Chapter V: Part 5

“I didn’t have two heads,” said the boy, and he began to cry.

“You had two heads.”

“I had only one.”

“You have always had two; now you have one. Where is the other?” At last he told her about his brother. “After it is dark,” said she, “go and bring your brother to the house.”

He brought the little boy on his back. The old woman cried when she saw him; she rubbed him with ashes, and talked to the earth and mountains, asking them not to hurt him. In the morning she put both of the children in the hole where the first child had been and threw a straw mat over the hole.

That day Tekewas came for roots. She saw the mat and asked: “Why did you throw away that nice mat?”

“Go off!” cried her mother. “Don’t torment me. You have killed your brothers. My spirit is old; you can kill me if you want to, but don’t torment me. Go away and let me alone!” She drove her off.

The next morning Tekewas went early to look for tracks. She found the place where the boys had rolled straw rings and saw that some of the tracks were very small. She followed the larger tracks till she came to her mother’s house. “You didn’t tell me the truth!” cried she. “There are children here! Every afternoon I hear little boys laughing.”

The old woman scolded her, drove her off, watched her till she was out of sight; then she took the boys out of the hole and told them to go and play, but not to run around; if they did a bad woman would catch them.

That day the boys followed a white-necked duck. They tried to shoot it but couldn’t. At night the elder boy said: “Grandmother, you must give me an arrow with a strong head; then I can kill ducks.”

She gave him one and all the next day he followed the duck; at last he hit it. The bird screamed like a man and hid in the bushes. Ever since that time ducks like that one scream in the same way. When the boy found the bird, it said: “Don’t kill me. I always bring good news. Take this arrow out and I will talk to you.”

The boy pulled out the arrow, then the bird said: “Little boys, don’t think that you have a father and a mother. Your aunt killed them. She loved her youngest brother, but he didn’t love her, so she killed him and all of her brothers. Now she is trying to kill you. I hear her sing in her heart: ‘I will kill my nephews, I will kill my nephews!’ When you are large enough to shoot ducks from a canoe, you can kill her if you try. She swims in the lake in the form of a duck; when she is in the form of a woman she has long red hair. She will call you as though she loved you, but you must remember my words. Don’t tell your grandmother that you know about your aunt; she wouldn’t let you kill her. She could have saved your father if she had killed her daughter.”

“Grandmother,” asked the boy that night, “is there any place around here where there are green-headed ducks?”

“Yes, but you can’t kill them; you are too small.”

The boy went to the lake, sat in the reeds, and watched till he saw two green-headed ducks and killed them. The next day he killed five green-headed ducks. The old woman was frightened. She didn’t dare to let a feather drop or fly away for fear Tekewas would see it. She burned each feather and roasted the ducks in hot ashes.

“When I kill a duck, I shiver, and am cold,” said the boy.

“Why is that?” asked the grandmother.

“Because I want a canoe.”

“To-morrow, when you go to the lake, you will find a canoe.”

He was glad. “I will take my brother,” said he.

“No,” said the grandmother, “he is too small; he might fall into the water and you couldn’t get him out.”

The boy started off alone, then he thought: “My arrows are not strong enough to kill big birds.” He ran back and his grandmother gave him five strong arrows and a straw mat to wrap them in. That day he killed many ducks, and his grandmother was glad.

The next morning he said: “When I am in the reeds at the edge of the water, I always feel that somebody is looking at me to scare me.”

“Don’t be afraid,” said his grandmother; “maybe the earth is trying to get hold of you.” She thought of Tekewas, but she didn’t want to tell the boys about her.

“No,” said he. “I feel that somebody is looking at me. I want my brother to go with me.”

“He can go, but be careful; don’t let him fall into the water.”

All day the little boy slept in the canoe; when the sun went down, his brother cooked him a duck to eat, and then the two went home.

That lake was their aunt’s swimming-place. One day when the boy had killed a good many ducks, and had gone to the shore to cook one for his brother, he saw something swimming in the water; only a head could be seen,—a great, ugly head, with long red hair floating around it. As soon as the boys saw the head, they made themselves small. The little boy screamed. The woman called to them and tried to go to them, but she could only come up out of the water as far as her waist. “I shall see you another day,” screamed she. “I will wait till you are larger.”

When the boys got home, the grandmother asked: “Why did you scream so loud?”

“My brother swallowed a duck bone,” said the elder boy. “You must cook seeds for him to eat.”

Every day the brothers went for ducks. Many times the aunt floated up to their canoe, put her breast against the side of it, and almost tipped it over. Each time the little boy screamed. The elder boy drove her away. He was angry, but he was waiting for his brother to get older and stronger. Sometimes the woman didn’t come; she was with Kûlta, who lived in the lake near the place where the boys hunted for ducks.

The grandmother gave the older boy a knife to sharpen his arrows. “I want a stronger one.” said he. She gave him another, a very strong, sharp knife. That day Tekewas put her breast to the canoe and almost tipped it over. The little boy screamed, he was so scared.

When they went home, the grandmother asked: “Why did your brother scream so loud?”

“He cut his finger.”

“That is because I gave you a sharp knife. You shouldn’t let him have it.”

The next day they killed a good many ducks. When the aunt came toward them the boy said to his little brother: “Don’t scream.” But when the head looked up over the edge of the canoe the child couldn’t help screaming.

“Why does he always scream?” asked the grandmother. “You must be careful when you are down by the water.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the earth sometimes has a pain, and wants people.”

“Don’t be afraid, grandmother, we belong to the earth; it won’t hurt us.”

One day when the grandmother asked why the little boy screamed, his brother said: “He got choked with a bone. I got it out, but he was almost dead, and I cried.”

“You must leave him at home.”

“No, the water looks ugly. I’m afraid when I’m alone.”

The next time Tekewas came to the canoe and tried to tip it over, the boy cut her head off with his sharp knife. He threw the head down in the end of the canoe, then dragged the body into a deep hole among the rocks in the water. The water around that place is Tekewas’ blood, and to this day it is as black as ink. As they pushed the body down into the hole, the elder boy said to it: “You will never be great again. You will be small and weak, and people will say you are too nasty to eat.” The spirit came out of the body and flew around the lake, an ugly bird.

The brothers shot ducks and piled them up on the head in the end of the canoe. When they got home, the elder boy said: “Grandmother, give us plenty of seeds and roots to eat.” While they were eating, the old woman began to bring in the ducks. Each time she went for a load, the elder brother talked to the fire, to the water, to the wood, to the bows and arrows, talked to the pounder, to the basket, and to the digging sticks, talked to everything in the house and everything outside, told them not to tell where he and his brother went,—but he forgot to tell awl. When he thought he had told everything, he took his brother and went down in the ground near the fire. He put a coal over the hole and started toward the east.

Each time the old woman brought in a basketful of ducks, she asked: “Are you here, boys?” and the spirit in the wood and the fire answered: “We are here.”

She found blood in the canoe, and wondered where it came from. When she got hold of the head, she screamed and ran to the house. She pulled her clothes off and was going to kill her grandsons. “Where are you?” cried she.

“We are in the corner.”

She went there, but didn’t find them. Then she called again: “Where are you?”

“We are on the top of the house.”

She looked for them there, then called: “Where are you?”

“We are in the grass of the house.” The house was made of twigs and grass.

Then they said they were among the wood. She pulled the logs apart and threw them out, but she didn’t find the boys. “We are in the canoe.” She went there, and when she failed to find them, she screamed: “Where are you?”

“We are where your roots are.”

She scattered the roots.

“We are sitting in the fire.”

She threw out the wood and coals. She hunted all night but couldn’t find them.

At last awl said: “What are you going to do, old woman? The boys are not to blame. Your daughter was a bad woman; she killed her brothers, and then she wanted to kill her nephews. Your grandsons are a long way off; you can’t catch them. Look at that little coal. Under it is the hole where they went down in the ground.”

The old woman saw the coal, picked it up, found the hole, and started to follow her grandsons.

The boys traveled toward where the sun comes up. They wanted to be servants of Sun, to be of use to him. The first house they came to was on the south side of Tula Lake; Tohós, Wámanik’s wife, lived there; she was their aunt.

Tohós had a great red lump on her forehead. The little boy laughed at her, and said: “That looks like a boil. It don’t look well. I don’t like to see it. People who come hereafter may look as you do.” He took his fire-drill and pressed the swelling downwards. From that time fowls and beasts do not carry their young in their foreheads.

“Oh, my nephew,” said his aunt, “what have you done? Your uncle is a bad man; he will be mad and maybe he will kill you.”

Wámanik was off hunting; when his bowstring broke he knew what had happened at home. He let himself out full length, then made a circle around the world and began to press in trees, rocks, mountains, everything. When he began to press his own house, the elder nephew went on the top of it, lay down, drew his bowstring, snapped it, and sent an arrow into Wámanik’s head and killed him. Then he cut his body into small pieces. Each piece turned to a rock, and the rocks made a great mountain. The spirit of Wámanik came out and was a snake. The nephew said: “You will be of no use; only dirty people will eat you.”

When the boys started toward the east, Tohós’ spirit followed them a while, then said: “My nephews, tell me where you are going and when you are coming back.”

“We are not coming back,” said the boys. “It is a lonesome world. We have no father or mother; our aunt has killed them. We don’t want to live here any longer. We shall never come back; we are going to where the sun comes up.” And they went on.

“I am dry,” said the little boy; “I want to drink.”

“I don’t know this country,” answered the elder boy. “I don’t know where the springs are.” As they traveled they came to a place where water flowed out of two holes in a rock. They drank there and the elder brother named the place Gádûm (Stone Springs). While they were drinking a little snake ran into the spring. The younger boy laughed and said to the snake: “In later time, if strangers come here to drink, you and your people will show yourselves and scare them.”

They started on, but hadn’t gone far when the little boy wanted water to drink. The elder boy shot his arrow off toward the east, but he saw no water. He shot a second arrow and a third; then he shot through a mountain and into a lake, and water came through the mountain and made a spring that he called Ktsiskăsalkis. (People have to crawl in under the rocks to drink from it.)

They crossed a high mountain and came to a lake. “I am hungry,” said the little boy.

“Sit down, and I will go into the water and get tuls [9] for you,” said his brother.

While they were eating the grass, they saw a catfish. When the elder brother shot at it, a great many fish came up out of the water. He caught some and cooked them. The place where the boys sat while eating is called Eŭdélis, and to this day a great many catfish are caught in the river near there.

As the boys traveled on, they came to a muddy stream. The elder brother scratched the mud away, multiplied the fish that were there, and said: “You will be of use for my people.” There were a good many eels in the water and along the bank, and the little boy was afraid of them. He took his fire-drill, picked them up, one by one, threw them off into the lake, and said: “You are not living people. I don’t want you to be around here. In later times people will roast and eat you, and say you are good.”

Near their camping-place that night there were a great many round, smooth stones. The younger brother didn’t know that those stones were people, so he played with them, broke some of them, and struck one against another. When it grew dark, the stones began to fight; they flew at one another, pounded one another, and made a terrible clatter. The boy was frightened; he struck at them with his fire-drill, and said: “Hereafter you will be stones, not people! You will stay in the water, but in the evening and early in the morning you will make just such a noise as you have made to-night.” To this day the noise made by those stones can be heard evening and morning. The place is called Dănwagáiyas.

As the brothers traveled east, they came to a place where there were large rocks. “I’m hungry,” said the little boy. His brother scolded him for being always hungry, but said: “We will sit down by the rocks; perhaps we’ll see a squirrel.”

After a while a squirrel, on its way to the flat, passed them; they killed and roasted it, ate half of it, and took half with them. They came to a place on the top of smooth, level rocks, where at night there was a lake, and in the daytime only a little muddy water. There they caught one large fish. The little boy wanted to catch more, but his brother said: “No, this world was made before we came. Those fish were made for some purpose; we must leave them here.”

They went on till they came to a hill. There were no trees on the hill, but it was covered with grass, and from the top of the hill they could see a long distance.

“Let us stay here,” said the little boy. “Let us have this hill for our home.”

“No,” said his brother, “this is a lonely world; I don’t want to stay. We will go where we can be of use; we will go to where the sun comes up.”

Then they talked about which one they would rather serve, Sun or Moon. The elder brother said: “I would rather serve Sun.” The younger said: “I would like to serve Moon, for then people can’t see me.”

“People will always look at us,” said his brother. “They will watch for us, and be glad when they see us.”

Soon the boys came to a wide plain at the foot of a mountain. They dug roots, cleaned, and ate them, then climbed the mountain. “This mountain,” said the elder boy, “is brother to Salwáhe. Hereafter people will come to this place for rock to make knives of.”

“Let us stay here,” said the little boy.

“No,” said his brother. “I know what it is best to do; I am older than you are. This world isn’t for us to live in always.”

That night they camped at a place which the elder brother named Wélosina. The next morning they climbed a hill, and looking down into the valley on the other side, saw a great dirt house.

“When shall we get to that house?” asked the little boy.

“It isn’t safe to go there in the daytime,” said his brother. “Old Yaukùl, the man who lives there, kills people by twisting their wrists; he has a knife stuck in the ground near the fire, and after he kills a man he cuts him up and burns the pieces. No one ever comes away from his house. We will go there in the night.”

“Don’t go to that bad place,” said the little boy.

“If I go, maybe I can kill that man; I don’t think he has the power to live always.”

The elder brother gathered the strongest wood he could find and made bones of it. He put the bones into his brother’s wrists and into his own, and outside of those he put bones made of brittle wood. When night came, they went to the valley and climbed to the top of the house. Then they turned themselves into dead coals and dropped through the smoke hole.

Yaukùl had two servants, Gäk and Gapni. The old man and Gäk were asleep, but Gapni was awake and he called out: “Something fell in! Something fell in!” They didn’t hear him; they were sound asleep: he had to call to them a good many times. Even if dust fell, Gapni heard it and called out: “Something fell in.” At last they woke up. “What can you see with your little eyes?” asked Gäk.

“I can see everything in the world, and I can count everything.” Gäk hated Gapni.

Yaukùl got a torch and looked around the fire. Gäk wouldn’t look, for he didn’t believe that anything fell in. Gapni kept repeating: “Dwûhélibina!” (Something fell in).

“I can look through the world,” said Gäk; “I know that nothing fell in.”

“I know for myself that something came in,” said Yaukùl. He lighted the fire and hunted. At last the old man was tired; he put his hands on his knife, leaned on it, and rested. Then the elder brother changed into a man and stood in front of him.

“Oh, I am glad you have come!” said Yaukùl. (He thought he would have something to eat.) “Gäk,” said he, “I knew that Gapni didn’t lie; he never lies, he always tells the truth. He can see farther and hear better than you can; he shall be chief.”

Gäk was ashamed and mad.

The younger brother then stood up. “I am glad that you have come,” said Yaukùl. “Gapni was right; he said there were two. What do you want?”

“We came to visit you.”

“Then I will play with you.”

“I am too small to play with such a big man as you are,” said the little boy. Yaukùl took hold of his wrists. When the brittle bones cracked, he was glad. “I can kill him easy,” thought he.

“You can’t play with him first,” said the elder brother, “you must play with me; I am older than he is.”

When Yaukùl took hold of the elder boy’s wrists, the bones cracked, and he was glad.

“Now it is my turn,” said the boy. He caught hold of Yaukùl’s wrists, broke them, and killed him. Then he tore out the old man’s arms, and said: “You will no longer be a person and have arms; you will be a bird with legs, and you will stand by the water to watch which way the wind blows, so as to find dead fish to eat. You, Gäk, will no longer be a man; you will fly in the air and go around among the rocks to watch for what hunters throw away, and what you find you will eat.” Then he said to Gapni: “You will no longer be the wisest man in the world; you will live in people’s heads. Some will crack you, like this”—he took him in his fingers and cracked him—“others will put you in the fire, and others will catch you in their heads and will bite you to pay you for biting them. You will waken people at night, and they will catch and kill you.” He burned up the dirt house, and said: “Hereafter, Yaukùl, you will have no home, you will live everywhere in the world.”

Tohós, their aunt, had told them that after passing Yaukùl’s house, they would be out of their own country and must go along at the foot of mountains, for on the mountains a one-legged man was always walking around. But they were traveling east and couldn’t go around the mountains. On the first one they came to, they met the one-legged man, Yahyáhaäs. He had a great, bushy head, his face and body were painted red, his blanket was made of untanned elk-skin, and rattled as he walked. On his back he carried a straw quiver. He had only one leg, but he traveled very fast. He came up to the boys, and sitting down said: “I didn’t think that I should meet anybody.”

“I didn’t expect to see you,” said the elder boy, “but a little while ago I felt that somebody was looking at me.”

“Why don’t you light your pipe?” asked Yahyáhaäs. (This was always his question.)

“I have no pipe,” said the younger boy.

“Everybody who travels should have a pipe,” said the man. He lighted his own and handed it to the elder brother. The first whiff the boy drew the pipe broke.

“Why did you bite my pipe and break it?” asked Yahyáhaäs.

“I didn’t break it; I drew a whiff, and the pipe fell apart.”

“You are the first man to break my pipe. Let me take your pipe.” When he had it, he said: “I will keep this to pay for mine.”

“No,” said the boy, “that pipe rests me when I am tired; you can’t have it.”

“I shall keep it to pay for mine,” said Yahyáhaäs. He drew a whiff, handed the pipe back, and said: “Put in more tobacco.” When he had the pipe again, he struck it against a rock, but it didn’t break; then he took a rock and pounded it.

“Don’t break my pipe,” said the boy. “I didn’t mean to break yours.”

Yahyáhaäs threw the pipe against a great rock, and the pipe rolled to its owner. He picked it up, put it in his pouch, and put the pouch into his quiver.

The one-legged man built a fire. “Now we will wrestle,” said he.

“Why did you build the fire?” asked the boy.

“The one that gets beaten will be thrown into the fire and burned up.”

While Yahyáhaäs was fastening his leg to a rock, the elder boy said to his little brother: “Take our quivers and bows and stand on the north side of the fire with your back toward us. When we begin to wrestle, run as fast as you can and don’t look back, no matter who calls to you. Run till you are on the other side of that high mountain over there and then wait for me. I shall kill this man and burn up his body, but his spirit will follow us as far as we go.”

The two began to wrestle. A good many times Yahyáhaäs swung the boy around and almost killed him, but the boy clung to him, and at last bent him back with a twist and broke his leg off. He threw the leg and the body into the fire, poked the fire up around them, and ran off as fast as he could toward the mountain, where he had told his brother to wait for him.

“Come back and wrestle with me,” called Yahyáhaäs’ spirit. “You haven’t thrown me. Come back!” Then he called to the younger brother: “Come back, little boy; I have thrown your big brother into the fire.” The boy didn’t turn. His brother soon overtook him, and they went on together.

“Yahyáhaäs’ spirit will follow as far as we go,” said the elder brother.

They traveled a good many days; one day Yahyáhaäs’ spirit went ahead, then turned and came toward them. The spirit looked exactly as Yahyáhaäs had looked. Yahyáhaäs had a deer on his back. The boys couldn’t turn, for they were always going east.

The spirit stopped on the trail, took the deer off his back and built a fire. When the boys came to the place, they sat down. Yahyáhaäs didn’t offer them meat, but he said: “Let us smoke,” and he gave his pipe to the elder brother. With the first whiff, the pipe broke. “Let me smoke your pipe,” said Yahyáhaäs. When he couldn’t break the pipe by drawing on it, he tried in every other way. At last the boy said: “You sha’n’t break my pipe; it is the only one I have.” He snatched it away from Yahyáhaäs, put it in his pouch, and started to go.

“Stop and wrestle with me,” said the spirit. “Did you meet a man who lives straight west on this road? He is a bad man; he kills every man that passes his house.”

The boy didn’t listen; he hurried on. The spirit pretended to turn back, but only went aside till they were out of sight, then followed them.

They traveled a good many days. The little boy was used to walking now; he didn’t get tired or hungry, so they traveled day and night. One day, when they were near a river, they saw the spirit of Yahyáhaäs again.

He stopped them, and asked: “Have you a pipe?”

“No,” said the boy.

“Every man has one when he travels,” said the spirit.

“I have no time to smoke. I am looking for a place to cross this river. Do you know of one?” asked the boy.

“Yes, above here there is a place where the river is shallow. How did you pass the one-legged man’s house? He lives on the road you came over. His house is under the rocks; all you can see of it is the smoke that comes out.”

“We are going to Sun’s house,” said the elder boy. “We must hurry on; we’ve no time to talk.”

They left the spirit at the crossing. There was a big stump in the middle of the river; it was Yahyáhaäs’ crossing-place. He leaped from the bank to the rock and from there to the other bank. The elder boy took his little brother under his arm and jumped across the river.

“Stop! stop!” called Yahyáhaäs’ spirit. “Give me your pipe.”

The brothers paid no heed; they went on, and at the end of two days came to a house covered with deerskins. Some of the skins were dry; others were fresh. Around the house there was a great deal of deer meat.

“Let us go to that house and get something to eat,” said the little boy.

“Don’t go there,” answered his brother. “That is the one-legged man’s house.”

Yahyáhaäs was watching; when he saw the boys pass he came out, and going around them, came up driving a deer that looked tired and ready to fall. As the spirit met the boys, the deer ran off.

“You have made me lose my deer!” screamed the spirit. “Now give me your pipe to smoke.”

“We have no pipe.”

“Travelers always have a pipe.”

“I have traveled long,” said the boy. “When I had traveled two summers, my tobacco was gone.”

They left Yahyáhaäs and went on. That night they crossed two mountains, and the next day the elder brother said: “We are near the end of our journey.” Just then Yahyáhaäs came to them; on his back were two deer. The elder brother saw him first. “That is the spirit of the one-legged man,” said he to the little boy. “Don’t be deceived.”

The brothers turned to black coals, and a strong wind, like a whirlwind, carried them along. Sometimes they rolled and sometimes they went through the air. When they were over two high mountains, they took their own forms. Again Yahyáhaäs came to them. This time his face and body were painted white. “We have no time to talk with you,” said the elder brother, and they hurried on.

When they reached the top of the third mountain, the spirit of the one-legged man was there. That time his face and body were painted red, and long bright hair floated behind him. He called out: “Who are you that can never be caught?”

The moment he spoke, the brothers again turned to black coals, and a whirlwind carried them away. The whirlwind stopped on the bank of a dried up stream, and the boys took their own forms, and traveled on. Many times Yahyáhaäs’ spirit met them, always in a different dress, and painted differently, but the brothers knew him.

At last the boys reached the eastern ocean, where nothing stood between the water and the sky. There were lots of rocks there. The brothers sat down and the elder took out his pipe to smoke.

That minute Yahyáhaäs was there, and said: “Let me smoke.” That time the boy gave him his pipe. (He was going to destroy the spirit.) Yahyáhaäs tried to break the pipe, but couldn’t; then the boy said: “Give me your pipe.” With the first whiff he broke it to pieces.

“You must wrestle with me,” said Yahyáhaäs. He built a fire and fastened his leg to the rocks.

“You must stand by the fire with your back toward us,” said the elder boy to his little brother. “When you hear us wrestling shut your eyes and run as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Run straight east. Run on the water; and don’t stop till I call to you. We have left the house where our father and mother were killed. We are leaving the world, but each year we shall see our father’s country.”

When the boy had killed Yahyáhaäs, he threw him into the water, and said: “You will never be a person again. You will only be something to entice and fool people. You will think that you can kill people, but you will have no strength. You will wander around on the mountains and appear (in dreams) to doctors, and they will be your servants.”

As the boy ran off, the spirit called: “When I appear, you will appear, but you will have no power. You and your brother will no longer be persons; you will be stars, and between summer and winter your people will fight over you.”

The younger boy was at the edge of the sky when the old man’s spirit said: “You will be a star.” Right away he was one. As soon as the elder boy reached the edge of the sky, he became a star, too.

Note.—Those two stars appear early in the morning toward the end of
winter. They are the heralds of spring.

THE RAINMAKER

CHARACTERS

Gáhga Heron (Small Green Heron)
Kāhkaas Stork

Gáhga and his brother lived together. They were so small that people called them “the two little Gáhga brothers.” The elder brother was blind, but he was a great doctor; he could see everything, by the help of his medicines.

One day a man came to the Gáhga brothers, and said: “A great many people are going to snare deer. They have made bark ropes and tied them between trees; now they are ready to drive the deer in. They want you to come and help them.”

The elder brother was married. He had a nice-looking wife and a little boy. He said to his wife: “You must pound seed and get ready to go with my brother. I don’t want to take my medicines there; I will stay here by the fire with our boy. I can’t look out of my eyes. Maybe the deer would kill me.”

The woman pounded seed; she left some for her husband and little boy to eat, and took a bagful for herself and her brother-in-law. Gáhga got out his medicine and watched his wife and brother. He sat by the fire, but he followed them all the way to where the people were driving in deer. As he watched them, he got jealous and mad, for he saw that his wife and brother were fond of each other. When they came home, they brought a fawn. The woman cut it up, roasted the meat, and gave some of it to her husband; he kicked it away. She gave him some wûdjûk (weed like mustard), to eat; he tasted of it, spat it out, and threw the rest in the fire.

She said: “The people were kind to me to-day; they gave me the fawn and asked me to come to-morrow,” and she began to pound seed and get ready to go.

The next day when the woman and her brother-in-law were starting off, Gáhga said: “I know what kind of stuff you are feeding me! I know you are making sport of me. You don’t fool me. You can do what you like; I don’t care for you any longer, but I will make you feel sorry.” They didn’t answer, didn’t say a word to him.

That day Gáhga’s sister came to see her little nephew. Gáhga said: “I want you to get me a straw plate.”

“Why do you want a straw plate?” asked his sister.

“Get it for me, I want it.”

She wouldn’t get him the plate till he told her what he was going to do with it, and he wouldn’t tell. She was afraid of him; she knew he was mad about something.

After a while old man Kāhkaas came; he was kin of Gáhga. Gáhga asked him for the plate and he gave it to him, and said: “Your brother is stealing your wife. All the people at the deer hunt say so. But you must keep quiet; you mustn’t get mad. You are old and blind; your brother is young, and your wife is nice-looking.”

Gáhga screamed, he was so mad. He called his sister and said: “Lead me to the hunt!”

She was so scared that she had to do as he told her. He took the straw plate, and the three started. When they got to the place, his sister said: “Sit down here, away from the snares; then you will be safe.”

“No,” said Gáhga, “I am going where my wife is.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said his sister. “She doesn’t want you; she has another man.”

Gáhga took the plate from under his arm, and sat down on it.

About midnight his sister asked: “What are you doing? Why don’t you lie down and go to sleep? Why are you sitting on that plate and keeping awake all night?”

“Keep still and let me alone,” said Gáhga. “Stay here by me; I am going to punish those people.” Then he got up and began to dance on the plate and to call out: “Ho! ho! ho!”

Right away rain came down, but Gáhga didn’t get wet. He kept shaking himself and calling: “Ho! ho! ho!” Each time that he called, it rained harder. There was deep water everywhere, but the plate was dry and the ground around it was dry. The people got as wet as though they had been swimming.

Gáhga’s sister said: “You shouldn’t get mad and act in this way; you will kill everybody.”

He didn’t listen to what she said; he called, “Ho! ho! ho!” and danced faster and faster. The people were almost drowned; the water was up to their arms. Still Gáhga kept shaking himself and dancing and calling: “Ho! ho! ho!”

When the people saw that Gáhga and his sister were dry, they said to his brother: “You have done this. You have made Gáhga mad. You have taken your brother’s wife,” and they threatened to kill him.

He said: “I don’t want her. I am going to die; I am freezing.”

The people caught hold of the woman, dragged her along in the water, and threw her down in front of her husband. He stopped dancing, and right away it stopped raining.

The people said: “You shouldn’t be mad at us. We didn’t do this. We don’t want to die; we want to go home. You should feel sorry for us and dry up the water.”

Gáhga was sorry for them. He danced on the plate, but he didn’t call: “Ho! ho! ho!” The water began to go away, and soon the ground was as dry as it had been before the rain, and every one went home except Gáhga and his wife and his brother.

Gáhga sat on his plate; he wouldn’t get up or he wouldn’t speak. His wife got mad. She pushed him, and asked: “Why don’t you get ready to go home?” He didn’t answer: then she took hold of his arm, jerked him up, threw him on top of the load of meat on her back, and went home.

His brother went off on the mountains; he was afraid of Gáhga, and afraid of the people; for they hated him, and the woman didn’t care for him any longer.

Gáhga was so jealous and cross that he drove his wife away. His sister took the little boy, and Gáhga stayed alone. Maybe he is dead and maybe he is living. Doctors who have him for their medicine can make rain whenever they want to. It is a good medicine. When any one has it, they can look through a man’s body just as we look through a window.

OLD MAN LULUS-DEWIEAS OR EARTHQUAKE OLD MAN

CHARACTER

Lulus-Dewieas A Sweet Root; Dewieas means a Great Eater, a
Glutton

Old man Lulus-Dewieas and his son and daughter-in-law lived in the country where the lava beds are now. They ate a great deal of sweet lulus; it was the old man’s medicine. Always when the son went to hunt for deer, he told his wife to take good care of his father, and be sure to give him food before she ate herself, or gave any food to the children. If she didn’t, she would bring misfortune on herself and the children. The woman remembered what her husband said, and she always gave the old man food first; he was glad and fed his grandchildren.

One day, early in winter, the son said to his wife: “There is plenty of game now. I want to kill a good many deer before deep snow comes. While I am gone, you mustn’t forget to feed my father before any one else.” The old man was white as snow; he was very old and was almost blind.

The next morning, when the young man was starting off, he said: “I had a bad dream last night. I don’t want to go, but the children are always crying for fat meat. I dreamed that I came home and found only a deep hole where our house is now. You must keep the children away from their grandfather. Don’t let them bother him; he might get mad. As long as you treat him well, he won’t harm them.”

When the young man got to the top of the mountain, he looked back; he could see his house, but somehow he felt lonesome and scared. He kept listening, as if he expected to hear something. It was the first time that he had felt that way. He found a deer and drove it on to a hill, and shot at it. Right where it stood, it disappeared. Then he knew that something was going to happen to him. He said: “This is the first time I have lost a deer after shooting it.” When he got tired of looking for the deer, he sat down to rest.

After her husband was gone, the young woman got a heavy stone and began to pound seeds. While she was pounding, she made up her mind to find out what her father-in-law would do if she put the seed away without giving him any. When the seed was fine enough, she put up the mortar without saying a word. When the old man saw her do that, he crept out and sat down on the south side of the house. As he sat there, he began to swell up. He took black paint and painted himself in stripes. Right away he began to turn and turn, and to throw up dirt. His hair grew as red as fire, and when the hole he made was large enough, he sank into it.

When the little girl saw her grandfather going down in the ground she screamed: “Oh, grandfather, come back!”

The woman heard the child cry, and she ran out to see what the matter was. When she saw what had happened, she called: “Oh, father, come back. I’ll give you lots of seeds to eat! Come back!”

But the old man had gone too far, and was too mad; the house, the woman, and the children all sank into the hole.

The old man went on, boring as he went. Everywhere he broke and threw out the earth. Once in a while he raised himself up a little. At such places the earth would be level for a short distance, then it would sink down in a deep hole and leave a wide opening in the ground.

The son heard a terrible roar and he knew that his wife had made his father mad. People living a long way off heard the roar. They knew what kind of an old man that was; they stayed in their houses and fastened up their doors. As the old man traveled, he kept calling his own name: “Lulus-Dewieas, Lulus-Dewieas!” When the young man came to where his house had been, he found only a wide gap in the earth. He followed the sound of his father’s traveling and called to him; but the old man didn’t hear him.

He traveled under the ground till he got beyond Mount Shasta and came to where there was water. He stopped there, but stayed under ground. The son stood above the place and spoke to his father.

The old man said: “You must not feel badly; my spirit belongs to this earth. You must go away from me; you must not try to follow me. I shall live forever under the earth.”

Lulus-Dewieas could hardly speak when he said this. The son left him, and ever after wandered around in the world. He felt sorry and lonesome.

MÁIDIKDAK’S DAUGHTERS

CHARACTERS

Máidikdak Snowbird
Wus Fox

Máidikdak and her two daughters lived in the south. The old woman knew that five chiefs lived in the north, with their father, who was a chief, too. She wanted her daughters to marry those five brothers, so she made them ready for the road. To one daughter she gave a basket of food; to the other beads, nice shells, and porcupine quills.

When the girls were ready to start, she said: “If you see a man coming from the east, you will know he is Wus. Don’t stop to talk to him. He is a powerful man; he can do any thing he likes. If he gets mad, he will turn you into an animal or a bird. Don’t go on the west side of the lake. Follow the trail on the east side.”

When the girls came to the lake, the west side looked nicer, the trail was brighter. The elder sister wanted to follow it, but the younger sister said: “Our mother told us not to go on that side.”

The elder sister said: “You can follow the other trail if you want to. I am going on this trail; it is nicer.”

The younger girl didn’t want to be alone, so she went with her sister. When they passed Wus’ house she was frightened. She said: “I feel as if somebody were looking at me.”

“I feel that way too,” said the elder sister. Presently they saw a young man coming toward them.

“What nice girls those are,” thought Wus. When he came up to them, the younger sister said to the elder: “Don’t stop. Go right on. This is the man our mother told us about. Don’t speak to him.”

But the elder girl stopped. Wus made her stop. The younger went on a little way, then she turned back; she was afraid to go on alone.

“Where are you going?” asked Wus.

“To the chief’s house,” said the elder sister.

“What chief is there out this way? I am the only chief here. I am the chief of this world.”

“You are not the chief we are going to. That chief never travels around. Our mother told us there was a bad man on this side of the lake. His name is Wus; he doesn’t smell good.”

“I know that man,” said Wus. “He is not bad. He has power and can do anything he wants to.”

“We are not going to stop here,” said the elder sister. “We are going to the chief who lives in the north, and has five sons.”

“Go on, if you want to,” said Wus.

When the girls started, Wus watched them till they went out of sight; he was saying things in his mind. As they traveled, they became old women, with humps on their backs; their bodies shriveled up, there was no flesh on their bones, they could scarcely move; their hair turned white, and their teeth fell out. Their beautiful clothes turned to dirty straw; their strings of beads were twisted bark; their baskets looked old and broken and the roots in them turned to moldy skins; the shells and porcupine quills were bits of bark.

The younger sister said: “We didn’t go the way our mother told us to. That man was Wus; he has done this. If we had gone on the east side of the lake, we shouldn’t have met him. We should have done as our mother told us; she is old, and she knows more than we do.” After a long time, they got to the chief’s house. The five brothers were out hunting. The chief didn’t know what to give the women to eat; he thought they were too old to eat roasted liver (old people’s food). When he gave them some, they pushed it away. They lay down to sleep, and while they were sleeping the five brothers came. They knew Máidikdak’s daughters and knew who had made them old.

The youngest brother asked: “Did you give these women anything to eat?”

“I gave them liver,” said the old man, “but they couldn’t eat it; they haven’t any teeth.”

The young man was glad they had come; he sat down and watched them. About midnight they turned to beautiful girls. In the morning, when they woke up, they were old women again.

The chief said to himself: “What kind of a man is my son? Why does he stay by those dirty old women?”

The young women heard his thoughts and they felt badly. At last they crawled up and went out to wash in the river. The elder sister said: “If we swim, maybe it will make us young again.”

They took off their dirty, ragged clothes and old torn moccasins and began to swim. Right away they turned to beautiful girls; their long hair floated on the top of the water. As they swam, they talked and laughed, for they were glad to be young again. They made sport of their father-in-law, and said: “That big chief thought we were old women; he fed us liver!”

The young man heard this and said to his father: “You fed those girls dirty liver. Did you think they were old women?”

The girls kept diving down in the water and coming up, and soon they began to change. They became green-headed ducks, and floated off toward home. The young man felt badly; he didn’t want them to go.

Old Máidikdak heard them coming, and when they were near the house, she said: “My daughters, you didn’t do as I told you. I told you about that bad man. If I hadn’t this would be my fault; now it is yours.” She tried to catch them, but couldn’t. At last she went under the water and caught hold of their legs. She pulled off their feathers and they were girls again.

The next morning the young man said to his father: “I am going to carry my wives’ clothes and beads and porcupine quills to their mother.”

When he got to Máidikdak’s house the two sisters were off gathering wood. The old woman saw him sitting on top of the house and she asked: “Who are you?”

“I am one of the five brothers who live in the north.”

“Are you the youngest?”

“Yes, I have brought back your shells and porcupine quills. Wus changed your daughters to ducks.”

“Come in, son-in-law, my daughters have gone for wood.”

The young man was glad. When the girls came, he said: “I have left my father and brothers. I will live here now.” Ningádaniak. [10]

WUS KUMUSH AND TSMUK

CHARACTERS

Kaiutois Wolf
Nátcaktcókaskĭt
Tsmuk Darkness
Wus Kumush
Wuswelékgăs Wus’ Old Woman

Old man Tsmuk and his wife had three sons and one daughter. The daughter was always thinking about Wus and singing about him.

Wus heard her, but he didn’t know how to get to her, for everywhere around Tsmuk’s place it was dark. He tried in all directions, but couldn’t get there. He listened to the girl’s song. At last he thought: “I can do anything I want to; I am Wus. I will make a place where that girl will come, and I can see her.” He burned over ground and made it ready for ges. [11] Then he thought of ges, and it grew there right away.

One day, when the three sons of old man Tsmuk were starting off to hunt deer, they asked their sister: “What will you eat while we are gone?”

“I have nothing to eat,” said the girl.

“Not far from here,” said the brothers, “there is ges growing; you can dig that.” And they told her where the place was.

Wus saw her digging roots and singing, and he thought: “How can I get near her without frightening her?” He turned himself into an old woman, put his bow and arrows and quiver into a basket, tied bark around his legs and head, just as an old woman does, and went to the girl. He talked like a woman, spoke kindly, asked her who she was, and where her home was.

The girl was tired; she complained because she had to come so far for roots.

“Are you very far from home?” asked Wus.

“I have to camp one night on the way back,” said the girl. When she started for home, Wus hurried the sun down, made night come quickly, then he said: “Let us sit down and sing songs.”