484. Thence it floated safely to Tóʻhodotlĭz, where the gods on the bank observed it stopping and slowly sinking, until only a few leaves on the ends of the branches could be seen. It was the sacred people under the water who had pulled the log down this time. These were Tiéholtsodi, Tielín,[210] Frog, Fish, Beaver, Otter, and others. They took the Navaho out of the log and bore him down to their home under the water. The gods on the bank held a council to consider why the tree stuck. They shook it and tried to get it loose, but they could not move it. Then they called on Tóʻnenĭli, Water Sprinkler, to help them. He had two magic water jars, Toʻsadĭlyĭ′l, the black jar, which he carried in his right hand, and Toʻsadotlĭ′z, the blue jar, which he carried in his left hand; with these he struck the water to the right and to the left, crying as he did so his call of “Tuʻwuʻwuʻwú!” The water opened before him and allowed him to descend. He went around the tree, and when he came to the butt he found that the plug had been withdrawn and that the Navaho was no longer there. He called up to his friends on the bank and told them what he had found. They spread a short rainbow[211] for him to travel on, and he went to the house of the divine ones under the water. This house consisted of four chambers, one under another, like the stories of a pueblo dwelling. The first chamber, that on top, was black; the second was blue; the third yellow; the fourth white.[18] Two of the Tielín, or water pets with blue horns, stood at the door facing one another, and roared as Tóʻnenĭli passed. He descended from one story to another, but found no one till he came to the last chamber, and here he saw Tiéholtsodi, the water monster; Tsal, Frog (a big rough frog); Tsa, Beaver, Tábastin, Otter, Tloʻayuĭnlĭ′tigi (a great fish), and the captive Navaho. “I seek my grandchild. Give him to me,” said Tóʻnenĭli. “Shut your mouth and begone,” said Tiéholtsodi. “Such as you cannot come here giving orders. I fear you not, Water Sprinkler; you shall not have your grandchild.” Then Tóʻnenĭli went out again and told his friends what had happened to him, and what had been said in the house of Tiéholtsodi under the water.
485. The gods held another council. “Who shall go down and rescue our grandchild?” was the question they asked one another. While they were talking Hastsézĭni[212] (Black God), who owns all fire, sat apart and took no part in the council. He had built a fire, while the others waited, and sat with his back to it, as was his custom. “Go tell your grandfather there what has occurred,” said the others to Tóʻnenĭli. The latter went over to where Hastsézĭni sat. “Why are they gathered together yonder and of what do they talk so angrily?” said the Black God. In answer, Tóʻnenĭli told of his adventures under the water and what Tiéholtsodi had said to him. Hastsézĭni was angry when he heard all this. “I fear not the sacred people beneath the water,” he said. “I shall have my grandchild.” He hastened to the river, taking Tóʻnenĭli with him, for Tóʻnenĭli had the power to open the water, and these two descended into the river. When they reached the room where Tiéholtsodi sat, the Black God said, “We come together for our grandchild.” “Run out there, both of you. Such as you may not enter here,” said Tiéholtsodi. “I go not without my grandson. Give him to me, and I shall go,” said the other. “Run out,” repeated Tiéholtsodi, “I shall not release your grandchild.” “I shall take my grandchild. I fear you not.” “I shall not restore him to you. I heed not your words.” “I never recall what I have once spoken. I have come for my grandchild, and I shall not leave without him.” “I said you should not go with him, and I mean what I say. I am mighty.” Thus they spoke defiantly to one another for some time. At length Hastsézĭni said: “I shall beg no longer for my grandchild. You say you are mighty. We shall see which is the more powerful, you or I,” and Tiéholtsodi answered: “Neither shall I ask your permission to keep him. I should like to see how you will take him from me.” When Hastsézĭni heard this he took from his belt his fire-stick and fire-drill.[213] He laid the stick on the ground, steadied it with both feet, and whirled the drill around, pausing four times. The first time he whirled the drill there was a little smoke; the second time there was a great smoke; the third time there was flame; the fourth time the surrounding waters all took fire. Then Tiéholtsodi cried: “Take your grandchild, but put out the flames.” “Ah,” said Hastsézĭni, “you told me you were mighty. Why do you implore me now? Why do you not put out the fire yourself? Do you mean what you say this time? Do you really want the fire quenched?” “Oh! yes,” cried Tiéholtsodi. “Take your grandchild, but put out the flames. I mean what I say.” At a sign from Black God, Water Sprinkler took the stoppers out of his jars and scattered water all around him four times, crying his usual “Tuʻwuʻwuʻwú” as he did so, and the flames died out. The water in Tóʻnenĭli’s jars consisted of all kinds of water—he-rain, she-rain, hail, snow, lake-water, spring-water, and water taken from the four quarters of the world. This is why it was so potent.[67]
486. When the fire was extinguished the three marched out in single file—Tóʻnenĭli in front, to divide the water, the Navaho in the middle, and Hastsézĭni in the rear. Before they had quite reached the dry land they heard a flopping sound behind them, and, looking around, they saw Tsal, the Frog. “Wait,” said he. “I have something to tell you. We can give disease to those who enter our dwelling, and there are cigarettes, sacred to us, by means of which our spell may be taken away. The cigarette of Tiéholtsodi should be painted black; that of Tielín, blue; those of the Beaver and the Otter, yellow; that of the great fish, and that sacred to me, white.” Therefore, in these days, when a Navaho is nearly drowned in the water, and has spewed the water all out, such cigarettes[12] are made to take the water sickness out of him.
487. The gods took Natĭ′nĕsthani back to his log. Tóʻnenĭli opened a passage for them through the river, and took the water out of the hollow in the log. The Navaho crawled into the hollow. The gods plugged the butt again, and set the log floating. It floated on and on until it came to a fall in the San Juan River, and here it stuck again. The gods had hard labor trying to get it loose. They tugged and worked, but could not move it. At length the Dsahadoldzá, the Fringe-mouths of the water, came to help. They put the zigzag lightning which was on their bodies[209] under the butt of the log,—as if the lightning were a rope,—and soon they got the log loose and sent it floating down the river.
488. At the end of the San Juan River, surrounded by mountains, there is a whirling lake or large whirlpool called Tóʻnihilin, or End of the Water. When the log entered here it whirled around the lake four times. The first time it went around it floated near the shore, but it gradually approached the centre as it went round again and again. From the centre it pointed itself toward the east and got near the shore; but it retreated again to the centre, pointed itself to the south, and at last stranded on the south shore of the lake. When it came to land four gods stood around it thus: Hastséhogan on the east, Hastséyalti on the south, one Gánaskĭdi on the west, and one on the north. They pried out one of the stoppers with their wands, and the Navaho came out on the land. They took out what remained of the food they had given him, a bow of cedar with the leaves on, and two reed arrows that they had placed in the log before they launched it. This done, they plugged the log again with a black cloud.
489. Then the gods spoke to the Navaho and said: “We have taken you where you wished to go. We have brought you to the end of the river. We have done for you all that in the beginning you asked us to do, and now we shall give you a new name. Henceforth you shall be called Áhodĭseli, He Who Floats. Go sit yonder” (pointing out a place), “and turn your back to us.” He went and sat as he was told, and soon they called to him and bade him go to a hill west of the lake. When he ascended it he looked around and saw the log moving back in the direction whence, he thought, he had come. He looked all around, but could see no one. The gods had disappeared, and he was all alone. He sat down to think. He felt sad and lonely. He was sorry he had come; yet, he thought, “This is my own deed; I insisted on coming here, and had I stayed at home I might have been killed.” Still the more he thought the sadder he felt, and he began to weep.
Fig. 34. Trail of turkey approaching his master.
490. The mountains all around the lake were very precipitous, except on the west side. Here they were more sloping, and he began to think of crossing, when he heard faintly in the distance the gobbling of a turkey. He paused and listened, and soon heard the gobbling again, more distinctly and apparently nearer. In a short time he heard the sound for the third time, but louder and clearer than before. The fourth time that the gobbling was heard it seemed very loud and distinct; and a moment later he beheld, running toward him, his pet turkey, whom he had thought he would never see again. The turkey, which had followed him all the way down the San Juan River, now approached its master from the east, as if it were coming to him at once; but when it got within arm’s length of the man it retreated and went round him sunwise, approaching and retreating again at the south, the west, and the north. When it got to the east again it ran up to its master and allowed itself to be embraced. ([Fig. 34] shows the way it approached its master.) “Ahaláni, sĭlín (Welcome, my pet),” said Natĭ′nĕsthani, “I am sorry for you that you have followed me, I pity you; but now that you are here, I thank you for coming.”
491. The man now began to think again of crossing the mountain in the west, but suddenly night came on. He had not noticed the light fading until it was too dark to begin the journey, and he felt obliged to seek a resting-place for the night. They went to a gulch near at hand where there were a few small cedar-trees. They spread out, for a bed, the dead leaves and the soft débris which they found under the trees and lay down, side by side, to sleep. The Navaho spread his bark blanket over himself, and the turkey spread one of its wings over its master, and he slept well that night.