcûskai pinched him and told him to keep still, but Tcûskai said: “I
can’t, you don’t give me enough to eat.”
When Leméis’ meat was done, the eldest son gave some of it to Gäk. Gäk
put it in his mouth, but it came out of the hole in his throat and
dropped on the ground.
Tskel put some strong sticks in Gäk’s arms, for he knew that the Leméis
brothers would try to kill him. They sat down by the fire and asked Gäk
to come and sit near them. Then they said to one another: “Let’s twist
arms,” and the eldest brother said: “Come and play with us, Gäk.”
Gäk said: “I never play that way.” After they had teased him a long
time, Tskel said: “Play with them; I won’t let them hurt you.”
The eldest brother took hold of Gäk, twisted his arm hard, but couldn’t
break it; it was soft. “Stiffen your arm,” said Leméis. Gäk stiffened
his arm, but Leméis couldn’t break it. Then Gäk took hold of Leméis’
arm, twisted it hard, and broke it. Leméis ran out of the house and
died.
The second brother was ashamed. He said: “That is the way my brother
always does. If he gets beaten, he runs away. Try me.” He twisted Gäk’s
arm, but no matter how he twisted he couldn’t break it. Then Gäk
twisted his arm and broke it, and he ran outside and died.
Gäk killed four of the brothers; then the youngest and strongest wanted
to try. Gäk didn’t want to twist arms with him, but Tskel said: “Don’t
be afraid, he can’t kill you.” Gäk held out his arm and Leméis twisted
it terribly. Gäk screamed; he couldn’t help it, it hurt so.
Then Tskel said to Leméis: “Let me twist your arm.” He took hold of
Leméis’ hand with a tight grip and broke every bone in it; then he
twisted his arm and broke it.
When all five of the old man’s sons were dead, Tskel said: “Hereafter
you will be of no use in this world. You will be persons no longer. You
will go up to the sky and all you will do there will be to frighten
people by making a big noise.”
He told the five Kaiutois brothers not to live in the house with old
Leméis and his wife. “Their house is dirty,” said he. “It smells of
dead people. The juice of dead people runs on to your meat; you have
the taste of it now, and in after times you will try to kill people.”
The Kaiutois brothers moved away. Old Leméis and his wife felt badly;
they were lonesome for their children. Tskel said: “You can go to your
sons; you are of no use in this world,” and he sent them to the sky.
Now Tskel and Tcûskai went home. Skóŭks was mourning; she thought they
were dead.
The next day Tskel went to hunt. He killed five deer and was home at
midday. He was dry and he sent his brother to bring him some water.
Tcûskai ran to the spring, and there, sitting in the spring, was an
old, white-haired man.
“What are you here for?” asked Tcûskai. “We don’t want old men in our
spring. My brother is dry. I am after water for him. Get out of our
spring!” He told him two or three times to get out. The old man didn’t
move, but at last he said: “Go and tell your brother to come and
wrestle with me.” Tcûskai ran back to the house.
“Why didn’t you bring me some water?” asked Tskel.
“There is an old man sitting in the spring,” said Tcûskai. “He won’t
let me get a drop of water.”
“Go back and get me some water!” said Tskel.
Tcûskai went back and screamed: “Get out of there, old man! You are all
dirt; you’ll spoil our water!”
The old man didn’t move, but he said: “Tell your brother to come and
wrestle with me. I hear that he has killed all the Leméis people. I am
their kin. I have come to wrestle with him.”
Tcûskai said: “Let my brother have some water to drink; then he will
come.”
The old man turned around and let Tcûskai take a little water out of
the spring. Tcûskai carried it to his brother, and said: “That old man
has come to fight you for killing the Leméis people. He wants you to
come to the spring and wrestle with him.”
Tskel drank the water and ate pounded seed. Then he went to the spring
and wrestled with the old man. They wrestled till dark, then the old
man threw Tskel, rolled him up in a skin blanket, took his own form,—an
animal with great horns,—put Tskel on his horns, and carried him down
in the water and off under the ground. He carried him a long distance,
then came out near a large lake. He took Tskel off his horns, unrolled
him, and said: “Look around, before I kill you.”
Tskel saw that they were on a narrow ridge of rock that ran, like a
little trail, to the middle of the lake.
The old man said: “When I get to the end of this trail, I will cut you
into small pieces and throw you to my children. They are hungry for
your flesh. As I throw the pieces, I will say: ‘Here is a piece of
Tskel. Eat it.’ They will be glad, and all my kin will be glad that you
are dead.”
When he was through talking, he rolled Tskel up again, put him on his
horns, and started. Tskel moved a little.
“What are you doing?” asked the old man.
“I am scratching myself.”
“You needn’t scratch; you will die soon.”
“I itch; I can scratch while I live,” said Tskel. He moved again.
“What are you doing now?” asked the old man.
“I don’t lie easy.”
“Why bother about that? you will die soon.”
“I don’t want to suffer while I live,” said Tskel. He was getting his
stone knife out. It was tied up in his hair and the old man hadn’t seen
it. With the knife Tskel cut holes in the skin blanket for his eyes and
his hands, and just as he got to the end of the trail, he stuck the
knife into the old man and killed him. Then he cut the body up and
threw it piece by piece into the lake. As he threw the pieces, he
called out: “Here is Tskel’s shoulder! Here are Tskel’s ribs! Here are
his legs! Here are his arms!” As fast as he threw the pieces, the old
man’s children caught and ate them. At last he threw the head. It was
an awful-looking thing, enough to scare any one.
When the children saw it and knew that they had eaten their father,
they were so mad that they sent everything they had to find Tskel and
kill him. They sent what they thought he would like,—knives, hatchets,
beads, shells, blankets—to lie in his path. If he took up any one of
them, he would die.
Tskel passed them all till he came to the last, a stone knife sharp on
both edges, that looked so nice that he picked it up. Right away the
ends of his fingers were burned off. He dropped the knife, rubbed his
fingers with his own stone knife, and they were well again. Then he
went on till he reached home. Skóŭks and little Tcûskai had covered
their hair with deer fat and pounded coal; they were mourning for him.
When Tskel saw Tcûskai, he asked: “What are you doing? Why are you so
dirty?”
Tcûskai said: “I was just going to look for you.”
Skóŭks said: “He should be whipped for telling lies. He has been
everywhere in the world hunting for you. Just now he came home and put
coal on his head, for when he couldn’t find you he thought you were
dead.”
Tskel was chief in the Klamath country. He was the strongest person
living. No other man could have killed the old man of the lake.
Now Tskel stayed at home for a long time. He killed deer and dried the
meat and told his brother many things about the people in the world.
One day when he was out hunting, he heard somebody singing a beautiful
song; he listened and wondered who it was. Then he followed the sound.
It drew him along till he came to a big cedar tree. A woman was sitting
on a bough of the tree and throwing cedar berries on to a blanket
spread under the tree. When she saw Tskel, she called out: “Come and
sit on the blanket!” He knew she was the old man’s daughter, and he
wouldn’t go near her; he went home.
The next day he heard the song again, but he didn’t follow it. He went
home and told Skóŭks that the old man’s daughter had come to kill him.
He didn’t hunt again. One day the woman came and sat in a clump of
bushes near Tskel’s house and told the crows to fly over her. Little
Tcûskai saw the crows and said to his brother: “The crows are eating
something. You had better go and see what it is.”
“Don’t go near that place,” said Tskel.
Tcûskai thought: “Why does my brother tell me not to go to those
bushes? I am going.” He went around the house, out of Tskel’s sight,
and crept toward the bushes. He found a woman sitting on a low stump;
as he went up to her she spat out beautiful beads. The second time she
spat, Tcûskai picked up some of the beads. Each time she spat the beads
were more beautiful than before.
“What kind of a woman are you?” asked Tcûskai. She didn’t answer.
Tcûskai went home, and said: “Oh, brother, there is a beautiful woman
over there in the bushes. You must have her for a wife. Send Skóŭks off
and take her.” Tskel said: “Why don’t you get her for a wife; she must
have come for you.” He was sleepy. He had been in a half dream since
the first day he heard the woman’s song.
Tcûskai went three or four times to see the woman and each time she
spat beads. When she found that Tskel wouldn’t come to her, she went to
the house. Skóŭks saw her coming and she fixed herself up. She had
power and could do things. Tskel was lying on the ground. When the
woman came in, she sat down by him and began spitting beads. Then
Skóŭks spat, and her beads were nice. The woman was frightened a
little; she spat long white beads; Skóŭks spat more beautiful beads.
They kept spitting beads till, just as the sun went down, the woman by
her power made sleep come over Tskel and Tcûskai, and made Skóŭks grow
so sleepy she could scarcely see. When darkness came the woman began to
wrap Tskel in a skin blanket to carry him off.
Right away Skóŭks was wide awake. She jumped on the woman and fought
with her. They fought all night. First one would have Tskel and then
the other. He was sound asleep all the time. There was such a dust from
their fighting that Tcûskai was covered with it. Just at daylight
Skóŭks gave out; she couldn’t fight any longer.
The woman snatched up Tskel and carried him off. She went under the
ground, and as she went she made a furrow on the surface. Skóŭks
followed for a long time, but she couldn’t get at the woman, for she
couldn’t travel underground. At last she went home, struck Tcûskai with
his neck rattles, and said: “You had better get up and follow your
brother. You found him a nice wife, nicer than I am. Now you can go and
live with them!”
Tcûskai woke up and went off to look for his brother. The trail had
disappeared; he couldn’t find even one track.
When the woman went into the ground, she was just such an animal as her
father had been. She carried Tskel on her horns till she came out at
the lake, then she put him down and said: “I will let you rest twice
before I kill you. How do you like this place?”
“I like it. I have been here before,” said Tskel.
She carried him to the middle of the trail in the lake, then she put
him down, and asked: “What did you do when you were here before?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you think you will ever go home?”
“No.”
“What do you think you will do when you die? Will you come to life, or
will you stay dead?”
“I don’t know,” said Tskel.
She took him up to carry him to the end of the trail where she could
throw him into the lake. He got his knife out, a little at a time, and
just as she was going to put him down again, he cut her head off. From
each side of the ridge the water rushed up; the ridge shook and made a
terrible noise. Tskel cut the woman’s body up, and threw the pieces
into the water. As he threw them, he called out, “Here are Tskel’s
ribs! Here is Tskel’s arm!” He threw the head; then ran with all his
might. When the old man’s sons saw the head and knew that they had
eaten their sister, they were so mad that they sent stone knives,
beaded blankets and skins of all kinds to lie on the trail in front of
Tskel. He had hard work to jump over them without getting burned, but
he didn’t touch or hit even one. When he got home Skóŭks and little
Tcûskai were mourning. Their hair was cut and pitch was running over
their faces. They sat with their heads down and didn’t look up.
Tskel sat down by Tcûskai, and asked: “Why are you so dirty?”
Tcûskai jumped up, and cried out: “Are you here? I was just going to
look for you.”
Tskel said: “Heat some water. I am going to wash Skóŭks’ head, and
yours, too.”
After he had washed their heads, he wrapped a skin blanket around them,
and the next morning Skóŭks and Tcûskai had nice long hair.
Now Tskel moved off a little way from his old home. He made arrow
points and killed deer.
Kāhkaas was kin of Tskel and one day she came to visit him. Soon
Tcûskai ran in, and said: “I see lots of little tracks around here.
Twist me some strings, Kāhkaas, so I can trap the things that make the
tracks.”
Tskel said to Kāhkaas: “Maybe they are the tracks of your children.
Where did you leave them?”
“I left them high on a tree off in the middle of the great water. My
children are safe.”
Kāhkaas twisted strings for Tcûskai and he set his trap. Soon he came
back bringing the five Kāhkaas boys in his trap. Kāhkaas was terribly
angry and sorry; she said: “Give them to me; I will go off in the woods
and roast and eat them.” (She went to bury them.) Tcûskai watched
Kāhkaas. Tskel knew that trouble would come, that Kāhkaas would try and
kill them. He lay down, he felt sorry.
Soon Tcûskai cried: “Get up, brother! A great elk is coming. I’ll go
and kill it.”
“Don’t go in front of it,” said Tskel. “Shoot it from behind!”
Tcûskai shot three times at the elk; each time he hit its horns. Then
the elk turned, caught him on her horns, and ran off to the mountains.
She ran a long way, then changed into Kāhkaas and flew, with Tcûskai,
to the tree on the island in the middle of the ocean.
When the elk ran off with Tcûskai, Tskel fell on the ground and cried.
Then he jumped up and started off to find him. He went everywhere,
stopped at every house, and asked every person he met if they had seen
little Tcûskai. But nobody had seen him. At last he came to a house
where a sick woman lived; she was covered with sores. When she saw
Tskel, she called out, “Don’t come in here!” Tskel asked: “Have you
seen my brother?” “I haven’t seen anybody, I never go anywhere, and
nobody ever comes here. You can ask at the next house.”
Tskel went on till he came to a rock house right on the trail. He
couldn’t see a door. He walked around the house, but couldn’t find an
opening. Then he called out: “Who lives here?” The rock answered, “I
live here!”—The house was a person.—Tskel asked: “Have you seen my
brother? Kāhkaas has carried him off.” “I go nowhere, and nobody comes
here. I have no eyes, I can’t see. You can ask at the next house. The
people there see a great deal; maybe they can tell you where your
brother is.”
When Tskel got to the house, there were five persons inside and one
said to another: “Make room for that man to come in and sit down.” “I
can’t,” said that one. “I’m just finishing my work. You can make room
for him.” “I can’t, I’m just beginning my work.”—Some of the men were
braiding threads and others were twisting them.—When each man had
refused to make room for Tskel, it was just sunset. He went into the
house, gave the fire a kick, and sent it everywhere. It burned up all
the threads and ropes the men were making.
“I feel lonesome,” said he. “I can’t listen to your words; they make me
mad. I have lost my little brother; Kāhkaas has carried him off. Do you
know anything about him?—Sprinkle your threads with water and roll them
up; they will be whole again.—I have been everywhere in the world, but
I can’t find Tcûskai. I want to ask Súbbas if he can tell me where he
is. I can do everything, but I can’t find my brother. I want you to go
up to Súbbas’ house and ask him if he has seen Tcûskai.”
Old man Kaltsik said: “We never go to Súbbas’ house. No one ever goes
there.”
Tskel said: “I will give you anything you want if you will go.” Tskel
teased a long time, and at last Kaltsik said: “I will go.”
He started just at daybreak. He traveled fast, going up all the time.
He reached Súbbas’ house in the middle of the sky before Súbbas got
there. He turned himself into a little clump of bushes, right on
Súbbas’ trail. When Súbbas came hurrying along, he stumbled against the
bushes, and said: “What is here? I never saw anything on this trail
before.”
Kaltsik took his own form, jumped up, and said, “I am here.”
“What are you here for?” asked Súbbas.
“Tskel has lost his brother, little Tcûskai, and he wants you to tell
him where he is.”
“I can’t wait to talk,” said Súbbas. “I am always hurrying along; I
only stop here at midday. I’m afraid Lok will catch me.”
“Oh,” said Kaltsik, “you should tell Tskel where his brother is. I’m
sorry for him; he feels lonesome.”
“Come to-morrow,” said Súbbas, and he hurried along. It was night when
Kaltsik got down to the ground. The next morning he started and before
midday he turned himself into weeds and lay on Súbbas’ path. When
Súbbas came rushing along, he said: “What is this? I never saw anything
on my trail before.” Kaltsik sprang up. “Why have you come here?” asked
Súbbas. “I have no time to spend talking.”
Kaltsik said: “Tskel will give you anything you want if you will tell
him where Tcûskai is. He has all kinds of things; beautiful beads—”
“I am brighter than beads. I don’t want beads!” said Súbbas, “but I
want a ring and a string of green shells to hang on my ears, and a
white blanket to cover me on bright days. Tell Tskel to send you up
to-morrow, if he has those things to give me.”
Súbbas went on and Kaltsik got back to earth just before dark. He told
Tskel what Súbbas wanted, and Tskel began to make the things. He worked
all night; in the morning they were ready, and Kaltsik took them up to
Súbbas. Súbbas was glad.—He still wears the ring. People can see it
just before a storm. (Circle around the sun. It is called
Wänämsäkätsaliyis.) They can see his green shells and his white
blanket, too.—When he had them all, he said: “This morning when I was
over that mountain in the east, I heard a man chopping wood and off on
an island I caught the smell of burning flesh. That old man on the
mountains has Tcûskai.”
When Tskel found out where his brother was, he turned himself into an
old woman, with a hump on her back, and went to the mountain.
When the man saw him, he said: “I think you are Tskel.”
Tskel said: “I’m not a man, I’m an old woman. I heard that you had
caught Tskel’s brother and were going to kill him; I want to see him.”
“I have him on an island; he’ll die soon. He killed all of my sons. Now
I am going to kill him. Help me with this wood.”
Tskel helped pack up a load of wood, then the old man bent over and
Tskel put the load on his back and gave him a cane to help himself up
by. “Bend,” said he to the cane. “Break and go into the old man’s
heart.”
The cane broke and one half of it struck the old man in the heart and
killed him. Tskel put the pieces together and the cane was whole again.
The old man had told Tskel that he was so glad to have Tcûskai that he
danced all the time he was carrying wood to smoke him. Tskel strapped
the pack of wood on his own back and danced along with it till he came
to the canoe; then he danced in the canoe.
Old Kāhkaas had two servants, Kéis and Lok. Kéis guarded the landing.
When Tskel got out of the canoe, Kéis wanted to spring at him, but
Tskel said: “Don’t touch me. I am your master!” He said the same to
Lok, who was sitting by the smoke hole on top of the house, and Lok let
him go down the ladder into the house. As soon as he was at the foot of
the ladder, he saw Tcûskai hanging over the fire. Old woman Kāhkaas was
smoking him. He cut Tcûskai down and put him under his arm. Then he
caught Kāhkaas and tore her to pieces. He threw the pieces off in
different directions, and they became hills and mountains. He took
Tcûskai home and cured him.
After a time Tskel said to his brother: “We will go and hunt for
Wŏn.”—Wŏn was so large that he had to bend down to cut off the branches
of trees.—When Skóŭks gave them seeds to eat, Tskel said: “If we don’t
come back soon, you will know that we have killed Wŏn.”
They hadn’t gone far when Tcûskai cried out: “I see a big deer!”
“Keep still,” said Tskel, “and go on till we see Wŏn.” In a little
while Tskel saw Wŏn, and, not far from him, a deer. He called to
Tcûskai: “Keep still! You mustn’t eat seed; if you do Wŏn will get
away.”
Tcûskai thought: “I wonder what Tskel is doing. I hope he will kill the
deer, too.” Tskel went between the two. Just as he was ready to shoot
Tcûskai thought: “I’m hungry, I’m going to eat a few of our seeds.
Tskel won’t miss them.”
That moment Tskel’s bow and bowstring broke. He knew that Tcûskai had
eaten seeds. Tcûskai was scared; he ran to a spring and washed out his
mouth, then came back to his brother. Tskel scolded. Tcûskai said:
“What makes you so mad? I didn’t eat any seed. Look in my mouth,” and
he opened it.
Tskel struck his brother. He had a deer’s head on; he took it off, put
it on Tcûskai’s head, and said: “Now go and hunt for Wŏn.”
“I can kill him easily,” said Tcûskai.
Tskel said: “You think that Wŏn runs on the ground. So he does, but he
runs in the air, too. He goes on all kinds of trees and he goes back
and forth in the sky. You will have to follow him around the world
before he will stop running.” When Tcûskai was ready to go, Tskel said:
“Take some seeds,” but it was too late. Tcûskai had started.
Before Tcûskai had gone very far, he saw Wŏn and began to follow him.
He ran across rocky places, ran five times over the tops of pine trees,
and five times over the top of high grass, five times across
mole-hills, five times across the sky, and five times around the world,
then he ran east on the sky till he came near a village where Blaiwas
was chief.
Kékina and Gapni were Blaiwas’ servants; they were on top of the house
sunning themselves. Kékina said: “It sounds as if my cousin were
coming;” again he said: “It sounds like my brother, blowing on his
medicine stick. Tell the people to come out and look.”
When Gapni told them, Gäk said: “You can’t see much with your little
eyes; you are not like me. I can see all over the world.”
Blaiwas said: “Little Kékina never tells a lie; somebody must be
coming. Go and see who it is. Tell old man Moi to look; he can see
everything under the sky and in the whole world.”
Moi said: “Somebody is coming. Tell the people to be ready to shoot
when I call out.”
The people made a ring, and when Wŏn came, he rushed inside of it. Then
every one shot at him; Kéis hit him in the foot, Näníhläs hit him on
the horns, Blaiwas hit him in the shoulder. At last they killed him.
When Wŏn was on the ground, Kéis jumped on one of his legs; he wanted
to get meat from the middle of it. (Tcûskai hadn’t come yet.) People
said to Kéis: “Get off; don’t make Tcûskai mad. He has been following
Wŏn for a long time.”
Tcûskai came slowly, for he was tired. When he got to the place, he
told Kéis to get off Wŏn and help to skin him. Kéis wouldn’t move.
Tcûskai pushed him away, but he jumped back; then Tcûskai threw him off
and told him he was in a hurry, for he had far to go. The third time
Kéis got on to Wŏn, Tcûskai threw him over a mountain, but he was back
in a minute. Tcûskai was so mad that he pounded Kéis’ head till he made
it flat. That is why rattlesnakes have flat heads. He cut off Wŏn’s
foot that Kéis had hit with an arrow and threw it after Kéis.
Gäk had shot Wŏn in the leg, and Tcûskai gave that leg to Gäk. And so
he divided Wŏn’s body among the people; then he took a large piece on
his back and started for home. When it was dark, he camped in a
woodpecker’s hole, in a tall tree.
Kéis was a great doctor. He was mad and he made it snow all night; he
thought he could kill Tcûskai in that way. But Tcûskai made a fire in
the woodpecker’s hole, and kept himself warm. He put a round stone in
the fire and heated it, and in the morning, when he started for home,
he rolled the hot stone along on the ground in front of him. Where the
stone went, the trail was dry. Everywhere else the snow was so deep
that only the tops of trees could be seen.
When Tcûskai got to the house, he went in quietly, didn’t make any
noise. Tskel and Skóŭks were mourning for him; they didn’t see him, or
hear him. He asked: “Why are you mourning? Did you think that I was
lost? Your heads don’t look nice; they don’t smell nice. Go and wash
them.”
They were glad now. Skóŭks went out to get the meat Tcûskai had
brought; she couldn’t move it. Then Tskel went; he couldn’t raise it
from the ground.
“What is the matter?” asked Tcûskai. “I didn’t bring that meat with the
head strap; I used the chest strap.” He carried it into the house with
one hand; then he blew on it and made it small, but there was meat
enough to last all winter.
Tskel cut the meat in strips to dry; he worked all night, and finished
just as the sun came up. Then he took a piece of the fat, fastened it
on the top of Tcûskai’s head, and said, “This will always stay as it is
now; it is small, but all the people in the world could feed on it.”
Then he said: “You have lived long enough without a wife; you must look
for one.”
“Where can I find a wife?” asked Tcûskai.
“If you go to the place where they killed Wŏn, you will find a clearing
where women are digging roots. When you get to the edge of the
clearing, shoot an arrow. It will come down near a spring. You must be
at the spring by midday.”
Tcûskai walked and walked. After a while he came to the clearing and
saw women digging roots. Then he shot an arrow. When he got to the
spring his arrow was sticking up in the ground there. He sat down, put
his elbows on his knees, and his head on his hands. The women went
towards the spring, digging as they went.
Kówe saw Tcûskai first; she took off her cap and wanted to give him
water. He didn’t look up or move. She ran to the other women, and said:
“There is a nice-looking young man sitting by the spring. I gave him
some water, but he wouldn’t take it; maybe he will take it from you.”
The women crowded around Tcûskai; each offered him water, but he
wouldn’t take it. The chief’s daughter offered it but he didn’t take
it. Kaiutois’ daughter tried, but he wouldn’t look at her. Blaiwas’
daughter said to a woman: “Go and tell those Máidikdak girls to come
and try.” When the woman got to the girls, she said: “A nice-looking
young man is there by the spring. We have all offered him water, but he
won’t take it. Maybe he will take it from you.”
They went to the spring. The elder sister took off her cap, filled it
with water, and gave it to Tcûskai; he drank half of the water. The
younger sister offered him the cap; he drank the other half of the
water. Blaiwas’ daughter saw the arrow; she tried to pull it up, but
couldn’t. Then each woman tried in turn. Some watered the ground to
soften it, but nobody could pull the arrow out. Then Blaiwas’ daughter
said: “Let Máidikdak’s daughters try.”
The elder sister pulled the arrow half-way out; the younger pulled it
all the way out and put it in her basket. Then she went to dig roots.
Kówe saw the fat on Tcûskai’s head and wanted to loosen it, but she
couldn’t. She bit at the knots, but the women drove her away. Blaiwas’
daughter said: “You mustn’t use your teeth. Whoever loosens fat with
their teeth will be Tusasás’ wife.” All the women tried to take the fat
off from Tcûskai’s head, but no one could do it. They sent for
Máidikdak’s daughters again. The elder one loosened it; the younger
took it off.
The women went home and Tcûskai was left alone. Kówe ran with all her
might, jumped, fell, puffed, at last got home. Then she said to her
mother: “Tcûskai drank from my cap; make a good place for him!” Old
Kówe was glad. She made ready a nice place for her son-in-law.
Each young woman told her mother the same thing, except Máidikdak’s
daughters; they didn’t say anything. Tusasás made ready a place for his
son-in-law.
He was so glad that he ran around and boasted, said: “Tcûskai drank
from my daughter’s cap; he is my son-in-law.”
When Tcûskai got to the village he stood in the middle of the road.
Blaiwas wanted to lead him into his house; so did all the other chiefs;
but he wouldn’t go. At last old Máidikdak asked him to come to her
house, and he went.
The next morning Blaiwas asked Tcûskai to run a foot race. All the men
were mad at Tcûskai and wanted to kill him. Every man in the village
ran against him. When Tcûskai started, he went under the ground. He ran
faster than anybody and got to the goal first. One after another the
runners came till all were there; then they turned and looked back to
see where Tcûskai was. Tusasás said: “I wonder when he will get here?”
and he made fun of him. Then they saw that Tcûskai was ahead of them.
When they were ready for the race back, Tcûskai said: “Go on! You
needn’t wait for me.” He ran under the ground. He came to the goal
first and won the race. The second man to come was Blaiwas, the third
was Wus. When Kûlta overtook Tusasás, he said: “Little brother, stop
and pull this sliver out of my foot with your teeth.” Tusasás stopped,
but he couldn’t get the sliver out; men had to come and carry Kûlta
home.
Blaiwas said: “Now we will hunt deer.” They drove the deer to the
mountain and left Tcûskai alone there. He sent one arrow and killed all
the deer on the mountain.
The next morning Máidikdak’s daughter had a little boy; he grew fast
and soon was running around.
After a time Tcûskai wanted to see his brother. When he got to Tskel’s
house he found that Tskel had a boy larger than his own. The two little
boys were like brothers. Tskel asked Tcûskai to go to the lake and get
him reeds for arrows. “Get the kind of reeds that have tear-drops on
them,” said he. “Those are the best to make arrows.”
Tcûskai went, and looked in every place; when he couldn’t find reeds
with tear-drops on them, he put his fingers in his eyes and made tears
come; then he dropped them on the reeds. He shed so many tears that his
eyelids got swollen; he could hardly see.
When Tcûskai went to the lake, he went along the south side, for old
Sukas, a man-eater, who drew people in with his breath and swallowed
them, lived on the west side. Going home he made a mistake; he thought
the west was the south side,—he couldn’t see well. Soon he met old
Sukas.
Sukas said: “Come and wrestle with me, then you can go home.”
Tcûskai had to wrestle. About the middle of the afternoon he threw the
old man, but as he went down Tcûskai slipped and fell on him. Sukas’
stomach was so big and flabby that it covered Tcûskai up; he couldn’t
get out and he could scarcely breathe. He didn’t know what to do. Then
he heard Skóla say: “Somebody must scratch and kick hard; that will
kill the old man.”
Tcûskai began to kick and scratch, and in a little while he broke the
skin; the old man’s stomach shrank up. Tcûskai got up and ran home.
Tskel asked: “Where are the reeds? Why were you gone so long?”
Tcûskai said: “I met old Sukas and wrestled with him.”
“I told you not to go that way,” said Tskel. He was cross and scolded.
That made Tcûskai mad.
The next morning Tcûskai made arrows for his boy and told him to shoot
Tskel’s boy while they were playing. He did, and Tskel’s boy was two
days getting well. Then Tcûskai put poison in an arrow and told his son
to shoot Tskel’s boy again. Tskel knew what his brother was doing; he
put poison in his son’s arrow and told him even if he were dying, to
kill Tcûskai’s boy.
The next day both boys were dead. Tcûskai and Tskel felt lonesome.
Tskel said: “I will go to Lamsewe and swim.”—When people lose their
friends and feel badly about it, they go and swim till they feel
better.—He told Tcûskai to go to another mountain, but he didn’t go; he
followed his brother.
When Tskel saw him, he was mad and he said: “You will be a person no
longer. You will look funny to people and they will laugh at you when
you run in and out of holes. They will think there are five or six of
you, but there will be only one.”
Tcûskai said: “You will no longer be a person, you will have no power.
In winter, when the water freezes, people will hunt for you in the tula
grass and will kill you.”
All this took place. Those two great powers turned into common little
minks and weasels, such as live now and are killed by hunters.
Tcûskai was always full of tricks. He taught his son to kill his
cousin; and that is why people of kin sometimes kill one another now.