Chapter VII: Part 7

Presently on came the crowd of warriors, now feeling that they had but a small force, if indeed more than one man to oppose. And they came with such precipitation that they took the gray and dun and yellow-shaded Dogs for so many rocks and heaps of sand, and were fairly in the midst of those brutes before they became aware of them at all. Death and ashes! what a time there was of it! The youth fell in with his war-club, the Dogs around, behind, and in front of them howling, snarling, biting, tearing, and shaking the Zuñis on every hand, until every one of the band was torn to pieces or so mangled that a few taps of the club of the youth dispatched them. Those who had followed behind, not knowing what to think of it all, frantically ran back to their people,--the shame-begrimed cowards!--while the youth, with abundant leisure, went on skinning scalps, until, perceiving much activity in the distant town, concluded it would be wise to abandon some few he had not finished. So, catching up his pack of provisions and his bloody string of scalps (which was so long and thick he could hardly carry it, and which dragged on the ground behind him), he trotted over the hills, followed by some of the Dogs--the others remaining behind, feeling more secure of swiftness--to take advantage of the ample feast spread before them.

When the youth and the Dogs who followed him, or afterward joined him, had again reached the great spring by the Black Mountains, leaving those who pursued far behind, they stopped; and, building a fire of brush and pine-knots, the youth cooked all the provisions he had. “Thanks this day, my friends and brothers!” he cried to the Dogs. “Ye have nobly served me. I will feast ye of the best.” Whereupon he produced the grease-cakes and the more delicate articles of food which he had reserved as a reward for the Dogs. They ate and ate, and loud were their demonstrations of satisfaction. Then the youth, taking up the string of scalps again, attached them to a long pole, which, to keep the lower ones from dragging on the ground, he elevated over his shoulder, and, striking up a song of victory, he wound his way along the trail toward Moki.

The Dogs, crazy with victory and much glutted, could not contain themselves, but they bow-wowed with delight and yelped and scurried about, cutting circles dusty and wide around their father, the conquering youth. They hurried on so fast that by-and-by it was noticeable that the Beagle Dogs fell in the rear. “By the music of marrowbones!” exclaimed some of the swifter of foot; “we will have to slacken our pace, father.” Said they, addressing the youth: “Our poor brothers, the Short-legs, are evidently getting tired; they are falling far in the rear, and it is not valorous, however great your victory and however strong your desire to proclaim it at home, to leave a worn-out brother lagging behind. The enemy might come unawares and cut off his return and his daylight.” Most reluctantly, therefore, they slackened their pace, and with shouts and yelps encouraged as much as possible the stump-legged Dogs following behind.

Now, on that day in Moki there had been much surprise expressed at the absence of the Dogs, except those which were so young or so old that they could not travel; and the people began to think that some devil or all the wizards in Mokidom had been conjuring their Dogs away from them, when toward evening they heard a distant sound, which was the approaching victors’ demonstration of rejoicing, and clear above all was the song of victory shouted by the lusty youth as he came bringing his scalps along. “Woo, woo, woo!” the Dogs sounded as they came across the valley and approached the foot of the mesa; and when the people looked down and saw the blood and dirt with which every Dog was covered, they knew not what to make of it,--whether their Dogs had been enticed away and foully beaten, or whether they had taken after a herd of antelope, perhaps, and vanquished them. But presently they espied in the midst of the motley crowd of Curs the tall lank form of the vagabond youth and heard his lusty song. The youths who had been jilted by the maiden at once had their own ideas. Some of them sneaked away; others ground their teeth and covered their eyes, filled with rage and shame; while the elder-men of the nation, seeing what feats of valor this neglected youth had accomplished, glorified him with answering songs of victory and gathered in solemn council, as if for a most honored and precious guest, to receive him.

So, victorious and successful in all ways, the outcast dog of a youth who went to Zuñi and returned the hero of the Moki nation right willingly was accepted by this beauteous maiden as her husband after the ceremonies of initiation and purification had been performed over him.

Ah, well! that was very fine; but all this praise of one who had been despised and abused by themselves, and, more than all, the possession of such a beautiful wife, wrought fierce jealousy in the breasts of the many jilted lovers; making those who had looked askance at one another before, true friends and firm brothers in a single cause--the undoing of this lucky vagabond youth. Nor were they alone in this desire, for behold! copying their lucky sister, all the pretty maidens in Moki declared that they would marry no one who did not show himself at least in some degree heroic, like the youth of the dog-holes who had married their pretty sister. It therefore came about that the whole tribe of Moki, so far as the young men were concerned, became a company of jilted lovers, and all the maidens became confirmed in their resolutions of virgin maidenhood.

The jilted lovers got together one night in a cautious sort of way (for they were all afraid of this hero) and held a council. But the fools didn’t think of the Dogs lying around outside, who heard what they said. They concluded the best way to get even with this youth was to kill him; but how to kill him was the problem, for they were cowards. “We will get up a hunt,” said one; “and make friends with him and ask him to go, paying him all sorts of attention, and ask him to instruct us in the arts of war, the wretch! He will readily join us in our hunting excursion, and some of us will sling a throwing-stick at him and finish the conceited fellow’s days!”

Now, the Dogs scrambled off immediately and informed their friend and brother what was going on.

He said: “All right! I will accept their advances and go with them on the hunt.”

He went off that night to a cave, where he had often sought shelter from the wind when driven out of the town of Walpi, and thus had made acquaintance with those most unerring travellers in crooked places--the Cave-swallows. He went to one of them, an elderly, wise bird, and, addressing him as “Grandfather,” told him what was going on.

“Very well,” said the old bird; “I will help you.” And he made a boomerang for the youth which had the power to fly around bushes and down into gullies; and if well thrown, of course, it could not be dodged by any rabbit, however swift of foot or sly in hiding. Having finished this boomerang, he told the youth to take it and use it freely in hunting. The youth thanked him, and returning to his town passed a peaceful night.

When he appeared the next morning, the others greeted him pleasantly--those who happened to see him--to which greetings he replied with equal cordiality. They were so importunate with the priest-chiefs to be allowed to undertake a grand rabbit-hunt that these fathers of the people, always desirous of contributing to the happiness of their children, ordered a grand hunt for the very next day. So everybody was busy forthwith in making throwing-sticks and boomerangs.

The next day all the able-bodied youth of the town, selecting the hero of whom we have told as their leader, took their way to the great plain south of Moki, and there, spreading out into an enormous circle, they drove hundreds of rabbits closer and closer together among the sagebrush in the center of the valley. Some of them succeeded in striking down one--some of them three or four--but ere long every one observed that each time the youth threw his stick he struck a rabbit and secured it, until he had so many that he was forced to call some boys who had followed along to carry them for him.

Already inflamed by their jealousies to great anger, what was the chagrin of this crowd of dandies, now that this youth whom they so heartily despised actually surpassed them even in hunting rabbits! They gnashed their teeth with rage, and one of them in a moment of excitement, when two or three rabbits were trying to escape, took deliberate aim at the youth and threw his boomerang at him. The youth, who was wily, sprang into the air so high, pretending meanwhile to throw his boomerang, that the missile missed his vital parts, but struck his leg and apparently broke it, so that he fell down senseless in the midst of the crowd; and the people set up a great shout--some of lamentation, some of exultation.

“Let him lie there and rot!” said the angry suitors, catching up their own rabbits and making off for the pueblo. But some of the old men, who deplored this seeming accident of the youth, ran as fast as they could toward the town--fearing to raise him lest they should make his hurt worse--for medicine.

When the youth had been left alone, he opened his eyes and smiled. Then, taking from his pouch a medicine unfailing in its effects, applied it to the bruised spot and quickly became relieved of pain, if not even of injury. Rising, he looked about and found the rabbits where, panic-stricken, the boys had dropped them and fled away. He made up a huge bundle, and not long before sunset, behold! singing merrily, he came marching, though limping somewhat, through the plain before the foot-hills of Moki, bearing an enormous burden of rabbits. He climbed the mesa, greeted every one pleasantly as though nothing had occurred, took his way to his home, and became admired of all the women of Moki, young and old, as a paragon of valor and manhood.

It became absolutely necessary after that, of course,--for these faint-hearted dandies tried no more tricks with the youth,--for anyone who would marry a Moki maiden to show himself a man in some way or other; and, as the ugliest and most neglected of children generally turn out sharpest because they have to look out for themselves, so it happens that to this day the husbands of Moki are generally very ugly; but one thing is certain--they are men.

Reflect on these things, ye young ones and youths.

Thus shortens my story.

HOW THE COYOTE JOINED THE DANCE OF THE BURROWING-OWLS

You may know the country that lies south of the valley in which our town stands. You travel along the trail which winds round the hill our ancients called _Ishana-tak’yapon_,--which means the Hill of Grease, for the rocks sometimes shine in the light of the sun at evening, and it is said that strange things occurred there in the days of the ancients, which makes them thus to shine, while rocks of the kind in other places do not,--you travel on up this trail, crossing over the arroyos and foot-hills of the great mesa called Middle Mountain, until you come to the foot of the cliffs. Then you climb up back and forth, winding round and round, until you reach the top of the mountain, which is as flat as the floor of a house, merely being here and there traversed by small valleys covered with piñon and cedar, and threaded by trails made not only by the feet of our people but by deer and other animals. And so you go on and on, until, hardly knowing it, you have descended from the top of Middle Mountain, and found yourself in a wide plain covered with grass, and here and there clumps of trees. Beyond this valley is an elevated sandy plain, rather sunken in the middle, so that when it rains the water filters down into the soil of the depressed portion (which is wide enough to be a country in itself) and nourishes the grasses there; so that most of the year they grow green and sweet.

Now, a long, long time ago, in this valley or basin there lived a village of Prairie-dogs, on fairly peaceable terms with Rattlesnakes, Adders, Chameleons, Horned-toads, and Burrowing-owls. With the Owls they were especially friendly, looking at them as creatures of great gravity and sanctity. For this reason these Prairie-dogs and their companions never disturbed the councils or ceremonies of the Burrowing-owls, but treated them most respectfully, keeping at a distance from them when their dances were going on.

It chanced one day that the Burrowing-owls were having a great dance all to themselves, rather early in the morning. The dance they were engaged in was one peculiarly prized by them, requiring no little dexterity in its execution. Each dancer, young man or maiden, carried upon his or her head a bowl of foam, and though their legs were crooked and their motions disjointed, they danced to the whistling of some and the clapping beaks of others, in perfect unison, and with such dexterity that they never spilled a speck of the foam on their sleek mantles of dun-black feather-work.

It chanced this morning of the Foam-dance that a Coyote was nosing about for Grasshoppers and Prairie-dogs. So quite naturally he was prowling around the by-streets in the borders of the Prairie-dog town. His house where he lived with his old grandmother stood back to the westward, just over the elevations that bounded Sunken Country, among the rocks. He heard the click-clack of the musicians and their shrill, funny little song:

“I yami hota utchu tchapikya,
Tokos! tokos! tokos! tokos!”

So he pricked up his ears, and lifting his tail, trotted forward toward the level place between the hillocks and doorways of the village, where the Owls were dancing in a row. He looked at them with great curiosity, squatting on his haunches, the more composedly to observe them. Indeed, he became so much interested and amused by their shambling motions and clever evolutions, that he could no longer contain his curiosity. So he stepped forward, with a smirk and a nod toward the old master of ceremonies, and said: “My father, how are you and your children these many days?”

“Contented and happy,” replied the old Owl, turning his attention to the dancing again.

“Yes, but I observe you are dancing,” said the Coyote. “A very fine dance, upon my word! Charming! Charming! And why should you be dancing if you were not contented and happy, to be sure?”

“We are dancing,” responded the Owl, “both for our pleasure and for the good of the town.”

“True, true,” replied the Coyote; “but what’s that which looks like foam these dancers are carrying on their heads, and why do they dance in so limping a fashion?”

“You see, my friend,” said the Owl, turning toward the Coyote, “we hold this to be a very sacred performance--very sacred indeed. Being such, these my children are initiated and so trained in the mysteries of the sacred society of which this is a custom that they can do very strange things in the observance of our ceremonies. You ask what it is that looks like foam they are balancing on their heads. Look more closely, friend. Do you not observe that it is their own grandmothers’ heads they have on, the feathers turned white with age?”

“By my eyes!” exclaimed the Coyote, blinking and twitching his whiskers; “it seems so.”

“And you ask also why they limp as they dance,” said the Owl. “Now, this limp is essential to the proper performance of our dance--so essential, in fact, that in order to attain to it these my children go through the pain of having their legs broken. Instead of losing by this, they gain in a great many ways. Good luck always follows them. They are quite as spry as they were before, and enjoy, moreover, the distinction of performing a dance which no other people or creatures in the world are capable of!”

“Dust and devils!” ejaculated the Coyote. “This is passing strange. A most admirable dance, upon my word! Why, every bristle on my body keeps time to the music and their steps! Look here, my friend, don’t you think that I could learn that dance?”

“Well,” replied the old Owl; “it is rather hard to learn, and you haven’t been initiated, you know; but, still, if you are determined that you would like to join the dance--by the way, have you a grandmother?”

“Yes, and a fine old woman she is,” said he, twitching his mouth in the direction of his house. “She lives there with me. I dare say she is looking after my breakfast now.”

“Very well,” continued the old Owl, “if you care to join in our dance, fulfill the conditions, and I think we can receive you into our order.” And he added, aside: “The silly fool; the sneaking, impertinent wretch! I will teach him to be sticking that sharp nose of his into other people’s affairs!”

“All right! All right!” cried the Coyote, excitedly. “Will it last long?”

“Until the sun is so bright that it hurts our eyes,” said the Owl; “a long time yet.”

“All right! All right! I’ll be back in a little while,” said the Coyote; and, switching his tail into the air, away he ran toward his home. When he came to the house, he saw his old grandmother on the roof, which was a rock beside his hole, gathering fur from some skins which he had brought home, to make up a bed for the Coyote’s family.

“Ha, my blessed grandmother!” said the Coyote, “by means of your aid, what a fine thing I shall be able to do!”

The old woman was singing to herself when the Coyote dashed up to the roof where she was sitting, and, catching up a convenient leg-bone, whacked her over the pate and sawed her head off with the teeth of a deer. All bloody and soft as it was, he clapped it on his own head and raised himself on his hindlegs, bracing his tail against the ground, and letting his paws drop with the toes outspread, to imitate as nearly as possible the drooping wings of the dancing Owls. He found that it worked very well; so, descending with the head in one paw and a stone in the other, he found a convenient sharp-edged rock, and, laying his legs across it, hit them a tremendous crack with the stone, which broke them, to be sure, into splinters.

“Beloved Powers! Oh!” howled the Coyote. “Oh-o-o-o-o! the dance may be a fine thing, but the initiation is anything else!”

However, with his faith unabated, he shook himself together and got up to walk. But he could walk only with his paws; his hindlegs dragged helplessly behind him. Nevertheless, with great pain, and getting weaker and weaker every step of the way, he made what haste he could back to the Prairie-dog town, his poor old grandmother’s head slung over his shoulders.

When he approached the dancers,--for they were still dancing,--they pretended to be greatly delighted with their proselyte, and greeted him, notwithstanding his rueful countenance, with many congratulatory epithets, mingled with very proper and warm expressions of welcome. The Coyote looked sick and groaned occasionally and kept looking around at his feet, as though he would like to lick them. But the old Owl extended his wing and cautioned him not to interfere with the working power of faith in this essential observance, and invited him (with a _hem_ that very much resembled a suppressed giggle), to join in their dance. The Coyote smirked and bowed and tried to stand up gracefully on his stumps, but fell over, his grandmother’s head rolling around in the dirt. He picked up the grisly head, clapped it on his crown again and raised himself, and with many a howl, which he tried in vain to check, began to prance around; but ere long tumbled over again. The Burrowing-owls were filled with such merriment at his discomfiture that they laughed until they spilled the foam all down their backs and bosoms; and, with a parting fling at the Coyote which gave him to understand that he had made a fine fool of himself, and would know better than to pry into other people’s business next time, skipped away to a safe distance from him.

Then, seeing how he had been tricked, the Coyote fell to howling and clapping his thighs; and, catching sight of his poor grandmother’s head, all bloody and begrimed with dirt, he cried out in grief and anger: “Alas! alas! that it should have come to this! You little devils! I’ll be even with you! I’ll smoke you out of your holes.”

“What will you smoke us out with?” tauntingly asked the Burrowing-owls.

“Ha! you’ll find out. With yucca!”

“O! O! ha! ha!” laughed the Owls. “That is our succotash!”

“Ah, well! I’ll smoke you out!” yelled the Coyote, stung by their taunts.

“What with?” cried the Owls.

“Grease-weed.”

“He, ha! ho, ho! We make our mush-stew of that!”

“Ha! but I’ll smoke you out, nevertheless, you little beasts!”

“What with? What with?” shouted the Owls.

“Yellow-top weeds,” said he.

“Ha, ha! All right; smoke away! We make our sweet gruel with that, you fool!”

“I’ll fix you! I’ll smoke you out! I’ll suffocate the very last one of you!”

“What with? What with?” shouted the Owls, skipping around on their crooked feet.

“Pitch-pine,” snarled the Coyote.

This frightened the Owls, for pitch-pine, even to this day, is sickening to them. Away they plunged into their holes, pell-mell.

Then the Coyote looked at his poor old grandmother’s begrimed and bloody head, and cried out--just as Coyotes do now at sunset, I suppose--“Oh, my poor, poor grandmother! So this is what they have caused me to do to you!” And, tormented both by his grief and his pain, he took up the head of his grandmother and crawled back as best he could to his house.

When he arrived there he managed to climb up to the roof, where her body lay stiff. He chafed her legs and sides, and washed the blood and dirt from her head, and got a bit of sinew, and sewed her head to her body as carefully as he could and as hastily. Then he opened her mouth, and, putting his muzzle to it, blew into her throat, in the hope of resuscitating her; but the wind only leaked out from the holes in her neck, and she gave no signs of animation. Then the Coyote mixed some pap of fine toasted meal and water and poured it down her throat, addressing her with vehement expressions of regret at what he had done, and apology and solicitation that she should not mind, as he didn’t mean it, and imploring her to revive. But the pap only trickled out between the stitches in her neck, and she grew colder and stiffer all the while; so that at last the Coyote gave it up, and, moaning, he betook himself to a near clump of piñon trees, intent upon vengeance and designing to gather pitch with which to smoke the Owls to death. But, weakened by his injuries, and filled with grief and shame and mortification, when he got there he could only lie down.

He was so engrossed in howling and thinking of his woes and pains that a Horned-toad, who saw him, and who hated him because of the insults he had frequently suffered from him and his kind, crawled into the throat of the beast without his noticing it. Presently the little creature struck up a song:

“Tsakina muuu-ki
Iyami Kushina tsoiyakya
Aisiwaiki muki, muki,
Muuu ka!”

“Ah-a-a-a-a-a,” the Coyote was groaning. But when he heard this song, apparently far off, and yet so near, he felt very strangely inside, so he thought and no doubt wondered if it were the song of some musician. At any rate, he lifted his head and looked all around, but hearing nothing, lay down again and bemoaned his fate.

Then the Horned-toad sang again. This time the Coyote called out immediately, and the Horned-toad answered: “Here I am.” But look as he would, the Coyote could not find the Toad. So he listened for the song again, and heard it, and asked who it was that was singing. The Horned-toad replied that it was he. But still the Coyote could not find him. A fourth time the Horned-toad sang, and the Coyote began to suspect that it was under him. So he lifted himself to see; and one of the spines on the Horned-toad’s neck pricked him, and at the same time the little fellow called out: “Here I am, you idiot, inside of you! I came upon you here, and being a medicine-man of some prominence, I thought I would explore your vitals and see what was the matter.”

“By the souls of my ancestors!” exclaimed the Coyote, “be careful what you do in there!”

The Horned-toad replied by laying his hand on the Coyote’s liver, and exclaiming: “What is this I feel?”

“Where?” said the Coyote.

“Down here.”

“Merciful daylight! it is my liver, without which no one can have solidity of any kind, or a proper vitality. Be very careful not to injure that; if you do, I shall die at once, and what will become of my poor wife and children?”

Then the Horned-toad climbed up to the stomach of the Coyote. “What is this, my friend?” said he, feeling the sides of the Coyote’s food-bag.

“What is it like?” asked the Coyote.

“Wrinkled,” said the Horned-toad, “and filled with a fearful mess of stuff!”

“Oh! mercy! mercy! good daylight! My precious friend, be very careful! That is the very source of my being--my stomach itself!”

“Very well,” said the Horned-toad. Then he moved on somewhat farther and touched the heart of the Coyote, which startled him fearfully. “What is this?” cried the Horned-toad.

“Mercy, mercy! what are you doing?” exclaimed the Coyote.

“Nothing--feeling of your vitals,” was the reply. “What is it?”

“Oh, what is it like?” said the Coyote.

“Shaped like a pine-nut,” said the Horned-toad, “as nearly as I can make out; it keeps leaping so.”

“Leaping, is it?” howled the Coyote. “Mercy! my friend, get away from there! That is the very heart of my being, the thread that ties my existence, the home of my emotions, and my knowledge of daylight. Go away from there, do, I pray you! If you should scratch it ever so little, it would be the death of me, and what would my wife and children do?”

“Hey!” said the Horned-toad, “you wouldn’t be apt to insult me and my people any more if I touched you up there a little, would you?” And he hooked one of his horns into the Coyote’s heart. The Coyote gave one gasp, straightened out his limbs, and expired.

“Ha, ha! you villain! Thus would you have done to me, had you found the chance; thus unto you”--saying which he found his way out and sought the nearest water-pocket he could find.

* * * * *

So you see from this, which took place in the days of the ancients, it may be inferred that the instinct of meddling with everything that did not concern him, and making a universal nuisance of himself, and desiring to imitate everything that he sees, ready to jump into any trap that is laid for him, is a confirmed instinct with the Coyote, for those are precisely his characteristics today.

Furthermore, Coyotes never insult Horned-toads nowadays, and they keep clear of Burrowing-owls. And ever since then the Burrowing-owls have been speckled with gray and white all over their backs and bosoms, because their ancestors spilled foam over themselves in laughing at the silliness of the Coyote.

Thus shortens my story.

THE COYOTE WHO KILLED THE DEMON SÍUIUKI:

OR WHY COYOTES RUN THEIR NOSES INTO DEADFALLS

It was very long ago, in the days of the ancients. There stood a village in the cañon south of Thunder Mountain where the Gods of Prey all lived with their sisters and mothers: the Mountain Lion, the great Black Bear, the Wildcat, the Gray Wolf, the Eagle, and even the Mole--all the Gods of Prey lived there together with their mothers and sisters. Day after day they went out hunting, for hunting was their business of life, and they were great hunters.

Now, right up on the edge of Thunder Mountain there lived a spotted Demon, named Síuiuki, and whenever the people of the towns round about went hunting, he lay in wait for them and ate them up.

After a long while the Gods of Prey grew discontented, and they said to one another: “What in the world can we do? None of the children of men ever make sacrifices to us, for, whenever our children among men go out hunting, this Demon who lives on the top of Thunder Mountain destroys them and eats them up. What in the world can be done?”

“It would be a good thing if we could kill him,” said some of them.

Now, just down below the house of the Demon, in Wolf Cañon, lived a Coyote, and he had found out where the Gods of Prey lived, and whenever he wanted a feast of sinew and gristle, he went below their houses and gnawed at the bones that they had thrown away, and thus it happened that when the gods were talking together in this way he was near their doorway gnawing a bone, and he heard all they said.

“Yes,” said one or two of the others, “and if anybody will go and kill Síuiuki, we will give him our sister to marry.”

“Aha!” said the Coyote to himself. “Ha, ha!”--and he dropped the bone he was gnawing and cut off for home as fast as ever he could.

Next morning, bright and early, he began to dig into the side of the cañon below the Demon’s home, and after he had dug a great hollow in the side of the arroyo, he rolled a heavy stone into it, and found another, which he placed beside it. Then he brought a great many leg-bones of deer and antelope. Then he found a large bowl and put a lot of yellow medicine-fluid in it, and placed it beside the rock. He then sat down and began to crack the leg-bones with the two stones he had brought there.

The old Demon was not in the habit of rising very early, but when he arose that morning he came out and sat down on the edge of the cliff; there the Coyote was, battering away at the bones and pretending to bathe his own lips with the medicine-fluid.

“I wonder what in the world that little sneak is doing down there,” said the old Demon. So he put on his war-badge and took his bow and arrows, as though he were going out to hunt, and started down to where the Coyote was.

“Hello!” said the Coyote, “how did you pass the night?”

“What in the world are you doing here?” asked the Demon.

“Why, don’t you know?” replied the Coyote. “This is the way I train myself for running, so as to catch the deer; I can run faster than any deer in the country. With my medicine, here, I take the swiftness out of these bones.”

“Is it possible?” said the old Demon.

“Of course it is,” said the Coyote. “There is no deer that can run away from me.”

“Will you show me?” said the Demon, eagerly.

“Why, yes, of course I will; and then we will go hunting together.”

“Good, good!” said the old Demon. “I have a hard time catching deer and antelope.”

“Well, now, you sit down right over there and watch me,” said the Coyote, “and I will show you all about it.”

So he laid his left leg over the rock, and then slily took an antelope bone and laid it by the side of it. Then he picked up a large stone and struck it as hard as ever he could against the bone. Whack! went the stone, and it split the bone into splinters; and the Coyote pretended that it was the bone of his own leg.

“Aye! Ah! Oh!” exclaimed he. “But then it will get well!” Still crying “Oh! Ah!” he splashed the leg with the medicine-water and rubbed it. “Didn’t I tell you?” said he, “it is all right now.” And then away he went and ran like lightning round and round on the plain below, and rushed back again. “Didn’t I tell you so?” said he.

“Fury! what a runner it makes out of you,” said the old Demon, and his eyes stuck out more than ever. “Let me try it now.”

“Hold on, hold on,” said the Coyote; “I have not half finished yet.”

So he repeated the experiment with his other leg, and made great ado, as if it hurt him more than ever. But, pretending to cure himself with the medicine-water, he ran round and round on the plain below so fast that he fairly left a streak of dust behind him.

“Why, indeed, you are one of the fastest runners I ever saw!” said the Demon, rubbing his eyes.

Then the Coyote repeated the experiment first with his left paw and then with his right; and the last time he ran more swiftly than before.

“Why, do you mean to say that if I do that I can run as fast as you do?” said the Demon.

“Certainly,” replied the Coyote. “But it will hurt you.”

“Ho! who cares for a little hurt?” said the Demon.

“Oh! but it hurts terribly,” said the Coyote, “and I am afraid you won’t have the pluck to go through with it.”

“Do you think I am a baby?” said the old Demon, getting up,--“or a woman, that I should be afraid to pound my legs and arms?”

“Well, I only thought I’d tell you how much it hurts,” said the Coyote; “but if you want to try it yourself, why, go ahead. There’s one thing certain: when you make yourself as swift as I am, there’s no deer in all the country that can get away from us two.”

“What shall I do?” said the Demon.

“You just sit right down there, and I’ll show you how,” said the Coyote. So the Demon sat down by the rock.

“There, now, you just lay your leg right over that stone and take the other rock and strike your leg just as hard as you can; and as soon as you have done, bathe it in the medicine-water. Then do just the same way to the other.”

“All right,” said the Demon. So he laid his leg over the rock, and picking up the other stone, brought it down with might and main across his thigh--so hard, indeed, that he crushed the bone into splinters.

“Oh, my! Oh, my! what shall I do?” shouted the Demon.

“Be patient, be patient; it will get well,” said the Coyote, and he splashed it with the medicine-fluid.

Then, picking up the stone again, the Demon hit the other thigh even harder, from pain.

“It will get well, my friend; it will get well,” shouted the Coyote; and he splashed more of the medicine-water on the two wounded legs.

Then the Demon picked up the stone once more, and, laying his left arm across the other stone, pounded that also until it was broken.

“Hold on; let me bathe it for you,” said the Coyote. “Does it hurt? Oh, well, it will get well. Just wait until you have doctored the other arm, and then in a few minutes you will be all right.”

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” groaned the Demon. “How in the world can I doctor the other arm, for my left arm is broken?”

“Lay it across the rock, my friend,” said the Coyote, “and I’ll doctor it for you.”

So the Demon did as he was bidden, and the Coyote brought the stone down with might and main against his arm. “Have patience, my friend, have patience,” said he, as he bathed the injured limb with more of the medicine-water. But the Demon only groaned and howled, and rolled over and over in the dust with pain.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Coyote, as he keeled a somersault over the rocks and ran off over the plain. “How do you feel now, old man?”

“But it hurts! It hurts!” cried the Demon. “I shall never get well; it will kill me!”

“Of course it will,” laughed the Coyote. “That’s just what I wanted it to do, you old fool!”

So the old Demon lay down and died from sheer pain.

Then the Coyote took the Demon’s knife from him, and, cutting open his breast, tore out his heart, wind-pipe, and all. Then, stealing the war-badge that the Demon had worn, he cut away as fast as ever he could for the home of the Prey-gods. Before noon he neared their house, and, just as he ran up into the plaza in front of it, the youngest sister of the Prey-gods came out to hang up some meat to dry. Now, her brothers had all gone hunting; not one of them was at home.

“I say, wife,” said the Coyote. “Wife! Wife!”

“Humph!” said the girl. “Impertinent scoundrel! I wonder where he is and who he is that has the impudence to call me his wife, when he knows that I have never been married!”

“Wife! Wife!” shouted the Coyote again.

“Away with you, you shameless rascal!” cried the girl, in indignation. Then she looked around and spied the Coyote sitting there on the ash-heap, with his nose in the air, as though he were the biggest fellow in the world.

“Clear out, you wretch!” cried the girl.

“Softly, softly,” replied the Coyote. “Do you remember what your brothers said last night?”

“What was that?” said the girl.

“Why, whoever would kill the speckled Demon, they declared, should have you for his wife.”

“Well, what of that?” said the girl.

“Oh, nothing,” replied the Coyote, “only I’ve killed him!” And, holding up the Demon’s heart and war-badge, he stuck his nose in the air again.

So the poor girl said not a word, but sat there until the Coyote called out: “I say, wife, come down and take me up; I can’t climb the ladders.”

So the poor girl went down the ladder, took her foul-smelling husband in her arms, and climbed up with him.

“Now, take me in with you,” said the Coyote. So she did as she was bidden. Then she was about to mix some dough, but the Coyote kept getting in her way.

“Get out of the way a minute, won’t you?” said the girl, “until I cook something for you.”

“I want you to come and sit down with me,” said the Coyote, “and let me kiss you, for you know you are my wife, now.” So the poor girl had to submit to the ill-smelling creature’s embraces.

Presently along came her brother, the Gray Wolf, but he was a very good-natured sort of fellow; so he received the Coyote pleasantly. Then along came the Bear, with a big antelope over his shoulder; but he didn’t say anything, for he was a lazy, good-natured fellow. Then presently the other brothers came in, one by one; but the Mountain Lion was so late in returning that they began to look anxiously out for him. When they saw him coming from the north with more meat and more game than all the others together had brought, he was evidently not in good humor, for as he approached the house he exclaimed, with a howl: “_Hu-hu-ya!_”

“There he goes again,” said the brothers and sisters, all in a chorus. “Always out of temper with something.”

“_Hu-hu-ya!_” exclaimed the Mountain Lion again, louder than before. And, as he mounted the ladder, he exclaimed for a third time: “_Hu-hu-ya!_” and, throwing his meat down, entered swearing and growling until his brothers were ashamed of him, and told him he had better behave himself.

“Come and eat,” said the sister, as she brought a bowl of meat and put it on the floor.

“_Hu-hu-ya!_” again exclaimed the Mountain Lion, as he came nearer and sat down to eat. “What in the world is the matter with you, sister? You smell just like a Coyote. _Hu-hu-ya!_”

“Have you no more decency than to come home and scold your sister in that way?” exclaimed the Wolf. “I’m disgusted with you.”

“_Hu-hu-ya!_” reiterated the Mountain Lion.

Now, when the Coyote had heard the Mountain Lion coming, he had sneaked off into a corner; but he stuck his sharp nose out, and the Mountain Lion espied it. “_Hu-hu-ya!_” said he. “Sling that bad-smelling beast out of the house! Kick him out!” cried the old man, with a growl. So the sister, fearing that her brother would eat her husband up, took the Coyote in her arms and carried him into another room.

“Now, stay there and keep still, for brother is very cross; but then he is always cross if things don’t go right,” she said.

So when evening came her brothers began to discuss where they would go hunting the next day; and the Coyote, who was listening at the door, heard them. So he called out: “Wife! Wife!”

“_Shom-me!_” remarked old Long Tail. “Shut up, you dirty whelp.” And as the sister arose to go to see what her husband wanted, the Mountain Lion remarked: “You had better sling that foul-smelling cub of yours over the roof.”

No sooner had the girl entered than the Coyote began to brag what a runner he was, and to cut around at a great rate.

“_Shom-me!_” exclaimed the Mountain Lion again. “A Coyote always will make a Coyote of himself, foul-smelling wretch! _Hu-hu-ya!_”

“Shut up, and behave yourself!” cried the Wolf. “Don’t you know any better than to talk about your brother-in-law in that way?” But neither the Coyote nor the girl could sleep that night for the growlings and roarings of their big brother, the Long Tail.

When the brothers began to prepare for the hunt the next morning, out came the Coyote all ready to accompany them. “You, you?” said the Mountain Lion. “You going to hunt with us? You conceited sneak!”

“Let him go if he wants to,” said the Wolf.

“_Hu-hu-ya!_ Fine company!” remarked the Mountain Lion. “If you fellows want to walk with him, you may. There’s one thing certain, I’ll not be seen in his company,” and away strode the old fellow, lashing his tail and growling as he went. So the Coyote, taking a luncheon of dried meat that his wife put up for him, sneaked along behind with his tail dragging in the dust. Finally they all reached the mountain where they intended to hunt, and soon the Mountain Lion and the Bear started out to drive in a herd of antelope that they had scented in the distance. Presently along rushed the leaders of the herd.

“Now, then, I’ll show your cross old brother whether I can hunt or not,” cried the Coyote, and away he rushed right into the herd of antelope and deer before anyone could restrain him. Of course he made a Coyote of himself, and away went the deer in all directions. Nevertheless, the brothers, who were great hunters, succeeded in catching a few of them; and, just as they sat down to lunch, the Mountain Lion returned with a big elk on his shoulders.

“Where is our sweet-scented brother-in-law?” he asked.

“Nobody knows,” replied they. “He rushed off after the deer and antelope, and that was the last of him.”

“Of course the beast will make a Coyote of himself. But he can go till he can go no longer, for all I care,” added the Mountain Lion, as he sat down to eat.

Presently along came the Coyote.

“Where’s your game, my fine hunter?” asked the Mountain Lion.

“They all got away from me,” whined the Coyote.

“Of course they did, you fool!” sneered the Mountain Lion. “The best thing that you can do is to go home and see your wife. Here, take this meat to sister,” said he, slinging him a haunch of venison.

“Where’s the road?” asked the Coyote.

“Well,” said the Wolf, “follow that path right over there until you come to where it forks; then be sure to take the right-hand trail, for if you follow the left-hand trail it will lead you away from home and into trouble.”

“Which trail did you say?” cried the Coyote.

“_Shom-me!_” again exclaimed the Mountain Lion.

“Oh, yes,” hastily added the Coyote; “the right-hand trail. No, the left-hand trail.”

“Just what you might expect,” growled the Mountain Lion. “Already the fool has forgotten what you told him. Well, as for me, he can go on the left-hand trail if he wants to, and the farther he goes the better.”

“Now, be sure and take the right-hand trail,” called the Wolf, as the Coyote started.

“I know, I know,” cried the Coyote; and away he went with his heavy haunch of venison slung over his shoulder. After a while he came to the fork in the trail. “Let me see,” said he, “it’s the left-hand trail, it seems to me. No, the right-hand trail. Well, I declare, I’ve forgotten! Perhaps it is the right-hand trail, and maybe it is the left-hand trail. Yes, it is the left-hand trail. Now I’m certain.” And, picking up his haunch of venison, away he trotted along the left-hand trail. Presently he came to a steep cliff and began to climb it. But he had no sooner reached the middle than a lot of Chimney-swallows began to fly around his head and pick at his eyes, and slap him on the nose with their wings.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” exclaimed the Coyote. “Aye! aye!” and he bobbed his head from side to side to dodge the Swallows, until he missed his footing, and down he tumbled, heels over head,--meat, Coyote, and all,--until he struck a great pile of rocks below, and was dashed to pieces.

That was the end of the Coyote; but not of my story.

Now, the brothers went on hunting again. Then, one by one, they returned home. As before, the Mountain Lion came in last of all. He smelt all about the room. “Whew!” exclaimed he. “It still smells here as if twenty Coyotes had been around. But it seems to me that our fine brother-in-law isn’t anywhere about.”

“No,” responded the rest, with troubled looks on their faces. “Nobody has seen anything of him yet.”

“_Shom--m-m!_” remarked the Mountain Lion again. “Didn’t I tell you, brothers, that he was a fool and would forget your directions? I say I told you that before he started. Well, for my part, I hope the beast has gone so far that he will never return,” and with that he ate his supper.

When supper was over, the sister said: “Come, brothers, let’s go and hunt for my husband.”

At first the Mountain Lion growled and swore a great deal; but at last he consented to go. When they came to where the trails forked, there were the tracks of the Coyote on the left-hand trail.

“The idiot!” exclaimed the Mountain Lion. “I hope he has fallen off the cliff and broken every bone in his body!”

When at last the party reached the mountain, sure enough, there lay the body of the Coyote, with not a whole bone in him except his head.

“Good enough for you,” growled the Mountain Lion, as he picked up a great stone and, _tu-um!_ threw it down with all his strength upon the head of the Coyote.

That’s what happened a great while ago. And for that reason whenever a Coyote sees a bait of meat inside of a stone deadfall he is sure to stick his nose in and get his head mashed for his pains.

Thus shortens my story.

HOW THE COYOTES TRIED TO STEAL THE CHILDREN OF THE SACRED DANCE

In the times of the ancients, when our people lived in various places about the valley of Zuñi where ruins now stand, it is said that an old Coyote lived in Cedar Cañon with his family, which included a fine litter of pups. It is also said that at this time there lived on the crest of Thunder Mountain, back of the broad rock column or pinnacle which guards its western portion, one of the gods of the Sacred Drama Dance (_Kâkâ_)[13], named K’yámakwe, with his children, many in number and altogether like himself.

[13] The _Kâkâ_, or Sacred Drama Dance, is represented by a
great variety of masks and costumes worn by Zuñi dancers during
the performance of this remarkable dramatic ceremony.
Undoubtedly many of the traditional characters of the Sacred
Drama thus represented are conventionalizations of the mythic
conceptions or personifications of animal attributes. Therefore
many of these characters partake at once of the characteristics,
in appearance as well as in other ways, of animals and men. The
example in point is a good illustration of this. The K’yámakwe
are supposed to have been a most wonderful and powerful tribe of
demi-gods, inhabiting a great valley and range of mesas some
forty miles south of Zuñi. Their powers over the atmospheric
phenomena of nature and over all the herbivorous animals are
supposed to have been absolute. Their attitude toward man was at
times inimical, at times friendly or beneficent. Such a
relationship, controlled simply by either laudatory or
propitiatory worship, was supposed to hold spiritually, still,
between these and other beings represented in the Sacred Drama
and men. It is believed that through the power of breath
communicated by these ancient gods to men, from one man to
another man, and thus from generation to generation, an actual
connection has been kept up between initiated members of the
_Kâkâ_ drama and these original demi-god characters which it
represents; so that when a member is properly dressed in the
costume of any one of these characters, a ceremony (the
description of which is too long for insertion here)
accompanying the putting on of the mask is supposed not only to
place him _en rapport_ spiritually with the character he
represents, but even to possess him with the spirit of that
character or demi-god. He is, therefore, so long as he remains
disguised as one of these demi-gods, treated as if he were
actually that being which he personates. One of the K’yámakwe is
represented by means of a mask, round and smooth-headed, with
little black eyes turned up at the corners so as to represent a
segment of a diminishing spiral; the color of the face is green,
and it is separated from the rest of the head by a line composed
of alternate blocks of black and yellow; the crown and back of
the head are snow-white; and the ears are pendent and conical in
shape, being composed of husks or other paper-like material; the
mouth is round, and furnished with a four-pointed beak of husks,
which extends two or three inches outward and spreads at the end
like the petals of a half-closed lily; round the neck is a
collar of fox fur, and covering the body are flowing robes of
sacred embroidered mantles, which (notwithstanding the gay
ornaments and other appurtenances of the costume) have, in
connection with the expression of the mask, a spectral effect;
the feet are encased in brilliantly painted moccasins, of
archaic form, and the wrists laden with shell bracelets and
bow-guards. When the long file of these strange figures making
up the K’yámakwe Drama Dance comes in from the southward to the
dance plazas of the pueblo, each member of it bears on his back
freshly slain deer, antelope, rabbits, and other game animals or
portions of them in abundance, made up in packages, highly
decorated with tufts of evergreen, and painted toys for
presentation to the children. In one hand are carried bows and
arrows, and in the other a peculiar rattle or clanger made of
the shoulder-blades of deer. The wonder expressed by the coyote
as the story goes on, and his excessive admiration of the
children of the K’yámakwe may therefore be understood.