Chapter IV: Part 4

Old Limālimáas was a man-eater. He lived among big rocks at one end of a long, swampy flat. At the other end of the swamp lived an old woman and her little grandson. Limālimáas had killed all the old woman’s kin, except the boy. He had strung their elbow and ankle bones on a grass rope and he wore them for a necklace. People called him Kókolaileyas, (Bone Necklace).

The grandmother was too old to dig roots, so the little boy dug them for her. One day Limālimáas saw the boy digging; he crept up and lay down near him, and when the boy’s basket was full of nice, white roots, he ate them all at a mouthful. After that, he came every day. No matter where the boy went to dig, Limālimáas followed him. If the boy ate a root while he was digging, Limālimáas struck him on the forehead with his hammer. He listened and knew when he took a root. The little boy felt badly; he wanted to carry roots to his grandmother, for he knew she was hungry. He cried all the time he was digging, cried “Nul-we! Nul-we!” (that was his name). He always went home at sundown.

One day he cried on the way home. His grandmother heard him, and said: “My grandson, you mustn’t cry so loud. A bad man lives among the big rocks. He will hear you and come where you are digging. Maybe he will kill you; he has killed your father and your mother and all your kin.”

The next morning, when Nul-we went to dig roots, Limālimáas came, and said: “Little Nul-we, I am waiting for you; I am hungry. I want you to grow fast and get big, then I will kill you and eat you. I will put your bones in my necklace, between the bones of your father and the bones of your mother, and they will make my necklace nice and long.”

That evening, when Nul-we went home without any roots, his grandmother said: “When you were a little fellow, you brought your basket full of roots. Now it is always empty. I am hungry. I have only dry, old roots to eat.”

“I eat all the roots I dig,” said Nul-we; then he cried, he was so sorry for his grandmother. He didn’t want to tell her about Limālimáas.

The next morning, as soon as Nul-we began digging, Limālimáas came, rattling his bone necklace as he traveled. He lay down right by Nul-we, and said: “Little boy, I am tired; peel me some nice, white roots.” When he had eaten the roots, he took hold of his necklace, rattled it, and said, as he divided the bones: “These are your father’s bones; these are your mother’s bones; these are your sister’s bones; these are your brother’s bones; these are your grandfather’s bones. Now dig away, little boy; when you are big enough, your bones will be in my necklace.”

That day Nul-we dug four basketfuls, and Limālimáas ate them all. Then he said: “Little boy, you should kill me, for I have eaten your father and your mother and all your kin.” Then Nul-we thought: “Maybe I could kill this bad old man; I will get a bow and arrow and try.”

The next day, when Limālimáas had eaten all the roots, he said: “Little boy, you should kill me; I have killed all your kin. You must shoot me in the body; that is where I keep my heart.”

That night the grandmother asked: “Why don’t you bring me roots? I am hungry; you shouldn’t eat them all.”

“I dig roots early in the morning,” said Nul-we, “then I eat them and lie down and sleep all day.”

“That isn’t true,” said his grandmother, “you don’t deceive me; somebody takes your roots away from you.”

“I want you to make me a bow and arrow,” said Nul-we, “and put poison in the end of the arrow. I miss all the birds I shoot at with sticks.”

In the morning Limālimáas said to him: “I think you are about big enough to eat.”

That night Nul-we said to his grandmother: “I dig a great many roots, but a bad man comes and eats them all. He wears a necklace made of bones. He says they are the bones of my father and of my mother and of all my kin; and that my bones will make the necklace nice and long.”

The grandmother was frightened, for she knew it was old Limālimáas, the man who lived among the rocks. She gave Nul-we his father’s strong bow and put fresh points on the arrows; then she made the bow and arrows look like a little boy’s first bow and arrows, and said: “That man’s heart isn’t in his body; it’s in the end of his first finger; you must shoot him there.”

When Limālimáas came, the boy fed him lots of roots. He dug fast and gave the old man all he could eat. Then Limālimáas lay down to sleep. Usually he lay with his head on his hands, but that time he lay with his face up and his hands spread out. Nul-we got his arrow ready, and made up his mind which way to run; then, when he saw something moving in Limālimáas’ finger, he shot. The heart came out on the end of the arrow.

Limālimáas sprang up and ran after the boy. Ever so many times he almost caught him, but each time Nul-we dodged and got away. At last they came to a dried up river-bed where there were big rocks and deep holes. Limālimáas was getting weak; he stumbled and fell into a hole. Nul-we ran across the river-bed; then he turned and called to Limālimáas: “You shall not live in this world and kill people. Hereafter you will make a great noise, but you will not have the power to harm anybody. When another strikes, you will shout for him; that is all you will be able to do.”

Nul-we took the heart off the end of his arrow, blew it up into the sky, and said: “You can go up there and live; you can’t live down here any longer.”

Now Nul-we could dig roots and carry them to his grandmother; he was glad, and he didn’t cry any more.

The old man-eater became Thunder.

WIND AND THUNDER

CHARACTERS

Galaíwa Mouse
Káwhas Blackbird
Leméis Thunder
Mówas Sléwis South Wind
Tániäs Sléwis North Wind
Tcûskai Weasel
Tskel Mink

Tcûskai and Tskel lived together on North Wind Mountain (east of Klamath marsh). Tskel thought it was time to have a wife. He knew there were women off in the north, so he said to Tcûskai: “Go to Sycan and get two women.” When Tcûskai got to the place, the women were digging roots. He snatched their caps and ran home with them. All the women followed him. In that old time this was one way of getting a wife. A man stole something a woman was wearing; then she knew he wanted her, and she followed him home.

When Tcûskai brought so many caps, Tskel was angry. He said: “Why do you always make trouble? I sent you for two women, and you have brought a great many. What will you do now?”

Tcûskai kept two of the caps and threw the other ones away. When the women came, they picked up their caps and went home; only two women stayed. After a while each woman had a little boy. They rubbed the children with ashes, and they grew fast.

As soon as the boys could run around and play, they began to quarrel. Tcûskai made them arrows to shoot birds and squirrels with; after that, when they got angry, they shot at each other. Then Tcûskai made them arrows with poisoned points, and one day when they were fighting, they killed each other.

Tcûskai stayed in the house, but he knew what had happened; he always knew everything. Tskel was away hunting for deer. As soon as he came home, he looked around for his boys; when he found that the two boys were dead, he called Tcûskai and they burned the bodies. Then Tskel said to his brother: “I want you to travel in the mountains and swim in the ponds. After that you can go south and cut off Mówas Sléwis’ head.”

Tcûskai wanted to go north.

Tskel said: “If Tániäs Sléwis should put out his head, you would die. He would cover everything with ice, and you would freeze to death.”

“I can go north as well as you can,” said Tcûskai. “I don’t want to go south; you can go there.”

“Go north if you want to,” said Tskel. “It won’t be my fault if you are killed.”

They went to all the high mountains and swam in the swimming pools, then Tcûskai went to Tániäs Sléwis’ home, and his brother went south to Mówas Sléwis’ home.

When Tcûskai got near Tániäs Sléwis’ house, he rolled himself up tight in his blanket, but as soon as Tániäs Sléwis stuck his head out to see who was around, Tcûskai died. Wind and cold cut through his body and killed him. When Tániäs Sléwis drew his head in, Tcûskai came to life.

Tskel was at Mówas Sléwis’ place, but he saw Tcûskai and knew what was happening. Mówas Sléwis put his head out, Tskel cut it off, skinned it, and made himself a cap of the skin. Tskel had his emi [8] in his hand. Nothing in the world could break that knife, but whatever it was thrown at broke—Tskel made it that way by thinking hard. As soon as he had cut off Mówas Sléwis’ head, he went north to help his brother. When he got to Tániäs Sléwis’ house, he put Tcûskai under his blanket, and watched for Sléwis to put his head out. Tskel could endure the cold, for he had on the cap made of the skin of Mówas Sléwis’ head.

As soon as Tániäs Sléwis put his head out, Tskel cut it off. Now both Mówas Sléwis and Tániäs Sléwis were killed, and that is why it is not as cold in winter, or as hot in summer as it used to be. Their bodies are dead, but their spirits are alive. The wind that blows from the south is Mówas Sléwis’ spirit, and the wind that comes from the north is Tániäs Sléwis’ spirit.

Tskel skinned Tániäs Sléwis’ head, and now he had two caps.

When they got home Tcûskai wanted the cap made of Tániäs Sléwis’ head, for whenever he put it on he could freeze people to death, but Tskel wouldn’t give it to him. He was afraid that Tcûskai wasn’t strong enough to wear it; that it would freeze him to death.

Tskel said: “The five Leméis brothers are bad men; they kill people and eat them. Their house is in a deep place, and there are great rocks around it. The tallest tree in the world wouldn’t reach to the bottom of the house. Our sister, who married Kaiutois lives there with her husband and his five brothers; we will go and visit her.”

Gäk and Káwhas went with Tcûskai and Tskel. When they came to the house the men were off hunting; only old Leméis and his wife and daughter and Kaiutois’ wife were at home. Tskel had on the cap made of Tániäs Sléwis’ head. The minute he went into the house ice was everywhere. Old Leméis and his wife were terribly scared; they thought somebody had come who was stronger than they were. They wanted to get away as soon as they could, but the ladder was covered with ice, and they kept slipping back into the house. At last they got out.

Kaiutois’ wife and children were warm. Tskel made it so, for she was his sister.

Old Leméis’ daughter was meaner than her brothers. The belt around her waist was made of men’s bones; she killed men by making them put on that belt. As soon as the belt was around a man’s waist, the bones pressed together until they cut him in two. She handed the belt to Tskel and told him to put it on.

He said: “I will put on your belt, if you will put on my cap first.” She put the cap on. It pressed her head and almost froze her to death, but she snatched it off and ran out of the house. She was scared.

Outside old Leméis and his wife were crying with cold. The eldest of the five brothers came with two men in his belt. His father said: “There is somebody in our house who is stronger than we are.”

“There is nobody in the world stronger than I am,” said the young man. “I will kill the man who is in there.” He put one foot on the ladder, but sprang back and began to scream.

The second brother came with dead men in his belt. He said he was the strongest person in the world, but the minute he put one foot on the ladder, he sprang back, crying with cold.

The third brother put his foot on the second rung of the ladder, then he turned back. He roared terribly; he tried to frighten Tskel, but Tskel wasn’t afraid.

The fourth brother came with four dead men in his belt; one was kin to Tskel. He went down four rungs of the ladder, then sprang back; the dead man who was kin to Tskel slipped out of his belt and fell inside. Tskel made that so by thinking. Then he brought the dead man to life.

When the youngest and strongest one of the brothers came, he got down the ladder into the house, but he was out as soon as he was in. Just at sundown Kaiutois came with a deer on his back. Tskel took his cap off and Tcûskai put on his cap made of South Wind’s head. Right away all the ice was gone.

Now the Leméis brothers came inside. They built a big fire and heated rocks, put the rocks in a basket of water, and boiled pieces of the men they had brought home. Kaiutois roasted deer meat and gave it to his brothers-in-law. Gäk and Káwhas ate the meat old Leméis gave them. That is why crows and blackbirds eat any dead thing they can find.

After eating, everybody lay down. The five Leméis brothers lay in a row; they were watching, for they wanted to kill Tskel.

Káwhas had bright eyes; when he was asleep the Leméis brothers thought he was awake. Tskel made the five brothers go to sleep. They had long hair and Tskel tied one brother’s hair to another’s, till he had the five tied together. He did this so that when they woke up each one would think that his brother was pulling his hair, and all of them would get to fighting. Tcûskai, Tskel, Gäk, Káwhas, Kaiutois and his wife went outside. Tskel hired Galaíwa to fill all the holes in the house with pitch and pile pitch wood up around it; when that was done he set fire to the place.

When the house began to burn, the five brothers sprang up; that made their hair pull and they began to fight one another with their long flint knives. Soon they were all dead. Their bodies were burned up, but their hearts flew out of the fire. Tcûskai and Tskel were watching, and as soon as a heart came out they pushed it back into the fire. They did this till each heart burst and the spirit came out and went away. Four of the hearts were destroyed, but the heart of the youngest and strongest brother got away from Tskel. It went up to the sky and became Leméis. Leméis is up there yet; we hear him when he travels around.

Klamath Indians think that Thunder is a little fellow with very long hair.

GÁUKOS AND KÛLTA

CHARACTERS

Gáukos Moon
Kówe Frog
Kûlta Otter
Lok Bear
Weketas A Small Green Frog

Gáukos and Kûlta had a house among the rocks on the east side of Klamath Lake. On the west side of the lake lived the ten Kówe sisters, beautiful little women. Their clothes were covered with beads and porcupine quills. They were powerful women, too; they could do anything they wanted. A Weketas woman lived with the ten sisters. She was big and ugly, and the only thing she could do was to bring people to life.

Gáukos grew lonesome. He was tired of living in the world. Kûlta said: “I will go and tell the ten sisters that you want a wife. With a woman to cook for us, it won’t be lonesome.”

Kûlta went to the ten sisters, and said: “A young man on the east side of the lake wants one of you for a wife, but he don’t know which one.”

Each one of the ten sisters got ready to go; they cooked nice roots and pounded sweet seeds. They put on new moccasins and dresses, pulled their canoe into the water, and started. Weketas had nothing to cook and nothing new to wear. She had on a ragged old cap, and was half naked, but she went to row the canoe. The sisters kept pushing her, and saying: “Row faster, ugly thing! Row faster!”

Gáukos sat on the rocks where he could watch the sisters. When they reached land, they left the canoe, one by one. To the first one Gáukos said: “Not you; another.” To the second sister he said the same, and so on to the last.

Kûlta told them to go back to the canoe; then he said to Gáukos: “Tell me which one you want.”

“The one at the end of the canoe.”

“What do you want of that ugly thing?” asked Kûlta. “You should take one of those nice girls.”

“I will take the one I know will be best for me, the one that will live in my heart and always save me.”

“Don’t take that ugly Weketas woman,” said Kûlta.

“I don’t want to live around here,” said Gáukos. “Every night, I see some of the big-mouthed people. They are watching me; they like to eat such men as I am.”

“How can that ugly Weketas woman save you?” asked Kûlta.

“If there should be only a little bit of me left in Lok’s mouth, she would bring me to life,” said Gáukos.

Kûlta was willing now, but the ten sisters wouldn’t let the Weketas woman pass them. She crept along on the edge of the canoe, and each sister pinched her as she passed; they made her arms and legs bleed.

Gáukos wiped the blood off, rubbed her with deer tallow, and gave her a nice blanket. Then he put her in his bosom and started off toward the east. As he left, he said to Kûlta: “You will see me every month; I shall live always and will always travel on the sky.”

To this day Gáukos travels and he always will travel. People can see Weketas, for Gáukos still carries her in his bosom. Sometimes they can see Weketas’ children lying near her. When Súbbas comes, and Gáukos is still in the west, he gets eaten up by the big-mouthed people, but Weketas always brings him to life and will do so just as long as he carries her in his bosom.

TCOITCAK AND HIS PACK

CHARACTERS

Tcoitcak A Bird (English name unknown)
Tcûskai Weasel
Tskel Mink

Once Tcoitcak was going along near the house where two brothers, Tcûskai and Tskel, lived. He was carrying a big pack on his back. Tcûskai liked to stay outside the house looking around. Tskel scolded him for not staying at home, so when he went away he always left his tail hanging down inside the smoke hole and left his voice with his tail. He said: “If Tskel calls me, you must answer: ‘I am here’!”

When Tcûskai saw the man coming with a big pack, he went to meet him. “What are you packing?” asked he.

Tcoitcak didn’t answer.

“Let me see what you have in your pack,” said Tcûskai.

The man kept walking along, but didn’t speak. Tcûskai followed him and teased him to tell what he was carrying. “Sit down and rest,” said Tcûskai. “That pack is too heavy to keep on your back all the time.”

At last Tcoitcak got angry; he pulled the pack off his back and put it on the ground. In that big bundle Tcoitcak had lots and lots of little bundles. Tcûskai untied the big bundle, snatched one of the little bundles and opened it. Out came Darkness, and that minute it spread all over the world. It was black everywhere. Tcûskai couldn’t see, but he snatched a second bundle and pulled it open. A crowd of stars came out.

In the big pack there were bundles of all kinds. Twilight was in one bundle, Daybreak in another. Each big star that has a name was tied up in a separate bundle,—Morning Star in one, Evening Star in another. Whatever time there is of day or night was in Tcoitcak’s pack. Clouds, Rain, Snow, everything was there.

Tcûskai was lost in the darkness. He ran around everywhere, but couldn’t find his way home.

Tskel knew what Tcûskai had done, and that he couldn’t find his way home. He let him run around for a long time, then he pointed his flint knife toward the east, and cut a hole in the darkness to let light in.

It is because Tcûskai was running around so long in the dark that nights are so long and dark in winter time.

WITSDUK

CHARACTERS

Tcutûk Rock Squirrel
Witsduk Snow that the Wind Blows and Drifts
Wus Fox

When Witsduk was a person, her home was in the Modoc country; she and her family were that snow which the wind carries in every direction. Wherever they went, they made people shiver, blinded them, and took their breath away. Everybody was tired of the Witsduks and wanted to get rid of them.

At last Tcutûk, an old medicine woman, said: “I can destroy Witsduk and her family, but I am afraid of Wus. He is a bad man; he likes to tease people, and he is always around. I can put Witsduk and her family in my bag and hide them under rocks where they can’t get out, but if I meet Wus he will take the bag away from me, and untie it. Then the Witsduks will kill us.”

The people were glad when Tcutûk said she could destroy the Witsduks; they promised to watch for Wus and kill him if he tried to get the bag away from her.

Tcutûk went to the mountain where the Witsduks lived. She opened her bag and waited for a long time. The Witsduks were going back and forth in every direction; Tcutûks was so cold that she was almost frozen. At last they came near her hiding-place, but they didn’t see her. When they were right there, Tcutûk said magic words and the Witsduks began to go into the bag. They couldn’t help going; Tcutûk pushed them down, crowded them, packed them solid. When they were all in and her bag was full, she tied it with a buckskin string, took it on her back, and went toward the rocks; she traveled fast.

When Tcutûk got to the foot of the mountain, she said to the people waiting for her: “I have every Witsduk in the world in this bag on my back; now you must come with me to the rocks where I am going to hide them. I am afraid of Wus; I am afraid that I will meet him. If he should open my bag and let the Witsduks out, I should feel badly, for then no one would be safe. The Witsduks are mad; they would come out and kill everybody. Then they would live forever; they would scatter and be everywhere.”

The people said: “If we meet Wus, we will kill him,” but they were afraid. They went a little way, then turned back. Tcutûk traveled on alone till she came to a log; when she was climbing over the log, she saw Wus; he was hunting for mice. Tcutûk stood still, for she didn’t know what to do. As soon as Wus saw her, he came up, and right away he began to tease her to tell him what was in her bag, to open it and let him see.

At last Tcutûk said: “I am carrying off people you have met, and they have made you shiver. I am going to destroy them.”

“Let me have them,” said Wus, “I will eat them. I can eat anything in the world, all the people that crawl, or fly. I can eat Wind and Air. You haven’t anything in that bag that I can’t eat. I can eat Clouds and Rain,—everything.”

“Are you sure that you can eat all kinds of people?” asked Tcutûk.

“There isn’t anything in the world that I can’t eat.”

“I am carrying the Witsduks; you don’t want to eat them, do you?”

“Yes. Open the bag and let them out; I will eat them right away.”

Wus talked and teased. Tcutûk tried to make him let her pass. He got mad and caught hold of her head-strap and pulled on it till it cut her forehead. When she couldn’t keep the bag any longer, she said: “Take the bag and untie it! But don’t untie it till I am across the flat over there.”

She dropped the bag from her back and ran as fast as she could, but before she was half-way across the flat Wus loosened the string. Right away the Witsduks began to come out. Wus caught them, one by one, and ate them. Before Tcutûk reached the end of the plain, he loosened the string a little more; then the Witsduks came out fast. Wus caught them all; he ran around, snapped his mouth in every direction, ate as fast as he could,—ate till he was so full he couldn’t eat any more. The string came off from the bag, and the rest of the Witsduks rushed out in a crowd. They were mad; they went everywhere, covered the whole world. Wus ran away, but they overtook him and killed him. The Witsduks he had eaten came out through his mouth and ears and nose and eyes.

All the people Tcutûk had tried to save, by catching the Witsduks in her bag, were killed. Tcutûk turned to a squirrel and hid among the rocks.

The Witsduks scattered everywhere, and they will live forever. Wus did this. If Tcutûk had hidden them under the rocks, there would have been no more Witsduks in the world. At the place where Wus was killed nobody can live to this day; every one dies from cold or starvation, for old woman Witsduk lives there yet.

DJÁKALIPS

CHARACTER

Djákalips Red Clouds

Djákalips lived on the west side of Klamath Lake. He had eyes as red as blood and he always looked down; he wouldn’t look up at any time. When he ate, he closed his eyes, and when fishing he shaded them with his arm.

Two sisters went to live with Djákalips and be his wives. He said to them: “When you clean fish, you must not break the gall; if you do trouble will come.”

One day one of the sisters said to the other: “Did you ever see Djákalips’ face?”

“No, I don’t lie as near him as you do; you must know how he looks.”

“I don’t, for I never see his eyes; he always covers them with his arm, or turns his face away from me.”

“I want to see his eyes,” said the younger sister; “I don’t want a man who won’t look at me.”

“Maybe if we saw his eyes we would die,” said the elder sister.

“Why do we stay here?” asked the younger sister. “Every woman has to look at her husband and every man at his wife. I feel as if something would happen to us, but I am going to see Djákalips’ eyes.”

They tried in every way to make Djákalips look up. Sometimes they told him that people were coming; sometimes they called out: “There is a deer!” But no matter what they said, he didn’t look up.

One morning Djákalips went fishing. At midday he had a basketful of nice fish. The elder wife cooked some of the fish in the coals and gave them to her husband to eat; she spoke to him, but he didn’t answer. He kept his arm over his eyes. The two sisters sat down in front of their straw house to dress fish and watch Djákalips. They were mad at him. They didn’t like him any longer. The younger sister thought: “I will make him look up!” She broke the gall of a fish and screamed: “Oh! I’ve broken a gall!”

Djákalips looked up. His eyes were balls of fire, and his face was as red as blood.

The sisters were terribly frightened; they wanted to get away. The elder sister said: “We have no wood, you must come and help me get some.” They ran off to the river and began to twist reeds to make a rope long enough to reach from the ground to the sky. They worked fast. When the rope was finished, they made it into a ball and threw the ball up till it caught in the sky; then they climbed on the rope that hung from the ball. As they climbed, they said: “We will leave the rope, and if Djákalips follows us, we will come down again.” They left a little animal sitting on the ground near the end of the rope, and told him not to tell where they had gone.

Djákalips wondered why his wives didn’t come. At last he tracked them to the place where they had made the ball; he saw the little animal, and asked: “Where are my wives?” It wouldn’t tell. Djákalips pulled its hair, took out a handful; still it wouldn’t tell. He looked everywhere for tracks; then he came back to the same place and asked again: “Where are my wives?” He got no answer. He pulled out another handful of the little animal’s hair, then he went to hunt for tracks again. The tracks always led him back to the animal.

When he had pulled all of the animal’s hair out, it said: “They have gone to the sky.”

“How did they go?” asked Djákalips.

“On a rope made of reeds. Here is the end of it. Look up and you will see where they are.”

Djákalips climbed the rope. The sisters went far west, but he tracked them. They ran north and south, then they ran back to the rope and came down. As they touched the ground, the elder sister called to Djákalips: “You will never come back to this earth; you will always stay there in the sky. You will stay where the sun goes down, and in later times, when you look up and people see your red eyes, they will say: ‘Djákalips is going to make water freeze.’”

Djákalips followed his wives north and south, but couldn’t find them; then he went back to where the sun sets and stayed there. He turned into the red clouds which we see in the fall of the year. When Djákalips is seen in the west, water freezes.

MOASÄM BEPS, THE DAUGHTER OF SOUTH WIND

CHARACTERS

Moasäm Beps South Wind’s Daughter
Tsákiak A Bird (English name unknown)

At Euks a great many people were starving to death; they were so weak they couldn’t stand. It was winter; snow was falling all the time. The people were out of doors. They didn’t live in houses. Tsákiak was the only person who had a house. He took people in, warmed them, and gave them a little to eat; he hadn’t much.

One day, when it was cold and there was deep snow everywhere, Tsákiak went on top of his house and stood looking around. He felt badly, felt sorry for the people, they were so cold and hungry. Just then he saw Moasäm Beps coming from the south; she was bringing minnows, holding them out in her hand as she came along; when she passed Tsákiak’s house, she gave him the minnows. He cooked them over his fire and gave them to the hungry people. He felt glad in his heart.

The next day, Moasäm Beps came again and brought many minnows; she had both hands full. When she passed Tsákiak, she gave them to him. He was hungry himself, but he gave all of the minnows to the starving people.

The next day Moasäm Beps’ hands were empty, but she asked Tsákiak where the nut pine trees were. He said: “They are on both sides of the fire in my house.”

Moasäm Beps went in and sat on a pine tree. As soon as she was there, the snow melted and went away. She said to Tsákiak: “Spread five blankets under each tree; then go out and don’t look in.”

Soon on each one of the ten blankets there was a big pile of pine nuts. Then Moasäm Beps called the people in; those who were too weak to eat she fed.

Right away all the people were strong; they were happy, too. They gave Moasäm Beps wildcat skins and beads of every kind, and then they went their own way, for it was warm and they had plenty to eat. Tsákiak and Moasäm Beps went to Moasänik, her father’s home, for Moasäm Beps was Tsákiak’s wife now.

The day they got to Moasänik, Moasäm Beps gave her husband a pair of moccasins, and said: “You must wear these moccasins all the time you are here; if you take them off, you will die.”

The next day she told him to go and hunt for deer. He went to the top of a high mountain, where there was snow. Tsákiak tracked a herd of deer and killed five.

Tsákiak went hunting every day for five days,—he started before it was light in the morning and came home in the evening. Each time he went Moasäm Beps told him not to take off his moccasins. The sixth morning, when he was ready to start, Moasäm Beps said: “Even if your feet are wet and cold, you mustn’t take off your moccasins; if you do you won’t come home; you will die on the mountain.”

Tsákiak tracked deer for a long time. The ground was wet and muddy. At last he went to the other side of the mountain, where the ground was dry; it looked nice. Tsákiak said: “This is a good place to walk, the ground is dry. I will take off these wet moccasins and walk around a little.”

He took off one moccasin. Snow began to fall and the wind to blow hard and cold. Tsákiak took off the other moccasin. “I don’t care for you any longer,” said he. “You are cold and wet.” He picked up both moccasins and threw them as far as he could. Right away the wind blew furiously. It turned awfully cold, so cold that Tsákiak couldn’t walk; his legs were stiff. Snow came down fast, like big basketfuls tipped over. Tsákiak couldn’t get air, couldn’t breathe; he died.

WEST WIND’S WIVES

CHARACTERS

Mówas Sléwis South Wind
Tániäs Sléwis North Wind
Tkálmas Sléwis West Wind

Tkálmas Sléwis and his younger brother lived together. Tkálmas had two wives, Mówas Sléwis and Tániäs Sléwis; Mówas had a little baby.

Mówas was mild and kind and pleasant. The weather was nice when she was at home, but Tániäs was always cross and stormy.

Mówas went to visit her father at Moasänik, and only Tániäs was left at Tkálmas’ house. Right away it grew cold in the house and there was snow and ice everywhere. Tkálmas’ brother sat all the time looking toward the south, and kept saying: “I wish my sister-in-law would come. We shall die if she doesn’t come soon; we shall freeze to death.”

At last he saw Mówas coming. When she was still a long way off the snow on the top of the house began to melt, and water dripped down through the smoke hole, but as fast as it fell it dried up.

Tkálmas’ brother said: “Oh my best sister-in-law, even if water freezes as hard as a rock, you can melt it. No matter how much ice there is, your soft breath thaws it. You are the kindest and the most useful woman in this world.”

Tkálmas heard what his brother said, but he didn’t care; he was glad that Mówas had come. The house was dry now and the sun was shining. Mówas gave them nice things to eat, things she had brought from Moasänik.

Tániäs was angry at her brother-in-law, and jealous of Mówas, so as soon as Mówas came home Tániäs took all of Tkálmas’ beautiful beads, white, and yellow, and every color, took the nice things she had brought when she came to marry him, and went back to her home in the north. But once each year she goes to her husband, and stays with him till Mówas comes home from Moasänik; then she gets angry and jealous and goes back to her home in the north.

THE STAR BROTHERS

CHARACTERS

Gäk Crow
Gapni Louse
Kaltsik Spider
Kûlta Otter
Skóla Meadow Lark
Tekewas
Tohós A Duck
Tûtats
Wámanik Bull Snake
Yaukùl “One of the Stone People”
Yahyáhaäs or Yá-hi-yas or Yáhyahiyáas, always represented
as a one-legged man

On the south side of Lake Klamath lived five brothers. The eldest was married to Skóla. Four of the brothers were without wives. Tekewas, their sister, was married to Kûlta, and lived not far away. The brothers were bad men. The name of the youngest brother was Tûtats. When he was a child his sister was fond of him; then her mother made her forget him, but after a long time she remembered him again, and thought: “I wonder where Tûtats is. I used to nurse him; he was nice when he was a baby. I will go and find him.”

Tekewas got to her brothers’ house at midday. When she had been there a while they asked: “Why don’t you go home?”

“I am not going,” said the sister. “I have come to stay all night.”

They tried to drive her away, but she wouldn’t go. The next day, when Tekewas’ brothers told her to go home, she went to her mother, who was outside pounding seeds, and asked: “What have you done with Tûtats? Is he dead?”

“What do you care if he is?” said her mother. “You had better go home. The next time you come I will tell you about Tûtats.”

Tekewas went home then, for she was glad. As soon as she was out of sight the old woman took Tûtats from under the ground, where she kept him in a big bark basket, and his brothers carried him to the river and let him swim.

The eldest brother said to his mother: “I am the only person who knows what my sister thinks. She thinks bad; she will come again. You must make Tûtats dry and put him back.”

While swimming, Tûtats lost a hair out of his head. It was a beautiful, bright hair. The mother didn’t notice it; she wiped him quickly, rubbed him with deer fat, put him in the basket, and carried him back under the ground.

The next morning, when Skóla was starting off to dig roots, she saw something red on the ridge of the mountains. Her husband said: “That is Tekewas lying there; she means to kill us.” The brothers were so frightened that they wouldn’t go out of the house, but sat inside; they wouldn’t even look out. But Skóla watched.

When Tekewas came to the house, the eldest brother asked: “Why do you come so often? You were here yesterday.”

Tekewas stayed all day; while she was swimming in the river she found the long bright hair. She took it to her mother and asked: “Who is so beautiful as to have this kind of hair?”

“No matter,” said her mother. “Why do you come to trouble your brothers? You are Kûlta’s wife; you should stay with him.”

The next day Tekewas brought five pairs of nice moccasins, and told her mother to give them to her brothers, and tell one of them he must go home with her and get some of Kûlta’s beads. The eldest brother said: “I will go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” said Tekewas.

“Your second brother is ready to go,” said her mother.

“I don’t want him; he has enough of my beads.” One after another, the brothers got ready, but Tekewas refused each one. “No,” said she, “you have had enough of Kûlta’s beads. I want Tûtats to go with me.”

“Who is he?” asked her mother.

“You know that you can’t fool me. I have a young brother; I want him to go with me. It is getting late; where is he?” Every time Tekewas turned her body she talked to the sun, told it to go quick, so it would be dark soon.

Her brothers didn’t want her to stay all night, so they took the basket from under the ground, and got Tûtats ready to go. They let down his hair and combed it. It was blue and beautiful, and reached to his feet. He cried all the time they were combing it, for he didn’t want to go with his sister. When she started, he walked behind her, crying.

Tekewas talked to the sun, told it to go down, scolded it to make it hurry. The sun was scared and it went as though it were sliding down a slippery place. When they came to a clump of cedar trees, it was already dark. Tekewas stopped and said: “We will camp here.”

“It is too near,” said Tûtats; he was crying.

“It is too dark to follow the trail,” said Tekewas. She built a fire and gave Tûtats roots from her basket. After eating, he lay down on one side of the fire and she on the other; then she thought: “Let him go to sleep quick.” When he was asleep, she went over to lie by him.

He woke and got up; he was still crying. “Let her sleep till I get half-way to the sky,” said he to himself. He found a log, put it by his sister’s side, and told it to keep her asleep. Then he hurried home.

“What is the trouble?” asked his brothers. “Why did you come back?”

“I don’t like my sister. I left her asleep. When she wakes up she will come to kill us. We must get away from here.”

The brothers hired old man Kaltsik to help them. Kaltsik made a basket and put the five brothers into it; then he made a web, took the basket up into the air, let it down into the web, and started.

“Don’t look down till I tie you to the sky,” said the old man. “If you do, you will fall out and get killed.”

When Tekewas woke up, she ran back to the house and asked: “Where are my brothers?”

“I don’t know,” said the old woman.

“Yes, you do. Here is a trail going up to the sky!” Tekewas was so mad that she ran around the house so fast and so many times that she set it on fire.

Old man Kaltsik was half-way to the sky when he saw the blaze, and said: “Your house is burning!” The eldest brother forgot and looked down, over the edge of the basket. That minute the web broke, and the five brothers fell out, one after another.

The mother and daughter were fighting; each had a wooden paddle. When Tekewas saw her brothers falling, she said to her mother: “You mustn’t say: ‘Fall this side’; you must say: ‘fall in the middle.’”

“Fall this side! Fall this side!” cried the mother.

Tekewas knocked the paddle out of her hand into the fire. Four of the brothers fell into the fire. When sparks flew out, Tekewas pushed them back with her paddle. As often as her mother got her paddle out of the fire, Tekewas knocked it in again. The youngest brother fell last.

“This side! This side!” cried his mother.

Tekewas jumped on her and fought with her. Tûtats swayed back and forth, back and forth, and fell outside the fire, but his sister pushed him into it, and he was burned up.

His mother ran to the south side of the fire, his sister to the north side. The old woman knocked Tûtats’ heart out of the fire, for she was on the right side. She said to the heart: “We shall see who will live, you or your sister. You will be a great mountain with a white top, and will live always. In later times people will come to you to get wisdom, to be great talkers, and brave warriors, and you will talk to them and help them.”

The heart flew north and became Mount Shasta; then the mother stirred the fire till four hearts flew out and off toward the north. Each heart became a mountain. The heart of the eldest brother went as far as the ocean. But the youngest brother is the largest of the five, and he is the only one who always has snow on his head.

Tekewas, when she thought she had killed her brothers, went home to Kûlta; then the old woman remembered Skóla, and hunted for her. At last she found her; she was dead, but by her side were two babies. The grandmother pressed them together with her hands, and they became one. She was glad and called the child Wéahjukéwas. She made a hole in the ground and hid him.

That night the old woman took the baby out and rubbed him with ashes. In the morning he noticed things. Each night she rubbed him with ashes; each morning he was larger and stronger. She talked to the earth, to the mountains, and to the springs, and asked them to make her grandson strong and make him grow fast.

One morning the grandmother saw Tekewas lying on the ridge of a hill; she was red and beautiful. The old woman was frightened; she thought Tekewas had seen the little boy.

Tekewas came to the grass house and asked for seeds and roots. The grandmother had forgotten the boy’s deerskin blanket; she had left it in the house when she put him under the ground as she always did in the daytime. Tekewas saw the blanket, and said: “You have a baby! Whose is it?”

The old woman said: “My daughter, you shouldn’t talk so to me. I am old; I had children, but now I am alone; you have killed all my sons. Go away! You know where the seeds and roots are; take them and go off.”

Tekewas got the seeds and started, but she came back and said: “I know whose baby it is. It is Skóla’s, and you must give it to me.”

“Skóla is dead,” said the old woman; “she had no children.” She drove Tekewas away and followed her to see that she didn’t stop on the mountain to watch the house. She was sorry that Tekewas had seen the blanket. When she came back, she rubbed the boy and talked to the earth, to the mountains, to the trees, to everything for a long time; then she put him away under the ground.

Each night and morning the old woman rubbed the little boy with deer’s fat, and soon he was large enough to run around and play. Then she said to him: “My grandson, you mustn’t show yourself; you must always play in the tall grass; never go away from it!”

Tekewas came every day; sometimes she wanted to stay, but her mother drove her off. When the boy was large enough to trap birds, his grandmother said: “Stay near the house; don’t go far, for if you do, you will get killed.” One evening she asked: “What have you been doing all day?”

“Playing with birds,” said the boy. “They can talk to me now.”

“The best way to play is with a bow and arrows. You can shoot an arrow toward the sky, then watch and see where it falls.”

One day the boy noticed that his shadow was two, and he was one. The next morning, when he went out to play, he shot an arrow up to the sky; then he held his head down and listened. The arrow came back, hit him on the top of the head and split off one half of him; there was another boy just like him. He wished the second boy to be small, to be a baby. He called the baby by his own name. He went to a clump of brush, scratched a place in the middle of it, put his blanket down there, put the baby on it, and said: “Don’t cry; if you do, our aunt will come and eat us up.”

For a long time he sat and talked with his little brother, then he went home. It was night and his grandmother was frightened; she thought that Tekewas had killed the boy.

“Why did you stay so long?” asked she.

“I lost my blanket. I put it down in the brush and then couldn’t find it.”

The next morning his grandmother gave him a wildcat skin blanket, and he went out to play; but he didn’t play, he sat by his little brother and cried, he was so sorry for him. When it was dark, he covered the child with brush and went home. “What is the matter?” asked his grandmother. “Why have you been crying?”

“I shot at a bird and then couldn’t find my arrow.”

“I can make you as many arrows as you want; don’t cry,” said his grandmother.

The next morning, when he was starting out, the boy said: “I must take a few seeds with me; I get hungry.”

She gave him seeds, tied them up in a squirrel skin and said: “Be careful this time, don’t lose your blanket or arrows.”

When he came home in the evening, he said: “Grandmother, you must pound seeds for me to carry to-morrow. I don’t like whole seeds, and I can’t eat the roots in my arms, I bite myself.”

The next day he took pounded seeds to his little brother, fed him, petted him, and talked to him till night, then he wrapped his wildcat skin blanket twice around the child, took his old blanket, and went home.

“Where is your new blanket?” asked his grandmother.

“I found my old one. I like it better. I left the new one in the brush.”

When four days old, the little boy could walk. The fifth day the elder boy cried all the time; he was wondering who had killed his father and mother. His grandmother had never told him; she only frightened him to make him careful. His little brother could play with him now.

That night his grandmother asked: “What ails you? Why do you cry?”

“Because I have nobody to play with.”

“You are a lonely child, but you mustn’t think of that,” said his grandmother, and she began to cry.

“To-morrow will you fill my sack full of pounded seeds?” asked the boy.

“You can’t eat all I give you; you must waste it,” said his grandmother, “but you shall have all you want.”

The little boy could eat a great deal; he ate the pounded seed his brother brought and that afternoon he cried for more. The elder boy made five straw rings to shoot at and roll around to amuse the little fellow. The next day, when the child began to cry for more seeds his brother went home, and said: “Grandmother, you must give me more pounded seeds. I shot my arrow up, and when it was coming down to hit me on the head, I ran away and it hit my sack and spilt all the seeds.”

“You must be more careful,” said his grandmother.

“You told me you would give me all I wanted to eat.”

“Yes, but you must not waste things.”

She filled a willow pan, and told him to go away before any one saw him.

When night came, the boy gave his brother his bow and arrows, covered him with grass, and went home, crying.

“What is the matter?” asked his grandmother.

“I have lost my bow and arrow. I dropped them to follow a bird and kill it with a stone; when I came back I couldn’t find them.”

“Don’t cry,” said his grandmother. “I will make you another bow and more arrows. You shall have everything you want.”

“I threw away my moccasins to-day; I want a new pair,” said the boy.

The next morning he had a nice pair of new moccasins. The two boys played all day, rolling straw rings and shooting at them with arrows.

That night the old woman looked at her grandson and said: “You have only one head; where is the other?”