Chapter XIII: Part 13

Gäk scolded, and said: “You must do as I tell you. If you open your eyes when you jump, you will get killed.”

Wus tried again, then he said: “Oh, my brother, throw me a piece of meat.”

Gäk said: “If you want to eat, you must come down here.”

“Well, this time I will come!”

Wus jumped, but he caught on the bushes, and climbed back.

Gäk said: “It is getting dark. If you don’t come, you will have nothing to eat.”

“I will come this time.”

Wus went over the rock like a feather, but when he was half-way down, he opened his eyes; then he fell and was torn to pieces. His head, alive and with open eyes, was far away from the body.

Gäk felt badly; he and Wus had always been good friends. He said to the head: “Wus, I thought you were the strongest person in the world; now you are torn to pieces. You didn’t do as I told you to; you opened your eyes.”

Gäk talked to his medicines, the earth and the wind, then he got his red medicine basket, [16] picked up the pieces of Wus, joined them together and stepped over the body three times. He covered the body with the basket and told Wus to lie still, that the basket would cure him, but he mustn’t get up till he came and took it off. Gäk went back to eating.

At sundown Wus began to kick and to call: “I am well; come and take the basket off!” He called many times. Each time Gäk said: “Lie still a while longer; you needn’t be afraid. There is plenty of meat; we can’t eat it in all night.” At last Gäk took the basket off.

After that Wus and Gäk lived together. The Pakols wanted to kill Gäk, because he had killed their best man. All kinds of people hated him, and wanted to kill him, but when any one got near him he wasn’t Gäk; he turned into something and got away. One morning two small men started to hunt for him; when he knew they were coming, he turned himself into a bird and flew away.

Gäk had a blanket of bright rock (obsidian); he put the blanket around him, turned into a man just like Ndukis, and sat down on a high rock in sight of his enemies. He painted his face white, to make them believe he was Ndukis. His enemies came and looked at him,—a long line of people. All the people that walk, or crawl, or fly in the world were there, and all had good eyes. Each man gave his opinion, and each thought it was Ndukis.

Blaiwas said: “Nobody in the world can see plainer than I can; that is Ndukis.” Old man Moi knew the man was Gäk, but he didn’t want to say so. When they asked him what he thought, he said: “You have a wise old man here” (he meant Kumal); “if he doesn’t tell you who that man is, I will.”

Gäk sat perfectly still on the rock. He knew that Kumal was wise, and that he had a blanket made of five kinds of stone. Gäk’s blanket was made of four kinds of stone.

When Kumal came up, the people gave him a place where he could stand and look at the man on the rock. He looked a long time, then said: “How could you be fooled? That is Gäk, the man who killed Pakol. He has painted his face white and made himself look like Ndukis, but don’t you see his large mouth?”

Gäk came down from the rock, took his own form, and began to fight with the crowd. He killed every one who fought with him; some wouldn’t fight, they ran away.

Gäk struck at Kumal’s throat, cut through the old man’s stone blanket, and killed him; he tore his body to pieces, threw the pieces in the water, and said: “You will no longer be a person. You will be a fisher, and live in the water.” The other bodies Gäk turned to rocks, then he went off to the mountains. Wus had been eating the bodies of the men Gäk killed. When the bodies turned to stone, he followed Gäk to the mountains.

THE STONE PEOPLE

CHARACTERS

Heûwûs The stone that pounders are made of
Wûspahlákls Hairless Fox (Lakl is hair)
Nkok Bird (English name unknown)
Lŭ′luphlainik Name of a hill (Lulup is eye)

A great many of the Heûwûs people lived near Tula Lake. They were smooth, round people. They had no faces, but they could talk to one another. Every morning and evening a young woman passed their place on her way to the lake to catch fish. They knew when she was coming, for she sang as she traveled. They could hear her far off. Her song said: “I am a great hunter of fish and of seeds.”

The young men of the Heûwûs people listened for the girl’s song and were glad when they heard it; they thought she was nice-looking, and they wanted to marry her. Some said: “We can’t talk to her;” others said: “Maybe she isn’t good; she might break us up.” “Why should we be afraid?” asked others. “If she broke us to pieces, we wouldn’t die; we shall never die.” The chief said: “Let that girl alone. I like her; every morning her song wakes me up.” One man said: “I don’t want her to pass so often; the next time she goes by here I will say something to her.”

That evening when the girl passed, nobody spoke to her; some of the men wanted to, but others wouldn’t let them.

Early the next morning the Heûwûs people heard the girl’s song and said to one another: “She is coming!” “She doesn’t hurt us,” said one young man. “Don’t bother her.” “Why does she come here so often?” asked another. “Maybe she belongs to this place.” One big Heûwûs said: “I am stronger than any of you. I will have this good-looking girl for a wife.” “Maybe she will break you to pieces,” said one of the young men. “I am not afraid; she can’t kill me. If she hurts my body, I will hurt her in some way.”

The girl listened to the Heûwûs people: when she was a long way off, she could hear them talking.

Some of the young men sent their spirits to the lake to turn to fish and jump up in the water and paddle around where the girl was.

“Why do you come here?” asked the girl. “You can’t fool me. You may turn to anything you like, but I will know you. I have heard you talking about me; I don’t like you. You needn’t be jealous because I go around here. This is my place. Maybe I shall live here as long as you do.”

The young men were ashamed; their spirits went back to their bodies, became Heûwûs again.

That evening, when the girl went home, there was a nice-looking bow lying on the path she always traveled. She said: “I wonder what man is trying to fool me now?”

When she got near the creek, she met a number of the Nkok people. They asked: “Did you see a bow?”

“It is back there on the trail,” said the girl. “What are you doing around here? Why do you bother me? What kind do you think I am? I belong to this earth. I was made when this earth was made. The place around here is mine. I know when anybody is trying to fool me. What could I use you for? Don’t you see that I travel as wind and air travel? I have no use for you. You will no longer be living persons; you will be hunters of fish in lakes and creeks.” Right away the men turned to birds and flew off over the water.

The next morning, when the Heûwûs people heard the girl’s song, the chief said to the young men who had sent their spirits to be fish and bother her: “You have made trouble for us all. You shouldn’t have meddled with that girl. She is powerful; she will be mad now and will do us harm.”

When the girl came along the trail, she saw Wûspahlákls sitting in front of her. He looked sleepy.

She said: “Who are you? No living person looks as ugly as you do. Go away!”

Wûspahlákls lay down on the trail; he didn’t listen to her. She went around him on the north side.

When she came to the Heûwûs’ place, she sat down and looked at them. She said: “Why, you nice little Heûwûs, you are as smooth as you can be.”

She picked up one and struck the ground with him; he didn’t break. She said: “Oh it is not easy to break you, is it?”

The Heûwûs screamed: “Oh! Oh! you hurt me! You think that I am not a living being, but I am.”

“You are talking to me; I am glad,” said the girl. “That is what I want. You haven’t spoken to me before, but I have heard you talk about me. I don’t hate you. You belong here, and so do I. I thought we should be here always and be friends, but you don’t want it that way.” She put the Heûwûs down and went on. Soon she saw Wûspahlákls again; he sat on the trail in front of her. She called to him: “Get out of my way!” When he didn’t move, she took off a bone scratcher she wore around her neck, went up to him, scratched off all of his flesh, and pounded him to death. Then she went on.

The next morning Wûspahlákls crossed the trail in front of her and went into the bushes. The girl stopped; she was scared. She went home, painted her body and her hair red, and started of in another direction; she traveled around everywhere and asked every one she met: “Who owns you?” She asked the rocks, the trees, the leaves. At last she asked a little hill: “Who are you?”

“I am Lŭl′uphlainik,” said the hill.

“Whose eye are you?” asked the girl.

“I am this earth’s eye.”

The girl camped by the hill, and said to it: “I want you to tell me about yourself.”

The hill said: “All these things around here belong to the earth; they were made at the same time. This is not a good place for you. Over on the lake, where two little air boys live, is a nice place for you.”

The girl was short and thin, and after she was painted she was red all over. She started for the lake. As she was passing a mountain, a voice spoke out of it, and asked: “Where are you going?” Right away she was gone; she sank into the earth; only one eye looked out of the ground.

“Where have you gone now?” asked the voice.

“I am looking at you,” said the girl. “You are bad. I want you to be something else.”

She came out of the ground, rubbed black paint on her hands, and on her face, from her chin to the top of her forehead. Then she asked: “Who are you who talk so much and make such a noise? I want you to go far off on the mountain, where you can’t bother people who are traveling around. Go where you won’t be seen often.”

He couldn’t go unless he looked at her. She knew this, so she said: “Look at me; I want to be friends with you.”

He had to look at her; he couldn’t help it.

That moment he became as red as she was. She said: “I am a spirit and hereafter you will be a spirit. Sometimes we will help each other.” As soon as he looked at her, he went off to the mountain. Each spirit went its way and both will live always.

PITOÍOIS

CHARACTERS

Kāhkaas Stork
Kûlta Otter
Pitoíois
Tskel Mink
Wûlkûtska Marten

Pitoíois and her two brothers lived together; their father and mother were dead.

Pitoíois was beautiful; she had a long neck, and her hair was black and so long that it touched the ground. She was the fastest worker in the world. She was always digging roots. With one dig she could bring up a whole basketful. In a day she dug over a large plain as though it had been ploughed. She piled up the roots, thought “I want them in my basket,” and they were there.

Pitoíois’ brothers were great hunters; while she was digging roots, they were hunting for deer, but they never got out of sight of their sister, for they thought Wus might come and bother her.

Wus was always watching Pitoíois, but he didn’t go near her; he was afraid of her brothers.

One day Pitoíois’ brothers asked: “Are you through digging roots in the places we found for you?”

“Yes, I am ready for another place. Are there many places around here?”

“There are a few more. Are you tired?” asked the elder brother.

“I am not tired, but I’m afraid; I always feel that somebody is looking at me.”

“Who are you afraid of?” asked her brother.

“Of Wus. I know that he is watching me all the time.”

“Though we are off on the mountains we always see you,” said her brother. “Nobody has been near you. There are two more plains to dig over; then we will go away from here. Sometimes I see a smoke on a mountain, but it is far off.”

Pitoíois dug all the roots and pounded them up. Then the brothers moved to a new place. They made a brush house and went to look for a deer.

The next morning Pitoíois began to dig roots in a place where her brothers could watch her. The elder brother had such powerful eyes that he could count all the trees, all the brush, and all the plants; he could count everything. He looked far off in the east and saw somebody dodge behind a tree. It was Wus. When he saw him, though the sun wasn’t in the middle of the sky, he went to his sister and took her home.

“I don’t know why I am so afraid,” said Pitoíois. “I feel worse every day, but I never see anybody.”

“To-day I saw somebody off on the mountain,” said her brother.

“That’s what I thought!” said Pitoíois. “Every day I feel that somebody is looking at me; to-day I was frightened.”

Wus camped on the top of the mountain. He thought: “I wonder why those men never leave their sister? I can do anything I like; I am Wus. I will make them forget her.” He began singing, sang a beautiful song. All day and all night he sang, to draw their minds out of them, and make them forget Pitoíois.

The girl was uneasy; she wanted to finish her work. In two days all the fields were dug up. She packed the roots without waiting to clean them, and her brothers moved to a place not far from where the five Wûlkûtska brothers lived. The father of those brothers was a great eater; he could never get enough to satisfy him.

Wus followed Pitoíois. He said to himself: “This time they will forget her.” The girl went to dig roots and her brothers started off to hunt. The flat was square, but Wus made it long, and he multiplied the roots. It took Pitoíois all day to dig them. Wus talked and sang; the brothers couldn’t hear the song, but they felt it and forgot all about their sister.

“I am losing my mind,” said the elder brother. “I feel as I did when I was a little child.”

“I feel that way, too,” said the younger brother.

When they got to the house, their sister was there; she had her roots in the creek, washing off the mud. When they told her how they felt, and that they almost forgot her, she said: “I am not afraid now; I don’t feel as I did in those other places.”

The next day the brothers said to Pitoíois: “We are going to hunt; you had better stay in the house and pound the roots. Don’t lie down; if you do, you will go to sleep and harm will come to you.”

Pitoíois pounded her roots, worked with her beads, and then straightened out her hair to see how long it had grown; it dragged on the ground.

The brothers went in different directions to look for deer; when they met, the younger brother said: “Off in the east from where I was I heard a man singing a beautiful song.”

“Perhaps it was Wus,” said the elder brother; “he is always trying to deceive people.”

When they were home and were through eating, the younger brother said: “I wish I had something to amuse myself with.”

“What do you want?” asked his brother. He thought it was wisdom or nice beads.

“I want a wife.” (Wus had put that thought into his mind.)

“There are no women near here,” said his brother.

“We can go far off and hunt for one.”

“I am willing to go,” said the elder brother.

The next morning they said to Pitoíois: “We are going away; you must stay in the house and pound roots.”

“I shall get tired of staying here; I shall want to dig roots, but I will stay near the house.”

The brothers went toward the north. The first house they came to was Kāhkaas’. “What are you traveling around here for?” asked the old man.

“We travel around to see people, but we have traveled a good many days and we haven’t seen anyone.”

“Are you looking for a young woman?” asked Kāhkaas.

“Yes, we want a wife. Do you know where there are any women?”

“I know the daughter of old man Kûlta.”

“We don’t want her; she dives under the water. We can’t dive. We want some woman who goes on dry land as we do.”

“There is nobody around here,” said Kāhkaas. “As long as I have lived I’ve seen no woman but Kûlta’s daughter. You had better go toward the west; you may find people in that direction.”

The brothers started off. They were gone a long time.

Pitoíois got tired of staying in the house and she went to dig roots.

Going east, in lines from north to south, she left the land in furrows. Wus had made the flat wide and full of roots. When she got to the east end of the flat, she turned and started for home.

Wus changed himself into a nice-looking young man, with long black hair. His clothes were covered with beads and he wore beautiful moccasins. He overtook Pitoíois, pulled her down on the ground, and put his head on her lap.

She cried and begged him to let go of her. Her cry sounded like sad singing; she cried her own name: “Pitoíois, Pitoíois.”

The five Wûlkûtska brothers were hunting. The youngest brother heard Pitoíois’ cry, but it sounded far off. At first he thought it was a bird singing. He heard it again and stopped to listen; then he thought: “That must be the sister of the two hunters.” He heard it five times, and the fifth time the cry sounded so sad and pitiful that he went toward it. He traveled till night: still the song was far away, then he went home. He had no game. Each one of his brothers had a large deer.

Those brothers had had many wives, but their father had killed and eaten them. When the young man told his brothers what he had heard, they said: “It must be the sister of the hunters,” and they wondered why she cried. “Perhaps Wus has caught her,” said one of them; “he is always tormenting women.”

“Her brothers watch her; nobody can go near her,” said the youngest brother.

“Perhaps they have gone far off,” said the eldest brother.

Pitoíois was sitting on the ground and crying. Her eyes were so swollen they could scarcely be seen. Wus kept teasing her to go to his house, but she wouldn’t go, no matter what he promised.

The next morning, when the five brothers went to hunt, they kept near together. They killed a deer and built a fire and roasted some of the meat. What they didn’t roast, they hung on a tree. All the bones were left on the ground. While they were eating, the youngest brother heard something and he listened. His brothers noticed that he stopped eating.

“What is the matter?” asked the eldest brother.

“I’ve bitten my tongue.”

“No, it’s not that; you hear something.”

Then he told them that he heard the cry that he had heard before. They didn’t hear it, but they said: “We will find out what it is.” As they followed the youngest brother, they all heard the cry. When they came to the top of the mountain, where Wus was when he was singing, they looked down into the valley and saw a beautiful girl sitting on the ground, crying. They knew who she was but they were afraid to go to her; they were afraid of her brothers. Then they saw that a man was lying with his head on her lap, and they knew it was Wus.

“If we save her,” said one of the brothers, “which of us will have her?”

“I don’t want a wife,” said the eldest brother; “our youngest brother can have her.”

The youngest brother shot an arrow. It went under the ground and came out near Wus. He jumped. The brothers went down the mountain, the youngest in front. When he got to where the girl was sitting, he snatched her away from Wus. Wus turned into a fox and ran off. Then the young man took Pitoíois by the hand and sprang with her over five mountains, a spring for each mountain.

His brothers said: “What shall we do to keep the old man from eating this girl? She is too nice to be eaten up. We must watch him all the time and kill him if he tries to get her.”

Tskel was the servant of the old man and his five sons. He stayed at home with the old man and watched for the sons to come. He was on the top of the house looking for them when he saw them coming with Pitoíois. He ran in and said to the old man: “They are coming with a beautiful woman.”

“Where are they?” asked the old man. He was pounding people’s bones.

“You needn’t think that you are going to eat her; she is too beautiful,” said Tskel, and he snatched the old man’s mortar and threw it away.

The old man went out and found the mortar. “Don’t you do that again,” said he. “I can’t do without my cap” (he always called the mortar his cap), and he put it under his arm.

When the brothers came, they told Tskel to watch their father and not let him hurt Pitoíois. The old man didn’t look at the girl while his sons were around, but as soon as they went to hunt he got up and began to move around.

“Why do you get up?” asked Tskel. “You always move around when you have a daughter-in-law; you want to eat her. Sit down!” When he didn’t sit down, Tskel jumped on him and pushed him down. Tskel liked the old man and didn’t want him to do wrong.

When Tskel told the brothers how their father acted, they were frightened. They said: “We had better take the girl back to her brothers. In two days we will start.”

The next day Pitoíois wanted to dig roots. The eldest brother asked his father if he would let her alone if she dug roots for him to eat.

“Yes,” said the old man. They told little Tskel to watch him; then they went off to hunt for deer.

Pitoíois dug a great many roots. As fast as she dug them, the old man pounded them in his mortar and ate them. He ate till midday, then he was satisfied. He praised Pitoíois, called her daughter-in-law, and told her he would never hurt her.

“Don’t believe him,” said Tskel; “he always talks that way, but he never tells the truth.”

Pitoíois dug roots till night, then took home a basketful and put them around the house, a handful in a place. Each handful became a big pile. At the end of two days she had a great many roots dug. When the brothers got ready to go home with her, the old man pounded dried meat for them to take; there were five large piles of it. As each brother reached down to take his load, it became so light and small that he felt that he had nothing to carry.

The old man began to move around again. “Keep still, old man,” said Tskel. “As soon as they get away, you can pound your roots.” When he wouldn’t keep still, Tskel snatched his mortar and threw it out. The old man went quickly and brought it back.

Pitoíois and the brothers traveled till midday; then the youngest brother put a small piece of dried meat in a basket. Right away the basket was full of meat. He put the basket on Pitoíois’ back and told her to go to her brothers’ house; they would be there by night.

When Pitoíois’ brothers came home and found the arrow sticking up in the ground, and saw Wus’ tracks, they knew that he had been tormenting their sister, and that the five brothers, the great arrow men, had taken her away. They felt badly; they hung out the clothes she used to wear and began to cry.

When Pitoíois was near home, she heard her brothers crying and it made her feel sad. They were glad when they saw her. When they asked where she had been, she said: “The five Wûlkûtska brothers saved me from Wus; I am the wife of the youngest brother.”

“Where are they now?” asked her brothers.

“On the mountain near here.”

“You must get ready something for them to eat.”

Pitoíois pounded roots, and her elder brother made a place for the men to sit. When they came in, he called the youngest man brother-in-law.

The Wûlkûtska brothers felt badly; they were afraid that the old man would kill Tskel and then follow them.

Old Wûlkûtska made Tskel sleep; then he tracked his sons. Soon he was on top of the last mountain. He was the fastest traveler in the world. He peeped over the top of the mountain and looked around in the valley.

When the Wûlkûtska brothers and Pitoíois were ready to start for home, her brother said to the youngest Wûlkûtska: “She is all the sister we have; you must be good to her. She will work and help you feed your father.”

When the brothers looked toward the mountain, they saw their father looking over the top of it. The eldest brother went around the mountain, came up behind the old man, and snatched the mortar from under his arm, just as he was taking it out to throw at Pitoíois.

“Why are you here?” asked the son. “We told you to stay with Tskel. You are not safe when you are away from home.”

“I wanted to see the brothers of my daughter-in-law.”

“You can’t see them. Go home!” said the son, and he was so angry that he threw his father’s mortar over four mountains. It came down in front of their house.

Old Wûlkûtska could do nothing without his mortar; he hurried after it.

When Tskel woke up and didn’t see the old man, he was terribly scared. He went out to hunt for him just in time to see the mortar coming and dodge it. When it fell, he picked it up, took it to the creek, and buried it in mud; only the rim of the mortar could be seen. Tskel had to hurry, for the old man was coming fast, like a cloud.

When he got to the house, he called to Tskel: “Where is my cap? Where is my cap?”

“I don’t know where your cap is.”

“Tell me quickly. I am almost dead.”

“I don’t know; you always take it with you. What have you done with it?”

“I shall die. I want it now. Hurry and find it! I am sleepy.” That minute he dropped on the ground, dead. The mortar was his medicine, his life.

Tskel tried to make him get up. He pushed him, and said: “Get up, old man, your sons are coming. Don’t sleep so long.” When he didn’t move, Tskel was frightened and sorry. He ran to the creek, got the mortar and put it in the sun to dry. As soon as it was dry, he ran to the old man, and said: “Get up, grandfather; I have found your cap!” Tskel was crying.

Wûlkûtska didn’t move; he was cold and stiff. Tskel pushed him ever so many times, but he didn’t stir. Then Tskel took his own medicine, a stick that he carried behind his ear, and hit Wûlkûtska with it; he moved a little. Tskel hit him again, kept hitting him, and saying: “Get up, grandfather, get up, grandfather! Here is your cap.”

At last the old man came to life. Then Tskel said: “I hid your cap to see how I could kill you. You must never tease your daughter-in-law, for I know where your life is. If you kill her, I shall hide your cap and not get it for you.”

The old man was frightened, but his mind wasn’t changed. When he saw his sons coming, he went into the house and watched them through the cracks. When they were near, Pitoíois put down her basket. As soon as they were in the house, the old man went out to see if they had brought roots; he hunted everywhere, but couldn’t find the basket.

“Why don’t you stay in the house?” asked his son.

“I am hungry. I am hunting for what you brought. I haven’t eaten anything for two days. The first day I ate all you left in the house.”

Pitoíois told him where the basket was. He was going to jump at it and swallow all the roots at once, but she called to him: “Put down a large skin and pour the roots on to it, then take up a pinch of them with the ends of your fingers; that pinch will be so big that you can’t eat all of it.”

“There isn’t a mouthful in the whole basket,” said the old man, and he was going to swallow all of them. When his son ran toward him, he snatched a handful of the roots and ate them. That moment he was so full that roots ran out of his mouth, and on to the ground; he fell down, rolled over, and choked to death.

Pitoíois gathered up the roots that were on the ground, made them small, put them in the basket, and covered the basket up. The son’s were glad that their father was dead, but Pitoíois felt badly; she liked her father-in-law, and didn’t want to kill him. She hit the old man two blows on the back and two on the head. The roots came out of him, only enough were left to satisfy his appetite, and he was alive again.

Tskel said: “See what you got by doing what your daughter-in-law told you not to do. Don’t do that way again. Next time no one will save you; you will die and stay dead.”

The old man didn’t listen to Tskel’s words; his mind wasn’t changed. The next morning, when the brothers were starting off to hunt deer, they said to Tskel: “Watch the old man; don’t let him torment Pitoíois. She has power and knows what she can do to him if he makes her angry.”

Old Wûlkûtska slept till afternoon; when he woke up, Pitoíois had gone for water. He looked through the cracks and watched for her to come; he meant to kill her. When Pitoíois was near the house, he raised his mortar ready to throw it.

Tskel was watching him; he crept up, snatched the mortar, and said: “Old man, what are you doing? What did your sons tell you? They will kill you if you harm your daughter-in-law. They didn’t care for their other wives,—they were common women and could do nothing; but this woman has power.”

The old man was helpless, for Tskel had his mortar. He promised not to harm Pitoíois.

When the brothers came home, Tskel didn’t tell them what Wûlkûtska had tried to do, but when Pitoíois wouldn’t eat they asked her what the trouble was, and she said: “Your father came near killing me.” The youngest son was so mad that he snatched his father’s mortar and broke it into bits.

That minute the old man turned as red as fire and every little bit of the mortar was as red as fire. He ran and gathered up the bits, held them tight up to himself; and right away the mortar was there.

The brothers were scared; they thought: “He can’t be killed, but he has the power to kill us.” Tskel said: “Don’t feel badly, there is one way to kill him. If you bury his mortar in the ground under water, he will die. I tried it one day.”

Now the five brothers started off for a long hunt and Pitoíois went with them. They said to Tskel: “If the old man gets hungry, you can come for deer’s meat; we will leave some hanging on trees around our camping places.”

The first day they killed a deer they hung the meat on trees and left the bones on the ground.

In one day old Wûlkûtska ate all that had been left in the house; then he made Tskel sleep and started to track his sons. He found the bones and he pounded and ate them. That night, when the brothers were making a camp in the bushes, they came upon a cave. In the morning they told Pitoíois to stay in the cave while they were hunting, and not to go out; that there were snakes around, and she mustn’t go to sleep, for if she did they would bite her.

When Tskel woke up and found that the old man was not in the house, he was frightened, and he ran out to find him. He followed his tracks till he came to where he was pounding and eating bones.

“Why did you come here?” asked Tskel. “Didn’t your sons tell you to stay at home?”

The old man didn’t listen to Tskel’s words; he kept on pounding. Tskel hurried along to overtake the brothers. When he came to their camp, he asked: “Where do you leave your wife while you are hunting?”

“We hide her.”

“You must be careful. Your father is tracking you; he means to kill her. I left him eating bones, but he will be here soon.”

Just then Tskel screamed out: “I see him now! There he is, peeping over that mountain.”

Old Wûlkûtska was on the farther side of the mountain, looking over. He threw his mortar at Pitoíois, but she saw it coming and dodged. That minute the old man was there at the camp.

“I am sweating. It’s awful hot!” said he.

“You have been eating bones,” said his sons, and they began to scold him.

Pitoíois gave him meat and bones, then said to the brothers: “Let us leave him and go over two mountains.” At the foot of the second mountain there was a large river.

“Are there any fish in this river?” asked Pitoíois.

“A great many,” said the eldest brother. When she took off two of her dresses to go into the water, the youngest brother said: “Put on your dresses; they will get stiff and hard.”

“I can fix them,” said Pitoíois, and she began to catch fish with her basket. Soon she saw her father-in-law watching her. Just his forehead and eyes were above the top of the mountain.

He thought: “I will have her now; she hasn’t seen me yet.” That time the old man talked to his mortar, said: “Hit her if you can, but if you can’t, fall on the ground. Don’t fall in the water.” He threw the mortar, but Pitoíois saw it coming and dodged. The mortar fell on the ground with a terrible noise. The brothers were roasting meat; they heard the noise and ran toward the river. Pitoíois dropped her basket and fish, and ran toward the camp, crying.

“What noise was that?” asked the brothers.

“It was your father’s mortar. It struck near me. He is trying to kill me.”

“It is your fault,” said the brothers. “When he was dead, you brought him to life.”

“I don’t hate him, I want him to live,” said Pitoíois.

That minute Wûlkûtska came puffing along. “I am sweating. It’s awful hot!” said he.

All night the brothers watched the old man for fear he would kill Pitoíois.

“You needn’t bother,” said Pitoíois. “I am willing to die, but I want to see my brothers again.”

“We will go home,” said the eldest brother.

“It makes me feel lonesome to go home. It was you who wanted to come,” said the youngest brother.

The second brother was mad; he snatched his father’s mortar and threw it into the river. The old man chased him and threw the pounder at him; it just missed him. The young man picked it up and threw it back. It hit the old man and killed him, for his mortar was in the water and he was getting weak. The brothers were glad that he was dead.

“I can’t do without the old man,” said little Tskel, and he began to cry.

Pitoíois was sorry for Tskel. When the youngest brother saw how sorry Pitoíois and Tskel were, he asked Pitoíois if she could do anything to bring the old man to life.

She said: “I can bring him to life and give him a better mind. If I bring him to life now, he won’t use his mortar again, and hereafter everyone will be as he will be,—when they grow old they will be like children.”

She got the mortar, then she made a plate out of braided grass and sprinkled it with water. She spread the plate on the old man and stepped over him five times. He grew warm, but didn’t come to life. Then she said to Tskel: “Strike him with your medicine stick.” Tskel struck him twice on the head. “Strike him twice across the breast,” said Pitoíois. At the second blow the old man got up; he was well again, and his mind was good.

The next morning Pitoíois had a little boy. Old Wûlkûtska called it grandson and was glad. The youngest brother and Pitoíois went to live with her brothers and the old man went with them. The four other Wûlkûtska brothers started off to hunt for a wife, and little Tskel went with them.

Pitoíois’ brothers asked her: “Have you seen any young women where you have been?”

“There are not many women in the world,” said Pitoíois.

“We will go and get the woman Kāhkaas told us about.”

“Can you live with her?” asked Pitoíois. “Her home is under the water. You want a wife who can live on dry land. Don’t go for her; she is not a good wife for you.”

They asked their brother-in-law to go with them. Pitoíois didn’t want him to go, but they started and he went with them. They traveled toward the southwest. When the brothers got tired and wanted water to drink, the brother-in-law dug a well for them with his hands, and said: “This well will always be here. The people to come will call it Wûlkûtska Ámpo after me.”

On the south side of Klamath Lake they saw old man Kûlta.

“Why do you come here?” asked he.

“We have come for your daughter.”

“My children are on that island over there. I have a place ready for each one of them; I make deep holes under the water, where they can watch the fish. My daughter wouldn’t like you. She travels on trails under the water. You are land people; you mustn’t go to my island, for my children would kill you.”

The brothers climbed a high mountain. Near the top of it they found a lake. In the water at the edge of the lake was another old man like the first one. They saw him come out of the water with his mouth full of fish; they had never seen any one fish in that way before. When he saw them coming, he was frightened, and jumped into the water. They called to him and he turned around; then he knew they were Pitoíois’ brothers. He called them “cousins” and asked: “Where are you going?”

“We are looking for a woman. Do you know where we can find one?”

“I don’t know, for I live in the water. If I travel on land I get dry; I should die if I went far from water. Maybe if you go toward the west you will find people.”

“We must go home,” said the brothers; “our sister will be lonesome.”

They found Pitoíois crying; she said: “It’s useless for you to travel around; there are no women, except far away in the north.”

The elder brother went to the top of a mountain and cried all day. His sister was sorry for him; she said: “There are people in the north. Maybe you will find a wife there.”

“I will go north,” said he, “and my brother will go with me.” His medicine was the feather of a white eagle. He put a feather on the top of his little nephew’s head, twisted his hair around it, and said: “If this feather comes off while we are gone, you will know that we shall never come back.”

“You must watch for Wus,” said the brother-in-law. “He is mad at us and will kill you if he can.”

Before they got to the first mountain, the feather fell out of the baby’s hair and flew away on the wind.

Pitoíois screamed and said to her husband: “Hurry and overtake our brothers and tell them that as soon as they were out of sight their medicine feather fell out of the baby’s hair.”

He went very fast, but the brothers were over five mountains. He couldn’t overtake them, so he turned back.

The brothers came to a brook running through a wide meadow; there were trees on each side of the brook. They sat down under a tree and began to cry. The younger brother said: “I feel lonesome, as though I were going to die.”

“I feel so, too,” said the elder brother. “Let us travel fast; maybe we can get there to-day.”

They started, but hadn’t gone far when they saw Wus coming toward them. The younger brother screamed, and said: “I think this is the person you have been hunting for.”

When Wus met them, he asked: “Where are you going?”

“We are just traveling around.”

“You are like me; I have no home, I travel all the time. Who are you?”

“We can’t tell you who we are, but we are people.”

“Whose brothers are you?”

“We are brothers to nobody.”

“I know whose brothers you are,” said Wus. “Pitoíois is your sister; she hates me as if I had no life in me, and I hate her. I know your brother-in-law, the great arrow man.”

“Where are there people?” asked the elder brother.

“Near here. Will your brother-in-law come behind you?”

“We don’t know,” said the younger brother.

Wus was mad. “You will no longer be living people,” said he. “You will be birds and wander around nights.”

Wus made night come quickly. The brothers got separated and lost in the darkness. They called to each other, but they couldn’t get together, and to this day they wander around alone.

ILYÚYU AND KÛLTA’S SISTERS

CHARACTERS

Kûlta Otter
Ilyúyu

Kûlta’s wife had one grown-up brother, and a number of little brothers and sisters. Her grown-up brother had a pet wolf,—same as people have pet dogs now.—Its name was Ilyúyu Watcagû, and the young man was called by the same name.

When Kûlta’s wife went to visit her father and mother, and carry them the nice things Kûlta had paid for her, her brother wanted to go home with her. She said: “My brother, it is a bad place there. They eat snake heads and frog heads. If you don’t eat with them, maybe they will kill you. There are bad women there, too; they will make fun of you and tease you.” But the young man kept asking her to let him go, and at last she said: “Get some tula straws and roll them up in little balls. When the women give you snake heads to eat, put a ball on the dish; then they can’t hurt you.”

When they got to the house, one of Kûlta’s sisters brought a dish of snake heads and gave it to Ilyúyu. Some of the heads were dry, others were fresh and alive. His sister said: “Put a ball on the plate.” But Ilyúyu was so frightened that he couldn’t move.

The women made fun of him, and said: “He doesn’t call our brother ‘brother-in-law.’ We are as good as he is, but he won’t eat with us.” They took the plate away and said to him: “You came here to peek around and see how we lived; you will be sorry for it. Your head may get home, but your body will be destroyed.”

Kûlta had two sisters. Ilyúyu gave each one of them a nice bone scratcher; then he said: “You needn’t think you won’t be sorry, too. Those bones will scratch all the flesh off your body.”

Kûlta’s wife was crying; she gathered up a sackful of nice beads and gave them to her brother; then she gave him a bow and arrow, and he started for home. As he went, he called: “Come, Ilyúyu! Come, Ilyúyu!” and the little wolf followed him. He talked to Ilyúyu, said: “We went to take our sister back to her husband, but now what trouble we are in.” And he began to sing to himself in a crying voice: “We met trouble from going home with our sister, we met trouble from going home with our sister.” After he had gone a little way, he said: “I wonder what is so heavy.” He stopped, took the sack off his back, untied it, and threw away some of the nice beads his sister had given him. Then he called: “Come on, Ilyúyu!”

Ilyúyu cried; he was sorry to have his master lose such beautiful beads.

The young man said: “Come on, Ilyúyu. Don’t cry for the beads. I have plenty of beads at home.” When he had gone a little farther, his pack grew heavy again. He took it off and threw away more of the beads. Ilyúyu picked them up and carried them in his mouth. “Come on, Ilyúyu!” called his master. “Don’t mind those beads; I have plenty of beads at home.”

Soon the young man said: “I wonder what is so heavy.” He threw away his bow and arrows. Ilyúyu cried. He picked up the bow and carried it in his mouth. “Come on, Ilyúyu,” said his master. “Don’t cry, I have another bow at home.” Soon he said: “I wonder what is so heavy.” And he threw away his quiver.

Kûlta’s wife knew what the women were doing to her brother. She took a basket and followed him. When he threw away his quiver, she was there behind him; she picked up the quiver and put it in her basket. She felt badly. She cried hard and thought: “Poor brother, they will kill you.”

The young man said: “There are too many beads on my moccasins; they are so heavy I can hardly step.” He threw away one of the moccasins, and called: “Come on, Ilyúyu!” (He didn’t see his sister, and Ilyúyu didn’t see her.) Soon he pulled off the other moccasin and threw it away. He threw away his belt. Ilyúyu picked it up and tried to carry it in his mouth. He dragged it a while, then dropped it. After a time the young man said: “What have I got on that is so heavy?” He took off his beaded shirt and threw it away. When Ilyúyu cried, his master called: “Come on, Ilyúyu, I have another shirt at home.” He threw away his beaded leggings; then he was naked. Ilyúyu was crying. “Come on, Ilyúyu,” said his master. Soon he pulled off one arm and threw it away. Ilyúyu tried to drag the arm along with his teeth, but his master called: “Come on, Ilyúyu, come on!” and he left it. His sister put it in her basket. Soon he said: “I wonder what is so heavy.” And he threw away the second arm. He pulled off his legs; then he was only a body and head. He went on a little way, then said: “I wonder what is so heavy.” His body fell off, and he was only a head. He became Núsdilausniyas (Rolling Head) and could travel fast. He crossed a mountain at a bound, then rolled along in the air. He had big eyes and long hair that waved behind him.

When he got to the river near his home, he struck the ground, and said: “Dum! dum!” Then he called in a loud voice: “Mother, come and take me across!” “Where are you?” asked his mother; she couldn’t see him.

“I am here waiting. Come and get me!” When she didn’t come, he got mad, flew across the river and came down in the house: “Dum! dum!” Then he flew at the people, hit them, and killed them.

Ilyúyu was crying; the river was swift and he couldn’t cross. Soon the sister came. She found a canoe, crossed the river, and went to the house. She looked in through the smoke hole and saw the Head eating the body of her mother. She was terribly scared. She ran to the village to tell the people; she knew that after the Head had eaten her father and mother, it would fly to the village and kill everybody there.

The Head felt dust scatter in at the smoke hole, and knew that somebody was on the top of the house. It went out, saw tracks, and followed the woman. When Ilyúyu saw his master, just a great bloody Head, he felt so badly and was so afraid that he ran off to the mountains and wandered around, crying all the time.

When the sister told the people that her brother had turned to a man-eater, the two oldest women in the village said to them: “You must paint your faces with the pitch out of cedar trees, and be strong; maybe we can save you.”

The two made a basket as tight and firm as they could. They waxed their hands so they could hold the Head. Then they rowed to the other side of the river and waited; soon they heard the Head coming, with a terrible whizzing and noise. It struck the bank: “Dum! dum!” and called out: “Come and take me over!” When it saw the two old women, it asked: “Why didn’t young people come for me?”

“They are afraid of you,” said one of the old women.

“They must come. I won’t cross with you; you will throw me into the river.”

“No, we won’t. We want to put you in our basket and take you over in the right way, so people in later times won’t make fun of you.”

“How can I look out and see what you are doing?”

“You can look through the cracks in the basket.”

“Will you carry me into your house when you get over?”

“Yes, we will take good care of you.”

At last the Head said: “I’ll go. Take me up carefully.” When they got the Head into the basket, it screamed and tried to get out, said: “I can’t see. Let me out!”

“We are almost over,” said the women. “Keep still; you are all right. Now we are going to get out of the canoe. We are across the river.”

They were only in the middle of the river. They took up the basket and dropped it into the water. It went up and down many times, for the Head was trying hard to get out. When the basket got near the bank, people pushed it away with long poles. After a while it got so heavy with water that it sank.

Then the old women said: “This world wasn’t made for such things as you are. Hereafter you will only show yourself to scare doctors; you will be their medicine, and tell them what to do.”