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MYTHS OF THE MODOCS

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MYTHS OF THE MODOCS

BY
JEREMIAH CURTIN
Author of “The Mongols, A History,” “The Mongols in Russia,” “Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland,” “Creation Myths of Primitive America,” etc.
TRANSLATOR OF THE WORKS OF HENRY SIENKIEWICZ

London
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, Limited
Overy House, 100 Southwark Street, S. E.

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Copyright, 1912,
By A. M. Curtin.

All rights reserved

THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. [[v]]

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INTRODUCTION

The majority of Americans know who the Modocs are and where they live, for on a time their bravery and so-called treachery gave them widespread notoriety; but for those who do not know, the following sketch may be helpful.

The Old Modoc Country was the valley of Lost River in Oregon, and the country adjacent to the shores of Little Klamath Lake, and Tula Lake which in main lies within the boundary of California.

The country around Tula Lake is of volcanic formation and at the southern end of the lake are the lava beds about which so much was written during the Modoc War of 1872–1873. Along the rivers and lakes the scenery is pleasing and in places, grand. Lake Klamath, nearly surrounded by mountains, is as beautiful as are the famed lakes of Italy and Switzerland. Mount Pitt, which, from a distance, seems to rise from the very shore of the lake, is snow-crowned except for a few weeks in midsummer. Mount Shasta is seen from its summit to the snow line.

The Modoc people believe that Kumush created the world—the world in Modoc myth means the country inhabited by the Modocs and the tribes they come in contact with.—He made the mountains, lakes and rivers and gave them names. We are not told about the creation of the “first people,” those wonderful beings who inhabited the world before man was created and were “so numerous that if a count could be made of all the stars in the sky, all the feathers on birds, all the hairs and fur on animals, and all the hairs on our heads, they would not be as numerous.” No man knows how long those “first people” lived, but after countless ages a time came [[vi]]when they were transformed into beasts, reptiles, birds, fishes, insects, plants, stones, snow, earthquake, sun, moon and stars, in fact into every living thing, object, phenomenon and power outside of man. This transformation took place about the time that Kumush created the Modoc and other Indian tribes and gave them names, told them where their homes would be—designated the Klamath country for the Modocs—and established the present order of things.

For the Modocs the valley of Lost River and the lands around Klamath and Tula Lake are sacred. We, who endeavor to trace our origin back to a monkey or, still farther, to a bit of protoplasm, or who believe in and search far and wide for the Garden of Eden, cannot revere a country which is ours simply by chance of birth as the Indian reveres the country where his tribe originated. We cannot estimate the love an Indian has for his country. His holy places are not in far-off Palestine; they are before his eyes in his own birthplace, where every river, hill and mountain has a story connected with it, an account of its origin. No people could be more religious than were the Indians before the advent of the white man; they had no observance, rite, or custom which they did not believe to be God-given.

Into this country that Kumush gave to the Modocs came white settlers. To protect the lives and property of the intruders it was necessary for the United States government to establish a fort and garrison it. Thenceforth the Indians could not subsist by fishing and hunting. At last, to obtain food, supplies and annuity, they were forced to sign the Treaty of 1864. That treaty outlines the limits of a reservation where the Modocs can live, take fish and gather edible seeds, roots and berries. As a payment for lands they gave up they received eight thousand dollars per annum, for a period of five years, five thousand per annum for the next five years, and three thousand per annum for the five years next succeeding. The treaty provided thirty-five hundred dollars for removing the Indians to the reservation, giving them rations for the first year, and furnishing them with clothing, tools and teams. It reserved the right to the government to provide each Indian [[vii]]family with land in severalty to the extent of from forty to a hundred and twenty acres.

The Modocs pledged themselves to commit no depredation upon the persons or property of the settlers.

The amounts stipulated were insignificant for a body of Indians considered as numbering two thousand, and they were to be paid only after the Senate and the President had ratified the treaty, which did not take place till five years after the Indians signed it. The Modocs were not forced to leave their land, now ceded to the United States, till 1869. At the end of that year, two hundred and fifty-eight dissatisfied and unhappy Indians were on the reservation. In April, 1870, rations gave out, and a considerable number of the reservation Indians went back to Lost River Valley; others went to Yaneks on Sprague River. They were permitted to stay in their old homes till the autumn of 1872, then steps were taken to drive them to the reservation. They resisted, and the President ordered the commander at Fort Klamath to have them removed from Lost River Valley: “peaceably if you can, forcibly if you must.”

November 29, 1872, troops surrounded the Modoc camp on Lost River. When the men escaped to the hills, soldiers and settlers fired upon the unprotected women and children of a camp farther north. The Indians retaliated by killing fourteen settlers, then they retreated to the lava beds south of Tula Lake and selected as headquarters a cave called Ben Wright. There they remained undisturbed till January 17. Then, in spite of a fog so dense that the lake and lava beds were shrouded as with a pall, Colonel Wheaton ordered an attack. Four hundred men moved against seventy, but fog forced them to withdraw.

After this defeat, General Gillen was placed in command, and his troops were reenforced by four companies from San Francisco. The new commander decided to negotiate for peace. A few of the Indians were willing to listen to overtures; others, having no confidence in the promises of the United States government, were opposed to wasting time in parley, but at last April 11, 1873, was appointed for a peace [[viii]]meeting. But before the day came, Kintpuash’s ponies were captured by the troops, in spite of General Canby’s promise of a total suspension of hostilities.

That act so roused and enraged the chief that he determined to kill the peace commissioners, whom he now thought to be planning treachery in place of peace. General Canby and Doctor Thomas were murdered; the others fled. Wright’s Cave was bombarded on April 16, 17 and 18. On April 19 the Modocs left the cave. At Sand Hill, April 26, an encounter took place which was more disastrous for the troops than for the Indians, but at a battle fought May 10 the Indians were forced to retreat.

May 25 a number of the warriors, dissatisfied with their leader and considering their cause hopeless, surrendered to General Davis, who was then in command of the government troops. June 1 Kintpuash, and the men who had remained faithful to him, betrayed by an Indian, gave themselves up to a scouting party of cavalry.

The men who killed General Canby were condemned and hung; those accessory to the deed were incarcerated at Fort Alcatraz; the other warriors, with their wives and children, numbering about one hundred and forty-five, were removed to the Quapaw Agency in the Indian Territory (now Oklahoma) and are still there.

Exile for the Modocs was a crushing sorrow. When I saw them, in 1884, they were still mourning over their changed condition, and for the Klamath country,—the country Kumush created and gave to them.

A large number of the myths in this volume were related to Mr. Curtin, in 1884, by one of the exiles, Ko-a-lak′-ak-a, a woman who was then old and feeble, but who as late as Aug. 1, 1912, was still living, the oldest woman of the Klamath-Modoc tribe of Indians. At the time she told the myths she was remarkable for her intelligence and her wonderful memory. In childhood her grandfather had instructed her in the religion of her people, in other words, taught her all the myths of the Modocs, and to old age her tenacious memory retained many of them. For [[ix]]years Ko-a-lak′-ak-a was the most unhappy of all the exiles.

Later in 1884, Mr. Curtin visited the Modocs who were left in the Klamath country. There is much that could be written regarding the treatment those poor, unhappy creatures were receiving from the professedly Christian men and women who were in power on the reservation. Such abuses existed, that Mr. Curtin mentioned them to the proper officials in Washington, and changes were made.

Sconchen, the oldest Indian there, related to Mr. Curtin a number of the myths which are in this volume, and also told him a good deal about the customs of the Modocs. Though old and infirm, his mind was still clear and active. For years, in the prime of his life, he was chief of his people, and in his old age they revered him.

M. A. Curtin.

Pasadena, California,
March, 1912. [[xi]]

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CONTENTS

[[1]]

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MYTHS OF THE MODOCS

LÁTKAKÁWAS

CHARACTERS

Látkakáwas and her five brothers lived on the south side of Klamath Lake. The brothers went every day to fish from an island in the middle of the lake. Látkakáwas stayed at home; she gathered wiwhi seeds and burned the down from them to prepare them as food for her brothers and for herself.

When Látkakáwas was at work, she looked like a common old woman, but when she shook herself and went out of the house, she was young, blue and beautiful.

The “Old Man” (Kumush) lived on the eastern side of Klamath Lake. On the western side of the lake lived many people. Those people often saw Látkakáwas standing on the top of her house, looking blue and nice, but as soon as they went toward her she changed to an old hunchback woman.

The young men of the western village counseled together; [[2]]then each day they sent one of their number to try to steal up to Látkakáwas and catch her before she could make herself old and ugly. They wanted to talk to her; they wanted to ask her to take one of them for a husband.—Every young man in the western village tried, but Látkakáwas was never young when they came toward her.

One man started before daybreak; he wanted to get near the house and hide till Látkakáwas came out. That day she stayed inside, an old hunchback woman stringing beads. She knew when people were looking at her or thinking of her; she even knew where they were.

Each morning Látkakáwas’ brothers went to the island to catch salmon, and dry them, but as soon as it was dark they came home. One night Látkakáwas said to her eldest brother: “Men come here to watch me, and try to catch me; when they find me hunchback and ugly to look at, they make fun of me. I don’t like that. It makes me feel badly.”

“How soon will you have seeds enough gathered?” asked her brother.

“To-morrow,” said Látkakáwas.

“When the seeds are ready, you will go with us to the island where nobody can bother you,” said her brother.

On the west side of the lake there was a young man as blue and beautiful as Látkakáwas herself. His father kept him in an underground place; no one ever saw him except when he went out to bathe or swim. When all the other young men had tried to get near Látkakáwas, and had failed, the people said to this young man’s father: “Why don’t you send your son? Maybe he could catch that beautiful blue woman.”

When the old man told his son about Látkakáwas, the young man said: “There is no use of my going there. If all the others have failed I should fail, too.”

“You are as blue and nice to look at as Látkakáwas is,” said his father; “maybe she will like you and take you for a husband.”

The old man took his son out of the underground place, washed him and got him ready, made him clothes from a wonderful cap, a cap that could never be destroyed. When the [[3]]young man put on those clothes, he was beautiful beyond anything in the world; he was blue and gold and green, like the clouds in the sky. He could run in the air and under the ground. He had great power.

When he was ready to start, his father said to him: “When the sun comes to the edge of the sky, Látkakáwas shakes herself and goes to the top of the house to watch it. If you travel under the ground you will get near her before she sees you.”

When Látkakáwas shook herself and stood on top of the house to watch the sun, the young man was near by, under the ground, with one eye looking out. She knew that he was there, but she didn’t change to an old woman. She said to herself: “This man pleases me; he is not like the others. He is the first man who hasn’t laughed and made fun of me.”

The young man watched Látkakáwas for a time and then went home.

When Látkakáwas’ brothers came, she said: “A young man, all blue and gold and green, nice to look at, has been here to watch me, but he didn’t make fun of me as the others did.”

The eldest brother said: “We will move to the island to-morrow. Just at sundown we caught two big salmon; we will go early and dress them, then we’ll come for you. While we are gone, you must pack up the beads and skins.”

In the morning, before it was light, the brothers started for the island. Just as the sun looked up over the edge of the sky, the young man from the west came again. As Látkakáwas shook herself and came out at the smoke hole on top of the house, a light shone in her face. It was so strong that it dazzled her and she turned back. The young man was brighter than before, for he was out of the ground.

When Látkakáwas went into the house, he peeped through a crack and watched her. She knew he was there, but she didn’t turn old; she sat down and assorted her beads according to color. Then she picked up her mats and got ready to go to the island.

Early in the forenoon the five brothers came and began to pull down the house. [[4]]

The people on the west side of the lake saw them at work and asked one another: “Where are those brothers going? Why are they pulling down their house?”

At midday, when the brothers were ready to start, they spread mats from the house to the canoe, for Látkakáwas to walk on. When she got into the canoe at the edge of the lake, she forgot all about the young man, forgot that she had fallen in love with him that morning.

The brothers pushed the canoe to get it into the water, but they couldn’t move it; the young man was holding it. He was right there by them, but they didn’t see him. They worked for a long time. Finally he let go of the canoe, and it started, but he pulled it back. He let them push it out a second time, and a second time he pulled it back. They started many times but each time, before they could get out into the lake, they were back at the shore. They strove in that way till the middle of the afternoon, then the young man freed the canoe and the brothers rowed toward the island.

As the canoe went on, the young man swam behind it in the form of a salmon. He was in love with Látkakáwas, and he wanted to look at her. She sat in the middle of the canoe with one of her brothers; two brothers sat at the end of the canoe and two in front.

As they rowed along, one of the brothers saw a beautiful salmon, all blue and gold and green. He speared it and pulled it into the canoe, and that moment the salmon turned to a young man; but right away he died.

Látkakáwas cried and blamed her brothers. She knew the young man, and she felt badly. The brothers felt badly, too. They went back to the shore and the next day they put their beads and mats in one big pile and burned them, together with the young man’s body. When the pile was burned, there was a bright disk in the ashes. The disk was as bright as the sun in the heavens. This was the crown of the young man’s head.

Látkakáwas saw it, and said: “Look, what is that bright thing in the ashes?”

The brother who had speared the salmon took up the disk, gave it to Látkakáwas, and said: “Take it to Kumush. He is [[5]]in his sweat-house at Nihlaksi. Kumush can bring a man to life if he has only one hair from his head.”

Látkakáwas put the disk in her bosom, then she gave each of her brothers a bundle of bone head-scratchers, and said: “If Kumush doesn’t bring my husband to life, you will never see me again.”

Látkakáwas traveled all day; when night came she camped at Koáskise, not far from Kumush’s sweat-house.

The next morning, just as the sun came up, Látkakáwas gave birth to a child, a wonderfully beautiful boy. She strapped the baby on a board, put the board on her back and went to Kumush’s sweat-house.

When Kumush asked why she came, she took the disk out of her bosom, and said: “I want you to bring this to life.”

When Kumush saw the disk, he thought he had never seen anything that was half as bright and beautiful. Látkakáwas wanted to gather wood to build a fire in the sweat-house, but Kumush said: “You stay here; I will get the wood.”

Right away he had a big fire; then he heated stones, and when they were ready to put in the basket of water, he said to Látkakáwas: “Take your baby and lie down in the corner; wrap yourself up and keep still.”

When she was wrapped up tight, Kumush put the hot stones into the basket, and when the water boiled, he put in the disk. After a little while the disk came to life, and became the young man again.

When Kumush saw how beautiful the man was, he wanted him to die, and never come to life again. He thought he would get the disk and the young man’s beauty. As Kumush wanted, so it was. The young man died.

When Látkakáwas unwrapped herself and saw that her husband was dead, she cried, she felt so lonesome. She cried all the time Kumush was gathering wood to burn the body.

When the body was half consumed, Látkakáwas asked Kumush to put more wood on the fire. While he was picking up the wood, she strapped the baby on to the board, put the board on her back and sprang into the fire. Kumush saw [[6]]her just in time to snatch the baby from her back. Látkakáwas and the young man’s body were burned to ashes.

The baby cried and cried. Kumush called it by every name he could think of. He called it Wanaga, Lákana, Gailalam-tcaknoles. When he called it Isilámlĕs, it didn’t cry quite as hard; when he said Isis Uknóles, it cried only a little; when he said Isis, the child stopped crying. The name pleased it.

Kumush put the child on the ground and looked in the ashes for the disk. He found it and was glad, but he didn’t know where to put it. He put it on his knee, under his arm, on his breast, on his forehead, and on his shoulders, but it wouldn’t stay anywhere. At last he put it on the small of his back. The minute he put it there it grew to his body, and right away he was beautiful and young and bright, the brightest person in the world. The disk had become a part of him, and he was the father of Isis, for the disk was the father of Isis.

Then Kumush left Nihlaksi and traveled toward the north. On the road he kept thinking where he was to hide the baby. At last he hid it in his knee, where it appeared as a boil. That night he stayed with two old women who lived in a house at the edge of a village. All night he groaned and complained of the boil on his knee. In the morning he asked one of the old women to press the boil.

As soon as she began to press it, she saw bright hair. “What is this?” asked she.

“I told you that wasn’t a boil,” said the other old woman.

They both pressed, and soon the baby came out. The women washed the child, wrapped it up in a skin blanket and fed it.

Right away people found out that old man Kumush had a baby and everybody wanted to know where he got it.

Kumush said: “The earth is kind to me. The earth gave this baby to me.”

Kumush took Isis and went to live on the southeast side of [[7]]Tula Lake,[1] and there he fished and worked and reared Isis.

When Isis was old enough to marry, the Mówatwas, a people from the south, brought him a woman named Tókwa (mole). A great many people came with her, for she was a powerful woman, the best worker in the world.

When the Mówatwas came, Kumush and Isis were at home. Isis was asleep; he had been fishing, and children were carrying fish from the canoe to the house. As the Mówatwas came in sight, Gäk saw them and said to the children: “I wonder where all those people came from? They will never come here again!”

That minute the Mówatwas and Tókwa turned to stone. Kumush and Isis turned to stone, too, but their spirits came out and were men again. Their bodies and the body of Tókwa are at Tula Lake now, near the bodies of the Mówatwas people, who came with Tókwa.

Kumush took Isis to Lĕklis,[2] where he had a house. Then he said to him:

“You must be wise, you must be great and powerful and strong. You must go to the top of Lâniswi and swim in the pond of blue water that is there. When you get to the pond, you must pile up stones and then stand and talk to the mountain. Tell it what you think. The mountain will hear you. Everything in the world will hear you and understand you. After you have talked to the mountain, you must dive in the pond. Dive five times to the bottom, and each time drink of the lowest water. When you come out of the pond, build a fire, warm yourself and then sleep. If you dream, don’t tell the dream to any one. When you wake up, start for home. On the road don’t talk to any one, or drink any water. If you do as I tell you, you will be as great as I am and do the things that I do. You will live always. You will be the brightest [[8]]object in the world. If you endure these things, you will be able to bear every suffering.”

Isis put on a dress made of the red bark of the teskot tree, and went to the swimming place on the mountain. At night he piled up stones till he was sleepy; then he stood by the pond and talked to the mountain. After that he dived five times in the swimming pond. The fourth time he felt something big and heavy, but he thought: “My father does not want me to have riches in this world; he wants me to have mind.” The fifth time he felt five kinds of gambling sticks and a large white feather.

He came out of the pond, built a fire and warmed himself; then he lay down and went to sleep. He dreamed that he saw the gambling sticks and the feather that he had felt in the water. When he woke up, he started down the mountain. As soon as he got home, he began to tell his dream, but Kumush said: “Don’t tell your dream now. If you were to gamble with some one, then you might tell it.”

After this Kumush sent Isis to Slákkosi, a swimming place in a deep basin on the top of a mountain. Kumush said: “When you get there, make a rope of willow bark, tie one end around a tree and the other around your body, and let yourself down into the whirlpool.”

When Isis got to the top of the mountain, he went five times around the basin, then he made the rope and let himself down into the water. He went five times around inside the basin. Five times he saw a bright house that was nice to look at, and he saw lights burning in the water. After swimming, he drew himself up and started down the mountain.

When Isis got home, Kumush sent him to Gewásni, a pond deep down among the rocks on the summit of Giwásyaina.[3]

Kumush said: “Lok and Dásläts used to swim in Gewásni. When you get to the top of the mountain, you must hold your right hand up and talk to the mountain; ask it for mind and power. The mountain will hear you and great thoughts will go in through the top of your head. When you have talked to [[9]]Giwásyaina, you can talk all day to other mountains and not get tired or hoarse.”

When Isis got to the swimming place, he let himself down with a bark rope, sat on a rock at the edge of the water and washed himself. Then he drew himself up to the top and lay down. He couldn’t go to sleep. He went to the place where he stood when he talked to the mountain, lay down there and tried to sleep, but couldn’t; so he started for home.

When Kumush saw Isis coming, he washed himself, and used nice smelling roots; then he took food and went to meet him and fix a resting place for him.

After Isis had eaten and rested, Kumush said: “I want you to go to Adáwa. You must go to all the gauwams (swimming places); you will find something in each one. Adáwa is Lok’s pond. He stays in the water there. You must swim on the western side.”

When Isis got to the pond, he thought there was a great rock out in the water. He swam out and stood on it. It was Lok and right away he began to shake and move. Isis jumped into the water; into the middle of a terrible whirlpool; the whirlpool was Lok’s medicine. It made Isis’ head feel queer and dizzy. He swam to the western side of the pond, dived five times, got out of the water and went home.

Kumush said: “Now you must go to old man Mukus. Before Gäk turned him into a rock Mukus was the greatest gambler in the world. Around him are many rocks, the men he was gambling with when Gäk’s word was spoken.”

When Isis started, Kumush put the back of his hand across his forehead, looked toward the place and talked to Mukus, asking him to be good to Isis and give him whatever he had to give.

When Isis got to the rock, he stood and waited. After a while old Mukus asked: “What did you come for?”

Isis made no answer.

Then the old man moved a little, and said: “I heard Kumush talking. I have nothing but gambling to give,—my work. I will give you that.”

When Isis got home, he lay down. Kumush washed himself, [[10]]then gave his son food and drink. The next morning he sent him to get Tcok, the great gambling medicine.

Kumush said: “Tcok is round and bright, like the sun. If a lazy man tries to catch it, it will show itself in two or three places at the same time, and he can’t overtake it; but if a strong man, who has been to the swimming ponds, follows it, it will let itself be caught.”

Isis went for Tcok, caught it and brought it home. He held it so tightly in his hand that it burned him, and blistered his hand.

Kumush said: “You must kill Tcok; if you don’t it will get away from you. You want it, for if a man has it when he is gambling, it gives him strength.”

When Isis had killed Tcok, Kumush said: “Now you must go to Káimpeos. On the way you will come to a small pond. Don’t stop there, for it is a bad place. In Káimpeos there are five Kais; they belong to the pond.”

When Isis got to Káimpeos, he saw the sun, the moon, the stars and big fires down under the water. He dived five times; each time he felt a Kai right near him. Under the arm of the fifth Kai there were gambling sticks. When Isis came out of the water, he lay down on a rock and tried to go to sleep, but he couldn’t, so he got up and went home.

While Isis was gone, Kumush made a sweat-house, and when Isis returned, he said: “Take off your bark clothes and sweat, then paint your face and body red and put on buckskin clothes and nice beads. You have been to all the swimming places, and you might be a big chief, but I don’t want that. Other people will come and it will be bad here. We will go away where you can keep all the strength the mountains and swimming places have given you, where you won’t get bad and dirty from the earth and people.”

They went to the top of a high mountain and built a house among the rocks. The house was red and nice to look at. Kumush thought that people around Tula Lake would see his house, but couldn’t climb up to it. Kumush had the north side, Isis the south side of the house; the door opened toward the east. [[11]]

Kumush didn’t know that Skakas and Nada lived on that mountain, but they did, and both of them fell in love with Isis. They came to the house and neither one of them would go away.

“What do you want?” asked Kumush.

“I want Isis for a husband,” said Skakas. Nada gave the same answer.

“Well,” said Kumush, “I will find out what you can do. Which of you can bring water first from that lake down there?”

Both started. Skakas found water on the way, turned around and was back first. When Nada came, she said to Skakas: “I didn’t see you at the lake.”

“I got there first; I took some water and came back. We were not there at the same time.”

“I am a fast traveler,” said Nada. “It is strange that you got back first.”

Isis drank the water Nada brought, but wouldn’t touch the water Skakas gave him.

Nada said: “We will go again. This time we will take hold of hands.” They started in the morning, got the water and Nada flew back. Skakas didn’t get back till midday.

Isis drank the water Nada brought, and said it was good, but he wouldn’t drink the water Skakas brought. Kumush tore Skakas in pieces and threw the pieces over the cliff into the lake. The pieces are in the lake now; they became rocks.

Isis and Kumush didn’t want to live where people could come, so they left their home and traveled toward the northeast. Not far from the house they put down their baskets, fish-spears, canoes and everything they had used in fishing. Those things turned to stone and are there on the cliff to-day. Kumush and Isis traveled for a long time before they came to the river that is now called Lost River. Kumush made a basket and caught a salmon in it. Then he said: “I want salmon always to be in this river, and many of them, so people will have plenty to eat.” At Nusâltgăga he made a basket and caught small fish, and said the same thing, so that there [[12]]should always be plenty of small fish in the river. He multiplied the histis, a kind of fish which Klamath Indians like.

When Isis and Kumush got to the third camping place, Kumush called it Bláielka and the mountain he called Ktáila­wetĕs. He said to Isis: “You must swim in the swimming pond on this mountain, and pile up stones, and talk to the mountain.”

Isis went to the pond and while he was in the water he saw nice gambling sticks and felt them touch his body. When he was through swimming and was coming out, Gäk flew by. He saw Isis standing in the water, and he thought: “I wonder where that bright thing in the water came from. It won’t come here again!” That minute Isis was turned to stone, but his spirit escaped, and went to his father’s camping place.

Isis and Kumush stayed a long time at Bláielka, then Kumush said: “I must travel around and work; you can stay here.” Kumush left Isis on Dúilast, a mountain on the eastern side of Tula Lake and he started off for the west.

While Kumush was gone, many women came to live with Isis. Among his wives were Tókwa, Wéakûs, Djakkonus, Tcíktcikûs, Kládo, Tseks, Dohos, Dúdûte, Tcíkas, Kols, Nada and Wálwilegas. The first wife to have a child was Tcíkas, who had a little boy. Tcíkas was uneasy about Kumush; she was afraid something had happened to him.

Isis said: “Nothing can hurt Kumush. He will be here soon. He can go around the world in two days.”

The next morning Kumush came, bringing in his hands little bundles of seeds of every kind. He threw those seeds in different directions, and talked to the mountains, the hills, the rivers and springs, to all places, telling them to take the seeds, to care for them and keep them forever. And he told them not to harm his grandson.

Isis’ wives were so nice to look at that Kumush fell in love with them and began to think how to get rid of Isis.

One day when he was hunting, Isis used his last arrow. Kumush said: “I will make some arrows, but you must get eagle feathers to put on them. When I was coming home I saw an eagle’s nest on the top of a tree. There were eggs in it; the eggs [[13]]are hatched by this time. You can get some of the young eagles.” And he told him where the tree was.

When Isis came to the tree, he took off his buckskin clothes and climbed up to the nest. He found the eagles and threw them to the ground. As he threw the last one, he looked down, and he nearly lost his mind, for at Kumush’s word the tree had grown so tall that it almost touched the sky. Isis’ clothes were under the tree. He saw Kumush come and put them on, then pick up the eagles, and start for home.

Before leaving the house, Kumush had said to Isis’ wives: “I am going for wood.” When he came back, the women thought he was Isis. When he asked: “Where is Kumush?” they said: “He went for wood and hasn’t come back.”

Kumush hurried the sun down and right away it was dark. All the women except Wálwilegas, Kols, Tcíkas and Tókwa thought he was Isis.

The next morning Tcíkas asked Wálwilegas what she thought.

“He isn’t Isis,” said Wálwilegas.

“That is what I think,” said Tcíkas.

Kols cried and tears ran down her cheeks. “Tears,” said she, “are a sign that Isis is in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Kumush. “Hurry up and get me something to eat. I don’t want people to come here to gamble; we will go where they are.”

After Kumush had eaten enough, he and all the women, except Wálwilegas, Kols and Tcíkas, started for Pitcowa, the place where Isis always went to gamble. (A broad flat northeast of Tula Lake.)

As Kumush traveled, he set fire to the grass; the smoke went crooked. People saw it, and said: “That is not Isis. Isis’ smoke always goes straight up to the sky.”

Kumush knew their thoughts. He tried to make the smoke go straight; part went straight and part went crooked.

Then they said: “Maybe that is Isis.”

When he got near, the people asked: “Where is Kumush?”

“He stayed at home; he didn’t want to come.” [[14]]

Some thought: “This man doesn’t look just like Isis,” but they began to gamble with him.

When all the women had gone except Wálwilegas and Tcíkas and Kols, Kols began to track her husband. Wálwilegas followed her. Tcíkas put her baby on her back and started for Pitcowa. She felt lonesome. She traveled slowly, digging roots as she went along.

Kols tracked Isis to the tree. Then she said: “He is up in this tree, but he must be dead.”

“He is alive,” said Wálwilegas. “I hear him breathe. He loved his other wives and didn’t care for us. They have gone off with another man; now he will find out who loves him.”

Kols tried to dig the tree up, but couldn’t; then Wálwilegas began to make a basket. When the basket was ready, Kols strapped it on her back and flew up part way to try it. She came back, got something for Isis to eat and bear’s fat to rub him with, then she started again. She flew in circles around the tree, camped one night and reached Isis the next night. He was almost dead. She gave him seeds and rubbed him with bear’s fat. The next morning she put him in the basket and started down; she got home at midday.

Kols and Wálwilegas fed Isis well. Every night they rubbed him with bear’s fat and soon he was well again. Then they fixed a sweat-house and he sweated till his skin was nice and soft. It became rough while he was on the tree. After he had sweated, they put nice clothes on him.

Isis asked: “How did Tókwa and Nada and the others act while I was lost?”

“They didn’t care much,” said Kols; “they were not sorry.”

When the people at Pitcowa had gambled long enough, they began to play ball. Some thought that the man they were playing with was Isis; others thought he was Kumush.

Kumush had the disk on his back. It looked like a great scar. One day, while the people were disputing, some saying that he was Isis, others that he was Kumush, a man hired a doctor to make the south wind blow. When Kumush ran north after [[15]]the ball and stooped down to pick it up, the wind raised his blanket and everybody saw the scar. Then they knew Kumush. They shouted, whooped and laughed. They stopped the game and gathered around him.

After Isis had sweated, he said: “We will go and see what Kumush is doing.” He went ahead of Kols and Wálwilegas, and as he traveled he set fire to the grass. The smoke went straight up to the sky. People saw the smoke, and said: “That is Isis! Isis is coming now!” Kumush saw the smoke and was scared; he trembled and almost lost his mind.

Tcíkas had been camping and digging roots. She was mourning for Isis. The child saw Isis coming and called out “Tsutowas” (father).

“Don’t call your father,” said Tcíkas, “your father is dead.”

The boy called again, and again. Tcíkas shook him and scolded him.

“Why do you do that?” asked Isis.

Tcíkas turned and saw Isis. She was glad, for she thought he was lost or dead. “Where were you?” asked she. “How did you get back?”

“Wálwilegas and Kols, the wives I didn’t care for, saved me.” Then he told her how Wálwilegas found him in the eagle’s nest, and how she and Kols carried him home and cured him.

When Isis got to the gambling place, Kumush wanted to talk to him, wanted to be friendly. But Isis was angry; he wouldn’t let Kumush come near him. He had Kols and Wálwilegas gather wood and build a big fire; then he called to his wives who were with Kumush and told them to come to him. They wouldn’t come, for they were afraid. Then he willed that they should come, and they had to; his word drew them, and they couldn’t help going.

He burned their feet and made them red; then he said: “You will no longer be people; you will be birds and will scatter over the world. People will kill you, for you will be good to eat.” They turned into ducks and water birds and flew away. Then Isis threw Kumush into the fire and covered [[16]]him with burning wood. He burned him to ashes, but in the ashes was the disk.

The next morning the morning star, Kumush’s medicine, called out to the disk: “Why do you sleep so long? Get up, old man!” That minute Kumush was alive—he will last as long as the disk and the morning star.

Isis knew now that Kumush would never die, that nothing could kill him. Isis wandered off among the mountains, and as he traveled he sang a beautiful song, that no one else could sing. People could imitate it, but they couldn’t repeat it or understand it.

Kumush followed Isis everywhere for years. At last he overtook him. He wanted to be kind, and live as before, but Isis said: “After what you did to me you may go wherever you want to in the world, and I will go where I want to. You are not my father. I feel that. I hope that of the people, who are to come into the world hereafter, no father will ever treat his son as you have treated me.”

Kumush went to Tula Lake to live. Then Isis turned one of his three faithful wives to a butterfly, another to a badger and the third to a wren, and then he went to live alone on Tcutgósi, a high mountain. [[17]]

[1] Different events in the lives of Isis and Kumush are represented by rocks on that side of Tula Lake. Half-way up a high mountain is the house in which Kumush and Isis lived (a large rock); near Deus (Stork’s bill), is Isis (a rock of peculiar shape), and at the northwest corner of Tula Lake is Kumush himself. [↑]

[2] The rocky summit of a mountain near Lake Tula. [↑]

[3] A mountain in Oregon. [↑]

[[Contents]]

THE FIVE BROTHERS OF LÁTKAKÁWAS

CHARACTERS

When Látkakáwas went to Kumush’s sweat-house with the disk, her five brothers started for the east, traveling a little toward the north. After a long time they came to a village where there were many people. All those people had their heads shaven and covered with cedar pitch, for they were mourning.

In the house at the edge of the village lived three orphans, the Naulintc children, two girls and a boy. They were so poor that they had nothing to eat.

Látkakáwas’ brothers went in and sat down by the fire. They put their elbows on their knees and their heads on their hands. They felt lonesome, for they were mourning for their brother-in-law.

The little boy, Gáukos, began to cry, for he was scared. His elder sister scolded him, and said: “Be quiet; these men didn’t come here to hurt you. If you don’t stop crying, I will throw you out!”

Gáukos kept on crying, and at sunset his sister threw him out. She threw him his blanket and laughed at him, and said: “You can go to the gauwams[1] on the mountains, talk to the earth, and swim. Maybe you will be a great doctor, and know how to do things.”

Lĭsgaga, the younger sister, went to Gáukos. She was crying, [[18]]also. “Let us go to the village and stay with our friends,” said the little girl.

“I don’t want to go there,” said Gáukos. “You must get a string and help me tie my blanket around my waist. I am going to the gauwams on the mountains, but I will come back.”

“You are a little fellow,” said his sister; “you are not old enough to go so far alone.”

“I can take care of myself,” said Gáukos. “I will make myself strong. I will talk to the earth and mountains and get them to give me power.”

Lĭsgaga tied his blanket together and Gáukos walked off quickly. With every step he took, he grew. He had a song that he sang as he traveled; the song said: “I’ve been thrown out, I’ve been given to the earth!”

The trail Gáukos followed went into a ravine; when he came up on the other side of the ravine he was as large as a full-grown man.

Lĭsgaga was watching, and when she saw that her brother had grown large and strong, she went back to the house. The elder sister laughed, and said: “Our little brother has gone to get wise and great, but the crows will eat him.” Lĭsgaga didn’t say a word.

After a while Látkakáwas’ five brothers went to Blaiwas’ house. The eldest brother married Blaiwas’ daughter; the second brother married Kaiutois’ daughter; the third Wûlkûtska’s daughter; the fourth Wekwek’s; the fifth married the daughter of Kutyelolinas.

For five days Lĭsgaga sat on the top of the house, making a tula grass mat, and waiting for her brother. Often her sister threatened to push her off, made fun of her, and asked: “Who are you looking for? Your brother,” said she, “has gone for wisdom and power, but some wild beast will eat him; you will never see him again.”

The sixth morning, when Lĭsgaga went to the top of the house, she heard her brother’s song. It sounded far away, near the mountains.

As Gáukos came along the trail, he saw nice things,—blankets [[19]]worked with porcupine quills, buckskin dresses, beads, and bows and arrows. He took a wonderful buckskin dress, for his little sister. There were no seams in the dress and it was covered with beads; there was not another such a dress in the world. Gáukos thought he would be kind to his elder sister, so he took a buckskin dress for her, but it wasn’t as nice as Lĭsgaga’s.

When his little sister saw him coming, she went down the ladder into the house. Everybody in the village saw Gáukos coming and wondered who the stranger was. He was like the moon; his body was changed and he was bright and beautiful. When the elder sister saw him, she laughed and said to Lĭsgaga: “Maybe that young man is your brother. Maybe Gáukos looks like that now.”

Lĭsgaga didn’t say a word. She spread down the tula grass mat she had made and it became bright and beautiful. The elder sister took it up, and spread it on her own place for the stranger to sit on; she thought he might be coming to marry her.

Lĭsgaga said: “I made that mat for my brother to sit on. You have always said that he soiled your mats.” She took the mat and put it down on her own side of the house.

The elder sister brought water from the spring, and then began to pound seeds to give to the stranger. Lĭsgaga took seeds from her own basket and put them in a basket for her brother.

When Gáukos got home, he left his presents on the top of the house and went in and sat down by Lĭsgaga. She was still small, but Gáukos was a full-grown man. She gave him the tula grass mat to sit on, and gave him seeds to eat.

The elder sister knew him now and was ashamed. After Gáukos had eaten the seeds, he asked Lĭsgaga to comb his hair.

When night came and Gáukos was going to lie down near Lĭsgaga, the elder sister said: “Why do you lie near that child? She will give you lice. I am glad to see you; I will lie on your mat,” and she went to his side of the house.

“Don’t come so near,” said Gáukos. “It is too hot,” and [[20]]he pushed her away. She came again, and again he pushed her away. In the night when he woke up, she was lying by his side; and he rolled over toward his little sister. The next morning he said to Lĭsgaga: “Wash your face and comb your hair. I have brought you a new dress.”

He went to the creek and bathed, then he gave Lĭsgaga both dresses, and said: “Give this one to our sister.” He gave Lĭsgaga a belt to wear when she danced her maturity dance, and porcupine quills for her hair.

When the little girl put on her new dress, she looked very nice. She gave the other dress to her sister, and said: “This is how our brother pays you for throwing him out.”

“Why did you bring such a nice dress to this dirty child?” asked the sister. Gáukos didn’t answer.

While Lĭsgaga was gone for wood, the elder sister put pounded ges[2] in a basket and placed the basket in front of Gáukos. He asked: “Why do you do this? I heard, when I was a child, that young women, when in their father’s house, gave ges to their husbands. It should not be given to a brother.” He pushed the basket away. His sister didn’t say anything, but she was angry. When Gáukos went out, she said to Lĭsgaga: “He likes you, but he doesn’t care for me.”

“You threw him out,” said Lĭsgaga. “I have always been kind to him; but he likes you, for he brought you a nice dress.”

That night when Gáukos lay down on his mat, he told Lĭsgaga to lie near him, then he whispered to her, and told her his elder sister’s thoughts; he knew them all. Lĭsgaga listened, but she didn’t say anything.

In the night the elder sister tied three strands of her hair to Gáukos’ hair. When he woke up and wanted to turn over he couldn’t, for his hair was tied. In the morning he said to Lĭsgaga: “To-night I am going away; I can’t stay here.”

“If you go toward the east,” said Lĭsgaga, “you will be safe, and will find people to help you.”

When the elder sister came with water, and saw Gáukos talking to the little girl, she asked: “What are you saying [[21]]to that child?” He did not reply. That night she again tied three strands of her hair to her brother’s hair.

When he woke up he said to himself: “Let her sleep till I reach the first house.” To Lĭsgaga he said: “I am going east and I must travel fast, for our sister will turn to a man-eater and follow me.”

Gáukos crossed a wide flat at a step, sprang from one mountain to another, and early in the morning came to the first house. There were many mountains between it and his sisters’ house. In that house lived two sisters, old women who were wise and had power; they could even make themselves young if they wanted to.

Gáukos said to the old women: “I am in trouble; you must save me.”

“We don’t know how to save you,” said the sisters. He begged hard, and at last they turned him into a baby, put him on a board and swaddled him.

When the girl woke up and found her brother gone, she turned to a man-eater and followed him. She tracked him across flats and over mountains. In the evening she came to the house where the old women lived, and asked: “Where is the young man who came here?”

“We haven’t seen a young man,” said the sisters. “Nobody comes here.”

“His tracks stop at your house,” said the sister. She looked in, saw the baby, and said: “Oh, you have a baby!” She went in, picked up the child, and said: “He looks like the man I am following.”

“That baby was born this morning,” said one of the sisters.

The woman put the baby back where it had been, then she lay down and went to sleep. She couldn’t help it, for the sisters made her sleep. One of them covered her, and said: “Let her sleep till her brother is near the place where he wants to go.”

As soon as the woman was asleep, the sisters unswaddled the baby. That minute he was a man and started off, saying: “If I live, I will not forget you.” [[22]]

About daylight the sister woke up, and asked: “Where is your baby?”

“He has gone.”

“I thought so. I should have eaten him last night. When I come back I will pay you for this!” She started off quickly; she could step and jump as far as Gáukos could.

“Oh,” said the sisters, laughing, “you will not come back if you go where your brother is,” and they threw ashes after her, that fire might burn her up.

When Gáukos came to the house where old Lóluk and his wife, Dûnwa, lived, he asked Dûnwa to save him. Dûnwa didn’t speak. When Lóluk said “Um, um!” (he wanted his wife to save the young man) Dûnwa stood up and told Gáukos to go down in the hole where she had been sitting.

Gáukos thought: “Maybe she will sit on me and kill me.”

Dûnwa said: “You mustn’t think that; I won’t hurt you.”

He went into the hole, and Dûnwa sat down again.

Old Lóluk’s daughters were out hunting. When they went off to track deer they left their clothes at home and wore only a breech-clout. The minute Gáukos hid in the hole, each sister’s bowstring broke. The girls were frightened, for they knew that something had happened, and right away they started for the house. When they were putting on their clothes, the elder sister said: “I feel as if somebody were looking at me.”

“I feel so, too,” said the younger sister.

They went into the house. Just then Gáukos’ sister came in like a whirlwind.

“Tell me where my brother is!” screamed she.

Nobody answered. The sisters didn’t know what she meant.

“Where is he?” cried she. “I have tracked him to your house. Tell me where he is!”

The elder sister put back her hair, and said: “We have been hunting; we don’t know anything about your brother. Ask our father or our mother.”

Gáukos’ sister didn’t ask but she began to poke the fire [[23]]around. That made the girls angry, for she was scratching their father’s face.

“Why do you scratch my father?” screamed the elder sister.

“This is not a living person; it is nothing but fire. I want to warm myself.”

“That isn’t a common fire,” said the girl. “That’s our father! Let him alone!” She pushed her away.

Gáukos’ sister jumped on the girl, opened her mouth and was going to chew her up and swallow her but the younger sister pulled her back by the hair. Old Lóluk said “Um! um!” Dûnwa raised herself up, rolled over on the girl and broke her legs. The old man opened his mouth wide, like two walls, the sisters caught hold of the girl and threw her into his mouth. Lóluk swallowed her.

The elder sister said: “You will not do such things again. You will no longer be a person; you will be a bird, and lay eggs in the holes of cedar trees. People will kill you, for you will be good to eat.”

Old Lóluk called Gáukos out of his hiding-place and fixed him a place between his two daughters. Dûnwa brought him seeds to eat; he was her son-in-law now.

The next morning Gáukos asked for a bow and arrows. The elder sister brought him hers.

He tried the string of the bow, and said: “This is not strong enough.”

The younger sister brought her bow; he tried the string and said: “This will do.” Then he started.

Dûnwa said to her elder daughter: “You must go, too. This place is new for him; he may have bad luck.”

The young woman took her bow and arrows and followed Gáukos. When he looked back and saw her coming, he stopped and asked: “Why have you come?”

“I came to show you where the deer are.”

Right away they saw under a tree two deer hiding from flies. Gáukos crept up and shot both of them with one arrow. Then he told the woman to stay by the two while he looked for others. Soon he shot two more, and again two, and farther [[24]]on he killed five; he put the nine deer in his belt and went back to his wife.

“Put the deer down,” said she, “I want to tell you about my father and mother. My sister and I kill ten deer each day. Each night our mother eats all the bones of those ten deer and in the morning not a bone is left; our father eats the meat and the livers. As soon as we get home, we cut the deer open, take out the livers and put five of them in our father’s mouth. We give him meat three times each day. You mustn’t think about my father or my mother, for they know your thoughts.”

Gáukos said: “I will kill the deer for you; I am a good hunter.” He put the eleven deer in his belt, and they went home.

Dûnwa asked: “How many deer did my son-in-law kill?”

“Eleven,” said her daughter. The old woman was glad.

Gáukos cut open the deer and gave five of the livers to Lóluk; then he gave the back and leg bones and all the other bones to his mother-in-law; she pounded them fine and ate them.

The sisters cooked meat, for themselves and Gáukos, on their father’s face, without scratching or hurting him.

When they were through eating, the elder sister asked: “Where shall we hang meat to dry?”

Gáukos went off a little way, pulled up a big tree, brought it to the house and stuck it down in the ground. On the branches of the tree they hung the meat of the eleventh deer.

That night Gáukos said: “I will stay ten days and hunt, then I must go and see my little sister.”

He killed eleven deer each day for ten days. As soon as they had ten big trees full of meat, he started for home. He spent the first night with the two old women. When they asked about his sister, he said: “Lóluk ate her up.” That night he heard singing and the rattle of a belt; Lĭsgaga was dancing her maturity dance. It was the fifth night. When young men came to ask the old women where the singing was, Gáukos told them.

Early the next morning Gáukos got home. Lĭsgaga was glad to see him; she had on her buckskin dress and her face [[25]]was painted red. He said: “I have two wives now. I am going to make this house big enough for us all. I am afraid to live in the house with old Lóluk and my mother-in-law, for they know my thoughts. If I should think something bad about them, they might kill me.” He thought hard, and right away the house was big and full of nice things.

The next morning he started back. He spent the first night with the two old women and was at Lóluk’s house in the evening. That night he told Dûnwa’s daughters that he wanted to live in his old home. When he talked, neither Lóluk nor his wife knew what he said, they knew only when he thought. The elder sister told her mother in thought what Gáukos said.

“Is he going to leave you here?” asked Dûnwa.

“No, he wants us to go with him.”

“Our married daughters don’t belong to us,” said the old woman. “We keep them while they are single, but married they belong to another house.”

The next morning the young man killed ten deer. For ten days he killed ten deer each day, and on the eleventh day he killed many more.

Old Lóluk and his wife never went out; they stayed always in one place. The girls went every day to dig roots. They put them in baskets of different sizes and arranged the baskets in a row, a large basket at one end, and a small one at the other end. The old woman put a cap on the head of the largest basket.

When Gáukos and the two sisters were ready to start, Dûnwa asked if they would come back. When her son-in-law said that one of her daughters would come and bring her deer meat, she was satisfied.

The three started and all the baskets followed; the basket with the cap went ahead.

Gáukos and the two sisters spent the first night with the old women. Gáukos gave the woman who had turned him into a baby and saved him from his sister, the second basket. It was full of roots that were sweet and tasted good.

The next morning the three went on, and the baskets followed. When Gáukos got home, Lĭsgaga stored away the roots and put up the baskets. [[26]]

Gáukos hunted deer for ten days and killed twenty each day. In the largest basket, the one with the cap, he put all the bones; in the other baskets he put livers and meat. Then he said to the elder sister: “You must take these baskets to your father and mother.”

The younger sister said: “She can stay here, I will go with the baskets.”

“We had better do as we are told,” said the elder.

“Make the journey in one day and don’t camp anywhere,” said Gáukos.

The elder sister started, and the baskets followed, walking one behind the other. The younger sister cried, for she was lonesome.

Gáukos said: “When we left your father and mother, I promised that one of you should go back with meat; that is why I sent your sister. If you want to go, get ready.”

She started and overtook her sister. The elder sister went ahead of the baskets, the younger walked behind them. When the sisters were near Lóluk’s house, old man Gäk saw them and was scared. He said: “Be-e-au! Where did all those baskets come from? And why are they walking? They will never do that again. Hereafter people will carry on their backs whatever they put into baskets. Baskets will not walk like that.” Right away the baskets turned to stone.

Then Gäk said to the sisters: “You will no longer be living women; you will be rocks, and stay right here on the trail.” When he came to Lóluk’s house, he said: “Old woman Dûnwa, you will no longer be great. In later times people will pound roots on you.” To old man Lóluk he said: “Hereafter you will be kin to no man; you will burn all alike.” As Gäk spoke, Lóluk became common fire.

When Gáukos’ wives were turned to stone his bowstring broke, and right away he knew what had happened. [[27]]

[1] Gauwams, a pond or small lake. [↑]

[2] The seed of a certain kind of weed. [↑]

[[Contents]]

ISIS AND YAULILIK’S DAUGHTERS

CHARACTERS

Isis built a house on Teutgosi and lived there many years. Each day that he hunted for deer he killed three or four. He hung the deer on his belt as though they were rabbits and carried them home; then he cut up the meat and dried it.

Isis had so much deer meat that if all the people in the world had eaten of it there would have been plenty left.

While hunting Isis always sang, and his song was heard everywhere in the world. It was so beautiful that any one listening to it might have dropped asleep.

On one side of Isis’ mountain lived old Yaulilik with her two daughters and her son. Yaulilik was so poor that she had to beg meat for herself and children. One day she said to her daughters:

“You ought to be sorry that your mother has to work so hard. For many years I’ve begged meat for you to eat. I am old now. You should find a good hunter to kill deer for us. I can’t work for you much longer. You are old enough to have a husband.”

“Where can we find a good hunter?” asked the elder sister.

“There is one on this mountain; I often hear his song. If you didn’t always stay in the house, you would hear it. It is the song of a great hunter.”

“Where is his house?” asked the elder sister.

“In the north. You will camp one night before you get there.” [[28]]