The moon has great love for her children, the stars, and is ever happy to be travelling up where they are. Her children feel perfectly safe, and smile as she passes along. But she cannot help one of them being devoured every month. It is ordered by Pah-ah, the Great Spirit, who dwells above all, that the sun must swallow one of his children each month. Then the mother-moon feels very sorry, and she must mourn. She paints her face black, for her child is gone. But the dark will soon wear away from her face a little by little, night after night, and after a time her face becomes all bright again. Soon the sun swallows another child, and the moon puts on her black paint again.
They account for the appearance of a comet by stating that the sun often snaps at one of the stars, his children, and does not get a good hold of it, he only tears a piece out; and the star, getting wild with pain, goes flying across the sky with a great spout of blood flowing from it. It is then very much afraid, and as it flies it always keeps its head turned to watch the sun, its father, and never turns its face away from him until it is far out of his reach.
A few years ago, the Utes sold their lands to the United States government, and the various bands were removed to a reservation.
Among the many legends of the Utes, that accounting for the origin of the hot springs at the mouth of the cañon of the Rio las Gallinas (near Las Vegas, N.M.) is one of the most remarkable. It was related to one of the authors of this volume thirty-two years ago, by an aged warrior, while the party of Indians and white men who had been hunting for black-tail deer in the mountains were sitting around their camp-fire at night.
The wrinkled and paint-bedaubed savage veteran filled his pipe, lighted it, then taking a whiff after saluting the sky, the earth, and the cardinal points of the compass, passed it around, Indian-fashion, and began his weird story; which is here given, divested of the poor English of our interpreter:—
Thousands of snows have passed, thousands of Indian summers made their delightful round, since the Medicine Waters were formed there by the Great Spirit to prove that the people of the powerful Ute Nation were his special care. Warriors, too, who were wounded in battle with their hereditary enemies, the Pawnees of the plains—if they were brave and had pleased the Great Spirit—had only to repair to the hot waters flowing out of the mountain side, bathe three times a day in their healing flood, and drink of the coldest that sprang from the same rocky ledge. Then, in the course of a few suns, no matter how badly injured, they would certainly recover and become stronger than ever. If, however, any who had behaved cowardly in the heat of action—which to the Great Spirit is a great abomination, never condoned—and went to the Big Medicine to heal his wounds, the water had no effect and he soon died. So these Medicine Waters were not only a panacea for all diseases, and injuries received in honourable warfare, but an infallible test of the courage of every wounded warrior engaged in frequent sanguinary conflicts.
That the action of Las Vegas Hot Springs was believed to be a direct
manifestation of the power of the Great Spirit, the legend farther
confirms, for after his preliminary observations of their efficacy and
purpose, the old warrior continued:
The Utes were the first people created. They had thousands of
ponies. The mountains were filled with deer, bear, bighorn,
and elk, while the plains below were black with herds of buffalo.
They were very wealthy. Many hundreds of years they remained
the happiest race on earth, always victorious in battle, and
never suffering for food. Their head chief at this time was
We-lo-lon-nan-nai (the forked lightning), the bravest warrior
of all the tribes. His people loved him for his good qualities,
and the justice with which he administered the affairs of
the nation. One morning he was taken suddenly ill, and called
into his lodge the celebrated medicine-men of his band to
prescribe for him; but these famous doctors, after exhausting
all their art and cunning, were obliged to declare there was
no hope for their chief; he would soon be gathered to his
fathers unless the Great Spirit, in his love for his chosen
people, would interfere. To enlist his offices in behalf of
their cherished dying leader, the oldest medicine-man, by virtue
of seniority, ordered a sacrifice to be made as an offering
of adoration and suppliance.
A large altar of pine logs was erected near the lodge of We-lo-lon-nan-nai, and a buffalo bull, freshly captured for the purpose, driven to the spot, killed, and his hide taken off. The entire carcass was lifted with much ritualistic observance upon the altar, and then the whole tribe, in obedience to the order of the head medicine-man, prostrated themselves on the ground. Touching a torch to the pile, and wrapping himself in the bloody skin of the animal, the medicine-man took a position about a hundred yards from the altar in an attitude of supplication, to commune with the Great Spirit.
Absolute silence reigned; not a sound broke the awful solemnity of the occasion, excepting the crackling of the fragrant pine limbs used as fuel, and the seething of the flesh as it melted under the heat.
When the altar and all its appliances had been burnt to ashes, the medicine-man gave the signal for the people to rise, and then announced the communication he had received from the Great Spirit.