500. Next morning he noted with great care the particular spot to which the straight stick pointed, and set out to find the fire. Before he left he said to his turkey: “I go once more to seek the distant fire; but it is the last time I shall seek it. If I find it not to-day, I shall never try again. Stay here till I return.” While he spoke the turkey turned its back on him, and showed its master that it was angry. It acted like a pouting child. He went to the place on the eastern mountain to which the stick pointed, and here he found, what he had not observed before, a shelf in the rocks, which seemed to run back some distance. He climbed to the shelf and discovered there two nice huts. He thought that wealthy people must dwell in them. He felt ashamed of his ragged bark blanket, of his garment of wood-rat skins, of his worn grass sandals; of his poor bow and arrows; so he took these off, laid them in the fork of a juniper-tree, and, retaining only his breech-cloth of wood-rat skins, his belt, tobacco pouch, and pipe, he approached one of the houses.
501. He pushed aside the curtain and saw, sitting inside, a young woman making a fine buckskin shirt which she was garnishing beautifully with fringes and shells. Ashamed of his appearance, he hung his head and advanced, looking at her under his eyebrows. “Where are the men?” he said, and he sat on the ground. The young woman replied: “My father and mother are in the other hut.” Just as the Navaho had made up his mind to go to the other house the father entered. Doubtless the Navaho had been observed while disrobing, for the old man, as he came in, brought the poor rags with him. “Why do you not take in my son-in-law’s goods?” said the old man to his daughter, as he laid the ragged bundle in a conspicuous place on top of a pile of fine fabrics. Poor Natĭ′nĕsthani hung his head again in shame and blushed, while the woman looked sideways and smiled. “Why don’t you spread a skin for my son-in-law to sit on?” said the old man to his daughter. She only smiled and looked sideways again. The old man took a finely dressed Rocky Mountain sheep-skin and a deer-skin,—skins finer than the Navaho had ever seen before,—spread them on the ground beside the woman, and said to the stranger: “Why do you not sit on the skins?” Natĭ′nĕsthani made a motion as if to rise and take the offered seat, but he sank back again in shame. Invited a second time, he arose and sat down beside the young woman on the skins.
502. The old man placed another skin beside the Navaho, sat on it, tapped the visitor on the knee to attract his attention, and said: “I long for a smoke. Fill your pipe[216] with tobacco and let me smoke it.” The Navaho answered: “I am poor. I have nothing.” Four times this request was made and this reply given. On the fourth occasion the Navaho added: “I belong to the Ninokádĭneʻ (the People up on the Earth),[217] and I have nothing.” “I thought the Ninokádĭneʻ had plenty of tobacco,” said the old man. The young man now drew from his pouch, which was adorned with pictures of the sun and moon, a mixture of native wild tobacco with four other plants.[218] His pipe was made of clay, collected from a place where a wood-rat had been tearing the ground. He filled the pipe with the mixture, lighted it with the sun,[219] sucked it four times till it was well kindled, and handed it to the old man to smoke. When the latter had finished the pipe and laid it down he began to perspire violently and soon fell into a swoon. The young woman thought her father was dead or dying, and ran to the other lodge to tell her mother. The mother gave the young woman a quantity of goods and said: “Give these to my son-in-law and tell him they shall all be his if he restores your father to life.” When the daughter returned to the lodge where her father lay, she said to the Navaho: “Here are goods for you. Treat my father. You must surely know what will cure him.” They laid the old man out on his side, in the middle of the floor, with his head to the north and his face to the east. The Navaho had in his pouch a medicine called kéʻtlo, or atsósi kéʻtlo,[220] consisting of many different ingredients. Where he got the ingredients we know not; but the medicine men now collect them around the headwaters of the San Juan. He put some of this medicine into a pipe, lighted it with the sunbeams, puffed the smoke to the earth, to the sky, to the earth, and to the sky again; puffed it at the patient from the east, the south, the west, and the north. When this fumigation was done, the patient began to show signs of life,—his eyelids twitched, his limbs jerked, his body shook. Natĭ′nĕsthani directed the young woman to put some of the medicine, with water, to soak in an earthen bowl,—no other kind of bowl is now used in making this infusion,—and when it was soaked enough he rubbed it on the body of the patient.
503. “Sadáni, sĭtá (My son-in-law, my nephew),” said the old man, when he came to his senses once more, “fill the pipe for me again. I like your tobacco.” The Navaho refused and the old man begged again. Four times did the old man beg and thrice the young man refused him; but when the fourth request was made the young man filled the pipe, lit it as before, and handed it to the old man. The latter smoked, knocked out the ashes, laid down the pipe, began to perspire, and fell again into a deathly swoon. As on the previous occasion, the women were alarmed and offered the Navaho a large fee, in goods, if he would restore the smoker to life. The medicine being administered and the ceremonies being repeated, the old man became again conscious.
504. As soon as he recovered he said: “My son-in-law, give me another smoke. I have travelled far and smoked much tobacco; but such fine tobacco as yours I never smoked before.” As on the other occasions, the old man had to beg four times before his request was granted. A third time the pipe was filled; the old man smoked and swooned; the women gave presents to the Navaho; the atsósi kéʻtlo was administered, and the smoker came to life again.
505. But as soon as he regained his senses he pleaded for another smoke. “The smoke is bad for you,” said the Navaho. “It does you harm. Why do you like my tobacco so well?” “Ah! it makes me feel good to the ends of my toes. It smells well and tastes well.” “Since you like it so well,” said the young man, “I shall give you one more pipeful.” This time the old man smoked vigorously; he drew the smoke well into his chest and kept it there a long time before blowing it out. Everything happened now as before, but in addition to the medicine used previously, the Navaho scattered the fragrant yádidĭnil[221] on the hot coals and let the patient breathe its fumes. The Navaho had now four large bundles of fine goods as pay for his services. When the old man recovered for the fourth time he praised loudly the tobacco of the Navaho. He said he had never felt so happy as when smoking it. He asked the Navaho: “How would you like to try my tobacco?” and he went to the other lodge to fetch his tobacco pouch. While he was gone the Wind People whispered into the ear of the Navaho: “His tobacco will kill you surely. It is not like your tobacco. Those who smoke it never wake again!”
506. Presently the old man returned with a pouch that had pictures of the sun and moon on it, and with a large pipe—much larger than that of the Navaho—decorated with figures of deer, antelope, elk, and Rocky Mountain sheep.[222] The old man filled his pipe, lighted it, puffed the smoke to earth and sky, each twice, alternately, and handed the pipe to the Navaho. The young man said: “I allow no one to fill the pipe for me but myself. My customs differ from yours. You ask a stranger for a smoke. I ask no man for a smoke. I pick my own tobacco. Other people’s tobacco makes me ill; that is why I do not use it.” Thus he spoke, yet the stuff he had given the old man to smoke was not the same that he used himself. The latter consisted of four kinds of tobacco: glónạto, or weasel tobacco, depénạto, or sheep tobacco, dsĭ′lnạto, or mountain tobacco, and kósnạto, or cloud tobacco.[223] He had different compartments in his pouch for his different mixtures. The old man invited him four times to smoke; but four times the Navaho refused, and said at last: “I have my pipe already filled with my own tobacco. I shall smoke it. My tobacco injures no one unless he is ill.” He proceeded to smoke the pure tobacco. When he had done smoking, he said: “See. It does me no harm. Try another pipeful.”
507. He now filled his pipe with the mixture of four kinds of real tobacco and handed it to the old man to smoke. When the latter had finished he said: “Your tobacco does not taste as it did before, and I do not now feel the same effect after smoking it as I did at first. Now it cools me; formerly it made me perspire. Why did I fall down when I smoked it before? Tell me, have I some disease?” The Navaho answered: “Yes. It is yasĭ′ntsogi, something bad inside of you, that makes the tobacco affect you so. There are four diseases that may cause this: they are the yellow disease, the cooked-blood disease, the water-slime disease, and the worm disease. One or more of these diseases you surely have.”[224] The old man closed his eyes and nodded his head to show that he believed what was told him. Of course the Navaho did not believe what he himself had said; he only told this to the old man to conceal the fact that he had filled the pipe with poisoned tobacco.
508. While all these things were happening the Navaho had paid no heed to how the day was passing; but now he became suddenly aware that it was late in the afternoon and that the sun was about to set. “I must hasten away. It is late,” he said. “No, my son-in-law; do not leave us,” pleaded the old man. “Sleep here to-night.” He ordered his daughter to make a bed for the stranger. She spread on the floor fine robes of otter-skin and beaver-skin, beautifully ornamented. He laid down on the rugs and slept there that night.
509. Next morning the young woman rose early and went out. Soon after her departure the old man entered the lodge and said to his guest: “I and my daughter were so busy yesterday with all that you did to me, and all the cures you wrought on me, that we had no time to cook food and eat; neither had you. She has gone now to prepare food. Stay and eat with us.” Presently the young woman returned, bringing a dish of stewed venison and a basket filled with mush made of wild seeds. The basket was such a one as the Navahoes now use in their rites.[5] On the atáatlo (the part where the coil terminates, the point of finish), the old man had, with the knowledge of his daughter, placed poison. She presented the basket to the stranger, with the point of finish toward him, as her father had directed her to do, saying: “When a stranger visits us we always expect him to eat from the part of the basket where it is finished.” As he took the basket the Wind People[75] whispered to him: “Eat not from that part of the basket; death is there, but there is no death in the venison.” The young man turned the basket around and began to eat from the side opposite to that which was presented to him, saying: “It is my custom to eat from the edge opposite to the point of finish.” He did not eat all the mush. He tried the venison stew; but as it was made of dried meat he did not like it and ate very little of it. When he had done she took the dishes back to the other lodge. “From which side of the basket did my son-in-law eat?” asked the old man. “From the wrong side. He told me it was his custom never to eat from the side where the basket was finished,” said the young woman. Her father was surprised. When a visitor came to him he always tried the poisoned tobacco first; if that failed he next tried the poisoned basket. “My husband says he wants to go home now,” said the young woman. “Tell him it is not the custom for a man to go home the morning after his marriage. He should always remain four days at least,” said the old man. She brought this message back to the Navaho. He remained that day and slept in the lodge at night.