After they had been home a while a Genonsgwa came to the old woman’s

lodge, who talked pleasantly, inquiring how they were. Having found out

that they were only three in number, the Genonsgwa went back home,

thinking it would be a small work to kill them all. After the Genonsgwa

went away the old woman said: “We are in trouble now. There is a great

number of these Genonsgwa people leagued against us. They are assembled

somewhere, not far away. When this struggle commences we do not know

whether we shall be able to come home here again or not.” As soon as

she had finished talking with her grandchildren, the old woman, going

out, called, “Dagwanoenyents!” The girl, not knowing what that meant,

asked her grandmother, who said: “I am calling your relations to help

us. You are a Dagwanoenyent, too.” The Dagwanoenyents came one by one.

When all had come, there were 60 besides the old woman and her two

grandchildren. Dagwanoenyentgowa now said: “Each one must have a stone

to strike with, just heavy enough to handle with ease.” When they had

gathered stones the Genonsgwa began to come, thousands upon thousands

in number. The Dagwanoenyents were frightened when they saw them, but

the old woman who led them said: “We must separate and attack them

singly. Have faith to kill each one with but one blow, and you will do

it. You must keep the stones in your hands. Be firm and retreat slowly

in different directions.” The Dagwanoenyents took her advice. Whenever

they had a chance, they struck and killed a Genonsgwa, retreating all

the time and killing the Genonsgwa for a long distance. The old woman

then told all her people to go up a high mountain toward the south,

ahead of them, fighting as they went. She continued: “When we all reach

the top, we shall go down a short distance on the other side. The

Genonsgwa will come to the top and we shall strike them. One lot of us

must strike from the east, and the other from the west side, and we

must get behind them and drive them forward into the great ravine on

the south side of the mountain, where a river runs by. There they will

all perish.” The Genonsgwa came to the mountain top, where there was a

large clear space. Looking around on every side, they saw nothing of

the Dagwanoenyents, hence they thought the Dagwanoenyents had gone for

food. They had not stood there long, however, when they heard the sound

of the wind below them on both sides of the mountain. The noise grew

louder and louder, until presently the Dagwanoenyents struck them on

both sides, and uniting in their rear, fell upon them from behind also.

So terrible were the attack and the power of the Dagwanoenyents, that

they tore all the trees out by the roots and swept the earth off the

top of the mountain, hurling the rocks and trees and Genonsgwa into the

ravine and river below. The Genonsgwa were piled upon one another like

the rocks on the banks and in the bed of the river. The Dagwanoenyents

were now dancing on the mountain top, and the old woman said: “We have

hurled the Genonsgwa down there and we would better finish them. Half

of you go along the ridge running south from this mountain east of the

river, and the other half along the western ridge, and blow all the

trees and stones and earth into the great ravine.” They did this, and

when they came together they had stripped the mountain spurs naked.

Meanwhile the river forced everything to the end of the ravine, where

it piled up the débris of fallen trees in a great dam, so that the

river became a lake on the south side of the mountain. This lake is

called Hadiqsadon genonsgwa ganyudae; that is, the grave of the

Genonsgwashonon, or Genonsgwa people.

68. HINON, HOHAWAQK [327] AND HIS GRANDMOTHER

There was a very poor little old woman, who lived in the woods. She was

so destitute that she was nothing but skin and bones. She dwelt in a

smoky little lodge and cried all the time, both day and night. Her robe

of skins was so old and dirty that one could not tell without

difficulty of what material it was made. She had seven daughters, six

of whom were carried off one after another by hostile people, while the

seventh died.

The daughter who died had been buried some time when one night the old

woman heard crying at the grave. Going to the grave with a torch, she

found there a naked baby. The child had crawled up out of the grave

through a hole in the earth. Wrapping the baby in her blanket, the old

woman took it home. She did not know, she did not even suspect, that

her daughter was with child when she died.

The little boy grew very rapidly. When he was of good size the old

woman came home one day from gathering wood but could not find him.

That night it stormed, with thunder and lightning raging. In the

morning the child returned to her. His grandmother asked, “Where have

you been, my grandson?” “Grandmother,” said he, “I have been with my

father; he took me to his home.” “Who is your father?” “Hinon is my

father; he took me home first, then we came back and were all about

here last night.” The old woman asked, “Was my daughter, your mother,

in the grave?” “Yes,” said the boy, “and Hinon used to come to see my

mother.” The old woman believed what he said.

As the boy grew he used to make a noise like that of thunder, and

whenever Hinon came to the neighborhood he would go out and thunder,

thus helping his father, for he was Hinon Hohawaqk, the son of Hinon.

Some time after this the boy asked his grandmother where his six aunts

were, and the grandmother answered: “There are an old woman and her

son, whose lodge is far away; they live by playing dice and betting.

Your aunts went one by one with a company of people, and played dice

(plum pits); being beaten, their heads were cut off. Many men and women

have gone to the same place and have lost their heads.” Hinon Hohawaqk

answered, “I will go, too, and will kill that woman and her son.” The

old woman tried to keep him home, but he would not remain with her. He

told her to make two pairs of moccasins for him. He was very ragged and

dirty, so she made the moccasins and got him the skin of a

flying-squirrel for a pouch.

Setting off toward the west, soon he came to a great opening where

there was a large bark lodge with a pole in front of it, and on the

pole a skin robe. He saw boys playing ball in the opening, and going on

a side path, he heard a great noise. After a while the people saw him,

whereupon one of them said, “I do not know where that boy comes from.”

The old people were betting and the boys were playing ball. Soon an old

man came up to Hinon Hohawaqk and gave him a club; he played so well

that the old man came again, saying, “We want you to play dice; all the

people will bet on you.” A bowl was placed on an elk skin lying under

the pole. The woman and her son were there and the other people stood

around. Hinon Hohawaqk answered, “I do not know how to play the game.”

The old man replied, “We will risk our heads on you;” so he followed

the old man. He saw a white stone bowl as smooth as glass. The old

woman was sitting there on the elk skin, ready to play, and Hinon

Hohawaqk knelt down beside the bowl. She said, “You play first.” “No,”

answered he, “you play first.” So she took out her dice, which were

round and made from plum stones, and blowing on them, cast them into

the bowl, which she shook, at the same time calling out, “Game! game!”

The dice flew up into the air, all becoming crows and cawing as they

went out of sight. After a while they came down, still cawing, and

resumed the form of plum stones as they settled in the bowl. The old

woman had three plays to make a count of seventeen. She threw three

times but got nothing. Then Hinon Hohawaqk in order to win took dice

out of his pouch of flying-squirrel skin. The old woman wanted him to

use her dice, but he would not touch them. Placing his dice in the

bowl, he shook, whereupon the dice, becoming ducks, flew upward. They

went very high, and all the people heard them as they rose; when they

touched the bowl again they were plum stones, and scored 10. Then Hinon

Hohawaqk shook the bowl again, calling, “Game! game!” while the old

woman called out, “No game!” Back came the dice, scoring another 10. He

cast the third time and scored 10 more. He had won. Then he called the

people to see him cut off the heads of the old woman and her son. “No,”

said the old woman, “you must play again. Here is my son; you must play

ball with him, and if he loses we shall both forfeit our heads.” At

this Hinon Hohawaqk asked the old man what he thought. The people,

seeing how skillful he was, said “Play!” whereupon he went to the

ball-ground, ragged and looking poor. There were but two playing, one

on each side. Hinon Hohawaqk jumped, knocking the club far out of his

opponent’s hand. Then the old woman’s son ran for his club, but before

he could get it back Hinon Hohawaqk had sent the ball through the goal

posts. This was repeated seven times and Hinon Hohawaqk won the game.

“Now,” said he to all the people, “you can have the heads of the old

woman and her son.” The two heads were cut off, and the boys played

with the old woman’s head over the whole field.

“Now,” said Hinon Hohawaqk; “I am going to bring my grandmother to this

place, and we must all come here to stay and have this long dwelling in

which to live.” All went home to their lodges, and as the Son of

Thunder went, he sang praises of himself, and his grandmother heard him

on his way. He told her what he had done, saying, “We must all go there

and live in that fine dwelling and field.” She prepared provisions and

they went. It took them a long time to reach the place. All the other

people having reached there also, they built dwellings around the

field. When all had settled down, Hinon Hohawaqk called them to the

council lodge to have a dance. After they had finished the dance, all

went to their homes. Putting away her old blanket, the grandmother

began to dress. Having put on the clothes left by the old woman who

lost her head, soon she looked like a young woman and lived happily.

After a time Hinon Hohawaqk went off with Hinon, his father, with whom

he stayed all winter.

In the spring the old woman was uneasy in her mind. She heard thunder

in the west, and soon afterward her grandson came to the lodge. She was

very glad to see him. “Where have you been?” she asked. He answered:

“At the great mountain far off in the west. I have been with my father

helping the nations and protecting men.” After that he remained with

his grandmother all summer. Once in a while he would go away when it

began to storm but would come back again when the turbulence of the

weather ceased.

He lived a long time in this way, until at last he said to his

grandmother: “I have an uncle living in the west; some witch stole him

from you. I must go to find him.” So he went to the west to search for

his uncle. He went on till he came to a lodge in which he saw a woman

sitting by a fire, with her head resting on her hands. She would not

answer when he asked where his uncle was. Soon afterward he went out,

and taking his war club from his pouch, he knocked her on the head,

killing her. When he had killed the woman he went out and walked all

around the lodge, mourning and looking for his uncle. At last he heard

the moaning of a man. He looked into the trees, for he could not see

any one on the ground, but could not find him. Soon he came to a large

slippery-elm tree, the great roots of which held down a man, his head

coming out between two roots on one side and his feet between two on

the other side, while the tree stood just on the middle of his body. He

was calling to his nephew to give him a smoke. The latter answered:

“Oh, poor uncle! how badly off you are. Oh, poor uncle! I will give you

a smoke very soon.” Then he kicked over the tree, saying, “Rise,

uncle!” at which the uncle rose, well. Taking out his pouch, Hinon

Hohawaqk gave the old man a smoke, which pleased and strengthened the

uncle very much. He told his nephew how the woman had beguiled him to

go with her, pretending that she wanted to marry him. When she had him

at her lodge, however, she ate him, putting his bones under the elm

tree. Then both the uncle and the nephew went home to the long lodge.

The old grandmother was surprised and glad to see them.

All lived happily in their home till one day when the Son of Thunder

went off in a storm. When it was over he brought home a wife. After

that, when he went away in a storm his wife was uneasy, not knowing

where he was, for her husband had brought her home on his back such a

long distance in the storm. In due time she gave birth to a son. When

the boy was large enough to run about, the old man, the uncle of the

Son of Thunder, whose bones had lain under the elm tree, began to teach

him, and soon he was able to make a noise like thunder. One day the boy

followed his mother out of the lodge. They had a small dog, and as the

boy was running after his mother, somebody seized him and rushed away;

but the dog ran after him, and, contriving to seize his feet, pulled

off his moccasins, which he carried home. This was the first indication

the woman had that her boy was gone. Hinon Hohawaqk was off with a

storm at the time, and when he came home his wife asked whether he had

taken the boy. “No,” said he. “Oh! he is lost,” cried she. “Oh, no! he

is all right,” said Hinon Hohawaqk; “he has many relations around the

world—uncles and cousins.” The boy stayed away all winter. One day when

the winter was over he came home with his father. Then Hinon Hohawaqk

said to the people of his family, “We must all move away and live with

my father.” The old woman said, “No, we can not go; it is so far and I

am so old.” “I will carry you there in a little while,” said the

grandson. Thereupon Hinon Hohawaqk began to thunder, and lightnings

flew around. The lodge was torn to pieces and blazed up in flames. All

the rocks and lodges in the opening were broken to pieces. Hinon

Hohawaqk and all of his people rose in the air. The east wind began to

blow, bearing them to lofty mountains in the west, where they found old

grandfather Hinon. All live there in the caves of the rocks to this

day.

69. HAGOWANEN AND OTʻHEGWENHDA [328]

At Hetgen Tgastende [329] lived a man named Hagowanen, who possessed

potent orenda (magic power), and who belonged to the Donyonda people.

One day he set out to hunt. In his canoe he sailed across a broad lake

in front of his lodge, and then, leaving his canoe on the other side,

he traveled five days toward the west. Then he collected wood and made

a camp.

On the first day of his hunting he killed five bears and deer, which he

brought into his camp, saying, “What bad luck I have had today!” On the

second day he killed 10 bears and 12 deer and brought them home and

skinned and roasted them to dry the meat of the 15 bears and 18 deer

which he had killed, finishing the work before daylight. The next

morning he said, “I must go after more meat.” That day he killed 24

deer and 20 bears and brought them into camp, and skinned them and

finished roasting the meat precisely at midnight. Then he said, “I

think I have enough now.” Putting all the meat into one heap, he tied

it up with bark ropes. Then he shook the package, saying, “I want you

to be small,” at which it shrank into a small package, which he hung in

his belt. In the same way be made the skins into similar bundles, which

he hung to his belt, and then set out for home.

When Hagowanen reached the lake he could not find his canoe; he looked

everywhere, but he could see nothing of it. At last, he saw on the

shore a man whose name was Handjoias.[330] When they met, this man

asked, “What have you lost?” “My canoe,” answered Hagowanen. “Well, the

man who lives on that island yonder was here yesterday, and he took

your canoe,” replied Handjoias. “Who is the man on the island?” said

Hagowanen. “He is one of the Ganyaqden331 people,” was the answer. “How

am I to get my canoe back?” inquired Hagowanen. “Give me what meat you

have, and I will get it for you,” said Handjoias. “What am I to eat if

I do that?” replied Hagowanen. “I will do better, I will bring the

canoe. Take your meat home, and roast it, keeping half and putting the

other half outside of the door of the lodge for me,” declared

Handjoias. “Very well,” answered Hagowanen. Handjoias, who himself had

taken the canoe to the island, now brought it back, saying: “That man

on the island is a very ugly fellow. He almost killed me.” Getting into

his canoe, Hagowanen sailed home; on arriving he drew up his canoe

safely on the rocks. Then he untied and threw down the bundle of meat,

which in a moment regained its natural size. The meat he piled up

inside of the lodge, and tanned the skins, but he never paid Handjoias

for bringing back the canoe.

After a time a woman of the Hongak (Wild Goose) people came to

Hagowanen’s lodge, bringing a basket of marriage bread, and saying, “My

mother has sent me to Hagowanen to ask him to take me to wife.”

Hagowanen hung his head a while thinking, and mused, “I suppose nothing

ill-starred will come of this.” Then, looking at her, he said, “It is

well; I am willing to do what your mother wants me to do.” On hearing

this reply the woman was glad. She placed the basket of nuptial corn

bread before him. In accepting it he said: “I am thankful. For many

years I have not tasted bread which was made by a woman.” So he ate

some of the bread, whereupon they became husband and wife.

At the end of the first year the Hongak woman bore a son to Hagowanen,

and so she did every year until at last they had ten sons, whom they

named in their order from the eldest to the youngest, as follows: (a)

Tgwendahenh Niononeoden;[332] (b) Hononhwaes; (c) Haniodaqses; (d)

Hagondes; (e) Dahsihdes; (f) Dahsinongwadon; (g) Daheqdes; (h)

Oeqdowanen; (i) Donoengwenhden; and (j) Otʻhegwenhda.

They lived together for some time at Hetgen Tgastende, until one

morning when Hagowanen, who was sitting on a stone outside the lodge

with drooping head, said to himself: “Well, I have many children now. I

did not think that woman would have so many. I must go home again.” So

he rose, and going aboard his canoe, sailed away across Ganyodaeowanen

(“The Big Lake”). After a while his wife, missing him, said, “Where is

my husband?” She looked out and around everywhere but could not find

him. The eldest son was then a youth and the youngest a lively little

boy.

One day the eldest said, “I am going to look for my father, and see

where he is.” The mother rejoined, “You will get lost on the way.” “Oh,

no! I will not get lost,” he replied. At this the mother continued,

“Then you may go.” So he set out, traveling northward. While going

across a rocky place he found a trail. “This looks just like my

father’s trail,” said he, following it. Soon he came to a cross-trail,

and after examining it, he said: “I wonder where this path comes from

and where it goes. Well, when I return, I shall find out.” Not far from

the cross-trail he came to a lodge, and as the trail led up to it, he

entered. Looking around, he saw an old man in the southeast corner of

the room; another in the southwest; a third, in the northwest; and a

fourth, in the northeast. All sat smoking. The youth looked for his

father, saying, “He must be here somewhere.” The first old man, raising

his head, looked at him and asked: “Well, my grandson, what are you

doing here? Come this way, if you want to see your father. I will show

him to you; he is right here.” On the youth approaching, the old man

took him by the hair, and bending his head forward over a bark bowl,

cut it off, saying: “I am glad that a young game animal has come. It

must be good eating, as it is just the right age.” So saying, he began

to quarter the body.

After the people at Hetgen Tgastende had waited for some time without

tidings of the eldest brother, Hononhwaes, the second son of the Hongak

woman, said, “I want to follow my elder brother.” “Oh, my son!” said

the mother, “do not go away; something evil has befallen your brother.”

“I must go,” said the boy; “I can not resist the desire. I must see my

brother and father.” So he began to prepare for the journey, putting on

a hunting shirt, leggings, and moccasins of buckskin, and taking his

bow and arrows. His mother cried all the time, but she could not stop

him from going. He went northward, as his brother had done, going over

the same trail, until he arrived at the cross-trail and the lodge,

where he saw the four old men smoking in the four corners of the room.

He of the northwest corner spoke, saying, “My grandson, do you want to

see your father? Come here and you shall see him.” He went forward and,

looking into a large bark bowl half full of water, he saw the faces of

his father and brother. As he was gazing on them, the old man cut off

his head also, rejoicing as before.

Nine of the Hongak brothers went, one after another, in search of their

father and brothers, and all were killed by the four old men in the

same lodge. At last the tenth and youngest, Othegwenhda, who was still

small and young, said to his mother, “I should like to follow my

brothers.” “Oh, my son!” said the mother, “you must not go. There are

four brothers, old men, living on the road, who are called Hadiiades

(Blacksnakes). They have great magic power.” “But,” said he, “I must

go. I want to see my brothers very much.” “You will never see them,”

she replied. “They are dead.” “Well, can not I kill the old men?” he

said. “Maybe you can,” she replied, “if you take my orenda (magic

power) with you.” “Well, mother,” said Otʻhegwenhda, “give me your

magic power. I want to kill these men.” “I will go and bring my magic

power, my son,” said his mother. Thereupon the Hongak woman went

westward to a rough and rocky place, where she got a small figurine of

slate rock, about half the length of her little finger, with which she

returned to her home. When she had reached home the boy was ready to

start. He had armed himself with a bow of hickory and arrows of red

willow pointed with wasp stings. “Here,” said the mother, “I will tell

you what to do. Gird on a belt and put this fetish in it.” He placed

the fetish between his buckskin belt and his body. “You are now ready,”

said the mother. “Now you can do what you like. You can change yourself

to whatever form you please.”

Otʻhegwenhda, going northward as his brothers had done, found a fresh

trail looking as if made only a few minutes before. “This must be my

father’s trail,” thought he; “perhaps I will find him somewhere.” After

a while he came to the cross-trail running east and west; he stood

thinking whence it came and whither it led. “I will see,” said he.

Going toward the east, he soon reached a wide opening in the forest,

near the end of which was a cloud of dust moving in his direction. “I

will hurry back,” thought he, “or something may happen to me.” The

moment he turned back the great dust cloud approached very quickly, and

when it touched him, from weakness he fell to the ground. Soon after

this he heard a noise, and, looking up, saw a person with long legs,

rushing on toward him. Springing to his feet, the youth climbed a tree;

and then he shot his wasp-sting pointed arrows, thus killing the

stranger in the cloud of dust. This stranger was a Djieien (Spider).

Now Otʻhegwenhda went eastward again, and another cloud of dust rushed

against him, but he got outside of it, and after the cloud had passed,

he hastened westward to the point where the trails crossed. Thence,

going northward, he soon reached the lodge where the four old brothers,

Hadiiades (Blacksnakes), sat smoking. After standing outside a while,

he found a crack in the lodge; peeping in, he saw the four old men in

the four corners, at which he soliloquized: “I wonder whether these are

the men of whom my mother spoke. I will kill them if I can, and if I

can not, I will burn the lodge.” Taking out the fetish, he placed it on

his head, whereupon it stood up, and he said, “I am going to ask you a

question; I want you to tell me what to do; I want to kill these old

men.” The fetish answered: “If you want to kill them, you must get on

that high rock and call out, ‘I, Otʻhegwenhda, am on this high rock.’

You will find very sharp flint stones up there; take a handful of these

and throw them this way, saying, ‘I want it to be hot.’ This is your

only course to succeed.” As Otʻhegwenhda put back the fetish in his

belt, he heard the old men talking. “It seems Otʻhegwenhda is about

here,” said the old man in the northwest corner to the one in the

southeast. “Oh!” replied the other, “I thought you said all that family

were killed.” Then the old man in the southwest remarked, “It was my

opinion that one was left.” “Well, I think they are all gone except the

old woman Hongak,” said the old man in the northeast. “Well,” added the

old man in the northwest, “it seems to me that Otʻhegwenhda is lurking

around here somewhere.” “If you think so, you should look for him,”

replied the old man of the southwest. “Yes, I must look to see if I can

find him,” rejoined the man of the northwest. Otʻhegwenhda, leaping on

the lodge, sat with his feet hanging through the smoke-hole. The old

man looked everywhere but could not see him.

Otʻhegwenhda with his bow and arrows now shot down through the

smoke-hole at each of the four old men, the arrows piercing their

bodies deeply, but the old men were not hurt; they did not even know

that they were hit. Leaping off the lodge and landing about forty rods

away, Otʻhegwenhda went into the rock, whence he called out, “My name

is Otʻhegwenhda.” As he stood there a while one of the old men said:

“My back is sore. It feels as though my bones were broken.” Picking up

a handful of sharp fragments of flint, Otʻhegwenhda threw them at the

lodge, saying, “I want you to be red hot and burn up these old men and

their lodge.” The flint went straight to the lodge, a few pieces flying

beyond. Those that struck the lodge set it on fire, and those that fell

beyond set the forest on fire. Everything was blazing in and around the

lodge. Then the boy threw another handful of flints, saying, “I want

you to cut these old men’s heads off,” whereupon the flints pierced

their necks, causing their heads to fall off.

Otʻhegwenhda stood on the rock, watching the fire burn until nothing

but coals remained. Suddenly he heard an explosion—a Dagwanoenyent flew

toward him, knocking him off the rock; then rising high in the air, it

went straight west. Quickly springing to his feet and looking up, the

boy saw the Dagwanoenyent going higher and higher. Soon he heard a

crash as it struck the Blue (Sky),[333] after which it came rushing

down again, soon reaching the earth. Thereupon the youth crushed its

head with a white flint.

Otʻhegwenhda now searched all through the coals with a pointed stick,

but he found nothing but fire. At the northwestern corner of the burnt

heap he found a trail leading toward the northwest, and following this,

he came to an opening in the forest where he saw a cloud of dust

rushing toward him. Swerving aside into the woods, he peeped out from

some sheltering shrubbery; presently the cloud stopped at the edge of

the woods. Then he saw a Djieien (Spider) 6 feet tall. “Oh! I thought,”

said Djieien, “somebody was on the trail. It must be my master fooling

me. I thought he was here and had found some more of the Hongak

family.” The Djieien, turning back, ran as fast as he could,

Otʻhegwenhda following closely until Djieien reached the lodge, which

was slightly sunken into the ground. When the Djieien went into the

lodge Otʻhegwenhda listened outside. Soon he heard crying within and

thought that the sound resembled that of his father’s voice, and that

his father must be in there. Then he took out the fetish, which came to

life, and stood up; he asked of it, “How am I to kill the Djieien who

lives in here?” The fetish answered: “Go to that tree just west of

here, and climbing high upon it, call out, ‘I am Otʻhegwenhda, and more

powerful than anything under the Blue (Sky). I can kill any kind of

game (ganyo) on earth.’ When you have spoken, cut a limb from the tree

and throw it with the command to split the Spider’s heart in two (the

heart was in the ground under the lodge). When Djieien is killed, you

can come down and see your father before burning the lodge.”

Otʻhegwenhda did as directed by the fetish. He cut off a limb of the

tree, and spat on it; straightway it became alive, and he cast it

toward the lodge, saying, “Split Djieien’s heart in two.” The limb went

under the lodge to the place where the heart was hidden, and the

instant its heart was split Djieien stretched out, saying, “This is the

end of me,” and died. The boy heard the words and laughed. Then he

slipped down, and entering the lodge, said: “I must go in to see my

father. I heard him cry, so he must be inside.” So saying, he went in.

There Djieien lay dead in the middle of the room. Under the couch was

someone nearly dead. On raising the couch, he found his father in a

dying condition with the flesh gone from his legs and arms.

Otʻhegwenhda exclaimed, “Oh, my father! you must go home; my mother

wishes to see you.” Hagowanen whispered (he had lost his voice), “My

son, you will die if you come in here.” “Oh, no!” answered the boy;

“there is no danger now.” Putting the fetish on his hand, he asked it,

“What shall be done with my father?” The fetish answered: “He is only a

skeleton now. Spit on your hands and rub the spittle all over him, and

flesh shall come on his bones again.” Otʻhegwenhda did this, and his

father became as well as ever, whereupon he said: “Now, I have become

Sʻhodieonskon. I have heard old people say that when Sʻhodieonskon dies

he comes to life again immediately.” The boy laughed, and Hagowanen

added, “Let us go home.” “You go, but I must find my brothers,” replied

the youth.

When Hagowanen reached home, his wife, looking at him, began to cry:

“Oh! my dear son, I wish you were here. I think I have seen something

mysterious.” Hagowanen asked, “Why do you talk so?” She cried the more,

and he added: “Why do you cry? Are you sorry that I have returned?”

“No, but you are not alive,” she said. “Oh, yes! I am,” he replied.

“No; I can not believe that you are,” and, thinking he was a ghost, she

drove him out to the rocks, where he sat down.

After his father had gone Otʻhegwenhda burned Djieien’s lodge. When

nothing but coals were left, something shot up out of them, and flying

westward, it finally alighted on the plain, becoming a Dowisdowi

(Sandpiper). “That is the way I do, and that is why I claimed, ‘I can

kill anybody,’” said the boy. Going around the edge of the clearing on

the eastern side, he found a broad trail on which he traveled for half

a day, until he came to a cross-trail leading from north to south. He

stood at the four corners made by the trails, and putting the fetish on

his hand said, “You are the one I need.” “What do you wish?” asked the

fetish. “I wish you to tell me what I am to do now.” “If you go to the

foot of that pine tree,” answered the fetish, “you shall find a bark

bowl, beyond the tree a medicine spring, on the other side of the

spring, a plant. Dig up this plant, put it into the bowl, which you

shall fill with water from the spring, and then at this spot where the

trails intersect, dig a hole, and in it put the bowl with the plant

standing in the water. This done, step aside and see what will happen.

Now, be quick!” Hurrying to the pine tree which grew in the northwest

between the northern and western trails, Otʻhegwenhda found the spring,

and farther on, the plant awéaundagon (in full bloom), with bright red

blossoms. He did as directed, putting the bowl with the plant therein

in the ground at the crossing of the trails; then stepping aside, he

watched and listened. Presently he heard a noise in the forest like

that made by a heavy wind from the north. Nearer and nearer it came,

accompanied with a great cloud of dust. Nothing could be distinguished

until the cloud stopped at the crossing. Then, in the middle of the

cloud he saw the skeleton of Djainosgowa standing near the bowl. The

skeleton, walking up to the plant, ate one of its red blossoms. Though

it had no stomach, no place to hide the blossom, it nevertheless

vanished, at which the boy wondered greatly, saying: “It is nothing but

bones. Where does the food go?” Presently, the skeleton growing sick,

jumped around until it fell to pieces—arms, legs, head, ribs, all the

bones falling apart. Now Otʻhegwenhda laughed, standing in his hiding

place. But before he had stopped laughing he heard the rushing of

another wind from the south; after it came a cloud of dust, which

stopped at the crossing, and he saw the skeleton of Tsodiqgwadon near

the bowl. This also, going straight to the plant, ate a blossom. In a

moment it began to shake all over; soon it fell to pieces, becoming a

pile of bones. Soon the sound of a third wind was heard approaching

from the east with a great cloud of dust. This came rushing on until it

stopped at the crossing. In the middle of the cloud was the skeleton of

Ganiagwaihegowa, which ate a blossom, after doing which it began to

tremble and to become disjointed until, finally, it was a mere heap of

bones, like the other three.

Taking out the fetish again, Otʻhegwenhda asked it, “Is the work all

finished now?” “Yes,” said the fetish; “all the trails are clear. Now

you can go to the end of the southern trail. Perhaps you may find your

brother there. If you do, treat him as you did your father.”

Immediately he started toward the south. When he reached the end of the

trail, he could see nothing; but he searched until at last he found a

rock with an opening in it. Entering this opening, he went down into

the ground, looking around very closely. It was dark, and he thought,

“There may be more skeletons here, but I must go on.” At last he came

to a room. There was no fire in it; only plenty of light. He saw also

another room, on entering which he found three of his brothers—the

eldest and the two next to him. The eldest called out: “Oh, my brother!

are you here? You would better run away. The skeleton will come soon.”

“Oh! I will kill it,” he said. “My brother, I do not think you can live

if you stay here,” the elder brother continued. “I have come to take

you away,” answered Otʻhegwenhda. “We can not walk,” answered the three

brothers; “the skeleton has eaten our flesh.” On looking at them, he

saw that their limbs were bare bones. After he had rubbed them with his

spittle, they were covered with flesh as before, and his brothers were

well and strong again. Thereupon he said: “I want you to start home

now. I will go to find our other brothers.”

The three brothers now went home. When their mother saw them, she began

to cry, thinking they were ghosts, and, seizing a club, she drove them

out. They found their father, who was very glad to see them, and they

sat down on the rocks with him.

Otʻhegwenhda, now returning to the crossing, went along the eastern

trail to the end. There he saw nothing and wondered whence

Ganiagwaihegowa came. At last he noticed an opening in the ground, and,

entering it, he went down. It was very dark within. “There must be a

skeleton here,” thought he, looking around. Going farther, he came to a

room in which was abundant light from rotten wood all around. Farther

on he came to a second room, in which were three of his brothers too

weak to move, all their flesh having been eaten away. Having brought

flesh to their limbs by means of his spittle, he sent them home. Their

mother, thinking that they were ghosts, cried; then she drove them out

to the rocks, where they found their father and brothers.

Otʻhegwenhda now went along the northern trail until he came to a small

opening, where he stopped a moment. At this time a whirlwind came

straight upon him, causing him to run to the shelter of a great maple

tree near by. In a short time he heard the sound of a blow on the other

side of the tree. Looking toward the spot, he saw an Onwi (Winged

Snake) lying dead, for coming in the whirlwind, it had struck the tree

and in this way had been killed. The boy now went to the edge of the

opening, where he heard the noise caused by a second great whirlwind.

“I shall die this time surely,” thought he, as he saw a multitude of

winged snakes borne by the whirlwind. Again as he stood behind a tree,

they rushed far beyond. Thereupon he ran to the other side of the

opening. Presently the whirlwind of snakes [334] came back; this time

he lay down on the roots, on the opposite side of the tree, until the

snakes rushed by and far away. Now, putting the fetish on his hand, it

stood up alive; he asked, “What am I to do with these snakes that are

chasing me?” “Oh! make a large fire across their trail,” was the reply.

Gathering boughs and sticks into a great pile, he set fire to the

western end of it, saying to the wind, “Oh, my grandfather! send a

breeze on the western end of this pile.” His grandfather heard him, and

soon there was a mighty fire. When well kindled, he said, “Let the

breeze be still.” Immediately it died out. Very soon the snakes came on

again in the whirlwind, and rushing into the fire, every one was

killed.

Now free, Otʻhegwenhda hurried along the northern trail again until he

came to a second one leading toward the northeast. Once more taking out

the fetish, he asked, “Which way shall I go?” “North,” was the answer.

So he went on. Soon he saw a trail going toward the northwest, but he

kept straight on his own trail to the end. At first he saw nothing

there, but after a long search he found an opening near a birch tree

which stood at the end of the trail. On entering, he came to a room in

which an old man sat smoking. “What can that old man be doing,” thought

he. Presently the old man straightened up, saying: “I am weak this

morning. It seems to me somebody is around here. I thought the man who

guarded the opening said the Hongak family were all dead.” Raising his

head, the old man looked, and as he looked, his eyes seemed to stand

out from his head. At length he saw the boy, to whom he said: “My

nephew, I am glad you have come to visit me. I am going to try whether

I can find what luck (or orenda) you have. So saying, he shook a rattle

made of Dagwanoenyent, saying sáwa. “No,” said Otʻhegwenhda, “I will

try your orenda or magic power.” “Oh, no! I will try first,” said the

old man, whose name was Dewaqsentʻhwûs (Flea). Thereupon they disputed

until they came to blows. Throwing down the rattle, the old man struck

the boy with one hand. Immediately the old man’s arm fell off; he

struck with the other hand, whereupon the other arm fell off. Then he

kicked at the youth with one leg, and that broke off; he kicked with

the other leg, which likewise dropped off. The old man was now merely

head and body. The arms and the legs tried to get back into their

places, but Otʻhegwenhda rushed around to push them away, and shot an

arrow through the old man. Immediately the arrow, taking root, became a

small tree. Though fastened to the earth, the old man tried to bite

Otʻhegwenhda, but the moment he did so, his head flew off. The boy

pounded the body to bits. Jumping and dancing around, he said, “Oh! my

uncle is all in pieces.” In the old man’s lodge he found a second room,

in which were the last three of his brothers, who were as weak and

wretched as were the others. These he cured in like manner and sent

home. Their mother drove them out of the lodge, whence they went and

sat down on the rocks with their father and six brothers.

After his brothers had gone home Otʻhegwenhda, taking out the fetish,

asked it, “Is there anything on the northeastern trail?” “Not much.

Still you will save some people, if you go there,” was the reply. “Is

there trouble in the northwest?” the youth asked. “Yes; but not very

much,” was the answer. Keeping on to the end of the northwestern trail,

Otʻhegwenhda found a lodge without a door, at which he thought, “How

can I get into this lodge?” Peeping through a crack, he saw within an

old woman of the Onweaunt people, who was singing, “Otʻhegwenhda is

coming, Otʻhegwenhda is coming.” “Well, she knows I am here,” thought

the boy. Presently, saying, “I will go out and play,” she went into a

small but very deep lake, called Dyunyudenodes, also

Dedyoendjongoqden,[335] going way down into the water. After a while

her tail appeared moving around in a circle on the water. As the lake

was very small she was near the shore. The boy saw on the tail two

small objects like fins, which in rubbing against each other made

music. After the old woman had played a while, she started to come out.

Seeing the boy, she said, “My grandson, do not kill me; I never killed

any of your people.” “If you give me something, I won’t kill you,”

answered the boy. “Well, I will give you one of these points on my

tail;” and taking off one, she said, “Keep this; it is good to find out

your luck with.” “What shall I do when I want to use it?” asked the

youth. “Put it under your head when you go to sleep; you will have a

dream, and the dream will tell you what you want to know,” she replied.

Now the boy went home with the old woman. On entering her lodge and

looking around, he saw an opening in the ground; going through this, he

found a great many people almost dead. To these he said, “My friends, I

have come to help you, so you may live a little longer.” Having spat on

his hands, he rubbed each one of them, whereupon all were well

straightway, and went out into the open air. He asked all where they

came from and told them what direction to take to go home. One said, “I

came from Hetgen Tgastende.” There were ten with him; they were

Donyonda people. “Go toward the southwest for five days,” the youth

told him. Another said, “We came from Gawenogowanenne.” “Go westward

five days’ journey,” he ordered. Twenty followed him; they were Teqdoon

people. A third person said, “We came from Dyoenhdanódes;” these were

Díhdih people.[336] “Go toward the northeast,” he directed them. A

fourth person said, “We live in Dyonondadenyon;337 our chief’s name is

Honigonowanen.” These were Djoqgweani338 people. Otʻhegwenhda said: “I

must go to pay you a visit. You have twenty days’ journey before you.”

All went home. When they were gone, Otʻhegwenhda went back to the old

woman, whom he asked, “Why did you shut up these people?” “I did not

shut them up,” she replied. “Well, they were in your lodge,” he

continued. “Yes, but my husband, who is a man-eater, did it,” she

responded. “Does he live here? What is his name?” he asked. “He lives

on another trail,” she replied; “his name is Dewaqsentʻhwûs (the

Weeper, or Flea).” The boy, laughing, asked, “Was that old man your

husband? Oh! I killed him some time ago.” “Are you sure?” “Yes,” he

said. “Well, then I am glad. I never liked him. Your people are safe

now, for you killed the man who always hunted them.” The boy said, “I

will let you live this time, but I will kill you if you ever chase my

people.”

Otʻhegwenhda now went on the northeastern trail until he came to a

lodge in which he heard singing in a very low voice: “The youngest son

of Hongak is going all over the world. We wish he would come to visit

us.” Then the song ceased, and a woman’s voice said, “I feel worse this

morning.” “Let us go out and play and feel well,” answered the man’s

voice. Coming out, with the boy following them, they went to some white

flints as large as a lodge. Picking up one of these stones, the woman

threw it into the air. It fell on her head but did not hurt her a bit.

Then she threw it to the man who, having caught it, threw it back. Thus

they played some time until the woman said, “Let us go home.” “Very

well,” answered the man. Otʻhegwenhda hurried on before them. After

they had entered the lodge, the man said: “It seems as though some one

were here. I will go and look outside.” On going out and finding the

boy, he said, “My grandson, what are you doing here?” The youth

replied, “I have come just to visit you.” “Come inside then,” was the

response. “Otʻhegwenhda has come,” said the man to his wife, who

turned, saying: “My grandson, I am glad you have come. We have been

waiting for a long time to see you. Now we will tell you why we wish

you to be powerful. We know that you have killed the man-eater,

Dewaqsentʻhwûs, and the skeletons of Tsodiqgwadon and Ganiagwaihegowa.

There are many people under our lodge and we want you to free them.” At

one corner of the room was an opening through which the boy passed into

a second very large room, in which he found a multitude of people

without flesh and almost dead. He rubbed them with spittle, thus curing

them, after which he brought them out. “Now,” said he, “you are all

free and need have no further fear, for the evil people are all dead.”

He then asked all where they came from. One party, the Djoñiaik people,

said they came from Diogegas he Tgawenonde (Hickory Point). “You go

southward fifty days,” he told them; and they went. The second party,

the Gaisgense people, said they came from Gendowane (Great Meadow).

“You go toward the southeast,” he told them. A third party, the Djagwiu

people, said they came from Gahadowane (Great Forest). “You go toward

the southeast,” he told them. A fourth party, the Ogenhwan people, said

they came from Diodonhwendjíagon (Broken Land). A fifth party, the

Gwaqgwa people, said they came from Hehdon dyóondaien (Juneberry Tree

Grove). “Go directly westward a day and a half,” was the command. A

sixth party, the Guro [339] people, said that they came from

Nitgendasédyea (Beyond the Narrow Opening). “You travel toward the

south five days’ journey,” he said. Three were left who did not

remember at first where they came from. Then they said, “We think that

the old people called the place we came from Steep Opening.” “Then you

go northeastward,” said the youth. Otʻhegwenhda was left there alone.

The man and woman who had been guarding the people just liberated now

thanked him; they, too, were then free from Dewaqsentʻhwûs, the

man-eater, who, being master of the skeletons, had forced them all to

work for him in capturing and confining people for him to eat. “Now,”

said Otʻhegwenhda, “let all the trails disappear. Trails are not to be

made across the world to deceive people.” Thereupon the trails all

vanished.

Then the youth went to his own lodge, where he found his father and his

nine brothers, sitting on a great flat stone. “Oh!” said the youth,

“why do you not go inside where my mother is?” Hagowanen answered,

“Your mother drove us out.” Otʻhegwenhda, going into the lodge, asked:

“Mother, what have you done? Are you not glad that I brought my father

and brothers back?” “Did you find and bring them home?” asked his

mother. “Yes, I did,” he replied. Then the woman was sorry. She invited

them in, and they came into the lodge and all were happy. After he had

been home a while Otʻhegwenhda said to his family: “I must visit my

friends, the Djoqgweani in Dionondadenion. It is not far from here,” he

said. They had to let him go and do what he liked, for he possessed the

most potent orenda.

Otʻhegwenhda soon came to a lake called Onyudetdji (Rough Lake).

Putting on the water a piece of slate, he said, “I want you to take me

across.” Sitting upon the slate, it carried him quickly over the water

to the other side, where he left it, saying: “Wait here until I return.

Then I shall need your help again.” Soon reaching Dionondadenion, a

beautiful country, he inquired until he found the chief’s lodge. When

he entered he saw an old man, to whom he said: “I have come to see

you.” The old man was silent. The youth spoke again, but received no

answer. “Why do you not speak?” thought he. A third time he spoke,

whereupon the old man replied, “Why do you not hurry and eat up all my

people?” “I have never killed any of your people. I have saved many of

them from Dewaqsentʻhwûs, and I thought you would be glad,” said the

youth. “Well, there is a man around here eating up all my people. He

looks like you, though he is an old man.” “I came to help you,” said

Otʻhegwenhda, “and I will kill this man.” “Well, he is coming now,”

said Honigoneowanen. Presently a man kicked the door open and came in,

saying, “I have come to see you a few moments.” His mouth was smeared

with fresh blood. Otʻhegwenhda, standing up, said: “I have come to

fight with you. You will have to conquer me before you kill these

people.” “Very well,” said the man-eater, whose name was

Djiniondaqses;[340] “come out.” Thereupon they went out, and they

fought until night; then until dawn. Next morning Otʻhegwenhda was

nothing but bones, while the man-eater, too, had lost all his flesh.

The two skeletons fought all that day, and when night came, their

bodies were broken up, nothing being left but the two skulls. The

skulls fought all night, and when daylight came the skull of

Djiniondaqses was crushed to pieces. The skull of Otʻhegwenhda was

sound, and it kept on rolling over the ground where he had fought. As

it rolled around, the bones of his body began to reattach themselves to

it, and soon the skeleton was complete. Then the skeleton rolled in the

blood and flesh where he had fought, and straightway the flesh and

blood grew to it, until at last Otʻhegwenhda stood up sound and well as

ever.

When Otʻhegwenhda went into the chief’s lodge, Honigoneowanen said: “I

am very glad and thank you. I will now give you my daughter, and when

you are old enough, you shall marry her.” Otʻhegwenhda took the chief’s

daughter to Hetgen Tgastende and they lived there.

70. OKTEONDON AND HAIEÑTʻHWUS [341] (THE PLANTERS)

Okteondon was a youth who lived with his maternal uncle, Haieñtʻhwus,

in an arborlike lodge in the forest. From his earliest babyhood

Okteondon lay carefully hidden from the eyes of the people, having been

for this purpose securely fastened under the roots of a large tree,

around which his uncle had erected his lodge.[341a] Okteondon had now

reached the age of puberty.

One day while Haieñtʻhwus was in the neighboring field planting corn,

he heard his nephew singing in a loud voice: “Now, I am rising. Now, I

am rising.” Dropping his planting-stick and shouting, “No, my nephew,

you are not ready yet; you are in too great a hurry,” Haieñtʻhwus ran

home, where he found that Okteondon had raised his head by partially

uprooting and overturning the sheltering tree. Haieñtʻhwus therefore

pushed him back into his place, admonishing him, “I will tell you when

it is time for you to arise.”

The next day Haieñtʻhwus again went out to plant corn. He had hardly

reached the field when he heard once more his nephew begin to sing and

to strive to arise. Haieñtʻhwus at once started for the lodge, running

with so much haste that he lost on the way all his seed corn from his

seeding basket. When he reached home he found the tree half uprooted

and leaning far over to one side. So he pushed his nephew back into his

place, but he was unable to reset the tree as firmly or as nearly

upright as it was before.

On the third day Haieñtʻhwus again went out to finish his corn

planting, but the moment that he began to drop the grains of corn he

heard still again the singing of his nephew. So Haieñtʻhwus without

delay rushed back to the lodge, but while running he heard an awful

crash and crackling of limbs, from which he knew that the tree had

fallen. When he reached the lodge he found Okteondon sitting on the

ground. Haieñtʻhwus did not return to the field to complete his corn

planting, but remained in his home to look after his nephew and to make

the necessary preparations for the coming marriage of the young man.

Early the next morning they heard sounds outside the lodge, and shortly

afterward a woman and a beautiful younger woman, who were

Wadiʻoniondies, entered the lodge. One of the women, addressing

Okteondon, said, “I have come purposely to take you home with me.” “It

is well. I consent,” answered the youth, who started at once to cross

the lodge to accompany her and her companion. But Haieñtʻhwus stopped

him with the remark: “You must not go yet. You have friends who are

coming to escort you, and must wait for them.” Then “The Planter”

hastened to prepare some food to eat, and for this purpose placed a

large kettle of hominy over the fire. About the time that the hominy

was ready three young men came into the lodge, who were invited by

Haieñtʻhwus to eat. When Okteondon, the young men, and Haieñtʻhwus had

eaten the boiled hominy, the old man began to pack some garments in a

small bundle. When he had finished his parcel, he said to his nephew,

“When any one of your friends is in need of things such as these you

will find them in this parcel.”

Then Okteondon, after putting on his snowshoes, instructed his friends,

saying: “You must follow me, and in doing so you must step in my

tracks;” then he started. The three young men in stepping in his tracks

found that it was like walking on solid ground, although the earth was

covered deep with snow. Toward evening they came to a place where they

saw smoke floating like clouds among the trees. When they drew near to

an opening they saw a number of fires, around which were four young

women. Thereupon Okteondon, addressing his companions, said: “We will

stop here and kindle our fires near these women.” When their fires were

burning briskly Okteondon, going up to the four young women, who had

kettles of hominy boiling over their fires, overturned the kettles and

scattered the fires with his feet. This greatly angered the women

except the last, who was the youngest. After doing this Okteondon

returned to his friends, and remarking that he was going out to hunt

for fresh meat, started off into the forest. He had not gone far when

he came to a tree on which he saw marks made by the claws of a bear.

Walking up to the tree he exclaimed: “Thou who art in this tree, come

forth.” In a moment a bear came forth, which he killed; after dressing

it he brought the meat to the camp. Then he said, “I am going to fetch

my uncle’s kettle,” and passing around a big tree standing near the

camp, he returned with a large kettle. In this kettle they placed the

meat to cook over their fire. When the meat was cooked they sat down

and ate it. After they were through eating Okteondon said: “Let us now

go to our wives. I wish you to follow my advice, too. Take none of this

meat to your wives, for if you do we shall have bad luck. Some

misfortune will befall us.” When they reached the camp of the young

women they found that the latter had hominy cooked and were cooling it.

They sat with their backs turned toward the men. The youngest sister,

whom Okteondon claimed as his wife, asked him to come over and eat with

her. The others said nothing. Okteondon ate, but the other men did not.

That night they slept with the women. Hotʻhoh,[342] one of the three

men who accompanied Okteondon, was naked. He had a hole slit through

the skin of his hip, in which he carried his war club. He chose the

eldest of the Wadiʻoniondies342a sisters, and Okteondon the youngest.

The women kept their canoe near the four fires, and when they undressed

they placed their outdoor garments in the canoe. The next morning the

men returned to their fires. One of the men, however, had lost his

leggings and his moccasins, for the woman with whom he had slept had

robbed him of them. The sisters warmed up the cold hominy for their

breakfast, and after eating it went aboard their canoes and sailed away

through the air, leaving a trail343 therein.

In the camp of the men Okteondon opened his pouch and, taking therefrom

a pair of leggings and a pair of moccasins, he gave them to the man who

had been robbed of his own. When the men had prepared and eaten their

breakfast, and had made the necessary provision for their journey, they

started off, following the trail of the canoe of the women, which was

plainly visible in the air. Toward evening they again saw smoke in the

distance ahead. When yet some distance from it Okteondon said: “We will

encamp here.” Again going over to the camp of the women, he walked

through their fires and upset the kettles of hominy. Then returning to

his own camp, he went out to hunt, in order to get meat for the supper

of his friends. But he had to go a long distance before finding any

game, for the woman who stole the foolish man’s leggings had stretched

them out over the country, her very long arms describing an imaginary

circle with them, at the same time telling the game animals included

therein to go outside of this circle. So Okteondon had to do likewise

before he could find a bear. Finally he killed one, the carcass of

which he brought into camp. When he returned to camp he upbraided his

three companions with the words: “You have been the cause of my being

tired by your folly. You know that I forbade you taking anything to the

women, even a small portion of meat. But you failed to obey my advice,

and I have now experienced some of the effects.” Procuring a kettle in

the same way as he had done before, Okteondon then proceeded to cook

the bear’s flesh. When it was done he and his companions ate their

evening meal. After they were through eating they went over to the camp

of the women, where they found them sitting each with a bark dish of

hot hominy on her knees, which she was cooling. They sat with their

faces turned toward home and with their backs toward the camp of the

men. The youngest of the sisters asked Okteondon to eat with her.

Later, separating into pairs, they all went to bed together. As the

night passed Okteondon grew angrier and angrier, and so he lay awake.

At last, when he thought that all were asleep, he said, addressing a

tall tree standing near the canoe which contained the clothes of the

women: “I want you, Tree, to bend down to me.” Thereupon the tree bent

down to him and Okteondon placed the canoe among its topmost branches.

Then he said, “Now I want you to stand upright again,” and the Tree

again resumed its erect position. He immediately added, “I desire you,

Tree, to be covered with ice,” and it soon so happened. Okteondon did

this because he was angered by the action of the women in driving the

game away, thus causing him to go so far to hunt to find the bear he

had killed, and in having stolen the leggings and moccasins of one of

his companions.

Early the next morning Okteondon and his companions returned to their

camp fires. When the women arose they could not find the canoe in which

their outdoor garments were kept. So they had to run around from place

to place naked, trying in vain to find them. At last they discovered

the canoe in the top of the tree; whereupon the eldest of the sisters

said, “I will try to get it down.” Moistening both her hands and feet

with saliva, which she rubbed thoroughly into them, the nails on her

fingers and toes presently grew long and powerful, resembling the claws

of a bear. Then the woman began to climb the tree. She succeeded in

getting halfway up the icy trunk when, losing her grip, she slid down,

her powerful nails tearing the ice as she slipped, until she struck the

ground in a sitting posture. She made several attempts to reach the

canoe but each time failed. All the sisters talked together over the

situation, finally deciding that no one but Okteondon had played them

this mean trick. When they asked him about it, he replied, “I put your

canoe on the tree top because you insulted me and so made me angry.”

The women all promised that they would not do such things again if he

would get the canoe for them. So, relenting, Okteondon asked the Tree

to bend down a second time. As the top reached the ground, Okteondon

took the canoe therefrom, which he gave back to the women. They were

then able to dress themselves. After doing so, they took their food out

of the canoe, and, having cooked and eaten their morning meal, they

continued their journey homeward in the canoe. Shortly the four men

followed them, keeping the trail all day.

Toward evening the men noticed before them smoke in the distance. When

they drew near it they saw that it arose from the middle of a great

lake covered with smooth ice. The four sisters were encamped in the

middle of this lake, and Okteondon told his friends that he would make

ready to camp on the ice, too. Gathering a handful of dry leaves and

hemlock boughs, he said to his companions: “Be cautious and follow my

steps. Be sure that each of you step exactly in my tracks.” When near

the camp of the women Okteondon remarked, “We will camp here.” Laying

down his handful of wood, it at once increased in size, becoming a

great pile, whereupon he said, “I want a fire to be here”; and there

was there immediately a fire. Then he scattered the handful of hemlock

boughs on one side of the fire, saying, “In this place shall be our

lodge and beds,” and straightway there was a lodge, and within were

beds for every one present.

Now, the home of the sisters was on the shore of this lake, but they

had camped in the middle of its waters in order to see how the four men

would act and to ascertain what orenda they had.

Early in the night the women came to the camp of the men but did not

sleep with them, returning to their own camp instead. In the morning

the women went to their home on the shore of the lake. When they

arrived there their mother asked them, “What husband has the most

orenda?” They answered unanimously, “Okteondon.” When the men awoke in

the morning they saw the shore of the lake lined with great crowds of

people, who were expecting the return of the women with their husbands.

When ready to start, Okteondon said to the three men, “We will now go

to the women, but you must be very cautious and must not look up at the

people.” Then the four men started from their camp on the ice for the

shore. When they had gone but a short distance, three of them heard a

voice singing, Gwăʼʹ wăʼonĕñioñʹdĭʼ, which means, “Lo! It is raining

bones.” These words were heard a second time, sounding nearer; then

suddenly the men heard a swift rushing sound, and a mass of dry bones

swept rustling past them on the ice.[344] Okteondon steadied his

remaining friends with the curt remark, “One of us has looked up.” At

that moment all the people on the shore suddenly disappeared, with the

exception of the old woman [Kahenchitahonk], a noted witch, the mother

of the girls who were bringing home their husbands. She walked back and

forth along the shore, singing: “Okteondon is my son-in-law. Okteondon

is my son-in-law.” When Okteondon and his two remaining companions

reached the shore, the old woman, after inviting the men to follow her,

started for her home. Having arrived there, she said, “I am going to

see whether my daughters have prepared something to eat; so you wait

here until I return.” Now the lodge of the old woman was built of ice.

So while she was away, Okteondon, taking a small bundle of sticks,

said, “Let these burn!” Straightway the pile of sticks became large and

took fire, burning so briskly as to give out great heat. Then Okteondon

said to the two men: “The old woman will bring food for us to eat, but

you two must not eat it. I alone will eat it, for it will not hurt me.”

So saying, he made a hole through the ice into which he thrust a reed.

In a short time the old woman returned, saying: “Son-in-law, I have

brought you a small quantity of something to eat. It is the custom, you

know, to eat only a little after a long journey.” Taking the bark bowl,

Okteondon ate all the food, which ran through the reed into the ground.

This food was hominy (snow) and bloodsuckers (clouds). In a short time

the old woman returned with another bowl, saying: “I have brought more

for you to eat. This is hominy cooked with maple sugar” (it was wild

flint that floats on water). Now the lodge of the old woman was

becoming full of holes from the heat of the fire, whereupon she

exclaimed, “Whuʼ! My son-in-law has spoiled my lodge. Let us go to the

lodge of my daughter.” Going thither, they found something good to eat

(i.e., food which was not the product of the arts of sorcery).

In the night when all had retired the wife of Okteondon told him in

confidence: “My mother will try to kill you (by testing your orenda).

She does not care much about the other two men, for she knows just what

powers of orenda they have, and that she can take their lives whenever

she wishes to do so.” So toward evening of the next day the old woman,

Kahenchitahonk, said: “Whuʼ! I think that it is going to be terribly

cold tonight. I will get some large logs to make a fire to warm my back

during the night.” So bringing great logs into the lodge from the

woods, she made a hot fire. The wife of Okteondon said to her husband:

“My mother will say tonight, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law must go to

hunt to kill the Sʻhadahgeah, and that he must return to this lodge

before the door-flap, which he swings shut behind him in going out,

stops swinging, because if these things are not performed something

direful will happen.’” There were then only two men besides Okteondon

in the lodge, for the third companion of Okteondon, Hoisʻheqtoni,[345]

had been turned into bones on the lake by the collapsing of the power

of his orenda. In the middle of the night the old woman,

Kahenchitahonk, began to groan horribly and to writhe and toss in her

sleep. Finally she rolled out of her bed into the fire with such force

that she scattered the firebrands and coals about the lodge. Quickly

rising from his bed, Okteondon struck his mother-in-law on the head

with the corn-pounder, to awaken her, calling out, “Well,

mother-in-law, what are you doing, and what is your trouble?” Thereupon

the old woman, sitting up, said: “Oh! I have just had a dream. I

dreamed that you, my son-in-law, must kill Sʻhadahgeah346 tomorrow and

bring his body in here, before the door-flap, which you will swing shut

behind you in going out, stops swinging, because if these things are

not performed something direful will happen.” “Oh, mother-in-law! Go to

sleep now; we will attend to this matter in the morning,” answered

Okteondon. So Kahenchitahonk lay down again and slept.

The next morning Okteondon was ready to perform his task. Taking hairs

from his wife’s head, he tied them end to end, making a cord long

enough for his purpose; then tying one end of this cord to the

door-flap, he gave the other end of it to his wife, bidding her to pull

the door-flap to and fro, so as to keep it swinging, until he came back

from shooting Sʻhadahgeah. Okteondon then started out to hunt for his

victim, but he had not gone far from the lodge before he saw

Sʻhadahgeah perched on a cloud. He let fly one of his arrows, which

kept its course until it struck the bird. When Sʻhadahgeah fell to the

ground Okteondon picked it up and carried it back to the lodge.

Now when the old witch saw that the door-flap did not stop swinging,

she was very angry. She pushed it to, but unknown to her the daughter

kept it swinging to and fro. At this time Okteondon, striding in, threw

the bird on the ground, saying, “There! you have him for your ‘eat-all’

feast (gaqsahon).” “Oh, son-in-law!” said the old woman; “you must give

me one of the wings for a fan; my old one is now worn out.” “Oh no!”

said Okteondon; “you can not have it,” and he threw the bird on the

fire to remove its feathers. Then Hotʻhoh, Okteondon’s friend, placed a

kettle of water over the fire. When the feathers were burned off

Sʻhadahgeah, Okteondon, after cutting up its body, put all the pieces

into the kettle. When it was cooked, he took out the flesh and skimmed

off every drop of fat from the soup. “Now,” said the old woman, “you

must invite all the men of distinction in the village.” “I will invite

whom I please,” said Okteondon, “and do just as I like.” Going out of

doors, he shouted, “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to an ‘eat-all’

(gaqsahon) feast.” Soon they began to come one after another. When all

were present, Okteondon said: “I have invited you to a feast in which

everything must be consumed. You must eat the meat, drink the soup,

chew the bones and swallow them.” So they began to eat, and soon they

had devoured everything, leaving not a drop of grease or fat, nor a bit

of bone; then the Dagwanoenyents laughed, feeling good when they had

finished their task. They boisterously exclaimed, “It made a fine meal;

it was her late husband’s flesh.”

Kahenchitahonk, the great witch, notorious and cruel, was now

ferociously angry. Seizing the wooden pestle, or corn-pounder, she

struck the Dagwanoenyents with it, whereupon they fled at once from the

lodge, some going out of the smoke-hole, some through the doorway, and

others in their great haste making large rents in the walls of the

lodge, through which they escaped. When she had driven them all out of

the lodge, she said: “I think the coming night will be very cold; so I

must fetch wood for the fire.” Bringing much wood, she then made a

great fire, saying, “Now, I will be able to warm my back”; then she

went to sleep with her back to the fire. The wife of Okteondon said to

him: “My mother will dream again tonight and will exclaim, ‘I dreamed

that my son-in-law killed the White Beaver and brought it here before

the door-flap, which he will fling back in going out, stopped swinging,

and that if he does not return before the door-flap stops swinging,

something direful will happen to us.’” Late in the night all over the

lodge they heard the old woman groaning, and rolling and tossing about;

finally she fell into the fire, scattering the coals around the lodge.

Jumping up and seizing the corn-pounder, Okteondon struck the old woman

on the head to awaken her, saying to her, “You must be dreaming about

me, mother-in-law?” “Oh, yes! I am dreaming about you,” she muttered in

reply. “You dream about no one else, I think,” said Okteondon. “Well,”

she said, “I do dream about you, for I fear something may happen, but

you are powerful through your orenda (magic power). I will tell you

what the dream said to me; it said that my son-in-law must kill the

White Beaver, and that if the door-flap which he flings back in going

out stops swinging before he returns with the dead Beaver, something

direful will happen.” “Oh, mother-in-law! go back to sleep; that is a

small matter, nothing,” said Okteondon.

Early in the morning Okteondon fastened the string made from his wife’s

hair to the door-flap, as he had done in the former ordeal, and bade

his wife thereby keep it swinging to and fro while he was gone, as she

had done before. Then he went out, flinging the door-flap back as he

passed through. Then, running to a knoll on which stood a butternut

tree, and taking a nut from it, he hurried to a neighboring lake, where

he cast the nut into the water, shouting a challenge, “You who live in

this lake come forth.” At once the water, rising, rushed toward him,

following him until it reached the knoll, where it stopped. Okteondon

saw the White Beaver looking out over the water, and, taking an arrow

from his quiver and drawing his bow, shot the White Beaver, killing it.

Seizing its body, he hurried home with it. When he reached the doorway

he found the old woman trying to hold the flap to prevent it from

swinging to and fro and uttering words charged with her orenda to

accomplish her purpose. When Okteondon threw White Beaver into the

lodge the old woman said: “Oh, son-in-law! you are to make me a pouch

of the skin of White Beaver.” “Oh, no! I will do what I like with it,”

he replied, casting it on the fire to singe off the hair. Putting a

kettle over the fire, Hotʻhoh soon had water boiling. Then the body of

White Beaver having been cut up, the pieces were placed in the kettle

to cook. Thereupon Okteondon’s mother-in-law said to him: “Oh,

son-in-law! I want you to invite all the men of importance of this

place to the feast.” Okteondon answered: “Oh, no! I will invite only

such persons as I choose.” When the flesh of White Beaver was cooked

Okteondon removed the pieces from the kettle to cool; then he went out

of the lodge, calling aloud: “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to come

to a feast of ‘eat-all’ (gaqsahon).” Soon they came crowding into the

lodge, as they had at the first feast, and Okteondon said: “You must

eat up everything to the very last bit. Here are the meat, the soup,

and the bones; you must eat all and even lick the bowls.” So they began

to eat; they ate the meat, drank the oily broth, and the crunching of

bones could be heard as they devoured them. Lastly they licked the bark

bowls. When they had finished their task they were satisfied and began

to laugh: “Hi, hi, hi! That was good meat, the old woman’s brother.”

The old woman was very angry and, taking up the corn-pounder, attacked

them, driving them from the lodge.

After the feast was over, the wife of Okteondon told him that the next

trial was one among all others the most severe and exacting. She said

to him: “My mother will say tonight, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law was

killed and skinned, and that I made a pouch of his skin.’ I do hope you

can survive this ordeal.” In reply Okteondon said, “When she kills and

skins me and places my flesh in a bark bowl, you must set the bowl on

the top of the lodge.” Toward evening Kahenchitahonk, the old witch,

muttered, “The sky is clear, so we shall have a very cold night, and I

must get logs to make a big fire.” At night she made a great fire in

the lodge, and after all had retired she began to moan and toss in her

sleep; finally she rolled into the fire, scattering the firebrands

around the room. Quickly rising and seizing the corn-pounder, Okteondon

struck her on the head, saying: “Oh, mother-in-law! What is the matter?

What are you doing? What are you dreaming about?” She replied, “I

dreamed that I killed you and made a pouch of your skin.” Okteondon

replied, “Oh! go to sleep now; we will see to that in the morning.” So

the next morning Okteondon said, “Now, mother-in-law, I am ready.”

Thereupon the great witch laid on the ground a piece of bark

sufficiently large for the purpose, telling Okteondon to lie down upon

it. When he did so, she knocked him on the head with a club, killing

him. Then she carefully flayed him,[347] removing the skin with the

hands and feet attached to it. Afterward she placed all the flesh in a

large bark bowl. As soon as the wife of Okteondon saw her put the last

piece into the bowl, she placed the bowl on the top of the lodge. Then

the old woman next cheerfully sewed up the skin in the form of a pouch,

which she distended by blowing into it. This done, she hung it over the

flames, poking the fire to make it blaze. As the pouch swayed to and

fro over the fire, the old woman gleefully began to sing, “Oh! what a

nice pouch have I; no one living has such a pouch.” Every time she

poked the fire the pouch swayed more quickly to and fro, until at last

it began to sing, “Oh! were the wind only out of me.” The old woman

kept on stirring the fire while the pouch swayed to and fro faster and

faster. “Oh, what a beautiful pouch have I,” said she; “it even sings.”

After a while the pouch made a noise, and with a bhu! went flying up

through the smoke-hole. As it flew out, the old woman cried, “Oh! I

have lost my pouch; it has run away from me.” She hurried to the

doorway, and in going out she met her son-in-law coming in alive and

well.

It was now Okteondon’s turn. That night he had a dream, groaning and

rolling around until his mother-in-law, arising, struck him on the head

with the corn-pounder, saying: “Wake up! What is the matter? Are you

dreaming?” “Oh! I had a dream,” said he. “Well, what was it?” said the

old woman. “I dreamed,” he told her, “that I must hunt and kill the

great Ganiagwaihe and give a feast. I will invite all the people in the

village.” The next morning Okteondon killed the Ganiagwaihe, and having

brought it into the lodge, singed it and cut it up while Hotʻhoh set a

kettle of water over the fire. When the flesh of Ganiagwaihe was

cooked, Okteondon said to his mother-in-law, “Go and invite all to

come.” So going out, she invited all those personages whom she herself

liked. While she was gone, Okteondon said to his wife and his two

friends who had accompanied him from his uncle’s home, “You must get

out of this lodge at once”; so they fled from it. Then all the newly

invited guests entered—the old woman, her other two daughters, and the

people of the place. Addressing them, Okteondon said: “Here is the

flesh, the fat, and the bones. Eat all up clean; I leave all to you.”

One of the chiefs said to the people, “We have now all eaten.” Passing

out of the lodge, Okteondon ran around it, singing, “Let this lodge

become stone and the ground under it stone, so that the greatest witch

can not get out of it, and then let it become red-hot.” So while the

people were inside the lodge eating and drinking and saying, “Hoho!

this is a grand feast,” the building began to grow hotter and hotter,

until finally it became red-hot. Some one on the inside exclaimed so

loud that he was heard without, “Let us get out of here as fast as we

can; something is wrong!” They tried to do so, but they could not get

out. One leaped up to the spot where the smoke-hole had been, but those

outside heard him knock his head against the solid stone roof and fall

back. Soon another said, “I will go out through the ground.” After a

while the sound of the voices and the screaming inside began to die

away, and all was quiet. Then the lodge of stone burst, falling to

pieces, and the heads of the people inside burst, one after another,

and out of them sprang screech owls, horned owls, common owls, and gray

and red foxes, which rushed away, out of sight. The people invited to

the feast were all Oñʹgweʻ hĕñʹneks goñʹneks-kho.[348] The sisters

sailing in the canoe deceived men all over the country, luring them to

this village to be devoured by the inhabitants. All except the wife of

Okteondon were thus burned up with the old woman.

When all was over, Okteondon and his wife and his two friends went to

the shore of the lake, where they found a large heap of bones of men.

These they gathered into some order near a large hickory tree,

whereupon they pushed the tree over toward the bones, saying, “Rise,

friends, or the tree will fall on you!” At this warning, and by the

great orenda (magic power) of Okteondon, all the bones sprang up living

men. “Now,” said Okteondon to them, “You have come to life, friends,

and you can now go to your homes.” [349] At this they departed.

“We will go home, too,” said Okteondon to his wife and two friends; so

they went to the lodge of his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus. When Okteondon left

his home his uncle hung up in a corner of the lodge a wampum belt, with

the remark, “The deeper you are in trouble, the nearer will this belt

come to the ground, and if you die, it will touch the ground.” Of

course it had been low and had even touched the ground; hence the old

uncle had concluded that his nephew was dead and had mourned for him.

But at this time the belt was again hanging high. While the nephew was

absent many persons had come, pretending to be Okteondon, in order to

deceive the old man; so now when the real nephew asked him to open the

door-flap he would not believe his ears, but said, “Put your arm

through the hole in the door.” Okteondon did so, whereupon the old man

tied it, saying, “Now, I have you,” unfastening the door-flap so he

could strike. But seeing Okteondon and his wife and his two friends, he

exclaimed with delight, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment, until I clean up

somewhat inside.” Saying this, he went inside and pushed away the ashes

and dirt. (End.)

71. OKTEONDON AND HAIEÑTʻHWUS—II

(Another version of the first part of the legend)

Okteondon lived with his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus, in the forest. Beside his

uncle’s lodge stood a large, tall elm tree. Okteondon, the nephew,

always remained at the foot of this tree, and finally its roots grew

over and around his body, thus binding it firmly to the ground.

Now Haieñtʻhwus, being very fond of his nephew, always brought him

everything that he liked to eat and drink—roasted venison, boiled

squashes, dried berries, broiled fish, and all kinds of shellfish. The

first thing that Haieñtʻhwus did in the morning was to put corn into a

wooden mortar for the purpose of making cornmeal for boiled cornbread;

then with a wooden pestle he struck it a single blow, which crushed the

corn to fine meal. The people far and near, it is said, heard this

blow, and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.”

The old man made bread with the meal which he boiled; when it was

cooked he brought some of it to his nephew and also ate some himself.

On certain days he went to the forest for firewood. It was a practice

with him to burn logs into pieces of such length that he could bring

them to his lodge. When the fires on one log were burning well he would

light fires on other logs, and so would go from one to another, keeping

them in order. When the pieces were burned off and ready, the old man

would carry them or drag them home, and as he threw them down they made

a deep, pleasant sound on the earth. Thereupon all the people of the

region round about, even to the most distant places, heard the sound,

and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.” On

some other days Haieñtʻhwus would go out to gather beans and squashes

or to dig wild potatoes.

One spring morning, in the planting season, Haieñtʻhwus went to his

clearing in the woods with two baskets of seeds strapped to his belt.

Before starting he left plenty of food with his nephew, saying, “I am

going to put these seeds into the ground.” The old man was in the field

engaged in making holes in the earth with a stick forked at one end and

sharp at the other. Into these holes he dropped seeds, closing them

with fine earth. All at once he heard a song accompanied with the

words, “Oh, uncle! I am going to rise; I am going to rise.” He knew at

once that what he had heard was his nephew’s song; so dropping his

pointed stick for planting, and forgetting all about the seeds in his

two baskets, he rushed home. As he ran the baskets struck the trees on

both sides of the narrow trail, scattering the seeds so that all were

lost on the trail. When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge he saw that his

nephew was resting on one elbow and that the tree was inclined toward

the earth, with its roots starting from the ground. “Well, nephew, what

is the matter?” asked the old man. “I am getting thirsty, uncle,” said

the youth. The old man gave him some water and pushed the tree back

into its upright position; then looking into his baskets, he saw that

they were empty. So Haieñtʻhwus spent the rest of the day on his knees,

picking up what seeds he could find along both sides of the path.

On another day he went out to strip bark from the slippery-elm trees

for the purpose of making cords. Before starting he gave Okteondon

everything that he needed. After he had stripped off a large quantity

of bark and was tying it into bundles, Haieñtʻhwus heard the song

again, accompanied with the words, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am

rising.” As soon as he heard these words, Haieñtʻhwus, slinging a

bundle of the bark on his back, swiftly ran home. As he hurried along

the bundle struck against the trees, first on one and then on the other

side of the trail, causing pieces of bark to slip out every here and

there, until there was nothing left of the burden on the old man’s back

but the ends of the forehead strap. On reaching home Haieñtʻhwus asked,

“What is the matter, nephew?” as he saw Okteondon resting on one elbow

and the tree leaning over to one side. “Oh, I am thirsty, uncle,”

replied Okteondon. The uncle brought him water, and then straightened

up the tree, after which he returned to the woods. He picked up the

pieces of bark on both sides of the path until he arrived at the place

where he had stripped it from the trees. Just at that moment he again

heard the song, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am rising.” At this,

soliloquizing, “Poor boy, I wonder what he wants,” Haieñtʻhwus again

ran homeward. When he was about halfway there, he heard the song a

second time, and almost at the same moment came to his ears a

tremendous crash of the falling tree, which was heard over the entire

country, so that all the people said one to another, “Okteondon has now

grown to manhood and has arisen.” When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge,

the great elm tree had fallen and Okteondon was standing there,

awaiting him.

72. UNCLE AND NEPHEW AND THE WHITE OTTERS

An uncle and his nephew lived alone far off in the woods. In former

times there had been a great many of their people, but with the

exception of these two all were dead.

One day the uncle said: “My nephew, you have grown to be a large lad,

and now you must attend to hunting. You must take the bow and the

quiver of arrows with which I used to hunt.” So saying, the old man

took from the wall his bow, which was grimed with smoke, and cleaned it

very carefully. Then he said: “We will now make a trial at shooting.”

Having gone out of the lodge, the uncle by way of example first shot

into a tree, and the nephew with another arrow made a good shot.

Thereupon the uncle said, “That kind of shooting will do; you must now

begin hunting.”

The next morning very early, when they were ready, the uncle said, “You

must go out between sunrise and sunset, and you must always keep on the

sun side; never go north.” The lad started to hunt, and had not been

out long when he killed a deer, and soon afterward another, both of

which he took home. The uncle thanked him, saying, “We can live now,

for we have plenty of meat.” He hung the meat up in pieces, with bark

strings, throughout the lodge.

The lad brought in game every day for some time. After a while he had

to go a long way toward the south to find any game; his uncle always

cautioned him against going northward.

Once after he came home and was sitting around the lodge, the uncle

said: “When I was young I used to have an object with which to amuse

myself. I will get it for you and when you are home you can play with

it.” Then bringing out a flute, the uncle taught the boy to play it. As

the uncle blew on it the flute said, “Tomorrow I shall kill a deer, a

bear, etc.,” greatly pleasing the boy who also played on it. In the

morning he started off hunting, and, indeed, he killed just such game

as the flute said he would. That night after he had rested from hunting

he played on his flute and again it said, “I shall kill an elk

tomorrow,” a different kind of animal from that of the previous day.

The next day the lad killed exactly what the flute said.

The morning after he went out he wondered why he must go so far toward

the south; he made up his mind to go northward; so making a circuit, he

was soon north of his lodge. Finding tracks of game animals, he

followed them until he came to a broad opening. Here he ran after the

elks, which he saw in a circle in the woods; at last he came out in the

opening again, where he had started. All at once he heard a woman’s

voice calling, “Here! Hold on!” but he ran on at full speed after the

elk. Around again he went after these animals. When he got back to the

same place a second time the woman’s voice called out, “Wait and rest!”

Looking around, he saw the woman sitting on a fallen tree, whereupon he

stopped. She said to him: “Sit down here and rest. I know you are

tired; when you have rested you can run again after the elk.” He sat

down near her, and pretty soon she took his head on her knees. He had

very long hair—so long that he kept it tied up; whenever he let it

down, it swept the ground. He tied one of his hairs to a root in the

ground, but the woman did not see him do this. After a while he fell

asleep, whereupon she put him into a basket; swinging this on her back

she started off on a run. Rising soon into the air, she traveled very

fast.

The hair which had been made fast to a root stretched till it would

stretch no longer; then they could go no farther, for the hair pulled

them back to the place from which they had started. The lad woke up,

and the woman said to herself, “I think there is some witchcraft about

you; we will try again.” Once more she began to search in his hair. At

last he closed his eyes, and she asked, “Are you asleep?” “No,” he

replied. She continued untying his hair, again inquiring, “Are you

asleep?” He did not answer this time, for he was indeed asleep. Putting

him into the basket and flinging it on her back, she ran off very fast,

after a while rising in the air. When she had gone a long distance she

came down by the bank of a river; rousing the lad, she asked, “Do you

know this place?” “Yes,” said he; “I have fished in this river.”

“Well,” said she, “hold your head down, and let me look at it again.”

She took his head on her knees, and after a while spoke to him, but he

did not answer, for he was once more asleep. Putting him into the

basket, she went up in the air, coming down at last on an island. Then,

rousing the youth, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes; my uncle

and I used to come here often,” he replied (he had never been there,

but he wished to deceive her). Again she put him to sleep, afterward

taking him up in the air in her basket. Finally, removing the basket

from her back, she laid it on the edge of a ravine, which was so deep

that the tops of the tallest trees which grew in it could just be seen

below the brink. Then, upsetting the basket, down the lad went headlong

into the depths, but he fell slowly, for he had orenda (magic power)

and hence came to the ground unhurt. But he could find no way of

escape. The sides of the ravine were like a wall and he was alone.

Meanwhile the boy’s uncle waited and waited, saying to himself: “It is

late. Something has happened, for my nephew is not coming home tonight.

I must find out what the trouble is.” On taking down the flute he found

the mouthpiece bloody,[350] whereupon he said, “They have overmatched

my poor nephew in orenda, and trouble has come to him.” As there was

not much blood on the mouthpiece, he thought that perhaps the lad would

free himself and come back in a few days.

Now the nephew lay down among the rocks in the deep, blind ravine and

tried to sleep, but he could not. All at once he heard a great bird

coming, and as it swept past it bit a mouthful of flesh out of his arm.

Spitting on the arm he rubbed it and thus cured the bite. When the bird

had been gone some time, he heard it coming again, and as it flew past

in the opposite direction, it took a large bite out of his other arm.

This he cured in the same manner as before. When daylight came he arose

and on looking around he saw skeletons on every side. Two men were

barely alive. The lad said to himself, “I suppose that I shall die here

in this same way.”

That night the boy’s uncle saw on looking at the flute that the

mouthpiece was bloodier than before. He then gave up his nephew as

lost; sitting down at the hearth’s edge he cried and scattered ashes on

his head in despair.

The second night the bird twice flew past the lad, each time taking a

piece of flesh out of one of his arms. Thereupon the boy would spit on

the arm, thus healing it as he did on the first evening. When the huge

bird had gone he fell asleep and dreamed that he heard an old woman’s

voice saying: “Grandson, I have come to help you. You think you are

going to die, but you are not; I will save you. Just at sunrise in the

morning you will vomit, and if you throw up anything that looks like a

hemlock leaf you may know that you will be saved. Pick up the leaf and

stick it in the ground. Then sing, and as you sing the leaf will become

a tree. Sit on one of the limbs and keep on singing. The tree will grow

until it reaches beyond the top of the bank. Then jump off and run

away.” In the morning the boy vomited as the old woman of the dream had

predicted, and he found the small hemlock leaf. Sticking this in the

ground near the wall of the ravine he began to sing. The leaf soon grew

into a tree, and as he sang the tree grew higher and higher. He did not

get on the tree but remained below singing until the tree was higher

than the brink above.

Gathering all the bones carefully into a pile and placing on the pile

the two men who were almost dead, he went to a great hickory tree which

stood near and pushing against it called out, “Rise, people, and run,

or the tree shall fall on you.” Thereupon all the bones became living

men and springing up they ran away from the tree. Two of the men had

legs of different lengths by reason of the bones having become

interchanged. The lad said: “Now, follow me, all of you, up this tree

to the bank above. You must not look back, for if you do you will

fall.” The last two were the men with unequal legs. The rearmost, after

climbing a little way, looked back to see how far up they were;

immediately he turned to bones, which fell rattling through the limbs

of the hemlock tree to the ground. As the only remaining man with

unequal legs got near the brink, he also looked down, whereupon he

likewise fell rattling down through the branches to the ground a mere

heap of bones.

When all were some distance away from the brink the young man said:

“You stay here, and I will go and bring the woman who has done all this

mischief to us. She has a mother, who is also a witch. We will punish

both. I shall be back in a few days.” Starting off, he soon came to the

lodge of the woman who had deceived him. Sitting down by her, he said,

“I have come.” Soon her mother came out of another part of the lodge,

saying, “Oh! my son-in-law has come.” Early the next night they heard

the old woman groaning;[351] finally, crawling out of bed on her hands

and knees, she rolled over on the floor. The lad struck her with a

corn-pounder, saying, “Mother-in-law, wake up and tell us your dream.”

Thereupon she stood up and said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must go

and kill two white otters in the lake.” He replied: “Go back to sleep,

Oh! mother-in-law. I will do that tomorrow.” The old woman went back to

her couch. In the morning she said: “You must run and kill two white

otters in the lake and return with them before the door stops swinging

after you have slammed it. If you do not do this, something strange

will happen; but if you get back, you shall live.” Unknown to her, he

tied one of his long hairs to the door and kept pulling the hair. On

reaching the bank of the lake, he called to the otters, which came out

and ran to him; he threw one of two round stones which he had in his

pouch, killing one of the otters. Then great waves of water began to

rush after him, and the second otter came near to him on the top of the

wave. Throwing the second stone, he killed the second otter. At this

the wave went back. He had kept pulling the door-flap to and fro with

his hair all the time. When he reached the lodge, he called out, “Here,

mother-in-law! here are your two otters.” She said, “Where, where?”

(The two white otters were her two wizard brothers.)

The uncle, who was alone, felt sure that his nephew was dead. Often as

he sat in front of the fire in the evening, taking a handful of ashes

in each hand, he held them over his head, letting the ashes drop on his

face. At night he would hear someone coming, then a rap and a voice

calling out, “Well, uncle, I have come.” Jumping up and brushing off

the ashes he would go to the door, only to find a fox or an owl. In

this way he was deceived a number of times, so he had resolved not to

be deceived again.

The night after the death of the otters the old woman again dreamed,

and her son-in-law hit her again with the corn-pounder. Waking up, she

said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must kill the bird on the top of

the great tree.” He answered, “Oh, mother-in-law! I will attend to that

in the morning, so go to sleep now.” In the morning his mother-in-law

said, “If you get back after the door, which you have slammed in going

out, stops swinging, something strange will happen.” Again tying a hair

to the door, he darted off. When near the tall tree he saw on the very

top a black eagle. The first arrow he sent went almost to the tree, but

was driven back by the magic power of the eagle. Then he shot a second

arrow, which struck the eagle right in the heart, bringing it to the

ground. Taking the eagle, he rushed back to the lodge, meanwhile

keeping the door swinging with his hair. When he returned home, he

called out, “Mother-in-law, here is the eagle.” She said, Whu, whu!

astonished at what he had done (this eagle was the old woman’s third

brother, which had always fed on the men thrown into the ravine).

Now the lad, having taken his wife outside, said, “I want this lodge to

turn into flint, and let it become heated to a white heat.” [352] The

old woman and her three daughters were inside at the time. The former

cried out, “Have pity on me, son-in-law,” but he answered, “You had no

pity for me, mother-in-law; so let them all within burn up.” Having

gone back with his wife to the men near the ravine, he said: “I have

brought back this woman. Now we shall be revenged. This is the woman

who threw us off this bank to die in the ravine below.” Stripping off a

wide piece of bark from a tree and tying the woman thereto with bark

thongs, he placed it in a leaning position against a tree. Then all

gathered fuel, which was piled around the woman, and a fire kindled by

which the old woman’s daughter was burned to death.

The youth found two of his brothers among those whom he had rescued. It

appeared that all the men were related, some as brothers, others as

cousins. The young man went with his brothers to his uncle’s lodge.

Before starting he had told all the other persons to go to their homes.

When near the lodge of the old uncle they heard the aged man weeping.

They listened for some time. When the old man stopped weeping he began

to sing, “Ten summers I shall mourn for him.” In attempting to enter

the lodge they found the door-flap fastened. The lad called out, “Oh,

uncle! I have returned.” But the uncle, long annoyed by wizards in the

form of animals, replied: “Be off! You have deceived me enough.” But

the young man begged him to unfasten the door-flap, assuring him that

he had brought his brothers. Again the uncle shouted: “Be off! You

shall not get in here.” Finally, the old man relented, and making a

hole in the skin door-flap, called out: “Thrust your arm in. I shall

see if you are my nephew.” The nephew willingly complied with the

uncle’s request, whereupon the uncle tied his arm with a bark thong.

The youth finally cried out: “Oh, uncle! do not tie my arm so tight.

You hurt me.” Opening the door-flap, the old man saw that it was really

his nephew, and exclaimed, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment until I clean up

a little.” Then, having brushed off the ashes, he welcomed his nephew

and his party.

73. DEOYADASTATʻHE AND HADJOWISKI [353]

Hadjowiski lived with his family, consisting of his wife and seven

children, in a large lodge in the forest. Only the youngest of the

seven children had a name—Deoyadastatʻhe. He was so small that he never

went outside the lodge, nor did he play within it. He remained under

the bed at all times, where he played with his dog, which was a flea.

The father of the family, Hadjowiski, was very poor, for although he

went forth to hunt at sunrise, sometimes even before, he brought home

but little meat.

One morning his wife, who was chagrined by the failure of her husband

to provide a sufficiency of food for herself and little ones, said to

him: “Can you not bring home more meat than you do? We are very, very

hungry.” Hadjowiski, dissembling, replied, “No; I can not kill more

game, for I have not efficient orenda (magic power).” But the

suspecting wife persisted in her questioning: “Well, your back always

looks as if you had killed plenty of game. What do you do with it after

you have killed it?” To this the husband answered: “Nothing. I never

have good luck.” The wife did not believe him, however, so she

retorted, “I think that you are doing something wrong with what you

kill.”

That day Hadjowiski did not bring any game home, but his back bore

traces of fresh blood. In further chiding him his wife said: “There is

fresh blood on your back, so you must have killed some game today.” But

he replied: “No; I killed nothing. That blood came from my getting hurt

by a hemlock tree falling on me.” But she did not believe him at all.

The next morning he was on the trail long before sunrise. His wife, now

thoroughly aroused, stealthily followed him. Just at midday she saw him

kill with a small stone a large bear. Taking the bear on his back, he

started off, trailed by his wife. He soon reached a lodge, which he

entered, wholly unaware that his wife was following him. Creeping up to

the lodge, she listened outside to what was being said within, and

overheard the voice of a woman, saying, “The next time you come you

must stay here, and you must not go back home again.” Hadjowiski

replied, “It is well; I shall do so.” Thereupon he came out of the

lodge, in which he left all the meat he had killed that day, and

started for home.

His wife ran on ahead, and, reaching home ahead of her husband, she

said to her boys, “Sons, your father has another wife, so I shall not

remain here any longer.” Then putting on her panther-skin robe, she

departed. When Hadjowiski arrived at his home, not finding his wife, he

asked: “What is the matter? Where is your mother?” One of the boys told

him that his mother had been gone all day, and that, returning but a

short time before, she had put on her panther-skin robe, declaring that

she was going away. Hadjowiski hung his head, but at last he asked,

“Why did she go away?” The boy replied: “She told us that you have

another wife.” To this the father answered: “It is well. My sons, I

shall follow her. I want you to remain in the lodge while I am away. If

I am alive then, I will be back home in 10 days.” Hadjowiski departed

and traveled all night. The next morning he found his wife’s tracks,

and discovered that she had doubled on them, but he kept straight

ahead, knowing well that she had done this in order to deceive him.

Soon afterward he was again on her trail, going directly westward.

After traveling for some time he came at last to a lodge in which lived

an old man, who said: “You are traveling, my friend?” Hadjowiski

replied: “Yes. I am following the woman whose tracks come to this

lodge.” Then Sʻhagoiyagentʻha,[354] for such was the old man’s name,

who belonged to the Nosgwais people, answered, “I do not know where she

has gone.” Hadjowiski again declared, “Her tracks come here, anyway.”

Sʻhagoiyagentʻha replied: “It is well. You can look for her, if you

like.” So Hadjowiski searched for her everywhere, but he could not find

her. Finally the old man resolved to send him off, so he asked him, “Do

you want me to tell you which way she went from here?” Hadjowiski

replied, “Yes; I do.” Thereupon Sʻhagoiyagentʻha brought a small canoe

made of flint, telling the man to sit in it. When Hadjowiski had done

so the old man shoved the canoe out of the doorway, and at once it rose

into the air, through which it passed with great rapidity. Finally the

canoe collided with a high rock, and the renegade Hadjowiski was flung

out; falling among the rocks, he was killed. The canoe, which was

endowed with life, returned to the old man.

When the sons of Hadjowiski had been at home for several days the

eldest went out to hunt. When night came he did not return to his home.

So the next morning the second brother started off to find him, if

possible. The brothers who remained at home waited all day, but he,

too, failed to return. The second morning the third brother went to

look for the two others, but he likewise did not come back. Thus, day

after day passed, until at last the six brothers had gone out and not

one had returned. Only Deoyadastatʻhe was left of the family of seven

sons.[355] He was always under the bed playing with his dog, which was

a flea. Finally, judging from the unbroken silence reigning in the

lodge, Deoyadastatʻhe exclaimed: “It seems to me that there is no one

in the lodge, for I hear no one moving around. I shall see about it.”

So saying, he came forth from under the bed and looked around, but saw

no one; then he listened for some sound, but he heard none. After

listening for a long time, he exclaimed: “It seems to me that I hear my

mother crying. It must be that she is weeping in the far west. I shall

therefore go to her.” Going outside the lodge, he stood still,

listening, while his dog stood behind him. He now heard quite

distinctly the sound of weeping in the far west. By low half-uttered

growls his dog showed that it, too, heard some unusual sound.

Deoyadastatʻhe finally declared: “That is my mother who is weeping, for

I recognize her voice. I must go to her.” As he started, both he and

his dog, rising in the air, flew along over the highest trees,

directing their flight toward the west. At last in the far distant west

they alighted at the edge of a village. Making their way into it, they

finally entered an old hut in which they found two women, an aged

grandmother and her granddaughter. To the grandmother Deoyadastatʻhe

said, “I have come to visit you.” She replied: “We are too poor for

that. We have nothing to eat, and you would get very hungry.” “Oh! I do

not care for food,” Deoyadastatʻhe answered; “I want only shelter at

night.” “It is well; you may remain,” said the grandmother. One morning

when Deoyadastatʻhe had been there several days some one came on the

run to the lodge, and kicking the door-flap aside, said: “You are

invited tonight to the burning of the woman’s feet and to pick up

wampum beads from the tears that she sheds. All are pressed to be at

the lodge of assembly tonight.” When the messenger had gone, the

grandmother exclaimed: “Oh! how very wicked are the people of this

village. That old man, Sʻhagoiyagentʻha, is the evil servant of the

Chief Dihdih.[356] (The rest of the people belong to the Gaqga357

family.)” Now, the grandmother, whose name was Yeqsinye, also belonged

to the Gaqga family. She was in the habit of making bark thread by

rolling it on her legs. When night came Deoyadastatʻhe went to the

lodge of assembly, where he saw a great multitude of people. Entering

the lodge, he saw his mother tied to a post—the war post of torture.

And as soon as Deoyadastatʻhe entered the room his mother, scenting

him, knew that he was there. Then Chief Dihdih arose and said: “Now all

be ready. Look out for the beads.” He had two daughters, who lighted

the torches for the people who were intending to burn the woman’s feet.

When they held the torches under the woman’s feet tears flowed from her

eyes which fell on the ground, where they became beautiful wampum. The

people rushed forward to pick up the beads. Deoyadastatʻhe was watching

for an opportunity to rescue his mother; so when the people were on

their knees gathering the wampum, quickly unbinding his mother, he led

her out of doors. Then he said, as he ran around the devoted lodge,

“Let this lodge become flint and let it become at once heated to a

white heat.”358 This at once took place, and the people within the

lodge, becoming too hot, ceased picking up wampum and tried to escape,

but they could not. There were fearful shrieks and wails, but these

continued only for a moment before all were dead. The heads of the dead

people burst asunder and from them came owls, which flew out of the

smoke-hole of the lodge.

Then Deoyadastatʻhe told his mother that they must leave that place. So

calling his dog, they started for the lodge of old Yeqsinye. In passing

through the village a blue lizard attacked Deoyadastatʻhe and his

little party, but the young man tore it to pieces. As the pieces fell

to the ground the dog carried them away so that they would not fly back

into place again before they became cool. Then the young man said, “You

thought that you were going to kill me, but I have destroyed you.” When

Deoyadastatʻhe arrived with his mother at the lodge of old woman

Yeqsinye, he said to her, “I have killed all the people of the wicked

village, so you shall now live in peace.” For this the old woman

thanked him.

Then Deoyadastatʻhe and his mother and dog continued their journey

until they arrived at their own lodge. There they found the six

brothers of Deoyadastatʻhe, who had returned during his absence.

[The relator of the story evidently did not know the entire legend, for

nothing is said as to where and as to why they had been so long away,

nor how they came back.—Editor.]

74. A GENESIS TRADITION

[A modern version; a fragment]

Before this earth came into existence there were human beings who dwelt

in the center of the sky above. In the middle of the village in the sky

stood a tree which was covered with white blossoms.

It so chanced that a woman of that country dreamed a dream. In that

dream an Ongwe [359] said to her that the great tree bearing white

blossoms must be pulled up by the roots. When this tree was in bloom

its flowers gave light to the people there, but when its flowers fell,

darkness came over the people. When the woman related her dream all the

people kept silent, because they felt that the suggestion was that of a

visionary and because the tree was sacred to them. In the course of

time the woman dreamed again, and in the dream the Ongwe declared to

her that a circular trench must be dug around the tree, which must be

pulled up by the roots; that then something giving more and better

light would come to them. Notwithstanding this second dream, the people

remained obdurate, paying no attention to the advice of the Ongwe of

the dream. Time went on and the woman had a third dream, in which the

injunctions of the other two dreams were repeated, that the tree must

be pulled up by the roots. Then one of the men said, “I believe that if

we give heed to the words of the dream we may receive better light, and

that the people will have cause to rejoice for having obeyed the words

of the dream.” His advice was adopted by the people at large.

So a number of men began digging and cutting around the roots of the

tree. Suddenly, when the last root was cut, the tree sank into the

ground, disappearing from sight. Thereupon the chief of the people

there said, “I have never given any heed to this dream, because I knew

that something strange would happen to the people if I did.” Then he

ordered that the woman who had had these dreams should be cast into the

hole left by the tree. The order was carried out. The pit seemed to

have no bottom. Nothing could be seen in it, for all was darkness

within. The woman continued falling through the hole for a long time;

at last she saw that below her it began to grow light. When finally she

had passed through the hole she emerged into bright light in our sky.

Looking down, she saw beneath her a great expanse of water, on which

floated loons, ducks, and various kinds of water folk, but no land.

Of these the loon was the first to see the dark object falling from

above, at which he exclaimed, “I believe that a human being is falling

down from above, and I think that it is best for us that all join

together and give aid to her, for if we do not she will sink when she

strikes the water.” So all the water folk were notified to help save

the woman. They all came together—Loon, Fishhawk, Beaver, Water

Serpent, Turtle, and all who dwell in the water. Then Loon said to

Fishhawk, “Go with your warriors and meet the woman in the air; receive

her on your backs, and thus hold her in the air until we shall be ready

for you to bring her down here.” Instantly this request was performed.

While the others watched they saw the woman fall on the backs of the

fishhawks, and they were delighted to see that the fishhawks were able

to hold her in the air. Then the Loon said, “What are we going to do

with her?” to which the Turtle replied, “I will take care of the

woman.” But Loon answered, “You can not take care of her, for you are

too fond of eating flesh.” Next the Water Serpent said, “I will

volunteer to help this woman and to take care of her; she can come and

sit between my horns, and so I shall carry her wherever I go.” Loon

rejoined, “You can not take care of her, for you are endowed with too

much evil orenda (magic power), which would kill her.” The Turtle spoke

a second time, saying, “I think I can care for her, if you can find

some earth to place upon my carapace.” This suggestion satisfying Loon

and the other leaders, Loon replied, “You may take care of her if we

can obtain the earth.” There were there many kinds of water folk, all

of which were sent into the water in an attempt to obtain some earth.

They dived down, but, one after another, they soon floated up to the

surface dead. Hell-diver at last brought up a small quantity of earth.

The Loon being the chief, when Hell-diver came up with the earth he

sent all of that kind of water folk after more earth. Then Beaver

mounted on Turtle’s back, and as the Duck people brought up the earth

he used his tail like a trowel, fastening the earth on the carapace of

the Turtle.

The earth at once began to grow, spreading out large. Chief Loon soon

decided that it had acquired a sufficient extent for their purpose, so

he called to the Fishhawk and his men to bring down the woman. This

they did, placing her on the newly made earth on the carapace of the

Turtle. In the meantime Beaver and the Duck people kept at work making

the earth larger. As it grew in size, a still greater number of Beaver

and Duck people were set to work around the edges of it. The Turtle

floated with ease. Then on the earth bushes began to grow, little red

bushes like water reeds. The woman walked around the edges of the earth

to see how the workers were succeeding in their labors and to encourage

them. She was pregnant, and in a short time after this descent a girl

baby was born to her. The child grew rapidly to womanhood. She was very

active, and soon took her mother’s place, walking around the island

inspecting its growth. It was now very large, and she would be away all

day on her tour of the island.

One day it chanced as she was walking along that she met a very

fine-looking young man. Promptly falling in love, they decided to live

together as husband and wife. It is said that by this union Day and

Night came into the world. Her mother was not consulted. It was the

custom of the young woman to go out in the morning to look for the

young man at their trysting place, and in the evening to start for

home. One evening when they had parted she resolved to look back to

have a view of him. On turning around, she saw a large turtle walking

along where she knew her husband had just been, hence she reached the

conclusion that a turtle was deceiving her; then she went home. The

next day she remained at home and, indeed, did not go out any more

after that time. Her mother saw from her appearance that she was

pregnant. Being questioned about her condition, she told her mother the

whole story of her marriage, concluding with the statement that the

last time they had met she had turned to look at him as they parted,

whereupon she saw only a great turtle walking where she expected to see

her husband.

The time for her confinement having arrived, the prospective mother

heard a conversation being carried on within her body. One speaker

said: “Let us go out now,” but the other replied: “You go first, and I

will follow you.” Then she heard one say, “Let us go out by the way of

the armpit, for I see a little light there,” but the other answered,

“No; we should kill our mother in doing so.” Finally, one came into the

world in the natural way, but she heard the one who was left say, “I am

going out through the armpit, for I can go quicker in that way.” This

statement he repeated a number of times, and at last he tried to issue

through the armpit with his head. Twice he failed, but the third time

he succeeded, although his mother died immediately. He possessed a

peculiar head, in the form of a rough flint. The grandmother had to

draw this child out of his mother’s body, for he could not get out

unaided. Both children lived.

Before the twins were born, while they were conversing in her body, the

woman told her mother that she was going to die and that she should be

buried and covered well with earth. She said further that a stalk would

sprout out of the ground over her which would produce white corn; that

a second stalk would grow which would produce red corn; that one of

these stalks would grow from each of her breasts; and that each stalk

would bear an ear of corn, which the grandmother must pluck, giving one

to each of the children. A short time after her burial the two stalks

appeared above the ground, just as she had foretold.

The boys grew up strong and healthy, but the younger was an awkward,

ugly, disagreeable fellow; he was ill-tempered, often striking his

brother in anger.