Even though changed, they still guarded our ancients and guided them to the Middle of the World, where we now live. Gifted with hearts of the medicine of war, and with wisdom almost as great as the Sun-father’s own, they became the invincible guardians of the Corn-people of Earth, and, with the rainbow for their weapon and thunderbolts for their arrows,—swift lightning-shafts pointed with turquoise,—were the greatest warriors of all in the days of the new. When at last they had conquered most of the enemies of men, they taught to a chosen few of their followers the songs, prayers, and orders of a society of warriors who should be called their children, the Priests[22] of the Bow, and selecting from among them the two wisest, breathed into their nostrils (as they have since breathed into those of their successors) the sawanikia. Since then we make anew the semblance of their being and place them each year at mid-sun on the top of the Mountain of Thunder, and on the top of the Mountain of the Beloved, that they may know we remember them and that they may guard (as it was said in the days of the ancients they would guard) the Land of Zuñi from sunrise to sunset and cut off the pathways of the enemy.
[22] Here and hereafter I use this term priest reluctantly, in lack of a better word, but in accordance with Webster’s second definition.—F. H. C. [Back]
Well, Áhaiyúta, who is called the elder brother, and Mátsailéma, who is called the younger, were living on the top of Twin Mountain with their old grandmother.
Said the elder to the younger on this same morning: “Brother, let us go out and hunt. It is a fine day. What say you?”
“My face is in front of me,” said the younger, “and under a roof is no place for men,” he added, as he put on his helmet of elk-hide and took a quiver of mountain-lion skin from an antler near the ladder.
“Where are you two boys going now?” shrieked the grandmother through a trap-door from below. “Don’t you ever intend to stop worrying me by going abroad when even the spaces breed fear like thick war?”
“O grandmother,” they laughed, as they tightened their bows and straightened their arrows before the fire, “never mind us; we are only going out for a hunt,” and before the old woman could climb up to stop them they were gaily skipping down the rocks toward the cliffs below.
Suddenly the younger brother stopped. “Ahh!” said he, “listen, brother! It is the cry of Átahsaia, and the old wretch is surely abroad to cause tears!”
“Yes,” replied the elder. “It is Átahsaia, and we must stop him! Come on, come on; quick!”
“Hold, brother, hold! Stiffen your feet right here with patience. He is after the two maidens of Héshokta! I saw them going to the spring as I came down. This day he must die. Is your face to the front?”