Chapter IX: Part 9

Tcûskai ran out to meet them. He asked: “Did old Gäk find that deer?”

Tskel scolded him, told him not to talk so much.

At that time people softened deerskins by soaking them in water and then chewing them. Old man Kéwe lived near Tskel’s, and he always chewed skins for him. Tskel gave Gäk the skin for finding the deer, and Kéwe chewed it for him.

The next day Kaiutois said: “We must go home now.” While they were getting ready, Tcûskai stole Gäk’s fire-drill. He took it to a muddy place, stuck it in the ground, and tried to break it.

Gäk fell backwards, blood came out of his mouth, and he died.

The Kaiutois brothers were scared, they didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know what had made Gäk die.

Tskel looked in Gäk’s quiver and saw that the fire-drill was gone; then he went to look for Tcûskai. He found him at the spring, trying to catch fish with Gäk’s fire-drill. Tskel caught hold of his brother, dragged him along, threw him into the house and pounded him till he killed him. Then he asked the brothers how Gäk could be brought to life. They didn’t know.

Tskel said: “If Gäk comes back to life, my brother will live again; but if he stays dead, my brother will stay dead. I never taught him to treat people this way.”

Tskel had red paint that was boiled; he gave it to the youngest brother and told him to paint Gäk’s fire-drill over, make it nice and red. When that was done, he laid the fire-drill on Gäk’s head.

After a long time, the drill brought Gäk to life; then he sang to the earth and wind, and tried to cure himself. When Tskel saw that Gäk was alive, he stepped five times over Tcûskai’s body. Then Tcûskai jumped up, and said: “Oh, I’ve slept a long time.”

The five brothers and Gäk went home, and Tskel took a deerskin to old man Kéwe, to have him chew it soft. When he came back, he said to Tcûskai: “Stay in the house. Don’t go to old man Kéwe and bother him.”

Tcûskai thought: “I wonder why Tskel don’t want me to go to Kéwe’s house.” As soon as he had a chance, he slipped out and went there.

Kéwe was chewing the skin; he had all of it in his mouth except one little end. Tcûskai took hold of that end and pulled the whole skin out of the old man’s mouth. At the same time he pulled out all of Kéwe’s teeth but two.

Kéwe was so mad that he said: “As long as people live, deerskins will be good as far as I have chewed this one, but the end I haven’t chewed will be hard and rough.” And as Kéwe said, so it is. And since that time Kéwe people have but two teeth.

Tcûskai carried the skin home, and said: “I found old Kéwe eating up our deerskin; I got it away from him.” Tskel was mad; he scolded Tcûskai and struck him with a stick.

When the five brothers got home, Gäk’s mother was crying. She said to Gäk: “You must never go away again; I have always told you that some one would find it easy to kill you.”

Old man Wus chewed deerskins for the Kaiutois brothers. One day when a skin was stretched out to dry, a coal fell on it and burned a hole. Wus was scared; he didn’t know what the brothers would do.

When they came home, they found him crying. The elder brother asked: “What are you crying for?”

“A coal fell on the deerskin, and burned it.”

The brothers laughed and made fun of Wus, said: “A man shouldn’t cry for such a thing; you will never be of much account. You will be poor and always be hunting for something to eat. Take the skin and make moccasins for yourself.”

Wus was glad to get the skin, for the brothers didn’t give him much. The next day he said: “I left my mother a long time ago, I must go and see her.”

The brothers gave him dried meat to carry to her, and told him to come back soon, and chew skins for them.

On the way home, Wus forgot about the Kaiutois brothers. His mother was almost starved; the dried meat didn’t last long; Wus and his mother were soon poor and hungry. Wus hunted mice, but he gave only the smallest ones to his mother; sometimes he gave her only the heads.

One day, when Wus was hunting, a Pakol girl came to the house to borrow grass to make a cap.

Old woman Wus said to the house: “Grow small!”

The girl asked: “Why is the house getting small?”

The old woman said: “That is always the way it does when a stranger comes; you can creep out backwards.” She made the awl over the door grow long. It stuck in the girl’s head and killed her. The old woman cut up the body; then she thought: “I will pay my son for feeding me mouse heads.” She took a dry old piece of an intestine and talked to it; said: “Go out there on the flat and when it is dark burn like a camp fire, and talk as if there were a lot of people sitting by a fire. When you see Wus coming, go farther and farther, draw him away as far as the great water.”

The old woman cleaned up the blood, so Wus wouldn’t see that anything had been killed in the house; then she cooked a piece of meat and hid it under her blanket.

When Wus came with mice his mother cooked them for him. He ate the bodies and gave her the heads. While she crunched the heads, she ate meat, too.

Wus listened; he thought that his mother was eating something besides mouse heads. Right away he jumped up and asked: “What are you eating?”

“I am eating mouse heads. How could I get anything else to eat?” Again she ate heads and meat.

Wus searched till he found the piece of cooked meat.

“Where did you get this?” asked he.

“Your uncles were here a little while ago, they have plenty of deer meat.”

“Why didn’t they give you more?”

“They are near here now. If you look out, you will see their camp. They couldn’t go far, for they had a heavy load.”

Wus looked out; he saw the fire and heard people talking. “I am going over there!” said he, and he started off on a run. When he thought he was almost there, the fire and the talking were farther off. He ran very fast, but couldn’t get to the fire; it was always a little ahead of him. Each time he said: “Now I shall jump right down by it,” but he never got any nearer than he was when he started.

Wus was a fast runner; from a flat, with one jump, he reached the top of a high mountain. When he wanted to run very fast, he called: “Wich! wich!” When he wanted to go slow, he said: “Hach! hach!” In one night he got near the great water. When the sun came up, he was on a high mountain. Looking down, he saw a fire, and men roasting meat and talking, and throwing knives at one another. Wus said: “Now I shall be there!” He called: “Wich! wich!” and made a running leap. He came down where he thought the camp was, but he found only sand; the fire was far off on the water. He turned back, but he was too weak to walk; he lay down on the ground, and began to cry.

Tciwididik heard him; she was his aunt. She came, pushed him with her foot, and said: “Your mother fooled you; she wanted to kill you. You shouldn’t always do what people tell you to.” She put Wus in her basket and took him to her house. When he was almost well, she carried him part way home. He traveled many days, camping each night. He spent the last night in Kaltsik’s house.

Wus’ mother had cut her hair off and covered her head with pitch; she was mourning. When she saw Wus, she screamed, she was so glad. She rubbed deer marrow on his body and cured him; he got fat. They moved to a new place where there were lots of black crickets. Sometimes Wus killed a basketful in a day, and he and his mother had plenty to eat.

WAR BETWEEN BEASTS AND BIRDS

Once there was a war between beasts and birds. Bat was on birds’ side. In the first battle, the birds were badly beaten. As soon as Bat saw that the battle was going against them, he crept away, hid under a log, and stayed there till the fight was over.

When the animals were going home, Bat slipped in among them.

After they had gone some distance, they saw him, and asked one another: “How is this? Bat is one of the men who fought against us?”

Bat heard them, and he said: “Oh, no! I am one of you; I don’t belong to the bird people. Did you ever see one of those people who had double teeth? Go and look in their mouths, and see if they have. If you find one bird with double teeth, you can say that I belong to the bird people. But I don’t; I am one of your own people.”

They didn’t say anything more; they let Bat stay with them.

Soon after, there was another battle; in that battle birds won. As Bat’s side was getting beaten, he slipped away and hid under a log. When the battle was over, and birds were going home, Bat went in among them.

When they noticed him, they said: “You are our enemy, we saw you fighting against us.”

“Oh, no,” said Bat, “I am one of you; I don’t belong to those beasts. Did you ever see one of those people who had wings?”

They didn’t say anything more; they let him stay with them.

So Bat went back and forth as long as the war lasted. At the end of the war, birds and beasts held a council to see what to do with him. At last they said to Bat: “Hereafter, you will fly around alone at night, and will never have any friends, either among those that fly, or those that walk.”

WUS WANTS TO MARRY A BUTTERFLY

CHARACTERS

Djáudjau Flying Squirrel
Wálwilégas Butterfly
Wus Fox

Wus and his mother lived at Wusnésee. Wus was a middle-aged man. There was a spring of water right by their house, at the foot of a high mountain. It was a nice place to live, and Wus and his mother had been there a long time.

One day Wus asked his mother: “Is there a swimming pond on any of the mountains around here?”

“Why do you want to know?” asked his mother.

“I want to go and swim.”

“You are too old to go; only young men, who want to be great gamblers or doctors, go to those swimming places.”

Wus had fallen in love with a Wálwilégas girl that he had seen near the spring, but his mother didn’t know that.

He kept asking the old woman to tell him where the swimming ponds were, and which were the best ones. She wouldn’t tell him; she always said: “It is too late for you to go to such places. You are too old. You should have gone when you were young. There are no swimming ponds near here.”

“I don’t care how far away they are,” said Wus. “I’m going. You must send for old Djáudjau to come and make holes in my ears and nose.”

“There is no use in making holes in your ears and nose,” said the old woman. “You are too old to go to the swimming ponds. The earth and the mountains won’t listen to what you say.”

When she told old Djáudjau what her son wanted, he said: “It is too late, but let him try; maybe he can get something out of this earth. If the earth pushes him away, he will come home. But I think he is after some woman, and is trying to fool you.” The old man made holes in Wus’ ears and nose, and tied a deerskin blanket around him.

When Wus was ready to start, he asked: “Where are the most powerful swimming places?”

“The first swimming place is on the top of Mlaiksi, the other one is on Mlaiksi’s brother,” said the old man. “But I don’t think you will get to either place.”

“No matter how far away they are,” said Wus, “I can get there.”

“I don’t think you will go far,” said the old man. “I think you are in love with some woman. But if you go, you must do right; don’t stop on the road, except at night, and don’t touch anything. When you get there, you must pile stones and talk to the mountains and the earth. When I was a young man I went to all the swimming places. I talked to the mountains, to the earth, to the trees, and to the rocks. They gave me power and made me strong, but I did just what old people told me to do. If you do your own way, the earth will push you away. I wouldn’t have thought of these things, but you have wakened me out of old age. These things were told to us when the world was made. After you leave here, you mustn’t think of yourself. You must lose yourself. You mustn’t think of what you have in your heart. I can see your heart. I know that you are trying to fool us. After you have been on the mountains and done your work, there will be time enough to get a wife. You must sing on the way and sing as you go around on the mountains; say: ‘My father, I have come to you; I want to be your son. I want you to give me all you can; I want you to put good thoughts in my head.’”

When Wus started, old Djáudjau walked behind him and called to the mountains: “Wake up! wake up! Wus is coming for you to see him and take care of him. You have ears to hear with. I want you to listen to him, and give him all that is in this world.”

When Wus got to the foot of the mountain, he saw that the mountain was covered with snow. It looked so high and cold that he almost turned back. He didn’t think he could live to get to the top, but he kept on walking. He camped ten nights. As he traveled, he sang the song the old man had taught him. All the way the words of old Djáudjau pushed him along. At first he didn’t mean to go, he was fooling his mother. When he was near the top of the mountain, he was so weak that he fell and rolled back—that was because he was too old—but he got up and went on. At dark he was at the top; he piled up stones and talked to the mountain, to the earth, to the sky, to the clouds, to the trees, and to the rocks. Then he lay down and went to sleep.

Wus dreamed that the mountain was a white-headed old man who asked: “What are you doing here? I am the biggest of all the mountains,” said he. “I shall live always. I shall never grow old or die. Is that the kind you want to be? I will give you your life because you have called me father, but you must live where the sun goes down, for other people are coming to live where you are living now.”

When Wus woke up, he started for home. He had been gone a long time, and his mother thought he was lost, but old Djáudjau said: “I know where he is. He has made no mistake.”

When Wus was on the way home, his mother saw a big fire on the top of the mountain. It looked as if it went way up to the sky. Wus didn’t build that fire; the mountain built it to show his mother that Wus had been there. She thought he had gone off somewhere else.

When old Djáudjau knew that Wus was near home, he heated stones and sweated; then he went to meet him. He said: “If you dreamed anything bad, you must tell it; but if you dreamed of the mountain talking to you, you mustn’t tell the dream. The mountain talked to me when I was young. It said that I should never die, that my spirit would live always, that I should live among the mountains—but I shall not have this form much longer.”

Wus was changed. He didn’t look as he did when he went away; he looked better and stronger.

The old man said: “You mustn’t eat meat for ten days. If medicines appeared to you in your dream, you mustn’t eat meat for twenty days.”

“I don’t know about any of the medicines that travel around on this earth,” said Wus.

The old man said: “After ten days I want you to try and get one of those nice-looking Wálwilégas girls for a wife.”

When the ten days were over, Wus sweated, then Djáudjau painted his face and body red and gave him nice clothes. The old man was glad that Wus was the Mountain’s son. He said: “Take your bow and arrows and shoot birds. Don’t pick up the first one you shoot; don’t pull the arrow out; leave the bird right there, as if you threw it away.”

Wus killed a yellow-footed duck and left it on the ground; then he killed other ducks and took them home. The old man had deer meat ready and Wus ate. He was glad to eat; he hadn’t eaten anything since he started to go to the mountain.

When he had eaten enough, he said: “I want to go and see people.” He started out but hadn’t gone far, when he saw a crowd of Wálwilégas girls; they were washing roots in the creek. He watched the girls a long time, then he said: “How beautiful those girls are. They are too small, but they are beautiful. I don’t know which one I like best.”

The girls were on each side of the creek; some of them saw Wus and called out: “There is Wus. He is coming here!” Others said: “No, that isn’t Wus.” The nicest-looking one of all the girls said: “No, that isn’t Wus.” Another girl said: “Yes, it is the same old Wus, but he has been on the mountains; that is why he looks differently.”

Wus went to the bank of the creek and sat down among the girls. That minute all the youngest and nicest-looking girls got up and went away. One of the largest and oldest called out: “Why do you go away? Why don’t you stay here and finish washing your roots?” But they had scattered and gone.

Wus was mad in his heart; he got up and started for home. On the road he came to a house and went in to see who lived there. He found Gíuwas and his wife. They were glad to see him. The woman was kind. She asked: “Have you had anything to eat?”

“No,” said Wus, “I haven’t been hunting. I have been down by the creek where there was a crowd of girls.”

“Those are bad girls,” said the woman. “They act proud, as if they thought every man must fall in love with them; they never feed anybody. How did they treat you?”

“They got up and flew off,” said Wus. “Hereafter, they will travel in that way, but they will be people no longer.”

All the old Wálwilégas women were crying, for their daughters were no longer people. The girls had lost their minds. They had become common butterflies.

After Wus had eaten enough, he said: “I am going now.”

The woman was afraid he would turn them all to animals; she told her husband to hurry to the river where their son was fishing and tell him to get out of the way.

Wus knew their thoughts; he could hear them as if they talked aloud, and he said: “I won’t hurt you or your son.”

When the young man saw Wus coming he hid and Wus went by, didn’t see him.

When Wus got home, his mother asked: “Did you see those nice-looking girls? Did they give you roots to eat?”

“No, they treated me meanly. They are nothing now. They have no minds.”

Wus and his mother moved away from the foot of the mountain, but Djáudjau wouldn’t go. He said: “I am named for the mountains and I will never leave them.”

Old Djáudjau is hunting on those mountains yet. People who travel on high mountains often hear him calling his own name. Wus and his mother went to Klamath Lake, and people say that they live there now.

LOK SNEWÉDJAS

CHARACTERS

Blaiwas Eagle
Kai Rabbit
Kaiutois Wolf (Gray)
Kékina Lizard
Kískina Beetle
Lok Bear
Snewédjas Married woman
Tskel Mink
Tusasás Skunk

Lok Snewédjas was a woman in the daytime and a bear at night. She lived under the ground on the top of a high mountain; nobody could see her either when she was a bear, or a woman.

A big chief lived in the lava bed country between that mountain and Lake Klamath.

One day his son came home without game. The chief was mad and he scolded. The young man felt badly. His mind told him to go to the mountain and forget his troubles. As soon as he started, a great snow-storm came and the wind blew so terribly, that he could hardly walk. When he got to the foot of the mountain, he sat down under a cedar tree and waited.

Once in a while the clouds went away and it stopped snowing; he could see everywhere. Then it snowed again.

Once, when it was bright, the young man looked up and saw, on the mountain, something hanging on a pole. Lok Snewédjas made him see it. She had seen him when he was hunting and had heard him talk to himself and say he had no friends and no place to go. That made her feel sorry for him. She liked him; she wanted him to come to her.

When the young man saw the pole, he said: “I didn’t know that people lived up there. I have been on this mountain many times, but I have never met anybody or seen any house. I will go and find out who lives there.” As he started, it stopped snowing; he could see everywhere.

When he got to the pole, he found a deer hide on it, and right there by the pole was something that looked like the smoke hole of a house. He stood around a while, then he went in. He found a beautiful house with nice things everywhere. On the north side of the house sat Lok Snewédjas. She was a good-looking woman; she had long black hair and bright eyes. The young man sat down on the south side of the house.

Lok Snewédjas got up, took a pinch of yĕlalwek, a sweet seed that nobody else in the world had, put it in the center of a straw plate, and set the plate down by the young man.

He thought: “I wonder what I am going to do with that little bit of seed?” He took up one seed and put it in his mouth. It melted and was nice and sweet; he thought it was the best thing he had ever eaten. He kept eating, ate fast, but the same amount of seed was always on the plate. He was afraid to be in a strange house with such a powerful woman.

Lok Snewédjas knew his thoughts; she could hear them as well as if he spoke. She gave him pounded deer meat, and he thought: “Where does she get this meat?” She laughed, for she heard him think.

When the young man couldn’t eat any more, he rested his elbow on the ground and put his head on his hand. Right away he was asleep. Lok Snewédjas thought: “I wonder why he is sorry that he came here;” she waited to see if he would wake up and go home. When he woke up, he reached to get a deerskin to put under his head for a pillow. Lok Snewédjas said: “I have made a bed for you, you must lie on it.” He was scared, but he lay where she told him to; then she made him go to sleep. She was afraid if she went to sleep first, he would see her when she was a bear.

In the night the young man woke up. The fire was burning. He looked over to where the woman was sleeping and saw a big black bear; its mouth was open and its long teeth were sticking out. He was terribly frightened; he wanted to run away but he couldn’t move.

Lok Snewédjas woke up; she knew what the young man thought and she felt sorry. She said: “I am this kind; I am a woman in the daytime and a bear at night. I belong to the mountain. The earth is my mother, the mountain is my father. They give me my food and keep me alive. I have always seen you traveling around on the mountain. I saw your heart; I was sorry for you. You felt lonesome; you said you had no kin who cared for you. I liked you and wanted you to come and live with me.”

The young man didn’t speak, but he wasn’t afraid any longer. Just at daylight Lok Snewédjas became a young woman; she was bright and nice to look at. She gave him water to wash his face; she stirred the water with her finger and it rose up like foam. She had everything ready to eat. She never cooked; the mountain and the earth gave her food.

When the young man wanted to track deer, Lok Snewédjas said: “Don’t go far; stay near the house.” Right away he saw a big deer. He killed it and carried it to Lok Snewédjas. After that she only let him hunt once in a long time. She was afraid he would go off and leave her.

“I never stayed at home; I hunted every day,” said the man.

“I know that,” said Snewédjas; “I saw you. You had to kill deer then, but when we have plenty to eat, it’s not right to hunt. The mountain and the earth feed us.”

Blaiwas, Kaiutois, Tskel, Kai, Kískina, Kékina, and all the people who lived in the young man’s village, were out looking for him. They went everywhere on the mountain, but they couldn’t find him. Sometimes they were walking on top of Lok Snewédjas’ house, but they didn’t see it.

One day the woman said: “I hear people crying. Your mother and sisters are mourning for you. Do you want to go and see them?”

“No,” said the young man, “my father abused me. I don’t care for him any longer. I want to stay here with you.”

Lok Snewédjas was glad. She said: “If you are going to stay here, I will tell you about my father and mother. When you walk on the mountain, you are walking on my mother. Don’t harm a tree, or a bush, or a leaf, or anything. Put your mind on the deer you are tracking, and don’t listen to anything. When a deer leads you to the other side of the mountain, you must not touch a plant or even a leaf there. If you do, it will cut your body. On the trail you will see a little animal; then right away you will see a great many of them. If you turn your head to look at them, you will lose your mind; you will wander off on the mountain and get lost. Don’t think of those animals; follow the deer. The animals are there because the mountain doesn’t want you to go where they are. My father doesn’t know you yet, but he knows that you are here with me.”

Once, when the young man was out hunting, he heard a great noise, then he saw a deer standing on the edge of a high rock. He shot at it. The deer reached out its head. The arrow hit one of its horns and bounded back to the bow. The young man said: “Lok Snewédjas forgot to tell me about you.” He didn’t shoot again; he went home. When he got there, he said: “I didn’t kill a deer to-day. I shot at one, but the arrow came back to the bow. The deer stood in the same place, but I didn’t shoot again. I thought I knew the place well, but I never saw that kind of a deer before.”

Lok Snewédjas said: “You saw it because the mountain didn’t want you to kill deer where that deer was. The mountain always whoops and makes a great noise if a stranger goes there. If you had shot a second time, the mountain would have twisted your mouth and body. You must not go there again.”

The young man was afraid now; he said: “My mother and sisters are lonesome; that is why they cry all the time.”

“Why don’t you go and see them?” asked Lok Snewédjas.

“I don’t want to, but I’m going to stay in the house with you.” He stayed in the house a whole year. Lok Snewédjas had a little boy. As soon as he was born, she rubbed him with red paint; after that she rubbed him three times each day; in the morning, in the middle of the day and just as the sun went down. It made the child grow fast.

One night, when the boy was crying, his father said: “I will take him off the board and let him sleep on the mat.”

“We might roll over and kill him,” said the mother.

“No,” said the father, “I will take care of him.” And he took the baby off the board and put it on the mat with its face up against his own face. In the night he woke up and looked at the baby. It was a little bear. The father was frightened. He thought: “Maybe some time my wife or child will kill me, and eat me.” He wondered if his son would be a bear when he was grown up. He was sorry that the child was like its mother.

The mother bear knew what he was thinking about; she turned over, and said: “Uh! uh!” in her sleep. The next morning she asked: “What did you think about in the night?”

“I thought how nice our boy looked when he was a bear. In the daytime he is like both of us, but in the night he is like you.”

The child grew fast. Soon he was walking around. One day the woman asked: “Why don’t you go and see your father and mother?”

“How can I? The boy is too little to go with me.”

“He won’t cry,” said the woman. “When you are half-way he will forget me.”

“If we go to-day, will you go with us?” asked the man.

“I will go to-morrow. I am going to look over my beads to-day,” said the woman. “You can go to-day, but when evening comes don’t let anybody touch our boy, and don’t let him play with the children. At two different times he will turn to a bear,—in his sleep, and toward night, when he plays. There is a Tusasás in that place. In the evening he may play with the child and tease him. If he should, the boy would turn to a bear; then somebody might kill him.”

“I will take care of him,” said the father.

Lok Snewédjas put a handful of yĕlalwek seed in a piece of deerskin, and said: “When you get home put five deerskins on the ground; then, with three of your fingers, take five pinches of the seed and put on each one of the five skins. You will have plenty to feed your father and mother and all the people in the village, but don’t let them carry any of the seed away. If they do, it will spoil this food; we can never use it again.”

The man took the little boy on his back and started. As soon as he was away from the house, he forgot all that his wife had told him. When he got to the village he stood around a good while; then his youngest sister saw him and called out: “My brother has come!” She cried, she was so glad to see him. He left the little bundle of seed on top of the house and went in.

When Tusasás saw the man and child, he said: “That is just what I thought!”

The women pounded Tusasás; told him to keep still, and not make the young man feel badly.

The young man said to his sister: “Go out and get what my little boy brought.”

Then he told his mother to put down five white skins. As soon as they were spread out, he put five pinches of seed on each skin, and right away the skin was covered with nice, white seed. Tusasás put a whole handful in his mouth. It increased and spread, till it came out of his ears and his eyes and his mouth. It made his stomach so big that he thought he was going to die.

The young man said: “You thought nothing of me when I was here; now you see what kind of a wife I have. She has all kinds of roots and seeds and meat, but she never digs or hunts.”

When the sun was going down, the children wanted to play with the little boy. He was pretty, they liked him and tried to be nice to him, but the boy didn’t want to play.

Blaiwas said: “Let the child alone. He is a little fellow; he might get hurt, and then he would cry for his mother.”

The children were playing and shouting, but the child paid no attention to them. His aunt carried him around; she liked him, she wanted to keep him in her arms all the time.

The mother didn’t feel happy. She knew what was happening at her father-in-law’s house. She wanted her husband to take care of the child himself, as she had told him. When she heard the children whooping and running, she got frightened and started off to save her child.

The young sister began to play with the children. She put the boy down, and he ran around, too, but he began to run the way a bear runs. He slapped one child, then another. He pushed them down and drove them around. The children screamed, they thought he was a real bear.

When the mother was half-way, she began to cry. She knew harm would come to the boy before she could get to him.

There was a great noise among the children. Tusasás screamed. “People! People! A bear is eating your children!” The boy was just playing as a little bear plays. Tusasás got his bow and arrow and shot the child under the arm. That minute he was a little boy again. The father thought his sister had the child in her arms. When he heard the noise he knew what had happened. He called to the people: “That is my child! That is my child!” but he was too late; the boy was dead.

The mother came with a terrible roar. The earth trembled. When she shook herself, it was as if the earth was turning over. She tore up the ground, pulled up trees; tore big rocks from under the earth and threw them around like little stones. When she got near, she shook herself; the earth moved and the houses fell. A terrible storm of dirt and wind came with her. She was in the middle of the whirlwind. It was dark and nobody could see her. [15]

There were two orphans, a boy and girl, in the village. They were little people; they didn’t grow any, but the girl was strong and she knew things. She always carried a long stick, sharp at both ends. When the people thought they were going to be killed, the girl told her grandmother to paint her stick red. Then she painted red lines across her forehead, breast, and stomach, and on the top of her arms, and went and sat down in front of where Lok Snewédjas was coming, twisting and tearing up the earth. Lok Snewédjas turned and passed on the right side. Just then the girl punched her stick into the middle of the whirlwind. The storm stopped that minute, and there on the ground lay a beautiful young woman in a dress covered with beads and porcupine quills.

The young man cried. He knew that he had killed his wife and child by not doing as she had told him to. He got Gäk’s medicine basket and put it on the boy, then he stepped over him and the child came to life. But he couldn’t bring Lok Snewédjas to life in that way. Everybody felt sorry. They didn’t know who lived in the world that could make the woman alive again.

The young man said: “If we can bring her to life, she will never be a bear again.”

Blaiwas said: “I will give nice things, deerskins, shells, and porcupine quills to anybody who will bring this woman to life.”

The young man stepped over her five times, then ten times, and twenty times; she only moved a little.

Some of the people said: “There is an old woman among the rocks by the lake, Skoks is her medicine, maybe she could make the woman alive again.”

They sent a man after her; when she came, she said: “I want somebody to scream for me. This woman’s spirit has got near where the sun goes down; but maybe we can make it hear.”

Skoks went into a man and screamed loud.

Then the old woman said: “Her spirit has turned around. It is coming back!” Soon she said: “The spirit is here! It is going into its body.”

Right away the young woman stood up. She was beautiful and bright and well. When she saw the orphan girl, she said: “You don’t look strong or powerful. If I hadn’t had that storm with me, you couldn’t have killed me.”

She stayed three days at her father-in-law’s house, then she went back to the mountain with her husband and child.

Before they started, the young man said to his mother and his sister: “You will never see me again. I will stay with my wife always. I don’t want to kill her spirit by coming back here where I forget all she tells me.”

They left and nobody ever saw them again.

The young man’s friends hunted for them and got other people to help, but they could never find their home or see them.

Lok Snewédjas took back all her seeds; she didn’t leave one of them, so no one has ever tasted of that kind of food.

To this day people can hear voices on that mountain. They are the voices of Lok Snewédjas and her children, but nobody ever sees them.

SNAKE TRIES TO MARRY SQUIRREL’S DAUGHTERS

CHARACTERS

Djáudjau Flying Squirrel
Gäk Crow
Gapni Louse
Juljulcus Cricket
Kāhkaas Stork
Kai Rabbit
Káwhas Blackbird
Kékina Lizard
Kískina Beetle
Leméis Thunder
Lóluk Fire
Tcoóks Crane
Tusasás Joker (Skunk)
Wálwilégas Butterfly
Wámanik Bull Snake
Weketas Frog (small, green)
Wekwek Magpie
Wískäk Cedar-bird
Wisnik Garter Snake
Wûlkûtska Marten (black)
Wus Fox

Wámanik lived at Wiwĕnsi, in a hollow between two mountains. There was a creek near the place, with lots of fish in it. Wámanik caught fish and ate them. That was the way he lived.

East of Wiwĕnsi lived a great hunter who had four children, three daughters and a son. This man and his son each had a song that they sang while they were hunting.

Wámanik was a good hunter, too. One day, he went, with two other men, to hunt deer. When he was on the south side of a mountain looking for tracks, he heard a man singing. He thought: “It must be a beautiful man who has that nice song. This is the first time I have heard any one sing on this mountain. I would like to see that man, but maybe I’d scare him.” He went up a little higher; he looked around everywhere, then waited. At last he saw a young man coming along the trail with a deer on his back. He passed near where Wámanik was hidden in the grass, but Wámanik didn’t see his face. He ran ahead to get where he could turn and look back at the man, but even then he couldn’t see his face.

The young man thought: “I feel scared, as if somebody were looking at me. I never felt this way before.”

When Wámanik got back to his party, each man had killed a deer; and they were roasting meat. They asked: “Didn’t you find a deer?”

“No,” said Wámanik, “I didn’t see a track.”

Just then the men saw Tusasás coming along with a fawn. They said: “There is the young man who always talks smart.”

Tusasás came up and threw the fawn on the ground. “Here is meat,” said he. “Cook it for yourselves.” He felt proud.

Wámanik said: “Go home and get something cooked for us.” (Wámanik was chief).

When they started for home, Wámanik asked Wisnik, one of his kin, to go with him by another trail; then he asked: “Have you ever seen, on the mountain, a young man who sings all the time he is hunting?”

“I have seen him a good many times,” said Wisnik. “It is strange you have never seen him; you often travel around near where he lives. His father is old man Djáudjau. He belongs to this mountain; he has lots of power. The young man has three sisters, nice-looking girls.”

“I have never seen him,” said Wámanik, “but his song is nice; I like it. You must go and get those girls for me.”

“They wouldn’t like such a big man as you are,” said Wisnik.

“I can turn to a small man, if I want to.”

“Maybe they have men,” said Wisnik.

“We will go and find out,” said Wámanik. “I must have those girls.”

“You stay at home,” said Wisnik, “and I will go. Maybe you would frighten them.”

Wisnik always sang as he traveled. On the road to the old man’s house he sang all the time, sang loud.

When the second sister went to the spring for water, she heard some one singing, far off; when she got back to the house, she said: “Some one on the mountain is singing. I like the song: it sounds nice.” The eldest sister said: “Maybe the chief of the mountain is out hunting. Wámanik always sings when he is tracking deer.”

They looked toward the mountain and listened. Soon they saw Wisnik coming. He had a bow and arrows. He was playing on the bowstring and singing.

The youngest sister always worked, dug roots and helped her mother. The two older sisters were lazy; they sat around, they wouldn’t work. Their hair touched the ground; they wore bead-covered dresses, and white caps made of deer fat.

When old Djáudjau saw Wisnik, he asked: “Where did you come from?”

“From home,” said Wisnik.

Djáudjau could always talk with people’s thoughts without their knowing it, and right away he knew why Wisnik had come. Old woman Djáudjau got the young man something to eat.

The eldest sister said: “I am hungry. I am going to get something to eat.”

The second sister said: “I am hungry, too,” and they started off.

Their food was the inside bark of pine trees. Their mother had told them to always begin at the bottom of the tree and work up, for if they began at the top the bark would fall, and kill them.

While the girls were gone, old woman Djáudjau said to Wisnik: “You have never been here before, and I have never seen you traveling around.”

“I am on the mountains all the time,” said Wisnik. “I often see you. I came here because my chief sent me. He wants to know what you think about your daughters; he wants to marry them.”

Old man Djáudjau said: “My son has gone somewhere; he takes care of those girls.” In his heart he was afraid of Wisnik. “My son wants to get good men for his sisters. He doesn’t want them to be abused. You must stay till he comes; then he will tell you what he thinks.”

At midday the young man came with a large deer on his back. He was frightened when he saw Wisnik. Wisnik looked at him hard; he thought he was nice.

Old Djáudjau said to his son’s mind: “What do you think about it? That chief over in Wiwĕnsi wants your sisters.” The young man was so frightened that he didn’t know what to do. The old woman went outside and cried. Everybody knew that Wámanik was a bad man when he got mad, and that he got mad easily. The young man thought: “I sha’n’t live long if Wámanik marries my sisters.”

Old man Djáudjau said: “I don’t know how Wámanik found out about us. I am sorry he wants my daughters. It is easy for him to get mad. He kills a great many people. I don’t care for myself, but I am afraid something will happen to my son.”

When Djáudjau’s daughters came home and saw their mother crying, they asked: “What are you crying about?”

She told them, and said: “My daughters, you must say something. Your brother never harms anybody. All he knows is how to be happy. If you don’t marry Wámanik, trouble will come to us.”

“Why doesn’t Wámanik marry a woman of his own people, one that lives in the ground?” asked the eldest sister. “We are not of his people; we wouldn’t be happy in his house.” Then she began to make fun of Wisnik.

When Wisnik got home, he said: “Those girls won’t marry you. They say they can’t live with our people. They told me to ask you why you didn’t marry a woman of your own kind. They are afraid of you; you get mad so easily.”

“Those girls needn’t be so proud,” said Wámanik. “I was only trying them; I don’t want to marry them.”

The next day Wámanik and Wisnik went to hunt for deer. They killed one and stopped at the foot of the mountain to roast some of the meat. Wisnik wanted to go home, but Wámanik said: “We will camp and stay here all night.”

The next morning young man Djáudjau went to hunt. He didn’t kill anything; he couldn’t even find a track. Wámanik and Wisnik stayed in their camp for five days. Wisnik was singing all the time, but Djáudjau didn’t hear him. After five days Wámanik sent Wisnik home; he said: “You needn’t come again; I am going to stay here for ten days and hunt deer.”

“Why do you do that?” asked Wisnik. “Old Djáudjau said you had no home; that you made it anywhere. You had better come back with me.” Wámanik wouldn’t go and he wouldn’t listen to anything Wisnik said.

The young man hunted deer for five days, but couldn’t find even a track. Then he said to his father: “I can’t call deer; they don’t come when I sing. What can I do to get them?”

The old man heated rocks and had his son steam himself; then he gave him some of the sweet-smelling stuff that comes out of the corners of a deer’s eyes, and said: “Swallow this; if you are going to kill a deer the smell of this stuff will come out of your mouth.” No smell came from the young man’s mouth, but he went to hunt. He tried to sing, but Wámanik drew his song from him; he couldn’t sing any longer. He went home and lay down.

His mother asked: “What is the matter?”

“I feel as if I couldn’t walk any longer. I feel as if I had to fly.”

They steamed him again, and gave him sweet roots to eat. His mother said: “If deer are to come to you, the roots will smell out of your nose.” She held her nose to his, but there was no odor. Then she said: “My son, I don’t know how you are to be cured.”

“I will try once more,” said the young man. He went out to hunt, but didn’t see any game. That night he dreamed that he was lying against something hard, that something heavy lay across his body and crushed him down on stones. When he told his dream, his mother cried. To hide his dream she got an old panther-skin, burned it in the fire, and rubbed his face with the ashes.

Old Djáudjau’s nephew, a little bit of a man, came from the East to visit his uncle. The girls were glad to see him; their brother was off trying to find a deer. The little man asked: “How far is it to Wûlkûtska’s house?”

“It is very far,” said his uncle; “you must stay here to-night.”

When the young man came, he was glad to see his cousin; they talked a long time. When he went to sleep, he dreamed that the little man choked him to death, and then went far off on the mountain. He thought he saw his mother and sisters crying.

The next morning, after the little man had gone, the young man asked his father to go and show him where he used to hunt when he was young. They went, but when they got to the place, they didn’t find any deer.

The young man said: “I feel as if I were dead.” The next morning he said to his father: “I am going away. I want you to stay at home and not to feel lonesome in the world. I shall die to-day. I feel as if somebody had tied me up and was going to kill me.”

He went to Wámanik’s mountain. Wámanik was singing to draw him there; he couldn’t help going. When the young man got to the mountain, Wámanik began to stretch. He stretched out far from the foot of the mountain. Then he stretched around the mountain and began to crush it. The young man heard a terrible roar. Trees were breaking, and stones and rocks were cracking. A great storm of wind and stones came. The young man lay down and tried to hold to the earth. But Wámanik pressed the mountain still harder. His body looked like the sun. He kept stretching till his head was right there by the young man; then he asked: “Are you afraid?”

“No,” said the young man, “I am not afraid of you. I have never done you any harm. I feel like a little child.”

“I feel badly for you,” said Wámanik, “but I want to punish your sisters. I want to show them what I can do when I am mad. I caught you in this way, so I could talk to you.”

That night Wisnik dreamed that he saw the young man’s head and Wámanik’s head. He was scared. The next morning he started early and walked till he got to where Wámanik was pressing the mountain, then he said: “Now I know why you wanted to stay here. You wanted to kill this man. He is not to blame for what his sisters did.” He felt sorry for the young man.

“Go home,” said Wámanik. “I don’t want you around here.”

“One of those girls said that if you married them you would kill all of their family. You are making those words true!” said Wisnik. He was mad at Wámanik. He pretended to go home, but he went to old man Djáudjau’s house. The youngest sister was crying. “When did your brother go away?” asked Wisnik.

“More than two days ago.”

“Wámanik has caught him,” said Wisnik. “He has him on the mountain and is crushing him. You must make up with that man, or he will kill you all. He has lots of power.”

“We won’t talk to him or see him,” said the eldest sister.