“Run right in and get a drink,” said the girl’s old ones. So the young man climbed the ladder and went into the first room. There was no water there; then he went into the second room, but there was no water there; then into the third room, but still he found no water. He looked all around, but saw nothing of the priest-chief’s daughter. All the same, she was back in the fourth room, sitting there just as if no dance were going on in the plaza, weaving away at her beautiful trays of colored splints.
Well, the young man went back; they finished their dance, but no one saw anything of the priest-chief’s daughter; and when the dancers all returned to their ceremonial chamber they said to one another: “Alas! although we danced for her, she came not out to see us!”
Now, in reality, the Sun, who was her lover, and came down each day on a ray of his own light to visit her, loved her so much he would not that she should come forth from her house and be seen of men. Therefore he set an Eagle upon the house-top in a great cage to watch her. He was a very wise old Eagle. He could understand every word that the people said. And he it was that she fed and watered from day to day. Now, the dancers in the ceremonial chamber asked: “What shall we do?”
“Why, let us dance again,” said the chief of the dances, “and if we do not succeed, yet again.” They did as he said, but with no better success than before; so at last the two Warrior Priests of the Bow grew angry, and although they were the girl’s father’s own warriors, they ordered the Warrior festival, or Óinahe dance. “Surely,” said they, “she will come forth, and if not, let her perish, for how can she refuse the delight of the great Óinahe, where each young man dances and masks himself according to his fancy?”
So, one night the two warriors went out and called to the people to make ready and be happy, for in four days they should dance the Óinahe. When they had done calling, they descended, and the people said to one another: “Surely she will come out when we dance the Óinahe, for she will be delighted with it, and we shall yet see her. She was very beautiful when she was a little girl.” Then both of the warriors climbed to the top of Thunder Mountain, where Áhaiyúta and his brother, Mátsailéma, the Gods of War, and their grandmother lived in the middle of the summit. As they approached the presence of the two gods, they exclaimed: “She-e!”
“Hai!” the gods replied.
“Our fathers, how is it that ye are, these many days?” they asked, and the Twain replied: “We are happy. Come in; sit down”; and they placed a couple of stools for the warriors. “What is it that ye would of us?” they continued; “for it would be strange if ye came up to our house for nothing.”
“True it is,” replied the warriors. “It is in our hearts as your two chosen children—as the war-priests of our nation—that our people should be made happy as the days of the year go by; and we therefore think over all the beautiful dances, and now and then command that the most fitting of them shall appear. Now, our children, the people of the Home of the Eagles, are anxious to see our child, the daughter of the priest-chief, who has not come forth from her house, and whom we have never seen since she was a little girl. We have thought to order your dance of the Óinahe, and we would that without fail our daughter should be made to come forth or else die; therefore, our fathers, we have come to consult ye and to ask your advice.”
“Aha!” cried the Twain. “Then ye are anxious that this should be, are ye?”