the straight stick pointed, and set out to find the fire. Before he
left he said to his turkey: "I go once more to seek the distant fire;
but it is the last time I shall seek it. If I find it not to-day,
I shall never try again. Stay here till I return." While he spoke
the turkey turned its back on him, and showed its master that it
was angry. It acted like a pouting child. He went to the place on
the eastern mountain to which the stick pointed, and here he found,
what he had not observed before, a shelf in the rocks, which seemed
to run back some distance. He climbed to the shelf and discovered
there two nice huts. He thought that wealthy people must dwell in
them. He felt ashamed of his ragged bark blanket, of his garment of
wood-rat skins, of his worn grass sandals; of his poor bow and arrows;
so he took these off, laid them in the fork of a juniper-tree, and,
retaining only his breech-cloth of wood-rat skins, his belt, tobacco
pouch, and pipe, he approached one of the houses.
501. He pushed aside the curtain and saw, sitting inside, a young woman
making a fine buckskin shirt which she was garnishing beautifully
with fringes and shells. Ashamed of his appearance, he hung his
head and advanced, looking at her under his eyebrows. "Where are the
men?" he said, and he sat on the ground. The young woman replied: "My
father and mother are in the other hut." Just as the Navaho had made
up his mind to go to the other house the father entered. Doubtless
the Navaho had been observed while disrobing, for the old man, as
he came in, brought the poor rags with him. "Why do you not take
in my son-in-law's goods?" said the old man to his daughter, as he
laid the ragged bundle in a conspicuous place on top of a pile of
fine fabrics. Poor Nati'nesthani hung his head again in shame and
blushed, while the woman looked sideways and smiled. "Why don't you
spread a skin for my son-in-law to sit on?" said the old man to his
daughter. She only smiled and looked sideways again. The old man took
a finely dressed Rocky Mountain sheep-skin and a deer-skin,--skins
finer than the Navaho had ever seen before,--spread them on the ground
beside the woman, and said to the stranger: "Why do you not sit on
the skins?" Nati'nesthani made a motion as if to rise and take the
offered seat, but he sank back again in shame. Invited a second time,
he arose and sat down beside the young woman on the skins.
502. The old man placed another skin beside the Navaho, sat on it,
tapped the visitor on the knee to attract his attention, and said:
"I long for a smoke. Fill your pipe[216] with tobacco and let me smoke
it." The Navaho answered: "I am poor. I have nothing." Four times
this request was made and this reply given. On the fourth occasion
the Navaho added: "I belong to the Ninokádine` (the People up on
the Earth),[217] and I have nothing." "I thought the Ninokádine`
had plenty of tobacco," said the old man. The young man now drew
from his pouch, which was adorned with pictures of the sun and moon,
a mixture of native wild tobacco with four other plants.[218] His
pipe was made of clay, collected from a place where a wood-rat had
been tearing the ground. He filled the pipe with the mixture, lighted
it with the sun,[219] sucked it four times till it was well kindled,
and handed it to the old man to smoke. When the latter had finished
the pipe and laid it down he began to perspire violently and soon
fell into a swoon. The young woman thought her father was dead or
dying, and ran to the other lodge to tell her mother. The mother
gave the young woman a quantity of goods and said: "Give these to my
son-in-law and tell him they shall all be his if he restores your
father to life." When the daughter returned to the lodge where her
father lay, she said to the Navaho: "Here are goods for you. Treat
my father. You must surely know what will cure him." They laid the
old man out on his side, in the middle of the floor, with his head
to the north and his face to the east. The Navaho had in his pouch
a medicine called ké`tlo, or atsósi ké`tlo,[220] consisting of many
different ingredients. Where he got the ingredients we know not; but
the medicine men now collect them around the headwaters of the San
Juan. He put some of this medicine into a pipe, lighted it with the
sunbeams, puffed the smoke to the earth, to the sky, to the earth, and
to the sky again; puffed it at the patient from the east, the south,
the west, and the north. When this fumigation was done, the patient
began to show signs of life,--his eyelids twitched, his limbs jerked,
his body shook. Nati'nesthani directed the young woman to put some
of the medicine, with water, to soak in an earthen bowl,--no other
kind of bowl is now used in making this infusion,--and when it was
soaked enough he rubbed it on the body of the patient.
503. "Sadáni, sitá (My son-in-law, my nephew)," said the old man, when
he came to his senses once more, "fill the pipe for me again. I like
your tobacco." The Navaho refused and the old man begged again. Four
times did the old man beg and thrice the young man refused him;
but when the fourth request was made the young man filled the pipe,
lit it as before, and handed it to the old man. The latter smoked,
knocked out the ashes, laid down the pipe, began to perspire, and
fell again into a deathly swoon. As on the previous occasion, the
women were alarmed and offered the Navaho a large fee, in goods, if
he would restore the smoker to life. The medicine being administered
and the ceremonies being repeated, the old man became again conscious.
504. As soon as he recovered he said: "My son-in-law, give me another
smoke. I have travelled far and smoked much tobacco; but such fine
tobacco as yours I never smoked before." As on the other occasions,
the old man had to beg four times before his request was granted. A
third time the pipe was filled; the old man smoked and swooned; the
women gave presents to the Navaho; the atsósi ké`tlo was administered,
and the smoker came to life again.
505. But as soon as he regained his senses he pleaded for another
smoke. "The smoke is bad for you," said the Navaho. "It does you
harm. Why do you like my tobacco so well?" "Ah! it makes me feel
good to the ends of my toes. It smells well and tastes well." "Since
you like it so well," said the young man, "I shall give you one more
pipeful." This time the old man smoked vigorously; he drew the smoke
well into his chest and kept it there a long time before blowing it
out. Everything happened now as before, but in addition to the medicine
used previously, the Navaho scattered the fragrant yádidinil[221] on
the hot coals and let the patient breathe its fumes. The Navaho had
now four large bundles of fine goods as pay for his services. When the
old man recovered for the fourth time he praised loudly the tobacco of
the Navaho. He said he had never felt so happy as when smoking it. He
asked the Navaho: "How would you like to try my tobacco?" and he went
to the other lodge to fetch his tobacco pouch. While he was gone
the Wind People whispered into the ear of the Navaho: "His tobacco
will kill you surely. It is not like your tobacco. Those who smoke
it never wake again!"
506. Presently the old man returned with a pouch that had pictures
of the sun and moon on it, and with a large pipe--much larger than
that of the Navaho--decorated with figures of deer, antelope, elk,
and Rocky Mountain sheep.[222] The old man filled his pipe, lighted
it, puffed the smoke to earth and sky, each twice, alternately, and
handed the pipe to the Navaho. The young man said: "I allow no one to
fill the pipe for me but myself. My customs differ from yours. You
ask a stranger for a smoke. I ask no man for a smoke. I pick my own
tobacco. Other people's tobacco makes me ill; that is why I do not use
it." Thus he spoke, yet the stuff he had given the old man to smoke was
not the same that he used himself. The latter consisted of four kinds
of tobacco: glónato, or weasel tobacco, depénato, or sheep tobacco,
dsi'lnato, or mountain tobacco, and kósnato, or cloud tobacco.[223] He
had different compartments in his pouch for his different mixtures. The
old man invited him four times to smoke; but four times the Navaho
refused, and said at last: "I have my pipe already filled with my
own tobacco. I shall smoke it. My tobacco injures no one unless he
is ill." He proceeded to smoke the pure tobacco. When he had done
smoking, he said: "See. It does me no harm. Try another pipeful."
507. He now filled his pipe with the mixture of four kinds of real
tobacco and handed it to the old man to smoke. When the latter had
finished he said: "Your tobacco does not taste as it did before, and I
do not now feel the same effect after smoking it as I did at first. Now
it cools me; formerly it made me perspire. Why did I fall down when I
smoked it before? Tell me, have I some disease?" The Navaho answered:
"Yes. It is yasi'ntsogi, something bad inside of you, that makes the
tobacco affect you so. There are four diseases that may cause this:
they are the yellow disease, the cooked-blood disease, the water-slime
disease, and the worm disease. One or more of these diseases you
surely have."[224] The old man closed his eyes and nodded his head to
show that he believed what was told him. Of course the Navaho did not
believe what he himself had said; he only told this to the old man
to conceal the fact that he had filled the pipe with poisoned tobacco.
508. While all these things were happening the Navaho had paid no heed
to how the day was passing; but now he became suddenly aware that
it was late in the afternoon and that the sun was about to set. "I
must hasten away. It is late," he said. "No, my son-in-law; do not
leave us," pleaded the old man. "Sleep here to-night." He ordered his
daughter to make a bed for the stranger. She spread on the floor fine
robes of otter-skin and beaver-skin, beautifully ornamented. He laid
down on the rugs and slept there that night.
509. Next morning the young woman rose early and went out. Soon after
her departure the old man entered the lodge and said to his guest:
"I and my daughter were so busy yesterday with all that you did to me,
and all the cures you wrought on me, that we had no time to cook food
and eat; neither had you. She has gone now to prepare food. Stay and
eat with us." Presently the young woman returned, bringing a dish of
stewed venison and a basket filled with mush made of wild seeds. The
basket was such a one as the Navahoes now use in their rites.[5] On
the atáatlo (the part where the coil terminates, the point of finish),
the old man had, with the knowledge of his daughter, placed poison. She
presented the basket to the stranger, with the point of finish toward
him, as her father had directed her to do, saying: "When a stranger
visits us we always expect him to eat from the part of the basket
where it is finished." As he took the basket the Wind People[75]
whispered to him: "Eat not from that part of the basket; death is
there, but there is no death in the venison." The young man turned the
basket around and began to eat from the side opposite to that which
was presented to him, saying: "It is my custom to eat from the edge
opposite to the point of finish." He did not eat all the mush. He tried
the venison stew; but as it was made of dried meat he did not like it
and ate very little of it. When he had done she took the dishes back
to the other lodge. "From which side of the basket did my son-in-law
eat?" asked the old man. "From the wrong side. He told me it was his
custom never to eat from the side where the basket was finished,"
said the young woman. Her father was surprised. When a visitor came
to him he always tried the poisoned tobacco first; if that failed he
next tried the poisoned basket. "My husband says he wants to go home
now," said the young woman. "Tell him it is not the custom for a man
to go home the morning after his marriage. He should always remain
four days at least," said the old man. She brought this message back
to the Navaho. He remained that day and slept in the lodge at night.
510. Next morning the young woman rose early again and went to the
other lodge. Soon after she was gone the old man entered and said to
Nati'nesthani: "You would do well not to leave till you have eaten. My
daughter is preparing food for you." In a little while, after he left,
the young woman entered, bringing, as before, a dish of stewed venison
and a basketful of mush, which she handed to the Navaho without making
any remark. But Wind whispered: "There is poison all around the edge
of the basket this time; there is none in the venison." The Navaho
ate some of the stew, and when he took the basket of mush he ate only
from the middle, saying: "When I eat just as the sun is about to come
up, it is my custom to eat only from the middle of the basket." The
sun was about to rise as he spoke. When she went back to the other
lodge with the remains of the meal, her father asked: "How did he
eat this morning?" She replied: "He ate the stew; but the mush he
ate only from the middle of the basket." "Ahahahá!" said the old man,
"it never took me so long, before." The Navaho remained in the lodge
all that day and all night.
511. The next (third) morning things happened as before: the woman
rose early, and while she was gone the old man came into the lodge,
saying: "The women are cooking food for you. Don't go out till you have
eaten." The reason they gave their visitor only one meal a day was
that he might be so ravenous with hunger when it came that he would
not notice the poison and would eat plenty of it. When the food was
brought in, the Wind People whispered to the Navaho: "Poison is mixed
all through the mush, take none of it." He ate heartily of the stew,
and when he was done he said to the young woman: "I may eat no mush
to-day. The sun is already risen, and I have sworn that the sun shall
never see me eat mush." When she went back to the other lodge her
father asked: "How did my son-in-law eat this morning?" "He ate only
of the stew," she said. "He would not touch the mush." "Ahahahá,"
said the old man in a suspicious tone; but he said no more. Again
the Navaho stayed all day and all night.
512. On the fourth morning when the daughter went to prepare food and
the old man entered the lodge, he said: "Go out somewhere to-day. Why
do you not take a walk abroad every day? Is it on your wife's account
that you stay at home so much, my son-in-law?" When the young woman
brought in the usual venison stew and basket of mush, Wind whispered:
"All the food is poisoned this morning." When she handed the food
to the young man he said: "I do not eat at all to-day. It is my
custom to eat no food one day in every four. This is the day that I
must fast." When she took the untasted food back to the other lodge,
her father inquired: "What did my son-in-law eat this morning?" and
she answered: "He ate nothing." The old man was lying when he spoke;
he rose when she answered him and carefully examined the food she
had brought back. "Truly, nothing has been touched," he said. "This
must be a strange man who eats nothing. My daughter, do you tell him
anything he should not know?" "Truly, I tell him nothing," she replied.
513. When the young woman came back again from her father's lodge,
the Navaho said to her: "I have a hut and a farm and a pet not far
from here; I must go home to-day and see them." "It is well," she
said. "You may go." He began to dress for the journey by putting
on his old sandals. She brought him a pair of fine new moccasins,
beautifully embroidered, and urged him to put them on; but he refused
them, saying: "I may put them on some other time. I shall wear my
old sandals to-day."
514. When Nati'nesthani got back to his farm he found the tracks of
his turkey all around, but the turkey itself he could not see. It was
evident from the tracks that it had visited the farm and gone back
to the hut again. The Navaho made four circuits around the hut--each
circuit wider than the preceding--to see whither the tracks led. On
the fourth circuit he found they led to the base of a mountain which
stood north of the hut. "I shall find my pet somewhere around the
mountain," thought the Navaho. The tracks had the appearance of being
four days old, and from this he concluded that the turkey had left
the same day he had. It took him four days, travelling sunwise and
going spirally up the mountain, to reach the summit, where he found
many turkey tracks, but still no turkey. He fancied his pet might
have descended the mountain again, so he went below and examined the
ground carefully, but found no descending tracks. He returned to the
summit and, looking more closely than at first, discovered where the
bird had flown away from a point on the eastern edge of the summit
and gone apparently toward the east.
515. The Navaho sat down, sad and lonely, and wept. "Dear pet," he
said, "would that I had taken you with me that day when I set out
on my journey. Had I done so I should not have lost you. Dear pet,
you were the black cloud; you were the black mist; you were the
beautiful he-rain;[225] you were the beautiful she-rain;[137] you
were the beautiful lightning; you were the beautiful rainbow; you were
the beautiful white corn; you were the beautiful blue corn; you were
the beautiful yellow corn; you were the beautiful corn of all colors;
you were the beautiful bean. Though lost to me, you shall be of use to
men, upon the earth, in the days to come--they shall use your feathers
and your beard in their rites." The Navaho never saw his pet again;
it had flown to the east, and from it we think the tame turkeys of the
white men are descended. But all the useful and beautiful things he
saw in his pet are still to be seen in the turkey. It has the colors
of all the different kinds of corn in its feathers. The black of the
black mist and the black cloud are there. The flash of the lightning
and the gleam of the rainbow are seen on its plumes when it walks in
the sun. The rain is in its beard; the bean it carries on its forehead.
516. He dried his tears, descended the mountain, and sought his old
hut, which was only a poor shelter of brush, and then he went to
visit his farm. He found his corn with ears already formed and all
the other plants well advanced toward maturity.[226] He pulled one
ear from a stalk of each one of the four different kinds of corn,
and, wrapping the ears in his mantle of wood-rat skins, went off to
see his wife. She saw him coming, met him at the door, and relieved
him of his weapons and bundle. "What is this?" she said, pointing
to the bundle after she had laid it down. He opened it. She started
back in amazement. She had never seen corn before. He laid the ears
down side by side in a row with their points to the east, and said:
"This is what we call natán, corn. This (pointing to the first ear--the
most northerly of the row) is white corn; this (pointing to the next)
is blue corn; this (pointing to the third) is yellow corn, and this
(pointing to the fourth) is corn of all colors."[227] "And what do your
people do with it?" she asked. "We eat it," he replied. "How do you
prepare it to eat?" she inquired. He said: "We have four ways when it
is green like this. We put it, husk and all, in hot coals to roast. We
take off the husk and roast it in hot ashes. We boil it whole in hot
water. We cut off the grains and mix it with water to make mush."
517. She wrapped the four ears in a bundle and carried them to the
other lodge to show them to her parents. Both were astonished and
alarmed. The old man rose and shaded his eyes with his open hand to
look at them. They asked her questions about the corn, such as she had
asked her husband, and she answered them as he had answered her. She
cooked the four ears of corn, each one in a different way, according
to the methods her husband described. They increased in cooking so that
they made food enough to furnish a hearty meal for all. The old people,
who were greatly pleased, said the mush smelled like fawn-cheese.[228]
"Where does my son-in-law get this fine stuff? Ask him. I wish to know,
it is so delicious. Does he not want some himself?" said the old man
to his daughter. She brought a large dish of the corn to her husband
in the other lodge, and they ate it together. The Navaho had no fear
of poison this time, for the food did not belong to the old man.
518. At night when they were alone together she asked him where
he got the corn. "I found it," he said. "Did you dig it out of the
ground?" she asked. "No. I picked it up," was his answer. Not believing
him, she continued to question him until at last he told her: "These
things I plant and they grow where I plant them. Do you wish to see
my field?" "Yes, if my father will let me," the woman replied.
519. Next morning she told her father what she had found out on the
previous night and asked his advice. He said he would like to have her
go with Nati'nesthani to see what the farm looked like and to find
out what kind of leaves the plant had that such food grew on. When
she came back from her father's lodge she brought with her pemmican
made of venison and a basket of mush. The Wind People whispered to
him that he need not fear the food to-day, so he ate heartily of
it. When the breakfast was over, the Navaho said: "Dress yourself
for the journey, and as soon as you are ready I shall take you to my
farm." She dressed herself for travel and went to the lodge of her
parents, where she said: "I go with my husband now." "It is well,"
they said; "go with him."
520. The Navaho and his wife set out together. When they came to a
little hill from which they could first see the field, they beheld the
sun shining on it; yet the rain was falling on it at the same time,
and above it was a dark cloud spanned by a rainbow. When they reached
the field they walked four times around it sunwise, and as they went
he described things in the field to his wife. "This is my white corn,
this is my blue corn, this is my yellow corn, and this is my corn of
all colors. These we call squashes, these we call melons, and these we
call beans," he said, pointing to the various plants. The bluebirds
and the yellowbirds were singing in the corn after the rain, and
all was beautiful. She was pleased and astonished and she asked many
questions,--how the seeds were planted, how the food was prepared and
eaten,--and he answered all her questions. "These on the ground are
melons; they are not ripe yet. When they are ripe we eat them raw,"
he explained. When they had circled four times around the field they
went in among the plants. Then he showed her the pollen and explained
its sacred uses.[11] He told her how the corn matured; how his people
husked it and stored it for winter use, how they shelled, ground, and
prepared it, and how they preserved some to sow in the spring. "Now,
let us pluck an ear of each kind of corn and go home," he said. When
she plucked the corn she also gathered three of the leaves and put
them into the same bundle with the corn; but as they walked home the
leaves increased in number, and when she got to the house and untied
the bundle she found not only three, but many leaves in it.
521. He explained to her how to make the dish now known to the Navahoes
as ditlógi klesán,[230] and told her to make this of the white corn. He
instructed her how to prepare corn as ditlógin tsidikói,[231] and told
her to make this of the blue corn. He showed her how to prepare corn
in the form of thábitsa,[232] or three-ears, and bade her make this of
the yellow corn. He told her to roast, in the husk, the ear of many
colors. She took the corn to the other lodge and prepared it as she
had been directed. In cooking, it all increased greatly in amount,
so that they all had a big meal out of four ears.
522. The old people questioned their daughter about the farm--what
it looked like, what grew there. They asked her many questions. She
told them of all she had seen and heard: of her distant view of
the beautiful farm under the rain, under the black cloud, under the
rainbow; of her near view of it--the great leaves, the white blossoms
of the bean, the yellow blossoms of the squash, the tassel of the
corn, the silk of the corn, the pollen of the corn, and all the other
beautiful things she saw there. When she had done the old man said:
"I thank you, my daughter, for bringing me such a son-in-law. I have
travelled far, but I have never seen such things as those you tell
of. I thought I was rich, but my son-in-law is richer. In future cook
these things with care, in the way my son-in-law shows you."
523. The old man then went to see his son-in-law and said: "I thank
you for the fine food you have brought us, and I am glad to hear you
have such a beautiful farm. You know how to raise and cook corn; but do
you know how to make and cook the pemmican[229] of the deer?" "I know
nothing about it," said the Navaho. (The one knew nothing of venison;
the other knew nothing of corn.) "How does it taste to you?" asked
the old man. "I like the taste of it and I thank you for what you have
given me," replied the Navaho. "Your wife, then, will have something to
tell you." When he got back to the other lodge he said: "My son-in-law
has been kind to us; he has shown you his farm and taught you how to
prepare his food. My daughter, now we must show him our farm." She
brought to her husband a large portion of the cooked corn.