Chapter I: FANCY I must have been dozing after that hard ride; for when a (3)

The _rico_ said: “Go and tell him to come here quickly,” and the old woman did so. When Good came, the rich man said: “Are you he who says he can cure my daughter?”

“I am the one.”

“For how much will you cure her?”

“What will you give?”

“Half of all I have, which is much.”

“It is well. To-morrow be ready, for I will come just before the sun.”

In the blue of the morning Good came and waked the girl, and carried her to the door. In a moment came the sun, and its first ray fell upon her bent head. In an instant she was perfectly well, and stronger and prettier than ever.

That very day her father gladly divided all his wealth into two equal shares, and gave half to Good, who again had to hire many cow-boys and men with _carretas_ to help him transport all this. At the appointed spot he found his mayordomo; and putting all the stock together, with many herders, and all the wagons full of corn and dresses and ornaments and money together, started homeward, sending ahead a messenger on a beautiful horse to apprise his wife.

When the jealous Bad saw this fine horse going to the house of his friend, he ran over to see what it meant; and while he was still there, Good arrived with all his wealth. Filled with envy, Bad asked him where he had got all this; and Good told the whole story.

“Well,” said Bad, “I will go there too, and perhaps I will hear something.” So off he rode on the burro he had won from Good, till he came to the deserted house, and climbed up in the chimney.

Soon the devils met, and the two young ones told their chief that the spring had been opened and the girl cured, and that neither could ever be bewitched again.

“Somebody must have listened to us last night,” said the old devil, greatly troubled. “Search the house.” In a little while they found the jealous friend in the chimney, and supposing him to be the one who had undone them, without mercy puffed him to the place where devils live.

XXIV

THE BRAVE BOBTAILS

WHEN it came old Anastacio’s turn, one night, to tell a story to the waiting circle, it was several minutes before he responded to the quaint summons; and at last Lorenso repeated: “There is a tail to you, _compadre_ Anastacio!” The words seemed to remind him of something; for he turned to his fat grandson, and said:

“Juan! Knowest thou why the Bear and the Badger have short tails? For once they had them long as Kéem-ee-deh, the Mountain Lion. _In-dah?_ Then I will tell thee.”

* * * * *

Once in the Days of the Old, it was that a young man lived here in Shee-eh-whíb-bak whom they called T’hoor-hlóh-ah, the Arrow of the Sun. He was not of the Tée-wahn, but a Ute, who was taken in war while yet a child. When the warriors brought him here, a Grandmother who was very poor took him for her son, and reared him, loving him greatly, and teaching him all the works of men. Coming to be a young man, he was a mighty hunter; but so good in his heart that he loved the animals as brothers, and they all loved him. When he went out to hunt, the first game he killed he always dressed and left there for his animal-friends to eat. Sometimes it was Kéem-ee-deh, king of the four-feet, who came to the feast Sun-Arrow had made; and sometimes Kahr-naí-deh, the Badger, who is best of all to dig, and who showed Those of Old how to make their caves; and sometimes the smaller ones. They were all grateful; for no other was so kind to feed them.

Now the Grandmother would never let Sun-Arrow go to war, fearing that he would be killed; and all the other young men laughed at him, because he had never taken the sacred _oak-bark_. And when the others danced the great round-dance, he had to stand alone. So he was ashamed, and vowed that he would prove himself a man; and taking secretly his bow and arrows and his thunder-knife, he went away by night alone, and crossed the Eagle-Feather Mountains.

Now in that time there was always great war with the Comanches, who lived in the plains. They came often across the mountains and attacked Isleta by night, killing many people. Their chief was P’ee-kú-ee-fa-yíd-deh, or Red Scalp, the strongest and largest and bravest of men. For many years all the warriors of Isleta had tried to kill him, for he was the head of the war; but he slew all who came against him. He was very brave, and painted his scalp red with _páh-ree_, so that he might be known from far; and left his scalp-lock very long, and braided it neatly, so that an enemy might grasp it well.

Now Sun-Arrow met this great warrior; and with the help of an old Spider-woman,[84] slew him and took his scalp. When the people of Isleta saw Sun-Arrow returning, the young men began to laugh and say: “Va! T’hoor-hlóh-ah has gone to make war again on the rabbits!”

[84] About equivalent to our “fairy godmother.”

But when he came into the plaza, saying nothing, and they saw that _oak-bark_ which all knew, all cried out: “Come and look! For here is Sun-Arrow, who was laughed at--and now he has brought the bark of Red Scalp, whom our bravest have tried in vain to kill.”

So when he had taken the scalp to the Cacique, and they had had the round-dance, and the days of purification were over, they called Sun-Arrow the greatest warrior of the Tée-wahn, and made him second to the Cacique. Then all who had daughters looked at him with good eyes, and all the maidens wished for so brave a husband. But he saw none of them, except the youngest daughter of the Cacique; for he loved her. When the Grandmother had spoken to the Cacique, and it was well, they brought the young people together, and gave them to eat of the betrothal corn--to Sun Arrow an ear of the blue corn, and to her an ear of the white corn, because the hearts of maidens are whiter than those of men. When both had eaten the raw corn, every seed of it, the old folks said: “It is well! For truly they love each other. And now let them run the marrying-race.”

Then all the people gathered yonder where are the ashes of the evil-hearted ones who were burned when Antelope Boy won for his people. And the elders marked a course, as of three miles, from there to the sacred sand-hill beside the Kú-mai. When they said the word, Sun-Arrow and the girl went running like young antelope, side by side. Up to the Place of the Bell they ran, and turned back running; and when they came to the people, the girl was a little in front, and all cried:

“It is well! For now Eé-eh-chah has won a husband, and she shall always be honored in her own house.”

So they were married, and the Cacique blessed them. They made a house by the plaza,[85] and Sun-Arrow was given of the fields, that he might plant.

[85] Public square in the center of the pueblo.

But of the maidens there was one who did not forgive Sun-Arrow that he would not look at her; and in her heart she thought to pay him. So she went to a Spider-woman,[86] and said: “Grandmother, help me! For this young man despised me, and now I will punish him.”

[86] Here equivalent to a witch.

Then the Spider-woman made an accursed prayer-stick of the feathers of the woodpecker, and spoke to the Ghosts, and said to the girl:

“It is well, daughter! For I am the one that will help you. Take only this Toad, and bury it in your floor, _this_ way, and then ask T’hoor-hlóh-ah to come to your house.”

The girl made a hole in her floor, and buried P’ah-foo-ée-deh, the Toad. Then she went to Sun-Arrow and said: “Friend T’hoor-hlóh-ah, come to my house a little; for I have to talk to you.”

But when Sun-Arrow sat down in her house, his feet were upon the floor over the hole; and in a moment the Toad grew very great, and began to swallow him by the feet. Sun-Arrow kicked and fought, for he was very strong. But he could do nothing; and in a little, he was swallowed to the knees. Then he called in a great voice for his wife; and all the people of the Tée-wahn came running with her. When they saw him so, they were very sad; and Eé-eh-chah took his hand, and the Grandmother took his other, and all the people helped them. But all were not so strong as the great Toad; and fast it was swallowing him, until he was at the waist. Then he said:

“Go, my people! Go, my wife! For it is in vain. Go from this place, that you may not see me. And pray to the Trues if they will help me.” So they all went, mourning greatly.

In that time it came that Shee-íd-deh, the House-Mouse, stirred from his hole; and seeing Sun-Arrow _so_, he came to him, weeping.

“Oh, Friend Sun-Arrow!” he cried. “You who have been a father to us all, you who have fed us, and have proved yourself so brave--it is not deserved that you should be thus. But we for whom you have cared, we will be the ones to help you!”

Then Shee-íd-deh ran from the house until he found the Dog, and to him told it all. And Quee-ah-níd-deh, whose voice was big, ran out into the plains, up and down, _pregonando_[87] to all the animals; and they came hurrying from all places. Soon all the birds and all the four-feet were met in council in the room where Sun-Arrow was; and the Mountain Lion was captain. When he had listened to them, he said:

[87] The technical (Spanish) word for the official heralding by
which all announcements are still made among the Pueblos.

“Now let each tribe of you choose from it one who is young and strong, to give help to him who has fed us. For we cannot leave him to die so.”

When every kind that walks or flies had chosen its strongest one, the chosen stood out; Kéem-ee-deh called them by name to take their turns.

“Kóo-ah-raí-deh!” he called; and the Bluebird of the mountains came to Sun-Arrow, who was now swallowed up to his armpits. Sun-Arrow grasped her long tail with both hands, and she flew and flew with all her might, not caring for the pain, until her tail was pulled off. But Sun-Arrow was not budged a hair.

Then the captain called Ku-íd-deh, the Bear, to try. He gave his long tail to Sun-Arrow to hold; and when he had counted “One, two, _three_!” he pulled with a great pull, so hard that his whole tail came off. And still Sun-Arrow was not stirred.

Then it was to the Coyote. But _he_ said: “My ears are stronger”; for he was a coward, and would not give to pull on his pretty tail, of which he is proud. So he gave to Sun-Arrow to hold by his ears, and began to pull backward. But soon it hurt him, and he stopped when his ears were pulled forward.

“Now it is to you, Kahr-naí-deh,” said the Mountain Lion; and the Badger came out to try. First he dug around Sun-Arrow, and gave him to hold his tail. Then he counted _three_, and pulled greatly, so that his tail came off--and Sun-Arrow was moved a very little. But the Badger did not fear the pain, and said:

“Let it be to me twice again, Kah-báy-deh.”[88]

[88] Commander.

“It is well!” said the Mountain Lion. “So let it be.”

So the Badger dug again, and gave the stump of his tail, and pulled. And Sun-Arrow was loosened a little more; but the stump slipped through his hands, for it was very short.

“_Around_ me, friend,” said the Badger, when he had dug a third time; and Sun-Arrow clasped his hands around the Badger’s body, behind the fore legs. Then for the third time Kahr-naí-deh pulled--so mightily that he dragged Sun-Arrow clear out from the Toad’s mouth. At that, all the animals fell upon the wicked Toad, and killed it; and gave thanks to Those Above for the deliverance of their friend.

When they had prayed, Sun-Arrow thanked all the animals, one by one; and to the Bluebird, the Bear, and the Badger, he said:

“Friends, how shall I thank you who have suffered so much for me? And how can I pay you for your help, and for the tails that you have lost?” But to the Coyote he did not say a word.

Then said the Badger:

“Friend T’hoor-hlóh-ah, as for me, your hand has always been held out to me. You have fed me, and have been as a father: I want no pay for this tail that I have lost.”

And the Bear and the Bluebird both answered the same thing.

So Sun-Arrow again gave them many thanks, and they went away to their homes. As for Sun-Arrow, he hurried to the Medicine House, where all the Tée-wahn were making medicine[89] that he might be saved. And when they saw him entering, his wife ran and cried on his shoulder, and all the people gave thanks to the Trues.

[89] Not compounding remedies, but going through the magic
dance and incantations to which the Indians always resort in
time of trouble. For a description of a medicine-making, see
“Some Strange Corners of Our Country.”

Sun-Arrow told them all that was; and when the Father-of-all-Medicine looked in the sacred _cajete_[90] he saw the evil-hearted girl paying the Spider-woman. Then the Cum-pah-whít-la-wen[91] went running with their bows and arrows, and brought the girl; and she was punished as are they that have the evil road. As for the Spider-woman, she was already dead of shame; for she knew all that had been.

[90] A jar of magic water, in which the chief conjuror is
supposed to see all that is going on in the world.

[91] Armed guards of the Medicine House.

In a time it came that his father-in-law the Cacique died; and they made Sun-Arrow Cacique in his place. For many years he was so, bringing great good to his people; for he was very wise.

As for the Bear, the Badger, and the Bluebird, they would never go to the medicine-men of their tribes to have their tails mended to grow again; for they were proud that they had suffered to help their friend. And to this very day they go with short tails, and are honored by all the animals, and by all True Believers. But Too-wháy-deh, the coward, he who would not hurt himself with pulling--he is a laughed-at to this day. For his ears cannot lie back, as is well for beasts, but always point straight forward, as Sun-Arrow pulled them.

* * * * *

Any one who has ever seen the Coyote, or any other of the wolf or fox tribe, must have noticed the alert forward pricking of the ears. Among the Pueblos, any such peculiarity of nature--and particularly of animal life--is very sure to have a folk-story hung to it. It has always seemed to me that the boy who always wants to know “why?” has a better time of it among my Indian friends than anywhere else. For there is always sure to be a why, and an interesting one--which is much more satisfactory than only learning that “it’s bedtime now,” or that “I’m busy.”

XXV

THE REVENGE OF THE FAWNS

“DON CARLOS,” said Vitorino, throwing another log upon the fire, which caught his tall shadow and twisted it and set it dancing against the rocky walls of the cañon in which we were camped for the night, “did you ever hear why the Wolf and the Deer are enemies?” And as he spoke he stretched out near me, looking up into my face to see if I were going to be interested.

A few years ago it would have frightened me very seriously to find my self thus--alone in one of the remotest corners of New Mexico save for that swarthy face peering up into mine by the weird light of the camp-fire. A stern, quiet but manly face it seems to me now; but once I would have thought it a very savage one, with its frame of long, jet hair, its piercing eyes, and the broad streak of red paint across its cheeks. By this time, however, having lived long among the kindly Pueblos, I had shaken off that strange, ignorant prejudice against all that is unknown--which seems to be inborn in all of us--and wondered that I could ever have believed in that brutal maxim, worthy only of worse than savages, that “A good Indian is a dead Indian.” For Indians are men, after all, and astonishingly like the rest of us when one really comes to know them.

I pricked up my ears--very glad at his hint of another of these folk-stories.

“No,” I answered. “I have noticed that the Wolf and the Deer are not on good terms, but never knew the reason.”

“_Si, señor_,” said he,--for Vitorino knows no English, and most of our talk was in Spanish, which is easier to me than the Tée-wahn language,--“that was very long ago, and now all is changed. But once the Wolf and the Deer were like brothers; and it is only because the Wolf did very wickedly that they are enemies. _Con su licencia, señor._”[92]

[92] “With your permission, sir.”

“_Bueno; anda!_”[93]

[93] “All right; go ahead!”

So Vitorino leaned his shoulders against a convenient rock and began.

* * * * *

Once upon a time, when the Wolf and the Deer were friends, there were two neighbors in the country beyond the Rio Puerco, not far from where the pueblo of Laguna (a Quères town) now is. One was a Deer-mother who had two fawns, and the other a Wolf-mother with two cubs. They had very good houses of adobe, just such as we live in now, and lived like real people in every way. The two were great friends, and neither thought of going to the mountain for firewood or to dig _amole_[94] without calling for the other to accompany her.

[94] The root of the palmilla, generally used for soap
throughout the Southwest.

One day the Wolf came to the house of the Deer and said:

“Friend Peé-hlee-oh [Deer-woman], let us go to-day for wood and _amole_, for I must wash to-morrow.”

“It is well, friend Káhr-hlee-oh,” replied the Deer. “I have nothing to do, and there is food in the house for the children while I am gone. _Toó-kwai!_ [Let us go].”

So they went together across the plain and into the hills till they came to their customary spot. They gathered wood and tied it in bundles to bring home on their backs, and dug _amole_, which they put in their shawls to carry. Then the Wolf sat down under a cedar-tree and said:

“_Ai!_ But I am tired! Sit down, friend Deer-woman, and lay your head in my lap, that we may rest.”

“No, I am not tired,” replied the Deer.

“But just to rest a little,” urged the Wolf. The Deer good-naturedly lay down with her head in the lap of her friend. But soon the Wolf bent down and caught the trusting Deer by the throat, and killed her. That was the first time in the world that any one betrayed a friend, and from that deed comes all the treachery that is.

The false Wolf took off the hide of the Deer, and cut off some of the meat and carried it home on her load of _amole_ and wood. She stopped at the house of the Deer, and gave the Fawns some of the accursed meat, saying:

“Friends, Deer-babies, do not fear, but eat; your mother met relatives and went to their house, and she will not come to-night.”

The Fawns were very hungry, and as soon as the Wolf had gone home they built a big fire in the fireplace and set the meat to cook. But at once it began to sputter and to hiss, and the Fawn who was tending it heard it cry, “Look out! look out! for this is your mother!”

He was greatly frightened, and called his brother to listen, and again the same words came from the meat.

“The wicked old Wolf has killed our _nana_! [mama],” they cried, and, pulling the meat from the fire, they laid it gently away and sobbed themselves to sleep.

Next morning the Wolf went away to the mountain to bring the rest of the deer-meat; and when she was gone her Cubs came over to play with the Fawns, as they were used to doing. When they had played awhile, the Cubs said:

“_Pee-oo-weé-deh_ [little Deer], why are you so prettily spotted, and why do you have your eyelids red, while we are so ugly?”

“Oh,” said the Fawns, “that is because when we were little, like you, our mother put us in a room and smoked us, and made us spotted.”

“Oh, Fawn-friends, can’t you spot us, too, so that we may be pretty?”

So the Fawns, anxious to avenge the death of their mother, built a big fire of corn-cobs in the fireplace, and threw coyote-grass on it to make a great smoke. Then, shutting the Cubs into the room, they plastered up the door and windows with mud, and laid a flat rock on top of the chimney and sealed it around with mud; and climbing down from the roof, they took each other’s hands and ran away to the south as fast as ever they could.

After they had gone a long way, they came to a Coyote. He was walking back and forth with one paw to his face, howling dreadfully with the toothache. The Fawns said to him very politely:

“_Ah-bóo!_ [poor thing]. Old-man friend, we are sorry your tooth hurts. But an old Wolf is chasing us, and we cannot stay. If she comes this way, asking about us, do not tell her, will you?”

“_Een-dah._ Little-Deer-friends, I will not tell her”--and he began to howl again with pain, while the Fawns ran on.

When the Wolf came to her home with the rest of the meat, the Cubs were not there; and she went over to the house of the Deer. It was all sealed and still; and when she pushed in the door, there were her Cubs dead in the smoke! When she saw that, the old Wolf was wild with rage, and vowed to follow the Fawns and eat them without mercy. She soon found their tracks leading away to the south, and began to run very swiftly in pursuit.

In a little while she came to the Coyote, who was still walking up and down, howling so that one could hear him a mile away. But not pitying his pain, she snarled at him roughly:

“Say, old man! have you seen two Fawns running away?”

The Coyote paid no attention to her, but kept walking with his hand to his mouth, groaning, “_Mm-m-páh! Mm-m-páh!_”

Again she asked him the same question, more snappishly, but he only howled and groaned. Then she was very angry, and showed her big teeth as she said:

“I don’t care about your ‘_Mm-m-páh! Mm-m-páh!_’ Tell me if you saw those Fawns, or I’ll eat you this very now!”

“Fawns? _Fawns?_” groaned the Coyote--“I have been wandering with the toothache ever since the world began. And do you think I have had nothing to do but to watch for Fawns? Go along, and don’t bother me.”

So the Wolf, who was growing angrier all the time, went hunting around till she found the trail, and set to running on it as fast as she could go.

By this time the Fawns had come to where two Indian boys were playing _k’wah-t’hím_[95] with their bows and arrows, and said to them:

[95] A sort of walking archery.

“Friends boys, if an old Wolf comes along and asks if you have seen us, don’t tell her, will you?”

The boys promised that they would not, and the Fawns hurried on. But the Wolf could run much faster, and soon she came to the boys, to whom she cried gruffly:

“You boys! did you see two Fawns running this way?”

But the boys paid no attention to her, and went on playing their game and disputing: “My arrows nearest!” “No; mine is!” “’T ain’t! Mine is!” She repeated her question again and again, but got no answer till she cried in a rage:

“You little rascals! Answer me about those Fawns, or I’ll eat you!”

At that the boys turned around and said:

“We have been here all day, playing _k’wah-t’hím_, and not hunting Fawns. Go on, and do not disturb us.”

So the Wolf lost much time with her questions and with finding the trail again; but then she began to run harder than ever.

In the mean time the Fawns had come to the bank of the Rio Grande, and there was _P’ah-chah-hlóo-hli_, the Beaver, hard at work cutting down a tree with his big teeth. And they said to him very politely:

“Friend Old-Crosser-of-the-Water, will you please pass us over the river?”

The Beaver took them on his back and carried them safely across to the other bank. When they had thanked him, they asked him not to tell the old Wolf about them. He promised he would not, and swam back to his work. The Fawns ran and ran, across the plain, till they came to a big black hill of lava that stands alone in the valley southeast of Tomé.

“Here!” said one of the Fawns, “I am sure this must be the place our mother told us about, where the Trues of our people live. Let us look.”

And when they came to the top of the hill, they found a trap-door in the solid rock. When they knocked, the door was opened and a voice called, “Enter!” They went down the ladder into a great room underground; and there they found all the Trues of the Deer-people, who welcomed them and gave them food.

When they had told their story, the Trues said:

“Fear not, friends, for we will take care of you.”

And the War-captain picked out fifty strong young bucks for a guard.

By this time the Wolf had come to the river, and there she found the Beaver hard at work and grunting as he cut the tree.

“Old man!” she snarled, “did you see two Fawns here?”

But the Beaver did not notice her, and kept on walking around the tree, cutting it and grunting, “_Ah-oó-mah! Ah-oó-mah!_”

She was in a terrible rage now, and roared:

“I am not talking ‘_Ah-oó-mah!_’ to you. I’m asking if you saw two Fawns.”

“Well,” said the Beaver, “I have been cutting trees here by the river ever since I was born, and I have no time to think about Fawns.”

The Wolf, crazy with rage, ran up and down the bank, and at last came back and said:

“Old man, if you will carry me over the river I will pay you; but if you don’t, I’ll eat you up.”

“Well, wait then till I cut around the tree three times more,” said the Beaver; and he made her wait. Then he jumped down in the water and took her on his neck, and began to swim across. But as soon as he came where the water was deep, he dived to the bottom and stayed there as long as he could.

“Ah-h-h!” sputtered the Wolf when he came to the surface. As soon as the Beaver got a breath, down he went again; and so he kept doing all the way across, until the Wolf was nearly drowned--but she clung to his neck desperately, and he could not shake her off.

When they came to the shore the old Wolf was choking, coughing, and crying, and so mad that she would not pay the Beaver as she had promised--and from that day to this the Beaver will never again ferry a Wolf across the river.

Presently she found the trail, and came running to the hill. When she knocked on the trap-door a voice from within called, “Who?”

“Wolf-woman,” she answered as politely as she could, restraining her anger.

“Come down,” said the voice, and hearing her name the fifty young Deer-warriors--who had carefully whetted their horns--stood ready. The door flew open, and she started down the ladder. But as soon as she set her foot on the first rung, all the Deer-people shouted:

“Look what feet!” For, though the Deer is so much larger than the Wolf, it has smaller feet.

At this she was very much ashamed, and pulled back her foot; but soon her anger was stronger, and she started down again. But each time the Deer-people laughed and shouted, and she drew back.

At last they were quiet, and she came down the ladder. When she had told her story the old men of the Deer-people said:

“This is a serious case, and we must not judge it lightly. Come, we will make an agreement. Let soup be brought, and we will eat together. And if you eat all your soup without spilling a drop, you shall have the Fawns.”

“Ho!” thought the Wolf. “_That_ is easy enough, for I will be very careful.” And aloud she said: “It is well. Let us eat.”

So a big bowl of soup was brought, and each took a _guayave_[96] and rolled it like a spoon to dip up the soup. The old Wolf was very careful, and had almost finished her soup without spilling a drop. But just as she was lifting the last sup to her mouth the Fawns appeared suddenly in the door of the next room, and at sight of them she dropped the soup in her lap.

[96] An Indian bread made by spreading successive films of
blue corn-meal batter on a flat hot stone. It looks more like
a piece of wasp’s nest than anything else, but is very good to
eat.

“She spilled!” shouted all the Deer-people, and the fifty chosen warriors rushed upon her and tore her to pieces with their sharp horns.

That was the end of the treacherous Wolf; and from that day the Wolf and the Deer have been enemies, and the Wolf is a little afraid of the Deer. And the two Fawns? Oh, they still live with the Deer-people in that black hill below Tomé.

XXVI

THE SOBBING PINE

ANOTHER folk-story told by the Quères colony in Isleta also relates to Acoma, perched upon the great round cliff in its far, fair valley.

Among the folk-lore heroes of whom every Quères lad has heard is Ees-tée-ah Muts, the Arrow Boy. He was a great hunter and did many remarkable things, but there was once a time when all his courage and strength were of no avail,--when but for the help of a little squirrel he would have perished miserably.

On reaching manhood Ees-tée-ah Muts married the daughter of the Kot-chin (chief). She was a very beautiful girl and her hunter-husband was very fond of her. But, alas! she was secretly a witch and every night when Ees-tée-ah Muts was asleep she used to fly away to the mountains, where the witches held their uncanny meetings. You must know that these witches have dreadful appetites, and that there is nothing in the world of which they are so fond as boiled baby.

Ees-tée-ah Muts, who was a very good man, had no suspicion that his wife was guilty of such practices, and she was very careful to keep him in ignorance of it.

One day, when the witch-wife was planning to go to a meeting, she stole a fat young baby and put it to cook in a great _olla_ (earthen jar) in the dark inner room. But before night she found she must go for water, and as the strange stone reservoir at Acoma is a laborious half-mile from the houses, she would be gone some time. So, as she departed with a bright-painted _tinaja_ upon her head, she charged her husband on no account to enter the inner room.

When she was gone Ees-tée-ah Muts began to ponder what she had said, and he feared that all was not well. He went to the inner room and looked around, and when he found the baby cooking he was grieved, as any good husband would be, for then he knew that his wife was a witch. But when his wife returned with water, he said not a word, keeping only a sharp lookout to see what would come.

Very early that night Ees-tée-ah Muts pretended to go to sleep, but he was really very wide awake. His wife was quiet, but he could feel that she was watching him. Presently a cat came sneaking into the room and whispered to the witch-wife:

“Why do you not come to the meeting, for we await you?”

“Wait me yet a little,” she whispered, “until the man is sound asleep.”

The cat crept away, and Ees-tée-ah Muts kept very still. By and by an owl came in and bade the woman hurry. And at last, thinking her husband asleep, the witch-wife rose noiselessly and went out. As soon as she was gone, Ees-tée-ah Muts got up and followed her at a distance, for it was a night of the full moon.

The witch-wife walked a long way till she came to the foot of the Black Mesa, where was a great dark hole with a rainbow in its mouth. As she passed under the rainbow she turned herself into a cat and disappeared within the cave. Ees-tée-ah Muts crept softly up and peered in. He saw a great firelit room full of witches in the shapes of ravens and vultures, wolves and other animals of ill omen. They were gathered about their feast and were enjoying themselves greatly, eating and dancing and singing and planning evil to mankind.

For a long time Ees-tée-ah Muts watched them, but at last one caught sight of his face peering in at the hole.

“Bring him in!” shouted the chief witch, and many of them rushed out and surrounded him and dragged him into the cave.

“Now,” said the chief witch, who was very angry, “we have caught you as a spy and we ought to kill you. But if you will save your life and be one of us, go home and bring me the hearts of your mother and sister, and I will teach you all our ways, so that you shall be a mighty wizard.”

Ees-tée-ah Muts hurried home to Acoma and killed two sheep; for he knew, as every Indian knows, that it was useless to try to escape from the witches. Taking the hearts of the sheep, he quickly returned to the chief witch, to whom he gave them. But when the chief witch pricked the hearts with a sharp stick they swelled themselves out like a frog. Then he knew that he had been deceived, and was very angry, but pretending not to care he ordered Ees-tée-ah Muts to go home, which the frightened hunter was very glad to do.

But next morning when Ees-tée-ah Muts awoke he was not in his own home at all, but lying on a tiny shelf far up a dizzy cliff. To jump was certain death, for it was a thousand feet to the ground; and climb he could not, for the smooth rock rose a thousand feet above his head. Then he knew that he had been bewitched by the chief of those that have the evil road, and that he must die. He could hardly move without falling from the narrow shelf, and there he lay with bitter thoughts until the sun was high overhead.

At last a young Squirrel came running along the ledge, and, seeing him, ran back to its mother, crying:

“_Nana! Nana!_ Here is a dead man lying on our ledge!”

“No, he is not dead,” said the Squirrel-mother when she had looked, “but I think he is very hungry. Here, take this acorn-cup and carry him some corn-meal and water.”

The young Squirrel brought the acorn-cup full of wet corn-meal, but Ees-tée-ah Muts would not take it, for he thought:

“Pah! What is so little when I am fainting for food?”

But the Squirrel-mother, knowing what was in his heart, said:

“Not so, _Sau-kée-ne_ [friend]. It looks to be little, but there will be more than enough. Eat and be strong.”

Still doubting, Ees-tée-ah Muts took the cup and ate of the blue corn-meal until he could eat no longer, and yet the acorn-cup was not empty. Then the young Squirrel took the cup and brought it full of water, and though he was very thirsty he could not drain it.

“Now, friend,” said the Squirrel-mother, when he was refreshed by his meal, “you cannot yet get down from here, where the witches put you; but wait, for I am the one that will help you.”

She went to her store-room and brought out a pine-cone, which she dropped over the great cliff. Ees-tée-ah Muts lay on the narrow ledge as patiently as he could, sleeping sometimes and sometimes thinking of his strange plight. Next morning he could see a stout young pine-tree growing at the bottom of the cliff, where he was very sure there had been no tree at all the day before. Before night it was a large tree, and the second morning it was twice as tall. The young Squirrel brought him meal and water in the acorn-cup twice a day, and now he began to be confident that he would escape.

By the evening of the fourth day the magic pine towered far above his head, and it was so close to the cliff that he could touch it from his shelf.

“Now, Friend Man,” said the Squirrel-mother, “follow me!” and she leaped lightly into the tree. Ees-tée-ah Muts seized a branch and swung over into the tree, and letting himself down from bough to bough, at last reached the ground in safety.

The Squirrel-mother came with him to the ground, and he thanked her for her kindness.

“But now I must go back to my home,” she said. “Take these seeds of the pine-tree and these piñon-nuts which I have brought for you, and be very careful of them. When you get home, give your wife the pine-seeds, but you must eat the piñons. So now, good-by,” and off she went up the tree.

When Ees-tée-ah Muts had come to Acoma and climbed the dizzy stone ladder and stood in the adobe town, he was very much surprised. For the four days of his absence had really been four years, and the people looked strange. All had given him up for dead, and his witch-wife had married another man, but still lived in the same house, which was hers[97]. When Ees-tée-ah Muts entered she seemed very glad to see him, and pretended to know nothing of what had befallen him. He said nothing about it, but talked pleasantly while he munched the piñon-nuts, giving her the pine-seeds to eat. Her new husband made a bed for Ees-tée-ah Muts, and in the morning very early the two men went away together on a hunt.

[97] It is one of the fundamental customs of the Pueblos that
the house and its general contents belong to the wife; the
fields and other outside property to the husband.

That afternoon the mother of the witch-wife went to visit her daughter, but when she came near the house she stopped in terror, for far up through the roof grew a great pine-tree, whose furry arms came out at doors and windows. That was the end of the witch-wife, for the magic seed had sprouted in her stomach, and she was turned into a great, sad Pine that swayed above her home, and moaned and sobbed forever, as all her Pine-children do to this day.

XXVII

THE QUÈRES DIANA

THERE is a fragmentary Quères folk-story which bears internal evidence that its heroine was the mother of the Hero Twins--that is, the Moon. The adventure described here is one of those which befell the Moon-Mother, as related in several myths; though it has been varied, evidently by some later story-teller, and the identity of the heroine does not appear at first sight. It is a story common to all the Quères, and is undoubtedly ancient; but as I heard it first in Isleta its scene is laid in Laguna, a pueblo only two hundred years old.

Once upon a time the Tah-póh-pee[98] of Laguna had a daughter, who was the belle of the village. She was very fond of hunting, and killed as much game as any of the young men. Several miles south of Laguna is a very large sandstone dome rising in the plain, and in the heart of this rock the Governor’s daughter had hollowed out a room in which she used to camp when on her hunting-expeditions.

[98] Governor.

One day there came a snow that covered the ground so that one could easily track rabbits, and taking her bow and arrows she started off to hunt.

She had unusual luck, and by the time she reached the hunting-lodge she was loaded down with rabbits. The evening was very cold, and she was hungry; so, going into the rock-house, she built a fire on the hearth and began to roast a rabbit. Just as it was cooking a strong west wind came up and carried the savory smell from her chimney far to the east, till it reached a dark cavern in the Sandia Mountains, fifty miles away. There lived an old giantess, the terror of all the world, and when she caught a whiff of that sweet meat she started up and rubbed her big red eye.

“Um!” she cried, “that is good! I am going to see where it is, for I have had nothing to eat to-day.”

In two steps she was at the rock-house, and, stooping down, she called at the door: “Quáh-tzee? [How are you?] What are you cooking in there?”

“Rabbits,” said the girl, dreadfully scared at that great voice.

“Then give me one,” shouted the old giantess. The girl threw one out at the door, and the giantess swallowed it at a gulp and demanded more. The girl kept throwing them out until all were gone. Then the giantess called for her _manta_ (dress), and her shawl and her buckskin leggings, and ate them all, and at last said:

“Little girl, now you come out, and let me eat you.”

The girl began to cry bitterly when she saw that great savage eye at the door, which was so small that the giantess could not get her huge hand in. She repeated her commands thrice, and when the girl still refused to come out, picked up a great boulder and began to hammer the rock-house to pieces. But just as she had broken off the roof and stooped to pick out the girl, two hunters chanced to pass and hear the noise. They crept up and shot the giantess through the neck with their strong arrows and killed her, and, bringing new clothes for the girl, took her home safely to Kó-iks (the native name for Laguna), where she lived for many years.

XXVIII

A PUEBLO BLUEBEARD

ANOTHER fragmentary story of the Quères seems to refer to this same remarkable woman. You will see the connection when you remember that the Moon disappears every month; and I should judge that the following myth means that the Storm-King steals her.

Once upon a time a chief of Acoma had a lovely daughter. One day a handsome stranger stole her and took her away to his home, which was in the heart of the Snow Mountain (Mt. San Mateo). He was none other than Mast-Truan, one of the Storm-Gods. Bringing his captive home, the powerful stranger gave her the finest clothing and treated her very nicely. But most of the time he had to be away from home, attending to the storms, and she became very lonesome, for there was no one to keep her company but Mast-Truan’s wrinkled old mother.

One day when she could stand the loneliness no longer, she decided to take a walk through the enormous house and look at the rooms which she had not seen. Opening a door she came into a very large room toward the east; and there were a lot of women crying and shivering with cold, for they had nothing to wear. Going through this room she came to another, which was full of gaunt, starving women, and here and there one lay dead upon the floor; and in the next room were scores of bleached and ghastly skeletons. And this was what Mast-Truan did with his wives when he was tired of them. The girl saw her fate, and, returning to her room, sat down and wept--but there was no escape, for Mast-Truan’s old hag of a mother forever guarded the outer door.

When Mast-Truan came home again, his wife said: “It is now long that I have not seen my fathers. Let me go home for a little while.”

“Well,” said he, “here is some corn which must be shelled. When you have shelled it and ground it, I will let you out”; and he showed her four great rooms piled from floor to ceiling with ears of corn. It was more than one could shell in a year; and when her husband went out, she sat down again to cry and bemoan her fate.

Just then a queer little old woman appeared before her, with a kindly smile. It was a _cumúsh-quio_ (fairy-woman).

“What is the matter, my daughter?” asked the old fairy, gently, “and why do you weep?”

The captive told her all, and the fairy said: “Do not fear, daughter, for I will help you, and we will have all the corn shelled and ground in four days.”

So they fell to work. For two days the girl kept shelling; and though she could not see the old fairy at all, she could always hear at her side the click of the ears together. Then for two days she kept grinding on her _metate_, apparently alone, but hearing the constant grind of another _metate_ close beside her. At the end of the fourth day the last kernel had been scrubbed into blue meal, and she was very happy. Then the old fairy-woman appeared again, bringing a large basket and a rope. She opened the doors to all the rooms where the poor women were prisoners, and bade them all get into the basket one by one. Mast-Truan had taken away the ladder from the house when he left, that no one might be able to get out; but with her basket and rope the good old fairy-woman let them all down to the ground, and told them to hurry home--which they did as fast as ever their poor, starved legs could carry them. Then the fairy-woman and the girl escaped, and made their way to Acoma. So there was a Moon again--and that it _was_ the Moon, we may be very sure; since this same girl became the mother of the Hero Twins, who were assuredly Children of the Moon.

XXIX

THE HERO TWINS

THAT the heroes of “The Magic Hide-and-Seek” were really the Pueblo Castor and Pollux, the twin offspring of the Sun-Father and the Moon-Mother, is more than probable. For some reason which I do not know, these demigods do not figure as clearly in the Tée-wahn myths as among the other Pueblos, the Navajos and the Apaches; but that they are believed in, even in Isleta, there can be no doubt. They were the ones who led mankind forth from its first home in the dark center of the earth.[99] The rainbow is their bow, the lightnings are their arrows. Among the other Pueblos there are countless folk-stories about these Hero Twins; and the following example myth will quickly remind you of the boys who played hide-and-seek. It is told in Isleta, though I have never heard it from the Tée-wahn people there. Ever since the great drouth of a generation ago, about one hundred and fifty Quères, starved out from the pueblos of Acoma and Laguna, have dwelt in Isleta, and they are now a permanent part of the Village, recognized by representation in the civil and religious government, though speaking an altogether different language. Tée-wahn and Quères cannot understand each other in their own tongues, so they have to communicate in Spanish.

[99] They are represented in the sacred dances by the
Káh-pee-óo-nin, “the Dying-of-Cold” (because they are always
naked except for the breech-clout).

Máw-Sahv and Oó-yah-wee, as the Hero Twins are named in Quères, had the Sun for a father. Their mother died when they were born, and lay lifeless upon the hot plain. But the two wonderful boys, as soon as they were a minute old, were big and strong, and began playing.

There chanced to be in a cliff to the southward a nest of white crows; and presently the young crows said: “_Nana_, what is that over there? Isn’t it two babies?”

“Yes,” replied the Mother-Crow, when she had taken a look. “Wait and I will bring them.” So she brought the boys safely, and then their dead mother; and, rubbing a magic herb on the body of the latter, soon brought her to life.

By this time Máw-Sahv and Oó-yah-wee were sizable boys, and the mother started homeward with them.

“Now,” said she when they reached the edge of the valley and could look across to that wondrous rock whereon stands Acoma, “go to yonder town, my sons, for that is Ah-ko, where live your grandfather and grandmother, my parents; and I will wait here. Go ye in at the west end of the town and stand at the south end of the council-grounds until some one speaks to you; and ask them to take you to the Cacique, for he is your grandfather. You will know his house, for the ladder to it has three uprights instead of two. When you go in and tell your story, he will ask you a question to see if you are really his grandchildren, and will give you four chances to answer what he has in a bag in the corner. No one has ever been able to guess what is in it, but there are birds.”

The Twins did as they were bidden, and presently came to Acoma and found the house of the old Cacique. When they entered and told their story, he said: “Now I will try you. What is in yonder bag?”

“A rattlesnake,” said the boys.

“No,” said the Cacique, “it is not a rattlesnake. Try again.”

“Birds,” said the boys.

“Yes, they are birds. Now I know that you are truly my grandchildren, for no one else could ever guess.” And he welcomed them gladly, and sent them back with new dresses and jewelry to bring their mother.

When she was about to arrive, the Twins ran ahead to the house and told her father, mother, and sister to leave the house until she should enter; but not knowing what was to come, they would not go out. When she had climbed the big ladder to the roof and started down through the trap-door by the room-ladder, her sister cried out with joy at seeing her, and she was so startled that she fell from the ladder and broke her neck, and never could be brought to life again.

Máw-Sahv and Oó-yah-wee grew up to astounding adventures and achievements. While still very young in years, they did very remarkable things; for they had a miraculously rapid growth, and at an age when other boys were toddling about home, these Hero Twins had already become very famous hunters and warriors. They were very fond of stories of adventure, like less precocious lads; and after the death of their mother they kept their grandmother busy telling them strange tales. She had a great many anecdotes of a certain ogre-giantess who lived in the dark gorges of the mountains to the South, and so much did Máw-Sahv and Oó-yah-wee hear of this wonderful personage--who was the terror of all that country--that their boyish ambition was fired.