before his house, and the coyote thought, “In a minute I will catch
you,” and he sprang and caught the hare, who cried, “Man coyote, do not
eat me; wait just a minute, I have something to tell you, something
that you will be glad to hear, something you must hear.” “Well,” said
the coyote, “I will wait.” “Let me sit at the entrance of my house and
I can talk to you,” and, standing near, he allowed the hare to take
his seat there. The hare said, “What are you thinking of, coyote?”
“Nothing,” said the coyote. “Listen, then, to what I have to say; I
am a hare, and I am much afraid of people; when they come carrying
arrows I am very afraid of them, for when they see me they aim their
arrows at me and I am very afraid, and oh! how I tremble;” and suiting
the action to his words the hare trembled violently, until he saw the
coyote was a little off his guard; at this instant the hare started
off at a run. It took a moment for the coyote to collect his thoughts,
when he followed the hare, but he was always a little behind; after
running some distance the hare entered the house of his companion just
in time to escape the coyote. The coyote upon reaching the house found
it was hard stone and he became very angry. “Alas!” cried he, “I was
very stupid. Why did I allow this hare to fool me? I was so anxious
to kill him; I must have him. How can I catch him? Alas! this house
is very strong, how can I open it?” and he began to work, but after a
while he cried, “The stone is so strong I can not open it.” Presently
the hare called, “Man coyote, how are you going to kill me?” “I know
how I am going to kill you,” replied the coyote, “I will kill you with
fire.” “Where is the wood?” cried the hare, for there was no wood at
the house of the hare. “I will bring grass,” said the coyote, “and set
fire to it and the fire will enter your house and go into your eyes,
nose, and mouth, and kill you.” “Oh,” said the hare, “the grass is
mine, it is my food, it will not kill me; why would my food kill me? It
is my friend. No, grass will not kill me.” “Then,” cried the coyote, “I
will bring all the trees of the woods and set fire to them,” and the
hare replied, “all the trees know me, they too are my food, they will
not kill me, they are my friends.” The coyote said, “I will bring the
gum of the piñon and set fire to it,” and the hare cried, “Oh, now I am
much afraid, I do not eat that and it is not my friend,” and the coyote
rejoiced that he had discovered a plan for getting the hare. He hurried
and brought all the gum he could carry and placed it at the door of
the hare’s house and set fire to it and in a short time the gum boiled
like hot grease, and the hare cried, “Now I know I shall die, what
shall I do?” and the coyote’s heart was glad. In a little while the
hare called, “The fire is entering my house,” and the coyote cried to
him, “Blow it out”. At the same time, drawing near to the fire, he blew
with all his might to increase the flame. “Oh!” cried the hare, “your
mouth is so close you are blowing the fire on to me, and I will soon
die;” and the coyote put his mouth still closer to the fire and thought
the hare must die; he blew with all his strength, drawing nearer in
his eagerness to destroy the hare, until his face was very close to
him, when the hare threw the boiling gum into the face of the coyote
and escaped. The coyote’s thoughts were now directed to the removal of
the hot gum from his eyes and face. It was a long time before he could
see anything, and his eyes were painful. When he realized the hare had
again escaped him he cried, “I am very, very stupid;” and he started
off disgusted with himself, and was very sad. After traveling a long
distance and crossing a mountain he came to a man (lynx) sleeping. The
coyote was pleased to see the man, and thought, “Here is a companion.
I guess the fellow has either worked hard all night or traveled much,
for he sleeps soundly.” And after thinking quite a while, the coyote
procured a slender round stick and thrust it into his stomach and
twisted it very carefully to gather fat. The lynx still slept soundly.
“I will tell my companion when he awakes,” said the coyote, “that I
have the fat of the deer on my stick,” and he laid it to one side and
began thinking. “Ah, I have a thought. In the old days my companion’s
mouth was not so large; it was small; I will make it as it was. His
ears were not so large; I will make them as they were. His tail was not
so long; I will shorten it. His legs and arms and body were longer; I
will lengthen them;” and he worked and pressed about the mouth until it
was reduced in size, and so he labored over the ears until they were
small, and pressed the tail until it grew shorter, and then pulled the
legs and arms and body until they were the proper length. After his
work was completed the coyote thought, “This is well.” Still the lynx
slept, and the coyote called, “Companion!” but no answer; the second
time, “Companion!” and no answer; none coming to the third call, the
coyote thought, “Why is it my companion sleeps so soundly? he must
have traveled hard or worked hard all night,” and again he called,
“Companion!” and the lynx opened his eyes and looked about as one does
when he has just awakened, but did not speak.
When he discovered that he was unlike his former self he said nothing,
but thought, “That coyote man has done this work.” The coyote then
bringing the stick, with the fat upon it, said, “Companion, I wish much
to talk with you; you have slept very soundly; I have brought you some
fat from the deer; eat it; you will like it. I killed a deer the other
day, and this is the reason I can bring you some fat;” and the lynx,
thinking the coyote spoke the truth, ate the fat with much relish.
When the fat had been consumed the coyote said, “Well, companion, what
do you think of the deer fat?” but before the lynx made any reply the
coyote added, “I lied to you; it is your own fat which I took from your
stomach while you slept.” The lynx at once became very sick and began
vomiting. “I did not eat it,” cried the lynx. “Yes, you did,” said the
coyote. “See, you can not keep it;” and the lynx continued vomiting
until all the fat had been thrown from his stomach. He was very angry
with the coyote, and thought, “Some time I will play the same trick
upon you, man coyote.”
The two now separated, taking opposite roads; but in a short time the
lynx returned and followed the coyote, aiming to keep close to him;
but the coyote soon distanced the lynx, leaving him far behind; the
coyote, however, did not know that the lynx was following him. After
he had traveled a long distance he became tired and lay down to rest
and sleep. After a time the lynx arrived, and finding the coyote
sleeping, said: “Ah! ah! now I will play my trick;” and he called to
the coyote, “Companion!” and no answer; again he called, “Companion!”
and no answer; and the third and fourth calls brought no reply. The
coyote was sleeping soundly. “He is surely asleep,” said the lynx, and
with a stick similar to the one employed by the coyote, he drew the fat
from the coyote’s stomach and placed it to one side; he then proceeded
to change the appearance of the coyote; he pulled upon the mouth until
he made it project, and it was much larger than before; then he pulled
upon the ears until they became long, and he lengthened the tail to
twice its size, and he also stretched the body and the arms. When he
had completed his work he cried four times to the coyote, “Companion!”
The fourth time the coyote awoke, and the lynx said, “I have brought
you some deer fat;” and the coyote was stupid enough to believe the
story, and ate the fat, for he was very hungry. Then, said the lynx,
“Man, what do you think? Do you think I have lied to you? Well, I have
lied to you; for the fat is from your own stomach;” and the coyote was
very angry and vomited all that he had eaten. And he cried, “Man lynx,
we are even;” and in a little while they separated, taking opposite
roads.
The coyote traveled a great distance, and in the middle of the day it
was very hot, and he sat down and rested, and he thought as he looked
up to ti´nia, “How I wish the cloud people would freshen my path and
make it cool;” and in a little while the cloud people gathered above
the road the coyote was to travel over, and he rejoiced that his path
was to be shady and cool; but after he had traveled a short distance,
he again sat down, and, looking upward, said, “I wish much the cloud
people would send rain, that my road would be fresher and cooler.” In
a little while a shower came, and the coyote was contented and went on
his way rejoicing; but in a short time he again sat down and wished
that the road could be very moist, that it would be fresh to his feet,
and almost immediately the road was wet as though a river had passed
over it, and the coyote was very contented.
But after going a short distance he again took his seat and said to
himself, “I guess I will talk again to the cloud people;” and he said
to them, “I wish for water over my road; water to my elbows, that I
may travel on my hands and feet in the cool waters; then I shall be
refreshed and happy;” and in a little while his road was covered
with the water and the coyote moved on; but after a time he wished
for something more, and he sat down and said to the cloud people, “I
wish much for water to my shoulders; I will then be very happy and
contented;” and in a moment the waters arose as he had wished; but he
did not go far before he again sat down and talked to the cloud people,
saying, “If you will only give me water so high that my eyes, nose,
mouth, and ears are alone above it I will be happy and contented; then
my road will indeed be cool;” and his prayer was answered.
But even this did not satisfy him, and after traveling a short distance
he sat down and implored the cloud people to give him a river that he
might float over the road, and immediately a river appeared and the
coyote floated with the stream. He was high in the mountains and wished
to go below to the hare land. After floating a long distance he came
to the hare land and saw many hares a little distance off, both large
and small, and they were on both sides of the river. The coyote lay
down as though he were dead (he was covered in mud), and listened,
and presently he saw a woman ka´wate (mephitis) approaching, carrying
her vase and gourd; she was coming for water. Before the coyote saw
the ka´wate he heard the gourd striking against the vase. As she drew
near the coyote peeped at her and she looked at him and said: “Here
is a dead coyote. Where did he come from? I guess from the mountains
above. I guess he fell into the water and died.” When she came closer
he looked at her and said: “Come here, woman.” “What do you want?” said
the ka´wate. “I want you to be my companion,” said the coyote. “I know
all the hares and other small animals well, and I guess in a little
while they will all come here, and when they think I am dead they will
be very happy.” And the two talked much together and the coyote said:
“Let us be companions, what do you think about it?” “I have no thoughts
at all,” said the ka´wate. “I,” said the coyote, “think we had better
work together.” And the ka´wate replied: “It is well.” Then said the
coyote: “Go and bring me four clubs; I want them for the hares.” When
the ka´wate returned with the clubs the coyote said: “Put them on the
ground and cover them with earth.” When this was done he lay upon them.
Then said the coyote: “Go and bring me the seeds from the pátiän.” (A
very tall grass; the seeds when ripe are black.) He put the seeds on
his mouth, nostrils, eyes, and ears and scattered them over his body.
This he did that the hares might think him dead and being eaten by
worms. Then he said to the ka´wate: “Look around everywhere for the
hares; when you see them, say a coyote is dead; they will soon come to
look at me and they will dance around me for joy because I am dead. You
return with them, and when they dance tell them to look to the cloud
people while they dance, and then throw your poison (mephitic fluid)
up and let it fall upon their faces like rain, and when it goes in
their eyes they can not see, for the poison of the ka´wate burns like
red pepper, and when they become blind we can kill them; you will take
two of the clubs and I will take two, one in either hand.” When the
ka´wate reached the hares she spoke to the hare chief. “Hare, listen;
I saw a dead coyote over there.” “Where?” cried the chief. “There by
the river.” “You are not lying?” said the chief. “No; I speak the
truth, there is a dead coyote.” “What killed the coyote?” “I don’t know
what killed him, but I think he must have fallen into the water far
above and was brought here by the river.” And the chief communicated
the news to all of his companions and they concluded to send one hare
alone to see if the ka´wate spoke the truth. “Go quickly,” said they to
the hare, “and see if the woman speaks the truth.” The hare hastened
off, and when he reached the coyote he looked carefully all about and
concluded the coyote had been dead some time, for he saw that the body
was covered with worms, and returning he told his people what he had
seen, but some refused to believe that the coyote was dead. It was
decided to send another messenger, and a second hare was dispatched
to see if the first one’s story was correct. He returned with the
same news and so a third and fourth were sent, and each came bearing
the story that a coyote was dead and being eaten by worms. Then the
hares decided to go in a body and see the dead coyote. The men, women,
and children hastened to look upon the dead body of the coyote, and
rejoicing over his death they struck him with their hands and kicked
him. There were crowds of hares and they decided to have a great dance.
Now and then a hare would leave the group of dancers and stamp upon the
coyote, who lay all the time as though he were dead, and during the
dance they clapped their hands over their mouths and gave a whoop like
the war whoop.
After a time the ka´wate stepped apart from the group and said, “All of
you hares look up, do not hold your heads down, look up to the cloud
people while you sing and dance; it is much better to hold your heads
up.” All threw their heads back and looked to ti´ni´a. Then the ka´wate
threw high her mephitic fluid, which fell like rain upon the faces and
into the eyes of all the hares, and their eyes were on fire; all they
could do was to rub them; they could not see anything. And the coyote
quickly rose, and handed the ka´wate two of the clubs, keeping two
himself, and they killed all of the hares; there was a great number,
and they were piled up like stones. Then said the coyote, “Where shall
I find fire to cook the hares? Ah,” said he, pointing across to a very
high rock, “that rock gives good shade and it is cool; I will find
the fire and cook my meat near the shade of the rock;” and he and the
ka´wate carried all of the hares to this point and the coyote made
a large fire and threw them into it. When this was done he was very
warm from his work about the fire and he was also tired, and he lay
down close to the rock in the shade. He was now perfectly happy, and
contented to be quiet, but only for a short time. He must be at work
about something, and he said to the ka´wate, “What shall we do now?”
and she answered; “I do not know,” then the coyote said, “We will work
together for something pretty; we will run a race and the one who
wins will have all the hares.” “Oh,” said the ka´wate, “how could I
beat you? your feet are so much larger than mine.” “Well,” said the
coyote, “I will allow you the start of me.” The coyote made a torch of
the inner shreds of the cedar bark and wrapped it with yucca thread
and lighting it tied this torch to the end of his tail. The fire was
attached to his tail to light the grass that he might see everywhere
about him to watch the ka´wate that she might not escape him. He then
said, “Woman, I know you can not run fast, you must go first and I will
wait until you have gone a certain distance.” The ka´wate started off,
but when out of sight of the coyote she slipped into the house of the
badger. At the proper time the coyote started with the fire attached to
his tail. Wherever he touched the grass he set fire to it. The ka´wate
waited for him to pass and then came out of the house of the badger and
hastening back to the rock she carried all the hares to a high ledge,
leaving but four tiny little ones below. The coyote was surprised in
his run not to overtake the ka´wate. “She must be very quick,” thought
he. “How could she run so fast,” and after passing around the mountain,
all the time expecting to see the ka´wate ahead of him, he returned to
the rock surely expecting to find her there. Not seeing her, he cried,
“Where can the ka´wate be?”
He was tired and sat down in the shade of the rock. “Why does she not
come,” thought the coyote; “perhaps she will not return before night,
her feet are so small; perhaps she will not come at all. Strange I have
not seen her; she must be far off.” The Ka´wate, who was just above
him, heard all that he said. She watched him and saw him take a stick
and look into the mound for the hares. (They had covered the hares
before leaving the place.) He pulled out a very small one which he
threw away. He then drew a second one, still smaller than the first,
and this he also threw off, and again a third, and a fourth, each one
smaller than the other. “I do not care for the little ones,” he said,
“I have many here, I will not eat the smaller ones,” and he hunted and
hunted in the mound for the hares, but found no more; all were gone,
and he looked about him and said, “That woman has robbed me,” and he
was glad to collect the four he had cast away and eat them, for he was
very hungry. After his meal he looked about him and found the ka´wate’s
footprints on the rocks. He hunted everywhere for her, but he did not
think to look above, and after searching a long time he became weary
and laid down to rest. As he looked upward, he saw the woman sitting
on the ledge of the rock with the hares piled beside her. The coyote
was hungry for the hares, and he begged the ka´wate to bring him some,
and she threw him down a very small one, and the coyote was angry with
her and still more angry with himself, because he could not climb the
rock; she had gone where he could not go. The coyote was very angry
when he parted from the ka´wate. After traveling a little way he saw
a small bird. The bird was hopping about contentedly and the coyote
thought, “What a beautiful bird, it moves about so gracefully. I guess
I will work awhile with that bird,” and drawing nearer to the bird, he
asked, “What beautiful things are you working at?” but the bird could
not understand the coyote, and he could only stand and admire the bird.
He saw the bird take out his two eyes and throw them straight up, like
two stones, to ti´nia, and then look upward, but he had no eyes in
his head; presently the bird said, “Come my eyes, come quickly, down
into my head,” and immediately the eyes fell into the sockets of the
bird, and the bird was apparently pleased, and the eyes appeared much
brighter than before. The coyote discovering how improved the bird’s
eyes were, he asked the bird to take out his eyes and throw them up
that they might become brighter, and the bird took out the coyote’s
eyes and held an eye in either hand for a little while, then threw them
to ti´nia, and the coyote looked upward, but he had no eyes, and he
cried, “Come back, my eyes, come quickly,” and the eyes fell into the
coyote’s head. He was delighted with the improvement in his eyes, and,
thinking that they might be made still more brilliant and penetrating
by throwing them up a second time, he asked the bird to repeat the
performance. The bird did not care to work any more for the coyote and
told him so, but the coyote persistently urged the bird to throw his
eyes up once more. The bird, growing a little angry, said, “Why should
I work for you, coyote? No, I work no more for you,” but the coyote was
persistent, and the bird a second time took out his eyes, this time
causing the coyote such pain that he cried. As the bird threw up the
eyes the coyote looked up to ti´nia and cried, “Come my eyes come to
me!” but the eyes continued to ascend and did not return. The coyote
was much grieved and moved about slowly and awkwardly, for he could not
see, and he wept bitterly over the loss of his eyes.
The bird was very much annoyed to be thus bothered with the coyote, and
said to him, “Go away now; I am tired of you, go off and hunt for other
eyes, do not remain to weep and bother me,” but the coyote refused to
leave and begged and entreated the bird to find eyes for him. Finally
the bird gathered gum from a piñon tree and rolled two small bits
between the palms of his hands, and, when they were round, he placed
the two balls into the eye sockets of the coyote, who was then able to
see, but not clearly as before, and these eyes, instead of being black
like his other eyes, were slightly yellow. “Now,” said the bird, “you
can remain no longer.”
After traveling some little distance the coyote met a deer with two
fawns; the fawns were beautifully spotted, and he said to the deer,
“How did you paint your children, they are so beautiful?” The deer
replied, “I painted them with fire from the cedar.” “And how did you
do the work?” inquired the coyote. “I put my children into a cave,”
answered the deer, “and built a fire of cedar in front of the cave, and
every time a spark flew from the fire it struck my children, making a
beautiful spot.” “Oh,” said the coyote, “I will do the same and make my
children beautiful,” and he hurried to his house and put his children
into a cave and built a fire of cedar, and then stood off to watch
the fire. The children cried much, because the fire was very hot. The
coyote tried to stop their cries by telling them they would soon be
beautiful like the children of the deer. After a time their weeping
ceased and the coyote thought his words had comforted them, but, in
fact, the children were burned to death. When the cedar was consumed
the coyote hastened to the cave, expecting to find his children very
beautiful, but instead he found them dead; he was enraged with the
deer and ran fast to hunt her, but he could find her nowhere, and he
returned to his house much distressed and much disgusted with himself
for having been so easily fooled by the deer.
THE COYOTE AND THE COUGAR.
When the world was new the coyote was very industrious. He was always
at work passing around the world everywhere. He was never lazy, but his
thoughts were not good. He visited one camp of people and told them he
belonged to the Corn people; at another camp he said he belonged to
the Knife people. Both times he lied. After a while the coyote told
the cougar, who was the father of all game, that he would like to be
a ho´naaite. The cougar replied, “When your thoughts are good, then
you may become one.” “I guess the coyote is not lying, he has good
thoughts now,” and the cougar said to him, “Come in four days to me
and we will make hä´chamoni.” The coyote returned on the fourth day
and worked eight days with the cougar preparing hä´chamoni. He was
supposed to abstain during this time from food, drink, and smoking, and
to practice continency. The cougar also fasted and practiced continency
for the same period of time. Each night when it was dark the cougar
said, “You, man coyote, now it is night, take this food which I give
you and offer it to Ko´pĭshtaia.” The first night the coyote returned
with a contented heart, and upon entering the cougar’s house he sat
down. The second night after the coyote left the house with the food
for Ko´pĭshtaia, he felt a little hungry, and he said to himself,
“Last night I was not hungry, now I am hungry, alas! I am afraid or
I would eat this food. Why have I wished to be a ho´naaite? I have
food here and I wish to eat it, for I am hungry and yet I am afraid.”
And so he argued with himself until he overcame all scruples and ate
the food. “Now,” said he, “I am contented; I am no longer hungry;”
and he returned to the cougar, pretending he had offered the food to
Ko´pĭshtaia, and so the remaining eight nights the coyote ate the food
which was given him by the cougar to offer to Ko´pĭshtaia, but he said
nothing of this to anyone. The cougar grew to be straight and had
no belly, but the coyote did not change in appearance, and the sixth
night the cougar began to suspect that the coyote was not making his
offerings to Ko´pĭshtaia. The coyote told the cougar each night that
he was contented and was not hungry. “I think you are a little sad,”
the cougar replied. “No, I am not sad; my stomach is strong,” said
the coyote, “I can fast eight days; I wonder that I am not a little
sad. Why am I not hungry? I feel strong all the time that I am passing
about.”