Chapter I: FANCY I must have been dozing after that hard ride; for when a (4)

One day when their grandmother was busy they stole away from home with their bows and arrows, and walked miles and miles, till they came to a great forest at the foot of the mountain. In the edge of it sat the old Giant-woman, dozing in the sun, with a huge basket beside her. She was so enormous and looked so fierce that the boys’ hearts stood still, and they would have hidden, but just then she caught sight of them, and called: “Come, little boys, and get into this basket of mine, and I will take you to my house.”

“Very well,” said Máw-Sahv, bravely hiding his alarm. “If you will take us through this big forest, which we would like to see, we will go with you.”

The Giant-woman promised, and the lads clambered into her basket, which she took upon her back and started off. As she passed through the woods, the boys grabbed lumps of pitch from the tall pines and smeared it all over her head and back so softly that she did not notice it. Once she sat down to rest, and the boys slyly put a lot of big stones in the basket, set fire to her pitched hair, and hurriedly climbed a tall pine.

Presently the Giant-woman got up and started on toward home; but in a minute or two her head and _manta_ were all of a blaze. With a howl that shook the earth, she dropped the basket and rolled on the ground, grinding her great head into the sand until she at last got the fire extinguished. But she was badly scorched and very angry, and still angrier when she looked in the basket and found only a lot of stones. She retraced her steps until she found the boys hidden in the pine-tree, and said to them: “Come down, children, and get into my basket, that I may take you to my house, for now we are almost there.”

The boys, knowing that she could easily break down the tree if they refused, came down. They got into the basket, and soon she brought them to her home in the mountain. She set them down upon the ground and said: “Now, boys, go and bring me a lot of wood, that I may make a fire in the oven and bake you some sweet cakes.”

The boys gathered a big pile of wood, with which she built a roaring fire in the adobe oven outside the house. Then she took them and washed them very carefully, and taking them by the necks, thrust them into the glowing oven and sealed the door with a great, flat rock, and left them there to be roasted.

But the Trues were friends of the Hero Twins, and did not let the heat harm them at all. When the old Giant-woman had gone into the house, Máw-Sahv and Oó-yah-wee broke the smaller stone that closed the smoke-hole of the oven, and crawled out from their fiery prison unsinged. They ran around and caught snakes and toads and gathered up dirt and dropped them down into the oven through the smoke-hole; and then, watching when the Giant-woman’s back was turned, they sneaked into the house and hid in a huge _olla_ on the shelf.

Very early in the morning the Giant-woman’s baby began to cry for some boy-meat. “Wait till it is well cooked,” said the mother; and hushed the child till the sun was well up. Then she went out and unsealed the oven, and brought in the sad mess the boys had put there. “They have cooked away to almost nothing,” she said; and she and the Giant-baby sat down to eat. “Isn’t this nice?” said the baby; and Máw-Sahv could not help saying, “You nasty things, to like that!”

“Eh? Who is that?” cried the Giant-woman, looking around till she found the boys hidden in the _olla_. So she told them to come down, and gave them some sweet cakes, and then sent them out to bring her some more wood.

It was evening when they returned with a big load of wood, which Máw-Sahv had taken pains to get green. He had also picked up in the mountains a long, sharp splinter of quartz.[100] The evening was cool, and they built a big fire in the fireplace. But immediately, as the boys had planned, the green wood began to smoke at a dreadful rate, and soon the room was so dense with it that they all began to cough and strangle. The Giant-woman got up and opened the window and put her head out for a breath of fresh air; and Máw-Sahv, pulling out the white-hot splinter of quartz from the fire, stabbed her in the back so that she died. Then they killed the Giant-baby, and at last felt that they were safe.

[100] A thunder-knife.

Now the Giant-woman’s house was a very large one, and ran far back into the very heart of the mountain. Having got rid of their enemies, the Hero Twins decided to explore the house; and, taking their bows and arrows, started boldly down into the deep, dark rooms. After traveling a long way in the dark, they came to a huge room in which corn and melons and pumpkins were growing abundantly. On and on they went, till at last they heard the growl of distant thunder. Following the sound, they came presently to a room in the solid rock, wherein the lightning was stored. Going in, they took the lightning and played with it awhile, throwing it from one to the other, and at last started home, carrying their strange toy with them.

When they reached Acoma and told their grandmother of their wonderful adventures, she held up her withered old hands in amazement. And she was nearly scared to death when they began to play with the lightning, throwing it around the house as though it had been a harmless ball, while the thunder rumbled till it shook the great rock of Acoma. They had the blue lightning which belongs in the West; and the yellow lightning of the North; and the red lightning of the East; and the white lightning of the South; and with all these they played merrily.

But it was not very long till Shée-wo-nah, the Storm-King, had occasion to use the lightning; and when he looked in the room where he was wont to keep it, and found it gone, his wrath knew no bounds. He started out to find who had stolen it; and passing by Acoma he heard the thunder as the Hero Twins were playing ball with the lightning. He pounded on the door and ordered them to give him his lightning, but the boys refused. Then he summoned the storm, and it began to rain and blow fearfully outside; while within the boys rattled their thunder in loud defiance, regardless of their grandmother’s entreaties to give the Storm-King his lightning.

It kept raining violently, however, and the water came pouring down the chimney until the room was nearly full, and they were in great danger of drowning. But luckily for them, the Trues were still mindful of them; and just in the nick of time sent their servant, Teé-oh-pee, the Badger, who is the best of diggers, to dig a hole up through the floor; all the water ran out, and they were saved. And so the Hero Twins outwitted the Storm-King.

* * * * *

South of Acoma, in the pine-clad gorges and mesas, the world was full of Bears. There was one old She-Bear in particular, so huge and fierce that all men feared her; and not even the boldest hunter dared go to the south--for there she had her home with her two sons.

Máw-sahv and Oó-yah-wee were famous hunters, and always wished to go south; but their grandmother always forbade them. One day, however, they stole away from the house, and got into the cañon. At last they came to the She-Bear’s house; and there was old Quée-ah asleep in front of the door. Máw-sahv crept up very carefully and threw in her face a lot of ground _chile_,[101] and ran. At that the She-Bear began to sneeze, _ah-hútch! ah-hútch!_ She could not stop, and kept making _ah-hútch_ until she sneezed herself to death.

[101] The fiery red-pepper of the Southwest.

Then the Twins took their thunder-knives and skinned her. They stuffed the great hide with grass, so that it looked like a Bear again, and tied a buckskin rope around its neck.

“Now,” said Máw-sahv, “We will give our grandma a trick!”

So, taking hold of the rope, they ran toward Acoma, and the Bear came behind them as if leaping. Their grandmother was going for water; and from the top of the cliff she saw them running so in the valley, and the Bear jumping behind them. She ran to her house and painted one side of her face black with charcoal, and the other side red with the blood of an animal;[102] and, taking a bag of ashes, ran down the cliff and out at the Bear, to make it leave the boys and come after her.

[102] Ancient tokens of mourning.

But when she saw the trick, she reproved the boys for their rashness--but in her heart she was very proud of them.

XXX

THE HUNGRY GRANDFATHERS

A DISOBEDIENT child is something I have never seen among the Pueblos, in all the years I have lived with them. The parents are very kind, too. My little _amigos_ in Isleta and the other Pueblo towns--for they are my friends in all--are never spoiled; but neither are they punished much.[103] Personal acquaintance with a spanking is what very few of them have. The idea of obedience is inborn and inbred. A word is generally enough; and for extreme cases it only needs the threat: “Look out, or I will send for the Grandfathers!”

[103] I must qualify this now. In the last two years I have
seen one spoiled child--just one, in ten years’ acquaintance
with 9000 Pueblos!

Now, perhaps you do not know who the Grandfathers are; but every Pueblo youngster does. It has nothing to do with the “truly” grandpa, who is as lovely an institution among the Tée-wahn as anywhere else. No, the _Abuelos_ were of an altogether different sort. That name is Spanish, and has three applications in Isleta: real grandparents; the remarkable masked officials of a certain dance; and the bad Old Ones. These last are called in the Tée-wahn tongue _T’ai-kár-nin_ (Those-Who-Eat-People). They were, in fact, aboriginal Ogres, who once sadly ravaged Isleta.

The _T’ai-kár-nin_ had no town, but dwelt in caves of the lava mountain a couple of miles west of this village--the _Kú-mai_ hill. It is a bad place at best: bleak, black, rough, and forbidding--just the place that a properly constituted Ogre would choose for his habitation. In the first place, it is to the west of the town, which is “bad medicine” in itself to any Indian, for that point of the compass belongs to the dead and to bad spirits. Then its color is against it; and, still worse, it is to this day the common stamping-ground of all the witches in this part of the country, where they gather at night for their diabolical caucuses. Of its serious disrepute I can convey no better idea to the enlightened and superstitionless American mind than by saying that it is a sort of aboriginal “haunted house.”

So the hill of _Kú-mai_ was a peculiarly fit place for the Ogres to dwell in. Deep in its gloomy bowels they huddled on the white sand which floors all the caves there; and crannies overhead carried away the smoke from their fires, which curled from crevices at the top of the peak far above them. Ignorant Americans would probably have taken it for a volcanic emission; but the good people of Shee-eh-whíb-bak knew better.

These Ogres were larger than ordinary men, but otherwise carried no outward sign of their odious calling. Their teeth were just like anybody’s good teeth, and they had neither “tushes” nor horns nor hoofs. Indeed, except for their unusual size, they would have been easily mistaken for Indians of some distant tribe. But, _ay de mi_! How strong they were! One could easily whip five common men in a bunch--“men even as strong as my son, Francisco,” says Desiderio; and Francisco is as stout as a horse.

They were people of very fastidious palates, these Ogres. Nothing was good enough for them except human flesh--and young at that. Their fare was entirely baby--baby young, baby brown, and baby very fat. They never molested the adults; but as often as they found an appetite they descended upon the village, scooped up what children they could lay their hands upon, and carried them off to their caves. There they had enormous _ollas_, into which half a dozen children could be thrown at once.

There seemed to be some spell about these Ogres--besides their frequent hungry spells--for the Pueblos, who were so brave in the face of other foes, never dared fight these terrible cave-dwellers. They continued to devastate the village, until babies were at a premium, and few to be had at any price; and the only way the people dared to try to circumvent them was by strategy. In time it came about that every house where there were children, or a reasonable hope of them, had secret cubby-holes back of the thick adobe walls; with little doors which shut flush with the wall and were also plastered with adobe, so that when they were shut a stranger--even if he were a sharp-eyed Indian--would never dream of their existence. And whenever arose the dreaded cry, “Here come the _T’ai-kár-nin_!” the children were hustled, shivering and noiseless, into the secret recesses, and the doors were shut. Then Mr. Ogre could come in and peer and sniff about as he liked, but no chance to fill his market-basket could he find. And when parents were forced to go away and leave the babies behind, the poor young ones were inclosed in their safe but gloomy prisons, and there in darkness and silence had to await the parental home-coming. These inconveniences were gladly borne, however, since they preserved the children--and we all know that preserved baby is better than baby-stew. It was, of course, rather rough on the Ogres, who began to find all their belts most distressfully loose; but no one seemed to consider their feelings. They were pretty well starved when the Spaniards came and delivered the suffering Isleteños by driving off these savage neighbors. This looks suspiciously as if the whole myth of the Ogres had sprung from the attacks of the cruel Apaches and Navajos in the old days.

There was one queer thing about these Ogres--on their forages they always wore buckskin masks, just like those of the _Abuelos_ of the sacred dance. Their bare faces were seen sometimes by hunters who encountered them on the _llano_, but never here in town. It was in connection with these masks that Isleta had a great sensation recently. The Hungry Grandfathers had been almost forgotten, except as a word to change the minds of children who had about quarter of a mind to be naughty; but interest was revived by a discovery of which my venerable friend Desiderio Peralta was the hero.

This dear old man--news of his death has come to me as I write this very chapter--was a remarkable character. He was one of “the oldest inhabitants” of New Mexico--older than any other Indian among the twelve hundred of Isleta, except tottering Diego; and that is saying a great deal. His hair was very gray, and his kindly old face such an incredible mass of wrinkles that I used to fancy Father Time himself must have said: “No, no! You apprentices never do a thing right! Here, _this_ is the way to put on wrinkles!” and that he then and there took old Desiderio for a model, and showed the journeymen wrinkle-makers a trick they never dreamed of. Certainly the job was never so well done before. From chin to hair-roots, from ear to ear, was such a crowded, tangled, inextricable maze of furrows and cross-harrow lines as I firmly believe never dwelt together on any other one human face. Why, Desiderio could have furnished an army of old men with wrinkles! I never saw him smile without fearing that some of those wrinkles were going to fall off the edge, so crowded were they at best!

But if his face was _arrugada_, his brain was not. He was bright and chipper as a young blackbird, and it was only of late that a touch of rheumatism took the youth out of his legs. Until recently he held the important position of Captain of War for the pueblo; and only two years ago I had the pleasure of going with two hundred _other_ Indians on a huge rabbit-hunt which was under his personal supervision, and in which he was as active as any one, both on his feet and with the unerring boomerang. His eyes were good to find about as much through the sights of a rifle as anybody’s; and on the whole he was worth a good deal more than I expect to be some seventy years from now. He was a good neighbor, too; and I had few pleasanter hours than those spent in talking with this genial old shrivel, who was _muy sabio_ in all the folk-lore and wisdom of his unfathomable race; and very close-mouthed about it, too--as they all are. Still, there were some things which he seemed willing to confide to me; and he always had an attentive listener.

Desiderio was not yet too old to herd his own cattle during the season when they roam abroad; and, while thus engaged, he made a discovery which set the whole quiet village agog, though no other outsider ever heard of it.

One day in 1889 Desiderio started out from the village, driving his cattle. Having steered them across the _acequia_ and up the sand-hills to the beginning of the plain, he climbed to the top of the _Kú-mai_ to watch them through the day--as has been the custom of Isleta herders from time immemorial. In wandering over the rocky top of the peak, he came to a ledge of rocks on the southeast spur of the hill; and there found a fissure, at one end of which was a hole as large as a man’s head. Desiderio put his face and his wrinkles down to the hole to see what he could see; and all was dark inside. But if his eyes strained in vain, his ears did not. From far down in the bowels of the mountain came a strange roaring, as of a heavy wind. Desiderio was somewhat dismayed at this; for he knew at once that he had found one of the chimneys of the Ogres; but he did not run away. Hunting around awhile, he found in the fissures of the rocks some ancient buckskin masks--the very ones worn by the Ogres, of course. He put them back, and coming to town straightway told the medicine-men of the Black Eyes--one of the two parties here. They held a _junta_; and after mature deliberation decided to go and get the masks. This was done, and the masks are now treasured in the Black Eye medicine-house.

I have several times carefully explored the _Kú-mai_--a difficult and tiresome task, thanks to the knife-like lava fragments which cover it everywhere, and which will cut a pair of new strong shoes to pieces in an afternoon. It is true that in this hill of bad repute there are several lava-caves, with floors of white sand blown in from the _llano_; and that in these caves there are a few human bones. No doubt some of the savage nomads camped or lived there. None of those famous _ollas_ are visible; nor have I ever been able to find any other relics of the Hungry Grandfathers.

XXXI

THE COYOTE

ALL the animals with which the Tée-wahn are familiar--the buffalo (which they used to hunt on the vast plains to the eastward), the bear, deer, antelope, mountain lion, badger, wild turkey, fox, eagle, crow, buzzard, rabbit, and so on--appear in their legends and fairy tales, as well as in their religious ceremonials and beliefs. Too-wháy-deh, the Coyote,[104] or little prairie wolf, figures in countless stories, and always to his own disadvantage. Smart as he is in some things, he believes whatever is told him; and by his credulity becomes the butt of all the other animals, who never tire of “April-fooling” him. He is also a great coward. To call an Indian here “_Too-wháy-deh_” is one of the bitterest insults that can be offered him.

[104] Pronounced Coy-óh-ty.

You have already heard how the Coyote fared at the hands of the fun-loving Bear, and of the Crows and the Blackbirds. A very popular tale is that of his adventure with a bright cousin of his.

Once upon a time Too-wháy-shur-wée-deh, the Little-Blue-Fox,[105] was wandering near a pueblo, and chanced to come to the threshing-floors, where a great many crows were hopping. Just then the Coyote passed, very hungry; and while yet far off, said: “Ai! how the stomach cries! I will just eat Little-Blue-Fox.” And coming, he said:

[105] He is always a hero, and as smart as the Coyote is
stupid. His beautiful pelt is an important part of the costume
worn in many of the sacred dances of the Tée-wahn.

“Now, Little-Blue-Fox, you have troubled me enough! You are the cause of my being chased by the dogs and people, and now I will pay you. I am going to eat you up this very now!”

“No, Coyote-friend,” answered the Little-Blue-Fox, “_don’t_ eat me up! I am here guarding these chickens, for there is a wedding in yonder house, which is my master’s, and these chickens are for the wedding-dinner. Soon they will come for the chickens, and will invite me to the dinner--and you can come also.”

“Well,” said the Coyote, “if _that_ is so, I will not eat you, but will help you watch the chickens.” So he lay down beside him.

At this, Little-Blue-Fox was troubled, thinking how to get away; and at last he said:

“Friend Too-wháy-deh, I make strange that they have not before now come for the chickens. Perhaps they have forgotten. The best way is for me to go to the house and see what the servants are doing.”

“It is well,” said the Coyote. “Go, then, and I will guard the chickens for you.”

So the Little-Blue-Fox started toward the house; but getting behind a small hill, he ran away with fast feet. When it was a good while, and he did not come back, the Coyote thought: “While he is gone, I will give myself some of the chickens.” Crawling up on his belly to the threshing-floor, he gave a great leap. But the chickens were only crows, and they flew away. Then he began to say evil of the Little-Blue-Fox for giving him a trick, and started on the trail, vowing: “I will eat him up wherever I catch him.”

After many miles he overtook the Little-Blue-Fox, and with a bad face said: “Here! Now I am going to eat you up!”

The other made as if greatly excited, and answered: “No, friend Coyote! Do you not hear that _tombé_[106]?”

[106] Pronounced tom-báy. The sacred drum used in Pueblo dances.

The Coyote listened, and heard a drum in the pueblo.

“Well,” said the Little-Blue-Fox, “I am called for that dance,[107] and very soon they will come for me. Won’t you go too?”

[107] In all such Indian dances the participants are named by
the officials.

“If that is so, I will not eat you, but we will go to the dance.” And the Coyote sat down and began to comb his hair and to make himself pretty with face-paint. When no one came, the Little-Blue-Fox said:

“Friend Coyote, I make strange that the _alguazil_ does not come. It is best for me to go up on this hill, whence I can see into the village. You wait here.”

“He will not dare to give me another trick,” thought the Coyote. So he replied: “It is well. But do not forget to call me.”

So the Little-Blue-Fox went up the hill; and as soon as he was out of sight, he began to run for his life.

Very long the Coyote waited; and at last, being tired, went up on the hill--but there was no one there. Then he was very angry, and said: “I will follow him, and eat him surely! _Nothing_ shall save him!” And finding the trail, he began to follow as fast as a bird.

Just as the Little-Blue-Fox came to some high cliffs, he looked back and saw the Coyote coming over a hill. So he stood up on his hind feet and put his fore paws up against the cliff, and made many groans, and was as if much excited. In a moment came the Coyote, very angry, crying: “Now you shall not escape me! I am going to eat you up now--now!”

“Oh, no, friend Too-wháy-deh!” said the other; “for I saw this cliff falling down, and ran to hold it up. If I let go, it will fall and kill us both. But come, help me to hold it.”

Then the Coyote stood up and pushed against the cliff with his fore paws, very hard; and there they stood side by side.

Time passing so, the Little-Blue-Fox said:

“Friend Too-wháy-deh, it is long that I am holding up the cliff, and I am very tired and thirsty. You are fresher. So you hold up the cliff while I go and hunt water for us both; for soon you too will be thirsty. There is a lake somewhere on the other side of this mountain; I will find it and get a drink, and then come back and hold up the cliff while you go.”

The Coyote agreed, and the Little-Blue-Fox ran away over the mountain till he came to the lake, just as the moon was rising.

But soon the Coyote was very tired and thirsty, for he held up the cliff with all his might. At last he said: “Ai! how hard it is! I am so thirsty that I will go to the lake, even if I die!”

So he began to let go of the cliff, slowly, slowly--until he held it only with his finger-nails; and then he made a great jump away backward, and ran as hard as he could to a hill. But when he looked around and saw that the cliff did not fall, he was very angry, and swore to eat Too-wháy-shur-wée-deh the very minute he should catch him.

Running on the trail, he came to the lake; and there the Little-Blue-Fox was lying on the bank, whining as if greatly excited. “Now I _will_ eat you up, this minute!” cried the Coyote. But the other said: “No, Friend Too-wháy-deh! Don’t eat _me_ up! I am waiting for some one who can swim as well as you can. I just bought a big cheese[108] from a shepherd to share with you; but when I went to drink, it slipped out of my hands into the water. Come here, and I will show you.” He took the Coyote to the edge of the high bank, and pointed to the moon in the water.

[108] Of course chickens and cheeses were not known to the
Pueblos before the Spanish conquest; and the cheese is so
vital a part of the story that I hardly think it can be an
interpolation. So this tale, though very old, is probably not
ancient--that is, it has been invented since 1600.

“M--m!” said the Coyote, who was fainting with hunger. “But how shall I get it? It is very deep in the water, and I shall float up before I can dive to it.”

“That is true, friend,” said the other. “There is but one way. We must tie some stones to your neck, to make you heavy so you can go down to it.”

So they hunted about until they found a buckskin thong and some large stones; and the Little-Blue-Fox tied the stones to the Coyote’s neck, the Coyote holding his chin up, to help.

“Now, friend Too-wháy-deh, come here to the edge of the bank and stand ready. I will take you by the back and count _weem_, _wée-si_, _p’áh-chu_! And when I say _three_, you must jump and I will push--for now you are very heavy.”

So he took the Coyote by the back of the neck, swaying him back and forth as he counted. And at “_p’áh-chu!_” he pushed hard, and the Coyote jumped, and went into the deep water, and--never came out again!

XXXII

DOCTOR FIELD-MOUSE

IT was the evening of the 14th of March. In the valley of the Rio Grande, that stands at the end of the winter. Now it is to open the big mother-canal that comes from the river to all the fields, giving them to drink after their long thirst; and now to plow the _milpas_, and to uncover the buried grape-vines, and make ready for the farmer’s work.

As the door opened to admit stalwart Francisco to the big flickering room where we were all sitting in silence, the long, shrill wail of a Coyote, away up on the Accursed Hill, blew in after him on the boisterous March wind. The boys pricked up their ears; and bright-faced Manuelito[109] turned to his white-headed grandfather, and said:

[109] Pronounced Mahn-way-lée-to.

“_Tata_, why is it that Too-wháy-deh always howls so? Perhaps he has a pain; for he has been crying ever since the beginning of the world--as they told us in the story of the Fawns and the She-Wolf.”

“What, Unknowing!” answered the old man, kindly. “Hast thou never heard of the Coyote’s toothache, and who was the first medicine-man in all the world? It is not well not to know that; for from that comes all that we know to cure the sick. And for that, I will tell--but it is the last story of the year. For to-morrow is _Tu-shée-wim_, the Spring Medicine-Dance; and the snakes are coming out from their winter houses. After that, we must not tell of the Things of Old. For it is very long ago; and if one made a mistake in telling, and said that which was not all true, _Ch’áh-rah-ráh-deh_ would bite him, and he would die.[110] But this one I will tell thee.”

[110] A fixed belief among the Pueblos, who will tell none of
their myths between the Spring Medicine-Making, in March, and
the Fall Medicine-Making, in October, lest the rattlesnake
punish them for some slip from the truth.

* * * * *

In the First Days, when the people had broken through the crust of the earth, and had come up out of their dark prison, underground, and crossed Shee-p’ah-póon, the great Black Lake of Tears, they came to the shore on this side. Then it came that all the animals were made; and very soon the Coyote was sent by the Trues to carry a buckskin bag far south, and not to open it until he should come to the Peak of the White Clouds. For many days he ran south, with the bag on his back. But there was nothing to eat, and he grew very hungry. At last he thought: “Perhaps in this bag there is to eat.” So he took it from his back, and untied the thongs, and looked in. But there was nothing in it except the stars; and as soon as the bag was opened they all flew up into the sky, where they are to this day.

When the Trues saw that Too-wháy-deh had disobeyed, they were angry, and made it that his punishment should be to wander up and down forever, howling with the toothache and finding no rest.

So Too-wháy-deh went out with his toothache, running all over the world groaning and crying; and when the other four-feet slept he could only sit and howl. Because he came to talk with the other animals, if they could not cure him, they caught the toothache too; and that is the reason why they sometimes cry. But none have it like the Coyote, who can find no rest.

In those times there were no medicine-men in the world,--not even of the people,--and the animals found no cure.

Time passing so, it came one day that T’hoo-chée-deh, the smallest of Mice, who lives in the little mounds around the chapparo-bush, was making his road underground, when he came to a kind of root with a sweet smell. T’hoo-chée-deh was very wise; and he took the root, and put it with others in a buckskin pouch he carried under his left arm.

In a few days Kee-oo-ée-deh, the Prairie-Dog, came with his head all fat with toothache, and said:

“Friend Field-Mouse, can you not cure me of this pain? For all say you are very wise with herbs.”

“I do not know,” answered T’hoo-chée-deh. “But we will try. For I have found a new root, and perhaps it is good.”

So he mixed it with other roots, all pounded, and put it on the cheek of Kee-oo-ée-deh; and in a little, the toothache was gone.

In that time it was that there was so much toothache among the animals that the Mountain Lion, Commander of Beasts, called a council to see what should be done. When every kind that walks on the ground had met, he asked each of them if they had found no cure; but none of them knew any. The Coyote was there, howling with pain; but all the other sick were at home.

At last it was to the Field-Mouse, who is the smallest of all animals, and who did not wish to seem wise until all the greater ones had spoken. When the Mountain Lion said, “And thou, T’hoo-chée-deh--hast thou a cure?” he rose in his place and came forward modestly, saying: “If the others will allow me, and with the help of the Trues, I will try what I found last.”

Then he drew from his left-hand bag the roots one by one; and last of all, the root of the _chee-ma-hár_, explaining what it had done for Kee-oo-ée-deh. He pounded it to powder with a stone, and mixed it with fat; and spreading it on flat leaves, put it to the Coyote’s jaw. And in a little the pain was gone.[111]

[111] This cure is still practised among the Tée-wahn. The
sovereign remedy for toothache, however, is to go to the
_estufa_ after dark, carrying food in the left hand, march
round inside the big circular room three times, leave the food
under the secret recess in the wall where the scalps taken in
old wars are kept, and then come out. The toothache is always
left behind!

At that the Mountain Lion, the Bear, the Buffalo, and all the other Captains of Four-feet, declared T’hoo-chée-deh the Father-of-All-Medicine. They made a strong law that from that time the body of the Field-Mouse should be held sacred, so that no animal dares to kill him or even to touch him dead. And so it remains to this day. But only the birds and the snakes, who were not at the Council of the Four feet, they do not respect T’hoo-chée-deh.

So the Field-Mouse was the first medicine-man. He chose one of each kind of four-feet to be his assistants, and taught them the use of all herbs, and how to cure pain, so that each might practise among his own people--a Bear-doctor for the Bears, and a Wolf-doctor for the Wolves, and so to all the tribes of the animals.

Of those he taught, there was one who was not a True Believer--the Badger. But he listened also, and made as if he believed all. With time, the teaching was done; and T’hoo-chée-deh sent all his assistant doctors home to their own peoples to heal. But whenever one of them was asked with the sacred corn-meal[112] to come and cure a sick one, he always came first to get the Father, the Field-Mouse, to accompany and help him.

[112] The necessary accompaniment, among the Pueblos, of a call
for the doctor. In some cases, the sacred smoking-herb was
used. Either article was wrapped in corn-husk. See, also, “Some
Strange Corners of Our Country,” chapters xviii and xx.

But all this time Kahr-naí-deh, the Badger, was not believing; and at last he said to his wife:

“Now I will _see_ if Old T’hoo-chée-deh is really a medicine-man. If he finds me, I will believe him.”

So from that day for four days the Badger touched no food, until he was almost dead. And on the fifth day he said:

“_In-hlee-oo wáy-ee_, wife of me, go now and call T’hoo-chée-deh, to see if he will cure me.”

So the Badger-wife went with meal to the house of the Field-Mouse, making to be very sad; and brought him back with her. When they came, the Badger was as if very sick and in great pain.

T’hoo-chée-deh asked nothing; but took off the little pouch of roots and laid it beside him. And then rubbing a little wood-ashes on his hands, he put them on the stomach and breast of the Badger, rubbing and feeling. When he had felt the Badger’s stomach, he began to sing:

_Káhr-nah-hlóo-hlee wee-end-t’hú
Beh-hú hoo-báhn,
Ah-náh káh-chah-him-aí
T’hóo-chée-hlóo-hlee t’oh-ah-yin-áhb
Wee-end-t’hú beh-hú hoo-báhn._

(Badger-Old-Man four days
Has the hunger-killing,
To know, to know surely
If Field-Mouse-Old-Man
Has the Medicine Power.
Four days, four days,
He has the hunger-killing.)

When he had finished rubbing and singing, he said to the Badger:

“There is no need of a remedy. In my teaching I found you attentive--now be true. You have wasted, in trying my power. Now get up and eat, to make up for the lost. And do not think that way again.”

With that, he took his pouch of roots and went home. As soon as he was out of the house, the Badger said to his wife:

“My wife, now I believe that Mouse-Old-Man _has_ the Power; and never again will I think _that_ way.”

Then the Badger-wife brought food, and he ate--for he was dying of hunger. When he had eaten, the animals came in to see him, for they had heard that he was very sick. He told them all that had been, and how T’hoo-chée-deh had known his trick. At that, all the animals were afraid of the Field-Mouse, and respected him more than ever--for it was plain that he indeed had the Power.

Time passing so, it came that one day the Men of the Old made _nah-kú-ah-shu_, the great round-hunt. When they had made a great circle on the _llano_, and killed many rabbits, some of them found T’hoo-chée-deh, and made him prisoner. They brought him before the _principales_, who questioned him, saying:

“How do you gain your life?”

“I gain it,” he answered, “by going about among the animals who are sick, and curing them.”

Then the elders said: “If that is so, teach us your Power, and we will set you free; but if not, you shall die.”

T’hoo-chée-deh agreed, and they brought him to town with honor. For twelve days and twelve nights he and the men stayed shut up in the _estufa_, for two days fasting, and one day making the medicine-dance, and then fasting and then dancing again, as our medicine-men do to this day.

On the last night, when he had taught the men all the herbs and how to use them, and they had become wise with practice, they sent T’hoo-chée-deh out with a strong guard, that nothing should harm him. They set him down at the door of his own house under the chapparo. A law was made, giving him full liberty of all that is grown in the fields. To this day, all True Believers honor him, so that he is not called small any more. When they sing of him in the sacred places, they make his house great, calling it _koor-óo-hlee naht-hóo_, the Mountain of the Chapparo. And him they call not T’hoo-chée-deh, the Field-Mouse, but _Pee-íd-deh p’ah-hláh-queer_, the Deer-by-the-River, that he may not seem of little honor.[113] For he was the Father of Medicine, and taught us how to cure the sick.

[113] This is not an exception. Nearly all the animals known to
the Tée-wahn have not only their common name, but a ceremonial
and sacred one, which is used exclusively in the songs and
rites.

* * * * *

“_Tahb-kóon-ahm?_” cried the boys. “Is _that_ why the Coyote always cries? And is that why we must never hurt the Field-Mouse, but show him respect, as to elders?”

“That is the very why,” said Manuelito’s grandfather, gravely; and all the old men nodded.

“And why--” began ’Tonio. But his father shook his head.

“_Tah!_ It is enough. _Tóo-kwai!_”

So we stepped out into the night to our homes. And from the _Kú-mai_, black against the starry sky, the howl of Too-wháy-deh, wandering with his toothache, swelled across the sleeping village of the Tée-wahn.

Yes; that is so.

The End]

Transcriber’s Note

All inconsistencies in hyphenation and accent use are preserved as printed.

Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.

The following typographic errors have been fixed:

Page 79--stanger amended to stranger--Then a young woman who
was a stranger ...

Page 126--seen amended to see--After this, whenever you see an
Eagle ...

The frontispiece has been moved to follow the title page. Other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph.