CHARACTERS
| Gäk |
Crow |
|
Tohós |
A Duck |
| Gapni |
Louse |
|
Tûtats |
|
| Kaltsik |
Spider |
|
Wámanik |
Bull Snake |
| Kûlta |
Otter |
|
Yaukùl |
“One of the Stone People” |
| Skóla |
Meadow Lark |
|
Yahyáhaäs or Yá-hi-yas or Yáhyahiyáas, always represented as a one-legged man |
| Tekewas |
|
|
|
|
On the south side of Lake Klamath lived five brothers. The eldest was married to Skóla.
Four of the brothers were without wives. Tekewas, their sister, was married to Kûlta,
and lived not far away. The brothers were bad men. The name of the youngest brother
was Tûtats. When he was a child his sister was fond of him; then her mother made her
forget him, but after a long time she remembered him again, and thought: “I wonder
where Tûtats is. I used to nurse him; he was nice when he was a baby. I will go and
find him.”
Tekewas got to her brothers’ house at midday. When she had been there a while they
asked: “Why don’t you go home?”
“I am not going,” said the sister. “I have come to stay all night.”
They tried to drive her away, but she wouldn’t go. The next day, when Tekewas’ brothers
told her to go home, she went to her mother, who was outside pounding seeds, and asked:
“What have you done with Tûtats? Is he dead?”
“What do you care if he is?” said her mother. “You had better go home. The next time
you come I will tell you about Tûtats.”
Tekewas went home then, for she was glad. As soon as she was out of sight the old
woman took Tûtats from under the [96]ground, where she kept him in a big bark basket, and his brothers carried him to the
river and let him swim.
The eldest brother said to his mother: “I am the only person who knows what my sister
thinks. She thinks bad; she will come again. You must make Tûtats dry and put him
back.”
While swimming, Tûtats lost a hair out of his head. It was a beautiful, bright hair.
The mother didn’t notice it; she wiped him quickly, rubbed him with deer fat, put
him in the basket, and carried him back under the ground.
The next morning, when Skóla was starting off to dig roots, she saw something red
on the ridge of the mountains. Her husband said: “That is Tekewas lying there; she
means to kill us.” The brothers were so frightened that they wouldn’t go out of the
house, but sat inside; they wouldn’t even look out. But Skóla watched.
When Tekewas came to the house, the eldest brother asked: “Why do you come so often?
You were here yesterday.”
Tekewas stayed all day; while she was swimming in the river she found the long bright
hair. She took it to her mother and asked: “Who is so beautiful as to have this kind
of hair?”
“No matter,” said her mother. “Why do you come to trouble your brothers? You are Kûlta’s
wife; you should stay with him.”
The next day Tekewas brought five pairs of nice moccasins, and told her mother to
give them to her brothers, and tell one of them he must go home with her and get some
of Kûlta’s beads. The eldest brother said: “I will go.”
“I don’t want you to go,” said Tekewas.
“Your second brother is ready to go,” said her mother.
“I don’t want him; he has enough of my beads.” One after another, the brothers got
ready, but Tekewas refused each one. “No,” said she, “you have had enough of Kûlta’s
beads. I want Tûtats to go with me.”
“Who is he?” asked her mother.
“You know that you can’t fool me. I have a young brother; [97]I want him to go with me. It is getting late; where is he?” Every time Tekewas turned
her body she talked to the sun, told it to go quick, so it would be dark soon.
Her brothers didn’t want her to stay all night, so they took the basket from under
the ground, and got Tûtats ready to go. They let down his hair and combed it. It was
blue and beautiful, and reached to his feet. He cried all the time they were combing
it, for he didn’t want to go with his sister. When she started, he walked behind her,
crying.
Tekewas talked to the sun, told it to go down, scolded it to make it hurry. The sun
was scared and it went as though it were sliding down a slippery place. When they
came to a clump of cedar trees, it was already dark. Tekewas stopped and said: “We
will camp here.”
“It is too near,” said Tûtats; he was crying.
“It is too dark to follow the trail,” said Tekewas. She built a fire and gave Tûtats
roots from her basket. After eating, he lay down on one side of the fire and she on
the other; then she thought: “Let him go to sleep quick.” When he was asleep, she
went over to lie by him.
He woke and got up; he was still crying. “Let her sleep till I get half-way to the
sky,” said he to himself. He found a log, put it by his sister’s side, and told it
to keep her asleep. Then he hurried home.
“What is the trouble?” asked his brothers. “Why did you come back?”
“I don’t like my sister. I left her asleep. When she wakes up she will come to kill
us. We must get away from here.”
The brothers hired old man Kaltsik to help them. Kaltsik made a basket and put the
five brothers into it; then he made a web, took the basket up into the air, let it
down into the web, and started.
“Don’t look down till I tie you to the sky,” said the old man. “If you do, you will
fall out and get killed.”
When Tekewas woke up, she ran back to the house and asked: “Where are my brothers?”
“I don’t know,” said the old woman.
“Yes, you do. Here is a trail going up to the sky!” [98]Tekewas was so mad that she ran around the house so fast and so many times that she
set it on fire.
Old man Kaltsik was half-way to the sky when he saw the blaze, and said: “Your house
is burning!” The eldest brother forgot and looked down, over the edge of the basket.
That minute the web broke, and the five brothers fell out, one after another.
The mother and daughter were fighting; each had a wooden paddle. When Tekewas saw
her brothers falling, she said to her mother: “You mustn’t say: ‘Fall this side’;
you must say: ‘fall in the middle.’ ”
“Fall this side! Fall this side!” cried the mother.
Tekewas knocked the paddle out of her hand into the fire. Four of the brothers fell
into the fire. When sparks flew out, Tekewas pushed them back with her paddle. As
often as her mother got her paddle out of the fire, Tekewas knocked it in again. The
youngest brother fell last.
“This side! This side!” cried his mother.
Tekewas jumped on her and fought with her. Tûtats swayed back and forth, back and
forth, and fell outside the fire, but his sister pushed him into it, and he was burned
up.
His mother ran to the south side of the fire, his sister to the north side. The old
woman knocked Tûtats’ heart out of the fire, for she was on the right side. She said
to the heart: “We shall see who will live, you or your sister. You will be a great
mountain with a white top, and will live always. In later times people will come to
you to get wisdom, to be great talkers, and brave warriors, and you will talk to them
and help them.”
The heart flew north and became Mount Shasta; then the mother stirred the fire till
four hearts flew out and off toward the north. Each heart became a mountain. The heart
of the eldest brother went as far as the ocean. But the youngest brother is the largest
of the five, and he is the only one who always has snow on his head.
Tekewas, when she thought she had killed her brothers, went home to Kûlta; then the
old woman remembered Skóla, and hunted for her. At last she found her; she was dead,
[99]but by her side were two babies. The grandmother pressed them together with her hands,
and they became one. She was glad and called the child Wéahjukéwas. She made a hole
in the ground and hid him.
That night the old woman took the baby out and rubbed him with ashes. In the morning
he noticed things. Each night she rubbed him with ashes; each morning he was larger
and stronger. She talked to the earth, to the mountains, and to the springs, and asked
them to make her grandson strong and make him grow fast.
One morning the grandmother saw Tekewas lying on the ridge of a hill; she was red
and beautiful. The old woman was frightened; she thought Tekewas had seen the little
boy.
Tekewas came to the grass house and asked for seeds and roots. The grandmother had
forgotten the boy’s deerskin blanket; she had left it in the house when she put him
under the ground as she always did in the daytime. Tekewas saw the blanket, and said:
“You have a baby! Whose is it?”
The old woman said: “My daughter, you shouldn’t talk so to me. I am old; I had children,
but now I am alone; you have killed all my sons. Go away! You know where the seeds
and roots are; take them and go off.”
Tekewas got the seeds and started, but she came back and said: “I know whose baby
it is. It is Skóla’s, and you must give it to me.”
“Skóla is dead,” said the old woman; “she had no children.” She drove Tekewas away
and followed her to see that she didn’t stop on the mountain to watch the house. She
was sorry that Tekewas had seen the blanket. When she came back, she rubbed the boy
and talked to the earth, to the mountains, to the trees, to everything for a long
time; then she put him away under the ground.
Each night and morning the old woman rubbed the little boy with deer’s fat, and soon
he was large enough to run around and play. Then she said to him: “My grandson, you
mustn’t show yourself; you must always play in the tall grass; never go away from
it!”
[100]
Tekewas came every day; sometimes she wanted to stay, but her mother drove her off.
When the boy was large enough to trap birds, his grandmother said: “Stay near the
house; don’t go far, for if you do, you will get killed.” One evening she asked: “What
have you been doing all day?”
“Playing with birds,” said the boy. “They can talk to me now.”
“The best way to play is with a bow and arrows. You can shoot an arrow toward the
sky, then watch and see where it falls.”
One day the boy noticed that his shadow was two, and he was one. The next morning,
when he went out to play, he shot an arrow up to the sky; then he held his head down
and listened. The arrow came back, hit him on the top of the head and split off one
half of him; there was another boy just like him. He wished the second boy to be small,
to be a baby. He called the baby by his own name. He went to a clump of brush, scratched
a place in the middle of it, put his blanket down there, put the baby on it, and said:
“Don’t cry; if you do, our aunt will come and eat us up.”
For a long time he sat and talked with his little brother, then he went home. It was
night and his grandmother was frightened; she thought that Tekewas had killed the
boy.
“Why did you stay so long?” asked she.
“I lost my blanket. I put it down in the brush and then couldn’t find it.”
The next morning his grandmother gave him a wildcat skin blanket, and he went out
to play; but he didn’t play, he sat by his little brother and cried, he was so sorry
for him. When it was dark, he covered the child with brush and went home. “What is
the matter?” asked his grandmother. “Why have you been crying?”
“I shot at a bird and then couldn’t find my arrow.”
“I can make you as many arrows as you want; don’t cry,” said his grandmother.
The next morning, when he was starting out, the boy said: “I must take a few seeds
with me; I get hungry.”
[101]
She gave him seeds, tied them up in a squirrel skin and said: “Be careful this time,
don’t lose your blanket or arrows.”
When he came home in the evening, he said: “Grandmother, you must pound seeds for
me to carry to-morrow. I don’t like whole seeds, and I can’t eat the roots in my arms,
I bite myself.”
The next day he took pounded seeds to his little brother, fed him, petted him, and
talked to him till night, then he wrapped his wildcat skin blanket twice around the
child, took his old blanket, and went home.
“Where is your new blanket?” asked his grandmother.
“I found my old one. I like it better. I left the new one in the brush.”
When four days old, the little boy could walk. The fifth day the elder boy cried all
the time; he was wondering who had killed his father and mother. His grandmother had
never told him; she only frightened him to make him careful. His little brother could
play with him now.
That night his grandmother asked: “What ails you? Why do you cry?”
“Because I have nobody to play with.”
“You are a lonely child, but you mustn’t think of that,” said his grandmother, and
she began to cry.
“To-morrow will you fill my sack full of pounded seeds?” asked the boy.
“You can’t eat all I give you; you must waste it,” said his grandmother, “but you
shall have all you want.”
The little boy could eat a great deal; he ate the pounded seed his brother brought
and that afternoon he cried for more. The elder boy made five straw rings to shoot
at and roll around to amuse the little fellow. The next day, when the child began
to cry for more seeds his brother went home, and said: “Grandmother, you must give
me more pounded seeds. I shot my arrow up, and when it was coming down to hit me on
the head, I ran away and it hit my sack and spilt all the seeds.”
“You must be more careful,” said his grandmother.
“You told me you would give me all I wanted to eat.”
[102]
“Yes, but you must not waste things.”
She filled a willow pan, and told him to go away before any one saw him.
When night came, the boy gave his brother his bow and arrows, covered him with grass,
and went home, crying.
“What is the matter?” asked his grandmother.
“I have lost my bow and arrow. I dropped them to follow a bird and kill it with a
stone; when I came back I couldn’t find them.”
“Don’t cry,” said his grandmother. “I will make you another bow and more arrows. You
shall have everything you want.”
“I threw away my moccasins to-day; I want a new pair,” said the boy.
The next morning he had a nice pair of new moccasins. The two boys played all day,
rolling straw rings and shooting at them with arrows.
That night the old woman looked at her grandson and said: “You have only one head;
where is the other?”
“I didn’t have two heads,” said the boy, and he began to cry.
“You had two heads.”
“I had only one.”
“You have always had two; now you have one. Where is the other?” At last he told her
about his brother. “After it is dark,” said she, “go and bring your brother to the
house.”
He brought the little boy on his back. The old woman cried when she saw him; she rubbed
him with ashes, and talked to the earth and mountains, asking them not to hurt him.
In the morning she put both of the children in the hole where the first child had
been and threw a straw mat over the hole.
That day Tekewas came for roots. She saw the mat and asked: “Why did you throw away
that nice mat?”
“Go off!” cried her mother. “Don’t torment me. You have killed your brothers. My spirit
is old; you can kill me if you want to, but don’t torment me. Go away and let me alone!”
She drove her off.
The next morning Tekewas went early to look for tracks. [103]She found the place where the boys had rolled straw rings and saw that some of the
tracks were very small. She followed the larger tracks till she came to her mother’s
house. “You didn’t tell me the truth!” cried she. “There are children here! Every
afternoon I hear little boys laughing.”
The old woman scolded her, drove her off, watched her till she was out of sight; then
she took the boys out of the hole and told them to go and play, but not to run around;
if they did a bad woman would catch them.
That day the boys followed a white-necked duck. They tried to shoot it but couldn’t.
At night the elder boy said: “Grandmother, you must give me an arrow with a strong
head; then I can kill ducks.”
She gave him one and all the next day he followed the duck; at last he hit it. The
bird screamed like a man and hid in the bushes. Ever since that time ducks like that
one scream in the same way. When the boy found the bird, it said: “Don’t kill me.
I always bring good news. Take this arrow out and I will talk to you.”
The boy pulled out the arrow, then the bird said: “Little boys, don’t think that you
have a father and a mother. Your aunt killed them. She loved her youngest brother,
but he didn’t love her, so she killed him and all of her brothers. Now she is trying
to kill you. I hear her sing in her heart: ‘I will kill my nephews, I will kill my
nephews!’ When you are large enough to shoot ducks from a canoe, you can kill her
if you try. She swims in the lake in the form of a duck; when she is in the form of
a woman she has long red hair. She will call you as though she loved you, but you
must remember my words. Don’t tell your grandmother that you know about your aunt;
she wouldn’t let you kill her. She could have saved your father if she had killed
her daughter.”
“Grandmother,” asked the boy that night, “is there any place around here where there
are green-headed ducks?”
“Yes, but you can’t kill them; you are too small.”
The boy went to the lake, sat in the reeds, and watched till he saw two green-headed
ducks and killed them. The next day he killed five green-headed ducks. The old woman
was [104]frightened. She didn’t dare to let a feather drop or fly away for fear Tekewas would
see it. She burned each feather and roasted the ducks in hot ashes.
“When I kill a duck, I shiver, and am cold,” said the boy.
“Why is that?” asked the grandmother.
“Because I want a canoe.”
“To-morrow, when you go to the lake, you will find a canoe.”
He was glad. “I will take my brother,” said he.
“No,” said the grandmother, “he is too small; he might fall into the water and you
couldn’t get him out.”
The boy started off alone, then he thought: “My arrows are not strong enough to kill
big birds.” He ran back and his grandmother gave him five strong arrows and a straw
mat to wrap them in. That day he killed many ducks, and his grandmother was glad.
The next morning he said: “When I am in the reeds at the edge of the water, I always
feel that somebody is looking at me to scare me.”
“Don’t be afraid,” said his grandmother; “maybe the earth is trying to get hold of
you.” She thought of Tekewas, but she didn’t want to tell the boys about her.
“No,” said he. “I feel that somebody is looking at me. I want my brother to go with
me.”
“He can go, but be careful; don’t let him fall into the water.”
All day the little boy slept in the canoe; when the sun went down, his brother cooked
him a duck to eat, and then the two went home.
That lake was their aunt’s swimming-place. One day when the boy had killed a good
many ducks, and had gone to the shore to cook one for his brother, he saw something
swimming in the water; only a head could be seen,—a great, ugly head, with long red
hair floating around it. As soon as the boys saw the head, they made themselves small.
The little boy screamed. The woman called to them and tried to go to them, but she
could only come up out of the water as far as her [105]waist. “I shall see you another day,” screamed she. “I will wait till you are larger.”
When the boys got home, the grandmother asked: “Why did you scream so loud?”
“My brother swallowed a duck bone,” said the elder boy. “You must cook seeds for him
to eat.”
Every day the brothers went for ducks. Many times the aunt floated up to their canoe,
put her breast against the side of it, and almost tipped it over. Each time the little
boy screamed. The elder boy drove her away. He was angry, but he was waiting for his
brother to get older and stronger. Sometimes the woman didn’t come; she was with Kûlta,
who lived in the lake near the place where the boys hunted for ducks.
The grandmother gave the older boy a knife to sharpen his arrows. “I want a stronger
one.” said he. She gave him another, a very strong, sharp knife. That day Tekewas
put her breast to the canoe and almost tipped it over. The little boy screamed, he
was so scared.
When they went home, the grandmother asked: “Why did your brother scream so loud?”
“He cut his finger.”
“That is because I gave you a sharp knife. You shouldn’t let him have it.”
The next day they killed a good many ducks. When the aunt came toward them the boy
said to his little brother: “Don’t scream.” But when the head looked up over the edge
of the canoe the child couldn’t help screaming.
“Why does he always scream?” asked the grandmother. “You must be careful when you
are down by the water.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the earth sometimes has a pain, and wants people.”
“Don’t be afraid, grandmother, we belong to the earth; it won’t hurt us.”
One day when the grandmother asked why the little boy screamed, his brother said:
“He got choked with a bone. I got it out, but he was almost dead, and I cried.”
[106]
“You must leave him at home.”
“No, the water looks ugly. I’m afraid when I’m alone.”
The next time Tekewas came to the canoe and tried to tip it over, the boy cut her
head off with his sharp knife. He threw the head down in the end of the canoe, then
dragged the body into a deep hole among the rocks in the water. The water around that
place is Tekewas’ blood, and to this day it is as black as ink. As they pushed the
body down into the hole, the elder boy said to it: “You will never be great again.
You will be small and weak, and people will say you are too nasty to eat.” The spirit
came out of the body and flew around the lake, an ugly bird.
The brothers shot ducks and piled them up on the head in the end of the canoe. When
they got home, the elder boy said: “Grandmother, give us plenty of seeds and roots
to eat.” While they were eating, the old woman began to bring in the ducks. Each time
she went for a load, the elder brother talked to the fire, to the water, to the wood,
to the bows and arrows, talked to the pounder, to the basket, and to the digging sticks,
talked to everything in the house and everything outside, told them not to tell where
he and his brother went,—but he forgot to tell awl. When he thought he had told everything,
he took his brother and went down in the ground near the fire. He put a coal over
the hole and started toward the east.
Each time the old woman brought in a basketful of ducks, she asked: “Are you here,
boys?” and the spirit in the wood and the fire answered: “We are here.”
She found blood in the canoe, and wondered where it came from. When she got hold of
the head, she screamed and ran to the house. She pulled her clothes off and was going
to kill her grandsons. “Where are you?” cried she.
“We are in the corner.”
She went there, but didn’t find them. Then she called again: “Where are you?”
“We are on the top of the house.”
She looked for them there, then called: “Where are you?”
“We are in the grass of the house.” The house was made of twigs and grass.
[107]
Then they said they were among the wood. She pulled the logs apart and threw them
out, but she didn’t find the boys. “We are in the canoe.” She went there, and when
she failed to find them, she screamed: “Where are you?”
“We are where your roots are.”
She scattered the roots.
“We are sitting in the fire.”
She threw out the wood and coals. She hunted all night but couldn’t find them.
At last awl said: “What are you going to do, old woman? The boys are not to blame.
Your daughter was a bad woman; she killed her brothers, and then she wanted to kill
her nephews. Your grandsons are a long way off; you can’t catch them. Look at that
little coal. Under it is the hole where they went down in the ground.”
The old woman saw the coal, picked it up, found the hole, and started to follow her
grandsons.
The boys traveled toward where the sun comes up. They wanted to be servants of Sun,
to be of use to him. The first house they came to was on the south side of Tula Lake;
Tohós, Wámanik’s wife, lived there; she was their aunt.
Tohós had a great red lump on her forehead. The little boy laughed at her, and said:
“That looks like a boil. It don’t look well. I don’t like to see it. People who come
hereafter may look as you do.” He took his fire-drill and pressed the swelling downwards.
From that time fowls and beasts do not carry their young in their foreheads.
“Oh, my nephew,” said his aunt, “what have you done? Your uncle is a bad man; he will
be mad and maybe he will kill you.”
Wámanik was off hunting; when his bowstring broke he knew what had happened at home.
He let himself out full length, then made a circle around the world and began to press
in trees, rocks, mountains, everything. When he began to press his own house, the
elder nephew went on the top of it, lay down, drew his bowstring, snapped it, and
sent an arrow into Wámanik’s head and killed him. Then he cut his body into small
pieces. Each piece turned to a rock, and the rocks [108]made a great mountain. The spirit of Wámanik came out and was a snake. The nephew
said: “You will be of no use; only dirty people will eat you.”
When the boys started toward the east, Tohós’ spirit followed them a while, then said:
“My nephews, tell me where you are going and when you are coming back.”
“We are not coming back,” said the boys. “It is a lonesome world. We have no father
or mother; our aunt has killed them. We don’t want to live here any longer. We shall
never come back; we are going to where the sun comes up.” And they went on.
“I am dry,” said the little boy; “I want to drink.”
“I don’t know this country,” answered the elder boy. “I don’t know where the springs
are.” As they traveled they came to a place where water flowed out of two holes in
a rock. They drank there and the elder brother named the place Gádûm (Stone Springs).
While they were drinking a little snake ran into the spring. The younger boy laughed
and said to the snake: “In later time, if strangers come here to drink, you and your
people will show yourselves and scare them.”
They started on, but hadn’t gone far when the little boy wanted water to drink. The
elder boy shot his arrow off toward the east, but he saw no water. He shot a second
arrow and a third; then he shot through a mountain and into a lake, and water came
through the mountain and made a spring that he called Ktsiskăsalkis. (People have
to crawl in under the rocks to drink from it.)
They crossed a high mountain and came to a lake. “I am hungry,” said the little boy.
“Sit down, and I will go into the water and get tuls1 for you,” said his brother.
While they were eating the grass, they saw a catfish. When the elder brother shot
at it, a great many fish came up out of the water. He caught some and cooked them.
The place where the boys sat while eating is called Eŭdélis, and to this day a great
many catfish are caught in the river near there.
As the boys traveled on, they came to a muddy stream. The [109]elder brother scratched the mud away, multiplied the fish that were there, and said:
“You will be of use for my people.” There were a good many eels in the water and along
the bank, and the little boy was afraid of them. He took his fire-drill, picked them
up, one by one, threw them off into the lake, and said: “You are not living people.
I don’t want you to be around here. In later times people will roast and eat you,
and say you are good.”
Near their camping-place that night there were a great many round, smooth stones.
The younger brother didn’t know that those stones were people, so he played with them,
broke some of them, and struck one against another. When it grew dark, the stones
began to fight; they flew at one another, pounded one another, and made a terrible
clatter. The boy was frightened; he struck at them with his fire-drill, and said:
“Hereafter you will be stones, not people! You will stay in the water, but in the
evening and early in the morning you will make just such a noise as you have made
to-night.” To this day the noise made by those stones can be heard evening and morning.
The place is called Dănwagáiyas.
As the brothers traveled east, they came to a place where there were large rocks.
“I’m hungry,” said the little boy. His brother scolded him for being always hungry,
but said: “We will sit down by the rocks; perhaps we’ll see a squirrel.”
After a while a squirrel, on its way to the flat, passed them; they killed and roasted
it, ate half of it, and took half with them. They came to a place on the top of smooth,
level rocks, where at night there was a lake, and in the daytime only a little muddy
water. There they caught one large fish. The little boy wanted to catch more, but
his brother said: “No, this world was made before we came. Those fish were made for
some purpose; we must leave them here.”
They went on till they came to a hill. There were no trees on the hill, but it was
covered with grass, and from the top of the hill they could see a long distance.
“Let us stay here,” said the little boy. “Let us have this hill for our home.”
“No,” said his brother, “this is a lonely world; I don’t [110]want to stay. We will go where we can be of use; we will go to where the sun comes
up.”
Then they talked about which one they would rather serve, Sun or Moon. The elder brother
said: “I would rather serve Sun.” The younger said: “I would like to serve Moon, for
then people can’t see me.”
“People will always look at us,” said his brother. “They will watch for us, and be
glad when they see us.”
Soon the boys came to a wide plain at the foot of a mountain. They dug roots, cleaned,
and ate them, then climbed the mountain. “This mountain,” said the elder boy, “is
brother to Salwáhe. Hereafter people will come to this place for rock to make knives
of.”
“Let us stay here,” said the little boy.
“No,” said his brother. “I know what it is best to do; I am older than you are. This
world isn’t for us to live in always.”
That night they camped at a place which the elder brother named Wélosina. The next
morning they climbed a hill, and looking down into the valley on the other side, saw
a great dirt house.
“When shall we get to that house?” asked the little boy.
“It isn’t safe to go there in the daytime,” said his brother. “Old Yaukùl, the man
who lives there, kills people by twisting their wrists; he has a knife stuck in the
ground near the fire, and after he kills a man he cuts him up and burns the pieces.
No one ever comes away from his house. We will go there in the night.”
“Don’t go to that bad place,” said the little boy.
“If I go, maybe I can kill that man; I don’t think he has the power to live always.”
The elder brother gathered the strongest wood he could find and made bones of it.
He put the bones into his brother’s wrists and into his own, and outside of those
he put bones made of brittle wood. When night came, they went to the valley and climbed
to the top of the house. Then they turned themselves into dead coals and dropped through
the smoke hole.
[111]
Yaukùl had two servants, Gäk and Gapni. The old man and Gäk were asleep, but Gapni
was awake and he called out: “Something fell in! Something fell in!” They didn’t hear
him; they were sound asleep: he had to call to them a good many times. Even if dust
fell, Gapni heard it and called out: “Something fell in.” At last they woke up. “What
can you see with your little eyes?” asked Gäk.
“I can see everything in the world, and I can count everything.” Gäk hated Gapni.
Yaukùl got a torch and looked around the fire. Gäk wouldn’t look, for he didn’t believe
that anything fell in. Gapni kept repeating: “Dwûhélibina!” (Something fell in).
“I can look through the world,” said Gäk; “I know that nothing fell in.”
“I know for myself that something came in,” said Yaukùl. He lighted the fire and hunted.
At last the old man was tired; he put his hands on his knife, leaned on it, and rested.
Then the elder brother changed into a man and stood in front of him.
“Oh, I am glad you have come!” said Yaukùl. (He thought he would have something to
eat.) “Gäk,” said he, “I knew that Gapni didn’t lie; he never lies, he always tells
the truth. He can see farther and hear better than you can; he shall be chief.”
Gäk was ashamed and mad.
The younger brother then stood up. “I am glad that you have come,” said Yaukùl. “Gapni
was right; he said there were two. What do you want?”
“We came to visit you.”
“Then I will play with you.”
“I am too small to play with such a big man as you are,” said the little boy. Yaukùl
took hold of his wrists. When the brittle bones cracked, he was glad. “I can kill
him easy,” thought he.
“You can’t play with him first,” said the elder brother, “you must play with me; I
am older than he is.”
When Yaukùl took hold of the elder boy’s wrists, the bones cracked, and he was glad.
[112]
“Now it is my turn,” said the boy. He caught hold of Yaukùl’s wrists, broke them,
and killed him. Then he tore out the old man’s arms, and said: “You will no longer
be a person and have arms; you will be a bird with legs, and you will stand by the
water to watch which way the wind blows, so as to find dead fish to eat. You, Gäk,
will no longer be a man; you will fly in the air and go around among the rocks to
watch for what hunters throw away, and what you find you will eat.” Then he said to
Gapni: “You will no longer be the wisest man in the world; you will live in people’s
heads. Some will crack you, like this”—he took him in his fingers and cracked him—“others
will put you in the fire, and others will catch you in their heads and will bite you
to pay you for biting them. You will waken people at night, and they will catch and
kill you.” He burned up the dirt house, and said: “Hereafter, Yaukùl, you will have
no home, you will live everywhere in the world.”
Tohós, their aunt, had told them that after passing Yaukùl’s house, they would be
out of their own country and must go along at the foot of mountains, for on the mountains
a one-legged man was always walking around. But they were traveling east and couldn’t
go around the mountains. On the first one they came to, they met the one-legged man,
Yahyáhaäs. He had a great, bushy head, his face and body were painted red, his blanket
was made of untanned elk-skin, and rattled as he walked. On his back he carried a
straw quiver. He had only one leg, but he traveled very fast. He came up to the boys,
and sitting down said: “I didn’t think that I should meet anybody.”
“I didn’t expect to see you,” said the elder boy, “but a little while ago I felt that
somebody was looking at me.”
“Why don’t you light your pipe?” asked Yahyáhaäs. (This was always his question.)
“I have no pipe,” said the younger boy.
“Everybody who travels should have a pipe,” said the man. He lighted his own and handed
it to the elder brother. The first whiff the boy drew the pipe broke.
[113]
“Why did you bite my pipe and break it?” asked Yahyáhaäs.
“I didn’t break it; I drew a whiff, and the pipe fell apart.”
“You are the first man to break my pipe. Let me take your pipe.” When he had it, he
said: “I will keep this to pay for mine.”
“No,” said the boy, “that pipe rests me when I am tired; you can’t have it.”
“I shall keep it to pay for mine,” said Yahyáhaäs. He drew a whiff, handed the pipe
back, and said: “Put in more tobacco.” When he had the pipe again, he struck it against
a rock, but it didn’t break; then he took a rock and pounded it.
“Don’t break my pipe,” said the boy. “I didn’t mean to break yours.”
Yahyáhaäs threw the pipe against a great rock, and the pipe rolled to its owner. He
picked it up, put it in his pouch, and put the pouch into his quiver.
The one-legged man built a fire. “Now we will wrestle,” said he.
“Why did you build the fire?” asked the boy.
“The one that gets beaten will be thrown into the fire and burned up.”
While Yahyáhaäs was fastening his leg to a rock, the elder boy said to his little
brother: “Take our quivers and bows and stand on the north side of the fire with your
back toward us. When we begin to wrestle, run as fast as you can and don’t look back,
no matter who calls to you. Run till you are on the other side of that high mountain
over there and then wait for me. I shall kill this man and burn up his body, but his
spirit will follow us as far as we go.”
The two began to wrestle. A good many times Yahyáhaäs swung the boy around and almost
killed him, but the boy clung to him, and at last bent him back with a twist and broke
his leg off. He threw the leg and the body into the fire, poked the fire up around
them, and ran off as fast as he could toward the mountain, where he had told his brother
to wait for him.
“Come back and wrestle with me,” called Yahyáhaäs’ [114]spirit. “You haven’t thrown me. Come back!” Then he called to the younger brother:
“Come back, little boy; I have thrown your big brother into the fire.” The boy didn’t
turn. His brother soon overtook him, and they went on together.
“Yahyáhaäs’ spirit will follow as far as we go,” said the elder brother.
They traveled a good many days; one day Yahyáhaäs’ spirit went ahead, then turned
and came toward them. The spirit looked exactly as Yahyáhaäs had looked. Yahyáhaäs
had a deer on his back. The boys couldn’t turn, for they were always going east.
The spirit stopped on the trail, took the deer off his back and built a fire. When
the boys came to the place, they sat down. Yahyáhaäs didn’t offer them meat, but he
said: “Let us smoke,” and he gave his pipe to the elder brother. With the first whiff,
the pipe broke. “Let me smoke your pipe,” said Yahyáhaäs. When he couldn’t break the
pipe by drawing on it, he tried in every other way. At last the boy said: “You sha’n’t
break my pipe; it is the only one I have.” He snatched it away from Yahyáhaäs, put
it in his pouch, and started to go.
“Stop and wrestle with me,” said the spirit. “Did you meet a man who lives straight
west on this road? He is a bad man; he kills every man that passes his house.”
The boy didn’t listen; he hurried on. The spirit pretended to turn back, but only
went aside till they were out of sight, then followed them.
They traveled a good many days. The little boy was used to walking now; he didn’t
get tired or hungry, so they traveled day and night. One day, when they were near
a river, they saw the spirit of Yahyáhaäs again.
He stopped them, and asked: “Have you a pipe?”
“No,” said the boy.
“Every man has one when he travels,” said the spirit.
“I have no time to smoke. I am looking for a place to cross this river. Do you know
of one?” asked the boy.
“Yes, above here there is a place where the river is shallow. [115]How did you pass the one-legged man’s house? He lives on the road you came over. His
house is under the rocks; all you can see of it is the smoke that comes out.”
“We are going to Sun’s house,” said the elder boy. “We must hurry on; we’ve no time
to talk.”
They left the spirit at the crossing. There was a big stump in the middle of the river;
it was Yahyáhaäs’ crossing-place. He leaped from the bank to the rock and from there
to the other bank. The elder boy took his little brother under his arm and jumped
across the river.
“Stop! stop!” called Yahyáhaäs’ spirit. “Give me your pipe.”
The brothers paid no heed; they went on, and at the end of two days came to a house
covered with deerskins. Some of the skins were dry; others were fresh. Around the
house there was a great deal of deer meat.
“Let us go to that house and get something to eat,” said the little boy.
“Don’t go there,” answered his brother. “That is the one-legged man’s house.”
Yahyáhaäs was watching; when he saw the boys pass he came out, and going around them,
came up driving a deer that looked tired and ready to fall. As the spirit met the
boys, the deer ran off.
“You have made me lose my deer!” screamed the spirit. “Now give me your pipe to smoke.”
“We have no pipe.”
“Travelers always have a pipe.”
“I have traveled long,” said the boy. “When I had traveled two summers, my tobacco
was gone.”
They left Yahyáhaäs and went on. That night they crossed two mountains, and the next
day the elder brother said: “We are near the end of our journey.” Just then Yahyáhaäs
came to them; on his back were two deer. The elder brother saw him first. “That is
the spirit of the one-legged man,” said he to the little boy. “Don’t be deceived.”
The brothers turned to black coals, and a strong wind, like a whirlwind, carried them
along. Sometimes they rolled and [116]sometimes they went through the air. When they were over two high mountains, they
took their own forms. Again Yahyáhaäs came to them. This time his face and body were
painted white. “We have no time to talk with you,” said the elder brother, and they
hurried on.
When they reached the top of the third mountain, the spirit of the one-legged man
was there. That time his face and body were painted red, and long bright hair floated
behind him. He called out: “Who are you that can never be caught?”
The moment he spoke, the brothers again turned to black coals, and a whirlwind carried
them away. The whirlwind stopped on the bank of a dried up stream, and the boys took
their own forms, and traveled on. Many times Yahyáhaäs’ spirit met them, always in
a different dress, and painted differently, but the brothers knew him.
At last the boys reached the eastern ocean, where nothing stood between the water
and the sky. There were lots of rocks there. The brothers sat down and the elder took
out his pipe to smoke.
That minute Yahyáhaäs was there, and said: “Let me smoke.” That time the boy gave
him his pipe. (He was going to destroy the spirit.) Yahyáhaäs tried to break the pipe,
but couldn’t; then the boy said: “Give me your pipe.” With the first whiff he broke
it to pieces.
“You must wrestle with me,” said Yahyáhaäs. He built a fire and fastened his leg to
the rocks.
“You must stand by the fire with your back toward us,” said the elder boy to his little
brother. “When you hear us wrestling shut your eyes and run as fast as you can. Don’t
look back. Run straight east. Run on the water; and don’t stop till I call to you.
We have left the house where our father and mother were killed. We are leaving the
world, but each year we shall see our father’s country.”
When the boy had killed Yahyáhaäs, he threw him into the water, and said: “You will
never be a person again. You will only be something to entice and fool people. You
will think that you can kill people, but you will have no strength. [117]You will wander around on the mountains and appear (in dreams) to doctors, and they
will be your servants.”
As the boy ran off, the spirit called: “When I appear, you will appear, but you will
have no power. You and your brother will no longer be persons; you will be stars,
and between summer and winter your people will fight over you.”
The younger boy was at the edge of the sky when the old man’s spirit said: “You will
be a star.” Right away he was one. As soon as the elder boy reached the edge of the
sky, he became a star, too.
Note.—Those two stars appear early in the morning toward the end of winter. They are the
heralds of spring.
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