510. Next morning the young woman rose early again and went to the other lodge. Soon after she was gone the old man entered and said to Natĭ′nĕsthani: “You would do well not to leave till you have eaten. My daughter is preparing food for you.” In a little while, after he left, the young woman entered, bringing, as before, a dish of stewed venison and a basketful of mush, which she handed to the Navaho without making any remark. But Wind whispered: “There is poison all around the edge of the basket this time; there is none in the venison.” The Navaho ate some of the stew, and when he took the basket of mush he ate only from the middle, saying: “When I eat just as the sun is about to come up, it is my custom to eat only from the middle of the basket.” The sun was about to rise as he spoke. When she went back to the other lodge with the remains of the meal, her father asked: “How did he eat this morning?” She replied: “He ate the stew; but the mush he ate only from the middle of the basket.” “Ahăhăhá!” said the old man, “it never took me so long, before.” The Navaho remained in the lodge all that day and all night.
511. The next (third) morning things happened as before: the woman rose early, and while she was gone the old man came into the lodge, saying: “The women are cooking food for you. Don’t go out till you have eaten.” The reason they gave their visitor only one meal a day was that he might be so ravenous with hunger when it came that he would not notice the poison and would eat plenty of it. When the food was brought in, the Wind People whispered to the Navaho: “Poison is mixed all through the mush, take none of it.” He ate heartily of the stew, and when he was done he said to the young woman: “I may eat no mush to-day. The sun is already risen, and I have sworn that the sun shall never see me eat mush.” When she went back to the other lodge her father asked: “How did my son-in-law eat this morning?” “He ate only of the stew,” she said. “He would not touch the mush.” “Ahăhăhá,” said the old man in a suspicious tone; but he said no more. Again the Navaho stayed all day and all night.
512. On the fourth morning when the daughter went to prepare food and the old man entered the lodge, he said: “Go out somewhere to-day. Why do you not take a walk abroad every day? Is it on your wife’s account that you stay at home so much, my son-in-law?” When the young woman brought in the usual venison stew and basket of mush, Wind whispered: “All the food is poisoned this morning.” When she handed the food to the young man he said: “I do not eat at all to-day. It is my custom to eat no food one day in every four. This is the day that I must fast.” When she took the untasted food back to the other lodge, her father inquired: “What did my son-in-law eat this morning?” and she answered: “He ate nothing.” The old man was lying when he spoke; he rose when she answered him and carefully examined the food she had brought back. “Truly, nothing has been touched,” he said. “This must be a strange man who eats nothing. My daughter, do you tell him anything he should not know?” “Truly, I tell him nothing,” she replied.
513. When the young woman came back again from her father’s lodge, the Navaho said to her: “I have a hut and a farm and a pet not far from here; I must go home to-day and see them.” “It is well,” she said. “You may go.” He began to dress for the journey by putting on his old sandals. She brought him a pair of fine new moccasins, beautifully embroidered, and urged him to put them on; but he refused them, saying: “I may put them on some other time. I shall wear my old sandals to-day.”
514. When Natĭ′nĕsthani got back to his farm he found the tracks of his turkey all around, but the turkey itself he could not see. It was evident from the tracks that it had visited the farm and gone back to the hut again. The Navaho made four circuits around the hut—each circuit wider than the preceding—to see whither the tracks led. On the fourth circuit he found they led to the base of a mountain which stood north of the hut. “I shall find my pet somewhere around the mountain,” thought the Navaho. The tracks had the appearance of being four days old, and from this he concluded that the turkey had left the same day he had. It took him four days, travelling sunwise and going spirally up the mountain, to reach the summit, where he found many turkey tracks, but still no turkey. He fancied his pet might have descended the mountain again, so he went below and examined the ground carefully, but found no descending tracks. He returned to the summit and, looking more closely than at first, discovered where the bird had flown away from a point on the eastern edge of the summit and gone apparently toward the east.
515. The Navaho sat down, sad and lonely, and wept. “Dear pet,” he said, “would that I had taken you with me that day when I set out on my journey. Had I done so I should not have lost you. Dear pet, you were the black cloud; you were the black mist; you were the beautiful he-rain;[225] you were the beautiful she-rain;[137] you were the beautiful lightning; you were the beautiful rainbow; you were the beautiful white corn; you were the beautiful blue corn; you were the beautiful yellow corn; you were the beautiful corn of all colors; you were the beautiful bean. Though lost to me, you shall be of use to men, upon the earth, in the days to come—they shall use your feathers and your beard in their rites.” The Navaho never saw his pet again; it had flown to the east, and from it we think the tame turkeys of the white men are descended. But all the useful and beautiful things he saw in his pet are still to be seen in the turkey. It has the colors of all the different kinds of corn in its feathers. The black of the black mist and the black cloud are there. The flash of the lightning and the gleam of the rainbow are seen on its plumes when it walks in the sun. The rain is in its beard; the bean it carries on its forehead.
516. He dried his tears, descended the mountain, and sought his old hut, which was only a poor shelter of brush, and then he went to visit his farm. He found his corn with ears already formed and all the other plants well advanced toward maturity.[226] He pulled one ear from a stalk of each one of the four different kinds of corn, and, wrapping the ears in his mantle of wood-rat skins, went off to see his wife. She saw him coming, met him at the door, and relieved him of his weapons and bundle. “What is this?” she said, pointing to the bundle after she had laid it down. He opened it. She started back in amazement. She had never seen corn before. He laid the ears down side by side in a row with their points to the east, and said: “This is what we call natán, corn. This (pointing to the first ear—the most northerly of the row) is white corn; this (pointing to the next) is blue corn; this (pointing to the third) is yellow corn, and this (pointing to the fourth) is corn of all colors.”[227] “And what do your people do with it?” she asked. “We eat it,” he replied. “How do you prepare it to eat?” she inquired. He said: “We have four ways when it is green like this. We put it, husk and all, in hot coals to roast. We take off the husk and roast it in hot ashes. We boil it whole in hot water. We cut off the grains and mix it with water to make mush.”
517. She wrapped the four ears in a bundle and carried them to the other lodge to show them to her parents. Both were astonished and alarmed. The old man rose and shaded his eyes with his open hand to look at them. They asked her questions about the corn, such as she had asked her husband, and she answered them as he had answered her. She cooked the four ears of corn, each one in a different way, according to the methods her husband described. They increased in cooking so that they made food enough to furnish a hearty meal for all. The old people, who were greatly pleased, said the mush smelled like fawn-cheese.[228] “Where does my son-in-law get this fine stuff? Ask him. I wish to know, it is so delicious. Does he not want some himself?” said the old man to his daughter. She brought a large dish of the corn to her husband in the other lodge, and they ate it together. The Navaho had no fear of poison this time, for the food did not belong to the old man.
518. At night when they were alone together she asked him where he got the corn. “I found it,” he said. “Did you dig it out of the ground?” she asked. “No. I picked it up,” was his answer. Not believing him, she continued to question him until at last he told her: “These things I plant and they grow where I plant them. Do you wish to see my field?” “Yes, if my father will let me,” the woman replied.
519. Next morning she told her father what she had found out on the previous night and asked his advice. He said he would like to have her go with Natĭ′nĕsthani to see what the farm looked like and to find out what kind of leaves the plant had that such food grew on. When she came back from her father’s lodge she brought with her pemmican made of venison and a basket of mush. The Wind People whispered to him that he need not fear the food to-day, so he ate heartily of it. When the breakfast was over, the Navaho said: “Dress yourself for the journey, and as soon as you are ready I shall take you to my farm.” She dressed herself for travel and went to the lodge of her parents, where she said: “I go with my husband now.” “It is well,” they said; “go with him.”