DOCAS
Frontispiece

HEATH SUPPLEMENTARY READERS

DOCAS
The INDIAN BOY of
SANTA CLARA

By
GENEVRA SISSON SNEDDEN

D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO ATLANTA
DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO LONDON

Copyright, 1899,
By D. C. Heath and Company
Copyright Renewed, 1927,
By Genevra Sisson Snedden
3 K 6
No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form without written permission of the publisher
Printed in U.S.A.

My dear Children:—

What sort of people do you like best to read about—white people or Indians?

I think you will say Indians, because all the children of whom I have ever asked this question have said that they liked best to read about Indians. Indians do everything so differently from the way we do that they are always interesting.

This book which we are now going to read is about Indians,—the Indians who lived near the Pacific Ocean before our grandfathers were born, and before we Americans came west and settled the country.

Do you like best to read about grown-up people or about children? I think I can hear you say, “What a question! Children, of course!” Yes, children can have such fun, running and playing and finding out about all kinds of things for which grown people never have time, that it is much pleasanter to read about them. So this whole book is about children. The first part tells about the little Indian boy, Docas; farther on, when Docas grows to be a man, the book tells about his children and grandchildren.

Last of all, the stories tell about things that actually happened to Indian children long ago in California, so they are what you call “truly stories,” not “made-up ones.”

These are some of the reasons why the children for whom the stories were first written liked them and learned from them, and for these same reasons I think many of you will care to read about Docas, the Indian boy of Santa Clara.

THE AUTHOR

NOTE

These stories were originally written to serve as reading material for the children in the University School connected with the Department of Education at the Leland Stanford Junior University. The never-failing delight with which those children welcomed each new instalment was the first impetus toward putting the stories in a form where they would have a larger audience.

The work was done as a thesis in history under the direction of Mary Sheldon Barnes. To her careful supervision and many suggestions the book owes much of whatever merit it may possess.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART I
WHEN DOCAS LIVED AT THE INDIAN VILLAGE

A little Indian boy poked his head out of a brush house.

PART I
WHEN DOCAS LIVED AT THE INDIAN VILLAGE

BUILDING THE FIRE

“OH, mother!” cried a little Indian boy, “I am hungry.”

“Then go and start the fire so that I can cook breakfast,” answered his mother.

It was about a hundred years ago that this little boy, whose name was Docas, poked his head out of a brush house. Ama, his mother, was sitting on the ground just outside, grinding acorns in a stone bowl.

Docas went to the middle of the hut, where the blazing fire of wood had been the night before. Just before Ama had gone to sleep she had covered with ashes the glowing coals that were left from the fire.

Docas raked off the ashes and began to blow on the blackened coals that were left. There was not much life in them, but they began to redden a little.

He put some dry leaves against them and blew harder. The leaves smoked, but would not light, no matter how hard he blew. And all the time the coals were getting blacker and blacker.

At last he called, “I cannot light it, mother.”

Ama came over where he was and began to blow, too; but even she could not start it, for the fire had died out.

“I must get some new fire,” said Ama at last.

She picked up two dry willow sticks and two flints. She rubbed the willow sticks together very hard for a while.

“Do you see the little dust that is gathering?” she asked. “Now I will strike the flints together until they send a spark down into that dry dust.”

In a few minutes a spark fell into the dust, the dust flared up, and Docas exclaimed, “There! now we have a fire.” He dropped some dry leaves on the burning dust, then he put some little twigs on the leaves. After that he called to his younger brother:—

“Wake up, Heema! Come and get some big sticks for the fire.”

Heema rolled off the mat of tule reeds on which he had been sleeping, rubbed his eyes, and said, “I’m ready, Docas.”

Heema did not have to spend time dressing. All the Indian children ever wore was a little skirt made of rabbit-skin or deer-skin.

In a minute more Heema had piled some large sticks on the fire. Then it blazed up brightly.

“It’s foggy, and I’m cold,” said Docas. “Sit down by the fire with me and get warm.”

Docas and Heema were California Indians. They lived in an Indian rancheria, or village, near San Francisco Bay. Their father, whose name was Massea, was chief of the rancheria.

Docas was seven years old, while Heema was six. Alachu, one of their sisters, was three. Umwa was the other sister. She was so tiny that she had to be carried in a basket on her mother’s back.

DOCAS AT BREAKFAST

“PUT the stones into the fire, boys, so that they will be hot when the acorns are ground,” said Ama.

Docas pulled toward the fire five large stones that were lying near.

“I’ll throw them in,” said Heema, tossing them into the middle of the hottest blaze.

Then Docas said, “Let’s surprise father by shooting a rabbit for breakfast.”

“Here are your bow and arrows,” answered Heema.

In a moment more they ran off. Docas hunted among the brush and trees near by for a rabbit, but he could not find one, so he ran back toward the rancheria.

“I’ve found something that’s better than rabbits,” Docas heard Heema say suddenly.

“Where are you, Heema?” asked Docas.

“Here among the bushes, eating thimble-berries,” answered Heema, peeping out from among the large green leaves.

Docas laughed and began eating berries, too. The berries were so good that they forgot all about breakfast, until suddenly they heard their mother’s voice calling:—

“Boys, where are you? The acorns are ready to cook.”

The boys took one last mouthful of thimble-berries and then bounded toward the rancheria.

Ama put a basketful of cold water down by the fire as they came up.

“Heema, pour the acorn meal into the water. Docas, rake out the hot stones and put them into the water to cook the mush,” said Ama.

“I hope this mush will not be bitter,” said Docas, as he dropped a red-hot stone into the water.

“No; this will be good, for I soaked the acorns a long time and then dried them in the sun before I ground them,” answered Ama.

In a few minutes the mush was cooked; then Ama called Massea, and the whole family sat around the basket. They all ate out of it at once, using sticks hollowed out at the end instead of spoons.

HOW DOCAS WENT FISHING

ONE day Massea came up to Docas.

“To-day we will go fishing,” he said.

Then Docas ran away to find his playmates.

“We are going fishing! We are going fishing!” he cried.

Then all the children began to dance and jump.

“We are going fishing! We are going fishing!” they screamed. For the children were glad when the fishing days came.

But first Massea must drive stakes across the bed of the creek just below the boys’ swimming hole.

And he must drive them very close together, for he wants to keep the fish from swimming through.

After Massea had made the fence, Docas called to Heema, “I’ll race you up the creek.”

“You will have to hurry or I shall beat you,” answered Heema.

Then they both started to run along the bank of the creek.

“Come, Alachu. You may go, too,” said Ama.

All the women and children in the rancheria went also. They walked along the bank of the creek for about a quarter of a mile, then Alachu cried, “I see Docas. I see Heema.”

Docas was standing on the bank. “Watch me!” he called to Alachu.

He dived off the bank and disappeared in a large hole.

“Mother! mother! Docas is drowned!” cried Alachu.

Ama smiled and answered, “Wait and see.”

In a minute more Docas’s head popped suddenly out of the water.

Then the women and children walked out into the middle of the creek and began to wade down it.

Alachu heard a shout and saw Heema getting ready to jump.

“Be careful; I am afraid you will jump on top of me,” she cried.

There was a big splash, and Alachu gave a scream as the water splashed over her. Heema was standing in the water a few feet away.

“A water fight! We’ll have a water fight!” cried the children.

“Then we will spear them.”

They jumped about in the water. They splashed it all over each other. They laughed and shouted and made all the noise they could. As they stopped for a moment to take breath, Docas said, “See the fish swim down the creek. They are scared.”

The battle lasted until the rancheria was in sight, and by that time all the fish were in the swimming hole. Then Massea said, “Now we must build a fence above them.”

When the fence was built, Docas said, “Now the fish cannot swim away, for there is a fence below them and a fence above them.”

That night Massea said, “We will build fires on the bank of the creek. The fish will come near to look at the light; then we will spear them.”

And so it happened. The men speared enough fish that night to give them something to eat for several days.

MASSEA’S STOREHOUSE

ONE day in October, Massea said to Docas, “Come, Docas, you must help me make a storehouse to-day, so that we shall have something to eat by and by.”

Massea and Docas went out into the woods. They hunted until they found an oak tree with two branches growing straight out at about the same height from the ground.

Massea said, “Climb the tree, Docas;” so Docas scrambled up.

Massea then handed him some straight sticks. Docas put these sticks across from branch to branch, and tied the ends fast to the two branches of the tree with deerskin strings. After this his father brought up some twigs that bent easily. They wove these back and forth among the sticks until they had a good floor for their storehouse. In the same way they made the sides and the top, leaving a hole near the trunk of the tree for a door.

After the storehouse was made, Docas said to some of the other little Indian children, “Let’s go off and get some acorns to put in the storehouse.”

They took their baskets and went off toward the hills. Soon they came to some big oak trees.

One of the little boys called out, “Look! the ground is covered with acorns under that tree.”

Sure enough, the acorns had dropped down from the tree until they were so thick on the ground that the children could scrape them up. Before night they had filled their baskets.

Docas put the acorns he had gathered into the storehouse which he and his father had made. Every day the children went out to gather acorns; every night they poured them into the storehouse, and soon it was full.

The day they finished filling it, Docas saw a little squirrel run up the trunk of the tree and go into the storehouse. Docas stood very still and watched. In a few minutes he saw the squirrel come back with his cheeks sticking out. He was carrying off the acorns.

Docas ran over to where his father was lying in the shade of a large tree, and said, “Oh, father, we shall not have any acorns left in a few days. The squirrels have begun to carry them off.”

Massea went over to the tree in which the storehouse was built. He smeared a broad band of pitch clear around the trunk.

“This will stop them,” he said.

The Indians had no more trouble after that; for if anything tried to climb the tree, it was caught in the band of sticky pitch.

While Massea was smearing the pitch around the trunk, Docas saw a bird at work in a tree near by.

“There is the woodpecker,” cried Docas, pointing to a woodpecker busily putting acorns away in his storehouse.

The woodpecker’s storehouse was not like Massea’s. Every summer the woodpecker pecks a great many holes just the size of an acorn in the bark of a tree. When fall comes, and the acorns are ripe, he puts the best ones in his holes. He hammers them in so tight that they do not often fall out.

After the storehouse was made.

“I hope we shall not have to take the woodpecker’s acorns this winter,” said Massea.

As long as their acorns lasted, Massea and the other Indians did not touch the acorns that the woodpecker had gathered. But one day all the Indians at the rancheria went off fishing. While they were gone their campfire spread and burned the tree in which they had made their storehouse.

Docas was skipping along ahead as they came home. He saw what had happened. He ran back to Massea and Ama, crying out, “The storehouse is burnt! The storehouse is burnt!”

Massea looked very sad at supper that night, and said, “I am afraid we shall have to take the woodpecker’s acorns.”

The Indians did not like to take the acorns, so they waited three days. By that time they were so hungry that they could wait no longer.

Docas built a fire near the woodpecker’s tree. The smoke that went up from it told the woodpecker that he would have to go. After a little he did not care to stay, for the smoke spoiled the acorns for him. So he flew away.

Docas then climbed the tree and pulled off the bark. That let the acorns fall out and then the Indians gathered them up and put them into a new storehouse, ready for future use.

HOW DOCAS CAUGHT THE GRASSHOPPERS

ONE day in September, Docas and the rest of the family were all seated round a large basket. They were eating their acorn mush. Just as Docas put his stick in to get some, he heard something go “click” behind him.

He thought to himself, “The grasshoppers are getting thicker.”

He lifted his stick, and there in the mush on the end of it was a grasshopper.

“Look!” said Docas to Heema.

“Let me get him out,” said Heema, laughing and picking up a stick from the ground. Heema lifted the grasshopper out of the mush.

Then Docas said, “Let’s catch grasshoppers to-morrow.”

Heema said, “Yes.”

All day they heard the “Click, click,” of jumping grasshoppers.

That evening, when the children began playing, Docas ran up to them and said, “Help me dig a hole to catch the grasshoppers in.”

The children began digging a little way out from the rancheria, and before dark they had made a big hole.

Next morning, while the grasshoppers were still cold and stiff, Docas said to the children, “Let’s make a big ring around the hole before the sun warms the grasshoppers.”

And they did so.

“Now we will walk slowly toward the hole,” said the children.

Little by little the children came nearer. Little by little the ring grew smaller. Little by little the grasshoppers inside the ring grew frightened.

“They’re jumping down into the hole now,” said Docas.

Soon the children were close to the edge of the hole.

“I am going to jump into the hole,” said Docas. “I can soon catch them down there. They cannot jump out so easily as they jumped in.”

So Docas caught all the grasshoppers that were in the hole. He longed to eat them, but he waited until they were cooked. Ama baked the grasshoppers in the fire until they were quite dry; then she ground them in the stone bowl just as she did the acorns.

After that the Indians ate them.

THE GRASS-SEED BASKET

ONE morning in spring, Ama said to Docas, “Stir up the fire. I must get breakfast.”

“I shall have to get some sticks,” answered Docas, running off to the woods.

Baby Umwa was playing near. “Baby will make a big fire for mother,” she thought.

She began picking up dry leaves and throwing them on the fire. “Here are some good sticks,” she said to herself.

Docas had dropped his bow and arrows on the ground. She picked them up and threw them on the blazing leaves; then she picked up a basket and threw it on also.

“Hurry, Docas! See baby’s big fire!”

Docas rushed forward and seized the blazing basket, but it was so badly burned that it could not be used.

“Umwa! Umwa!” he cried. “You silly little baby! Mother will have to work for weeks to make her basket for grass-seed again.”

Ama felt very sorry when she saw the burnt basket.

“You must go to-day and get some more roots with which to make some new baskets,” she said.

After breakfast Docas and Heema went down to the edge of the bay.

“How are you going to dig up the roots?” asked Heema.

“With my toes,” answered Docas.

The long round roots ran along just under the ground in the mud. Docas stuck his bare toes into the mud, wriggling them along under a root. He loosened it a little at each wriggle, and by and by he pulled up a long straight root.

Heema helped also, and that evening they carried home a big bundle of roots.

The next day they went up in the hills and gathered a large number of maidenhair ferns. They came back by the San Francisquito creek and broke off a great many willow branches.

As they trudged home, Heema asked, “Do you think mother will put feathers or shells on these new baskets?”

“I don’t know,” answered Docas, “but she will make a pretty pattern with the dark fern stems or the willow bark.”

Next morning Ama began making the new basket. She made this basket flat.

By the time the basket was finished, the grass-seed was ripe in the fields around them.

One morning Ama got up very early. Docas saw her pick up the new flat basket and a deep basket with a handle.

“I’m going to see what she does with the new basket,” thought Docas, creeping out very softly.

“I can carry the new basket,” said Docas.

He trotted along behind Ama as she walked out to the field of grass. The grass was so tall that Docas was almost hidden, and his mother did not see him.

Docas watched Ama brush the tops of the grass with the flat basket. Every few minutes there would come a little rattle as Ama knocked the seeds down into the deep basket. “Just hear the grass-seed rattle down into the deep basket,” said Docas to himself.

The poppies were still asleep. Docas tried to poke some of them open, but they closed tightly again. He pulled some of the little green caps off the buds, but the little golden buds refused to open.

“They want the sun to drive away the mist before they wake up. Everything is sleepy this morning except mother. I think I’m sleepy myself.” With that he fell asleep among the poppies, with the tall grasses nodding over him. After a little Ama came over that way, brushing the grass tops as she came. Suddenly she stumbled and looked down.

“Why! There’s a child! It’s my own little Docas!” she exclaimed.

Docas rubbed his eyes and looked at her. Then he rolled out of her way and jumped up.

By that time the basket was full of seeds, so they started back to the rancheria. Ama slung the deep basket on her back, carrying it by a strap across her forehead.

“I can carry the new basket,” said Docas.

After they came to the rancheria, Ama made the grass-seed into bread for breakfast.

DOCAS’S NEW SKIRT

MASSEA and some of the other Indian men went out to hunt deer. Docas ran to meet them as they came home.

“How many did you get? One, two, three, four, five, six,” he said, counting the deer.

Then he ran to his mother and said, “Oh, mother, may I not have a new skirt? I want one of deer-skin instead of rabbit-skin this time.”

“Yes, you shall have it as soon as I can make it for you,” answered his mother.

After the deer were skinned, Ama took up a skin and said to Docas, “Put it into a still pool in the creek and let it stay there.”

“How long must it stay?” asked Docas.

“Until the hair is loose,” answered Ama.

So every morning Docas went out to the skin to see if the hair was loose. One morning he came running to his mother, crying, “Look, mother, I pulled this bunch of hair out so easily this morning!”

Then Ama took the skin out of the water.

“You may pull all the hair out,” she said to Docas. “After that I will scrape it with a sharp stone.”

When both sides were scraped clean, Ama and Docas went out into the woods.

“We must find two trees so close together that we can stretch the skin between them,” said Ama.

By and by they found them, stretched the skin, and went back to camp. Every little while Docas went running out to the skin to see how fast it was drying.

“It just seems as if I couldn’t wait for my new skirt,” he said.

When it was half dry, Ama warmed some deer’s brains at the fire.

“Now, Docas, get the deerskin,” she said. “You may rub some brains of a deer on the skin.”

Docas rubbed and rubbed for a long time.

“Haven’t I rubbed enough?” he asked after a while.

“No, you must get the skin very soft,” she answered.

Docas’s arms grew tired after a little, so Ama said, “Go out where the ground is wet and dig a hole. I will finish rubbing the skin.”

Massea bringing home a deer.

By the time the hole was ready the skin was soft. Ama brought it to the hole and said, “Now we will bury the skin for four or five weeks.”

“Bury it!” exclaimed Docas. “I thought it was ready to make into my skirt, now.”

“Not yet,” answered Ama.

For several days Docas kept asking Ama if the skin was not almost ready, but after a while he grew tired of asking and forgot all about it.

When the time was up, Ama went out to the hole one evening after Docas was asleep. She dug up the skin, cleaned it, and made it into a skirt. She put a fringe on the bottom of the skirt to finish it off. After the skirt was done she laid it by Docas’s side, where he would see it the first thing in the morning.

Such a happy boy as he was when he found his new skirt!

THE SWEAT HOUSE

MASSEA and the other Indian men were not feeling well one day. They said, “We ate too much deer. We must go to the sweat house.”

The Indians had dug a large hole in the ground and made a rude cave. They had covered this with brush, leaving only one little hole for a door. They called this place the sweat house.

“Look at them! There they go!” cried Docas to Heema.

As the Indians went into the sweat house, Massea said to Docas:—

“Build a fire in the doorway so that we cannot get out.”

The sweat house was almost full of Indians, and after the fire was built they began to dance. They danced as hard as they could.

“I should not like to be in there,” said Docas to Heema. “Just think how hot it must be!”

“Hear them grunt!” exclaimed Heema.

It grew hotter and hotter in the sweat house, but the men kept on dancing.

Soon the sweat began to pour off them until the ground was wet. Massea went around with a scraper and scraped the other Indians.

By and by the fire went down, and Docas went off to play. By that time the Indians were tired out.

“Look at them! There they go!” cried Docas to Heema. Massea and the other men had jumped over the fire at the door and were running down to the river.

Heema and Alachu came running.

“Now father’s in the water!” cried Docas. A moment later he added, “See, he has come up out of the river. They are going to lie down in the sun to get warm and dry again. Let’s go down and play in the sun near them.”

THE FEAST OF THE EAGLES

IN the mountains near the camp was a gorge where the eagles built their nests. One day, Massea said to the other men:—

“To-morrow we will get the eagles.”

Next morning early they started.

“We shall not be back until evening,” said Massea to Docas. “The eagles build their nests so high among the rocks that it is hard to reach them.”

It was so late before the men came back that Docas was asleep, but he waked when he heard the voices. He looked out of the hut; then he shook Heema, saying, “Wake up, Heema; father has brought home two little eagles.”

“Let me take them to their huts,” said Docas to his father.

Docas took the little eagles and put them into two brush huts that had been built for them.

Little Umwa had died a few weeks before, so every day Massea, Ama, and the children went to see the eagles. Docas always took them something to eat.

“Tell Umwa we love her still,” said Docas to the eagles.

“Tell Umwa I’ll take good care of her if she will come back,” said Heema.

“Tell Umwa ’Lachu want to play,” said little Alachu.

The father and mother also, told the eagles many things to tell their baby, for the Indians thought that the eagles would see Umwa, and could talk to her after they were killed.

The men built a very large brush hut, large enough to hold all the Indians in the village. At the end of two weeks, Massea said, “Now we will build a fire in the big hut.”

As the sun set they began dancing around the fire, and danced all night until almost sunrise. Each carried in his hands a bunch of owl feathers tied to a stick, with rattles from a rattlesnake in among the feathers. Whenever the bunch was shaken it made a rattling noise.

Several times during the night Massea threw baskets on the fire. Sometimes the baskets rolled off without burning. Massea put those baskets into the laps of women who were sitting near the fire, saying to them, “Give these baskets to the poor people.”

This went on till sunrise, and then the fire was made to burn very brightly. The eagles were killed and their bodies were laid on the fire. As the bodies burned, Massea danced more wildly than ever, shaking the rattle even more rapidly. And all the time he kept calling, “Don’t forget to tell Umwa.”

“Tell Umwa we love her still.”

THE INVITATION TO THE DANCE

ONE day Docas and his little brother Heema were playing near their brush hut, when Docas heard a slight noise near by. He looked up and saw another Indian boy about twelve years old. The boy held in his hand some strings of deerskin.

“It’s Apa, whose father is chief of the camp nearest us,” Docas said.

The boy Apa came forward. “Where’s your father?” he asked.

“In the sweat house,” answered Docas.

“Give him this string when he comes out,” said Apa, taking one of the strings from the little bunch. “Good-by. I have more camps to visit to-day,” and he started off on the run.

Docas and Heema looked the string over as soon as Apa had gone. They found five knots tied in it, each a little way apart from the others.

“I wonder what the knots are for,” said Heema. “Do they mean that they wish to fight us?”

“No, for Apa’s father is our friend. Here comes father. We will ask him,” answered Docas.

Docas and Heema ran toward Massea and gave him the string. As they passed Ama she saw the string and smiled. When they gave it to Massea, he smiled, too, and said, “It is well.”

“What does it mean, father?” asked Heema. “Why do you and mother smile when you see it?”

“It means that Chief Yeeta sends to Chief Massea an invitation for everybody in our rancheria to come to a dance at his rancheria,” answered Massea.

“All right. Let’s go this morning,” said Heema, starting toward the hut to get the new rabbit-skin skirt his mother had just made for him.

“Wait,” said Massea. “The five knots mean that we are not to come for five days.”

“Oh, that’s so long to wait,” said Heema.

“You can watch the time for us,” said Massea. “Every morning you may untie one of the knots for us, and when the last but one is reached, we will start.”

So every morning, as soon as it was light, the two boys crept out of the hut and untied a knot.

THE ACORN DANCE

“THERE’S only one knot left. Can’t we start now?” shouted Heema, as he untied the next to the last knot.

“Not until afternoon; but you may go to the marsh with me to gather reeds to blow on at the dance,” answered Massea.

Just before lunch, Heema burst into the hut where Ama was busy putting food into their baskets.

“I got all these reeds myself and I tied them together myself,” he cried. He held up a bunch of reeds tied together with a deerskin string and almost as big as he was.

“Such fun as we shall have at the acorn dance!” he exclaimed, pulling a reed out of the bunch, and cutting it in such a manner that it made a rude flute. He began to jump around the hut, blowing on the reed meanwhile. As he gave an extra big jump, he lit on the edge of one of the baskets, tipped it over, and spilled the clams in it all over the ground.

“I wish you would be more quiet, like Docas,” said Ama.

“Never mind, I’ll pick up the clams,” said Heema, hurrying to get the clams back into the basket again. “Docas wants to be a man. You can’t have much fun with him these days,” he said.

Just as he put the last clam back, Docas and Massea came in sight, and Heema ran to meet them.

By the middle of the afternoon, everything was ready, and they started with their reeds for the village of Chief Yeeta. They carried a great many clams and much grass-seed bread, for they were to be gone several days. Yeeta’s village was about eight miles away, by the side of a little brook.

The Red Deer

Docas walked quietly along by Massea’s side, but Heema ran around so much, chasing squirrels, that he began to grow tired.

Suddenly Docas said, “There’s Apa.”

“He has come to meet us. We must be almost there,” said Heema, forgetting that he was tired, and running forward.

From the top of the next hill Heema could look down on the village where Apa lived. In a minute he came running back to Docas.

“Oh, there are so many people there! And they are making a big circle by sticking green boughs in the ground out in an open place,” exclaimed Heema. “Please hurry up, Docas, you are so slow.”

Docas laughed and said, “Not when I get started, Heema,” and he began running toward Apa. Docas could run fast, so he reached Apa long before Heema did.

“Why are the people putting grass down in a circle?” asked Heema, as the three boys walked into the village.

“That’s where they dance, and they want it to be soft so that they can lie down when they get tired,” answered Docas.

It was dark before all the invited people had come, so they all had supper and went to bed.

Next morning the dancing began. Massea stood on one side and stamped on a hollow log, while the women and the other men made one big circle, and swayed back and forth, singing as they danced. They kept time with their singing and dancing to Massea’s stamping.

By and by they grew tired and stopped dancing.

Heema had gone down to the brook, for he was tired of watching the dance.

“Come, Heema,” called Docas. “We must take around the acorn porridge now. The people are hungry.”

After the porridge had been served, the men stepped out again into the circle, while the women sat on the ground outside and looked on. Yeeta had a big rattle in his hand, and each of the other men had a reed.

Yeeta stood in the centre and shook his rattle. The other men blew on their reeds, and began jumping toward the right. The dance went on for a little while, and then suddenly Yeeta stopped shaking the rattle. The men, who were watching him, stopped dancing and blowing their reeds at the same time.

“Good,” said Docas, who was standing near. “No one got caught that time.”

Yeeta again began shaking his rattle, and the dance went on once more. This time he had been shaking the rattle for a long while, when suddenly he stopped a second time.

“Look at them! Look at them! Half the men were not looking at him, and they are still dancing,” shouted Docas, and he laughed and pointed his finger at the dancers who were caught. The other boys laughed too, and the careless men looked foolish.

And so the dance went on for days, until they had eaten all the food they had with them. As they went home, Docas said to Heema, “I wish next autumn were here so that the acorns would be ripe again, and it would be time for another acorn dance.”

DOCAS PLAYING “TEEKEL”

“OH, Docas, I am so tired of working! Let’s play something,” said Heema one evening.

“Help me get the boys together and we will play teekel. Father and the other men played it last night,” answered Docas.

Docas and Heema ran through the rancheria shouting, “Come play teekel! Come play teekel!” as loud as they could.

Before five minutes had passed, a crowd of boys were gathered in an open space at one side of the rancheria. Each boy brought with him a long, slender stick about as tall as himself.

“I will get the ball, if you will make the lines,” shouted Docas, running toward the hut.

In a minute Docas came back carrying the ball, which was made of deerskin and looked like a small dumb-bell. While he was gone, the boys had scratched two long lines in the ground about ten feet apart. The lines were in the middle of the open space.

“You haven’t made the hole for the ball yet,” said Docas. He dug out a little hole midway between the two lines and laid the ball in it.

“We’ll give you first hit, and then we’ll get the ball back over your goal,” said Heema, tossing the ball up into the air for Docas to strike at with his stick.

But Docas hit the ball and sent it flying toward Heema’s goal.

“After it, boys!” shouted Heema.