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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]]

The sisters didn’t want to go, for they didn’t know about Isis; they were afraid and wanted to stay with their mother.

Old Yaulilik said: “Isis is the son of Kumush. He is the greatest hunter, the greatest ball player and the greatest runner in the world. He can run down deer and catch them.” When the sisters heard this they were willing to go.

Yaulilik filled two baskets with roots and seeds, gave one to each of her daughters, and said: “Old man Kumush lives with Isis, and sometimes he pretends that he is Isis. He puts on Isis’ clothes and tries to sing his song. You mustn’t let him fool you. When Isis is at home there is always fresh deer meat hanging on the trees near the house.”

The sisters traveled till the sun went down; then they camped. They started early the next morning and soon came to a large village. Blaiwas was chief of that village.

All the Blaiwas people came out of their houses to watch the sisters and see where they were going. When they got to Isis’ house, they put their baskets down outside the door and listened; somebody inside was playing on a flute.

The elder sister said: “Isis is at home.”

“That’s not Isis,” said the younger sister.

“How do you know?”

“Mother said that if Isis was at home there would be fresh deer meat hanging on the trees near the house. All the meat on these trees is dry.”

“Don’t you hear the nice music?”

“Yes, but mother said that Isis’ song was so beautiful that one might fall asleep when they heard it.”

The sisters disputed for a long time, then the elder one went in and sat down by the man who was playing on the flute; the younger followed her, but she was crying, for she knew that the man was not Isis.

Isis was away hunting for deer and just at the moment the girls put down their baskets outside his door his bowstring broke, then he knew that young women had come to him. He started for home, singing as he traveled. When he was on the top of a mountain where the sky came to the ground, [[29]]all the people in the world heard his song, and said: “Isis is coming.”

The old man kept playing on the flute. After a while he said to the girls: “I wonder why Kumush doesn’t come?”

The elder sister nudged the younger, and said: “This man is Isis; Kumush has gone for wood.”

“No,” said the younger, “Isis is coming. I hear his song.”

Soon Isis came in with his belt full of deer. He stood still and didn’t know where to go, for the younger sister sat in his place. At last he went to the old man’s side of the house, put down the deer, cut up one and cooked the ribs, then he asked Kumush if he had given the girls anything to eat.

“No,” said Kumush. “I was playing on the flute.”

Isis gave the girls meat. The elder ate, but the younger couldn’t, for she was crying.

When it was growing dark, Isis said to Kumush: “Take off my clothes; you will break the beads if you sleep on them.”

The girls went outside; then Isis gave Kumush a large mat and said: “Go outside with your young women.”

The old man took his blanket and the mat and went outside.

The elder sister was angry; she knew now that she had been fooled. When Kumush lay down, she and her sister held him to the ground and began to scratch him with their bone head-scratchers. He screamed and called to Isis that the girls were killing him, but Isis didn’t care. The girls scratched harder and harder; they wanted to scratch all the flesh off his bones. At daybreak, when they started for home, there was nothing left of old Kumush but bones and the disk.

Isis stayed in the house all night. He heard Kumush scream and knew that the girls were abusing him, but he was angry at the old man and wouldn’t help him. In the morning when he went out to see what had happened, he found only a pile of bones and a disk. The girls were gone.

Isis felt badly; he was lonesome for his father. He strung his bow and shot an arrow through the air. The arrow struck the side of a mountain, split the mountain apart, and through the opening came a river so deep and wide that the girls [[30]]couldn’t cross it. They sat down on the bank, for they didn’t know what to do. Soon Isis came and sat down near them. He called the elder sister to him, caught hold of her hair and cut her head off. Then he killed the younger sister and threw both bodies into the river.

Isis felt badly. He went to Mlaiksi (Mt. Shasta), lay on the top of the mountain and cried. He didn’t want to go home.

One day, when old Yaulilik was fishing in the river that Isis had made, the head of one of her daughters floated into the net. When she sent Cogátkis, her little boy, to see if there were fish in the net he ran back crying: “There is something in the net that looks like my sister’s head.”

Yaulilik ran to the river, took the head out of the net and saw that it was the head of her elder daughter. She put the head in a basket and carried it home, then she sent Cogátkis to look for the body. Soon he called out: “Come quick, my sister’s body is in the net!”

They carried the body to the house, then old Yaulilik sent the boy to watch for the head of his younger sister, and after a time her head and body floated into the net. Then the mother made a sweat-house, and built a big fire in it. She put the two heads and two bodies into a basket, and put the basket and Cogátkis into the sweat-house. She wrapped up Cogátkis, so that he couldn’t move, and said: “No matter what your sisters say or do, you mustn’t answer them or speak to them.” She shut the sweat-house up tight, and started for Blaiwas’ village to ask Blaiwas if he knew who had killed her daughters.

As Yaulilik traveled, she sang her snow song, and a great snow-storm came. When she stopped singing the snow stopped falling. When she got to Blaiwas’ village she went into the first house.

The people living there asked: “Why did you come here? What do you want?”

Yaulilik said: “I came to find out who killed my daughters.”

The people didn’t know, but they gave her as much deer [[31]]meat as they could lift. Yaulilik made it small by her power, put it in her bosom and went on. She began to sing; snow fell again. She stopped at each house in the village, and asked: “Do you know who killed my daughters?”

At each house she got the same answer, and a gift of deer meat.

At the end of the village three houses stood near together. Blaiwas lived in the first house, Gäk in the second, and Ndúkis in the third. When Yaulilik asked Blaiwas who had killed her daughters, he said: “I don’t know, you had better ask old man Gäk; he lives in the next house; maybe he will know.”

Gäk didn’t know, but told her to ask the old man who lived in the next house.

When Yaulilik went into the third house old Ndúkis looked up, and asked: “What have you come here for?” When she told him he asked: “What man did you send your daughters to?”

Yaulilik didn’t answer.

“Well,” said Ndúkis, “the man you sent them to killed them. Just after daylight I heard one woman scream and then another. The second screamed louder and longer than the first. The sound came from the northwest.”

Yaulilik said: “I know now who killed my daughters.” She thanked old Ndúkis and started for home. As soon as she started the snow disappeared, the ground was dry and the air warm and pleasant.

When half-way home Yaulilik took the deer meat out of her bosom, made it large and carried it on her back. When she was near the sweat-house she heard talking and laughing.

Yaulilik hadn’t been gone long when the girls began to be noisy and to try to make their brother talk to them. The elder sister’s voice called from the basket:

“Little brother, don’t you want to see me? I have come back.”

The younger one said: “Get up, little brother, and talk with us.” [[32]]

Cogátkis didn’t look toward the basket or speak.

When Yaulilik was almost home, the girls got out of the basket and began to unwrap their brother, but he jumped up and ran away. He was afraid if he spoke his sisters would die again. When Yaulilik opened the sweat-house door, the three ran out; they were glad to see her. The girls were well, but their bodies were tender, and Yaulilik wouldn’t let them go far from the house. One day, when the younger sister was digging roots, she looked toward Mlaiksi, and right away she wanted to go there. When she carried her roots home, she said to her mother: “To-morrow I am going to Mlaiksi to gather seeds.”

Yaulilik said: “You can’t go there; you are not strong enough.”

The elder sister said: “Your feet are too tender to climb that mountain.”

The girl waited two days, then she said: “To-morrow I am going to Mlaiksi to gather seeds.” In the morning she asked her mother to feed her.

The elder sister said: “If you go, I shall go.”

Then Cogátkis began to cry; he wanted to go with his sisters. When his mother gave each of the girls water for the road he screamed.

Yaulilik said to her daughters: “Your brother feels lonesome; let him go with you.”

The elder sister said: “If the lolus seeds are not ripe, we shall come home. He is little; he can’t travel fast.”

The younger sister was sorry for her brother, so she tied his hair in a knot on the top of his head and told her mother to take him to Duilas (Little Shasta). From Duilas, through the power of his hair, he could see them when they were on the mountain.

The sisters started toward Mlaiksi, and Yaulilik took Cogátkis to Duilas. Cogátkis could watch his sisters, and he could talk with his mother, though the house was a long way off.

The sisters gathered seeds all day. When it was nearly dark, the elder sister asked: “Shall we stay here to-night?” [[33]]

“We have only a few seeds,” said the younger sister. “We can stay all night and fill our baskets in the morning.”

When Cogátkis saw them picking up wood, he went home. Early the next morning he went again to Duilas. The girls were busy gathering seeds, so Cogátkis called to his mother: “They are at work again!”

At midday the younger sister said: “I want water; where can we get some?”

“I don’t know. There is no water near here.”

They were at the foot of Mlaiksi. The younger sister looked at the mountain, and said: “High up there is a green place; maybe there is water there. I will go and see.”

She climbed the mountain till she came to soft ground, then went higher and came to a place where the ground was moist. She dug down and found mud, but no water; she went higher, and this time, when she came to moist earth and dug down, she found a little water. She called her sister, and both drank of the water and then filled their water baskets.

They gathered seeds a while. The younger sister kept going up the mountain. The elder sister said: “Don’t go so high; you won’t find any seeds up there. It is getting late. Let us go back to where we camped last night.”

The younger sister heard a strange noise and wanted to find out what made it. She thought: “I will go back now, but to-morrow I will go to that green place that I can see way up there. Maybe I will find out what that noise is.”

When they got to the foot of the mountain and began to pick up wood Cogátkis went home, and said to his mother: “My sisters have camped where they camped last night.”

That night the younger sister couldn’t sleep; she was thinking of the strange noise she had heard: she felt drawn toward the sound. The next morning they gathered seeds till their baskets were full, then the younger sister said: “I want water. I am going to the place where we got some yesterday.”

They left their baskets and climbed up to where they had dug the hole; there was no water in it. They went higher, came to moist ground, dug down and got a little water. The younger sister again heard the strange sound. She went higher [[34]]and listened; then she heard, far away, a weak voice saying: “Kĕlmas popanwe. Kĕlmas popanwe!” (You are drinking nothing but tears. You are drinking nothing but tears.)

The girl followed the sound, and saw a bright red hair on the ground. When she picked it up she knew it was a hair from the head of the man who had killed her and her sister. The place where she found the hair was level and smooth, without a blade of grass or a weed on it. In the middle of that space was a skeleton. All the bones were dead but the eyes were living. It was Isis’ skeleton. Thousands of deer had been there and danced around the man who had killed so many of their people. With their hoofs they had stamped down the grass and beaten the ground level.

When the elder sister saw the skeleton she was frightened and wanted to run away, but the younger sister spread out her wolf skin blanket and put the skeleton on it.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked her sister. “It smells badly. It makes me sick.” She wanted to snatch the skeleton and break it up.

“Go away!” said the younger girl. “I will bring this to life.” She wrapped the bones up carefully and started down the mountain, her sister following.

When they got to their camp the elder said: “Let me have those bones; they are the bones of the man who killed us. I’ll pound them up and burn them.”

The younger sister didn’t listen to what the elder said. She got deer fat, rubbed the skeleton with it, and pushed some of the fat between the teeth. She worked over the skeleton all night. In the morning there was a little flesh on the bones; at midday the skeleton was a man again.

The younger sister fed him, and the elder gathered seeds for him, for she liked him now.

Cogátkis called to his mother: “I see two persons sitting in the shade while my elder sister gathers seeds.” The next morning he called to his mother: “The stranger is alone; both my sisters are gathering seeds.”

Isis drank water, then lay down and slept. While he was sleeping porcupines danced around him, and sang. The [[35]]sisters came at midday, and when the porcupines saw them coming they ran away.

The next morning the younger sister said to Isis: “This is the last day we can gather seeds near by. We must go farther up the mountain.”

When Isis was left alone, he fell asleep. The porcupines came and danced around him and sang, and each one’s song was: “Who can cut off my feet and hands and eat them?”

Isis woke up, struck the chief of the porcupines with his cane, killed him, cut off his feet and hands, pulled the quills out of his back and tied them up in ten bunches. He wanted to give the quills to his wives and his mother-in-law. Isis was well now, and could hunt for deer.

Soon the elder sister had a child. Isis stayed in the camp till the child was five days old; then he went out to hunt. He killed a deer, but he let it stay where it fell, for it wasn’t right to bring it home or say anything about it. The next day he killed two deer at a shot, left them and went home.

When the first child was seven days old, the younger sister had a little boy. When the last child was eight days old, Isis said to his wives: “Your mother and brother are lonesome, we must go and see them.”

The next day they started. The sisters complained of the weight of the seeds, and Isis said: “I will make them light.” As soon as he said that, their baskets were as light as feathers.

When Cogátkis saw his sisters and the stranger coming, he called to his mother: “My sisters are coming, and there is a beautiful blue man with them!”

Old Yaulilik spread out nice mats and her daughters’ bead dresses and ornaments. When near the house, Isis stopped and the sisters went on. Cogátkis ran to meet them; he was glad, but he was afraid of Isis. The sisters said: “Go and lead your brother-in-law into the house.”

When they were in the house, Cogátkis told Isis how deer ran around him while he was out on the mountain watching his sisters.

Isis said: “I want to go and hunt for deer, but I haven’t arrows enough.” [[36]]

“I will give you all the arrows you want,” said old Yaulilik, and she gave him a quiverful that had been her husband’s. Isis killed two deer.

“How can we carry them home?” asked Cogátkis.

Isis picked up the deer and put them in his belt. On the way home he killed a third deer, and he put that in his belt also. When Cogátkis told his younger sister how many deer Isis had killed, she said: “Maybe he will go away. Maybe he doesn’t want to stay here.”

Isis pulled up six big trees, brought them to the house, and set them up to dry meat on. The next morning he killed a deer and said to Cogátkis: “Stay here and see that nobody steals the deer while I am gone.” When he came back, he had ten deer in his belt. He put the first deer with them and went home. Old Yaulilik cut up the meat and hung it on the trees to dry, and Isis stretched the skins.

The next day when he was going home, with his belt full of deer, he wanted water and went to Tsiwisa to get it. After he had drunk, he remembered that the spring was near the place where Kumush had made the tree, with the eagle’s nest on it, grow up to the sky. He didn’t like the place, for it made him feel lonesome. That night he said to the sisters: “I am going away. You have plenty of meat; you can stay here with your mother and brother.”

The elder sister didn’t want to stay, and Isis said: “I am going a long way. The children are heavy; you couldn’t carry them.”

“We can carry them easily,” said the elder sister. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“Then you can go,” said Isis, for he wasn’t willing to show that he wanted them to stay.

Her sister said: “He is going to a strange country; something may happen to me. I don’t want to go.”

“You must go with us, so get ready,” said the elder sister.

The younger sister said to her mother: “I didn’t ask to go with them; she makes me go.”

“You can stay with me,” said her mother. [[37]]

“No, maybe they will be gone a long time. I will go with them, and it won’t be my fault if something happens.”

The three traveled one day, then camped at Blaiaga, the mountain where Isis and Kumush had lived. Isis said to his wives: “The spring here is bad. When you go for water you must take the children with you.”

Each day for three days Isis killed deer. The fourth day, while he was hunting, the younger sister put her child on her back and went for wood. The elder sister wanted water and she ran to the spring to get it. She forgot that Isis had told her not to leave her child alone. The boy was beginning to walk. He tried to follow his mother, but he fell and hit his head on a stone. He gave one loud scream and died. The younger sister heard the scream and ran to the child. The mother heard it, too, and came back quickly. Her sister said: “I told you we had better stay with our mother; that we didn’t know this country. See what trouble has come to us.” They set bushes on fire to let Isis know what had happened.

The moment the child fell, Isis struck his foot against a stone and stumbled. Right away he knew that something had happened to one of his boys. When he saw the smoke, he left the deer he had killed and went home.

When the younger sister told him that his child was dead, he said: “I didn’t think that my wives would cause me greater grief than my father did, but you have. I thought my children would live, that they would go to the swimming places and talk to the earth and mountains, that they would be wise and able to do things. If my first child is dead, I don’t want to live in this world. Bring me the other boy.”

When the younger wife brought her child, Isis took it in his arms, put the top of its head to his mouth and drew a long breath. He took the breath out of the child and it was dead. He put the second child by the first, and said:

“These children are half mine, and half yours. The breath is mine, the body is yours. I have taken the breath into myself. You can have the bodies. This is the last time I will have a wife. If I live forever I shall never have a woman again. This place where my children died will be called [[38]]Yaulilikumwas. People who come in after times will find you under the bushes. They will make sport of you and call you Yaulilikumwas. You will die from the cold and snow which you yourselves make. Your brother will run around the world and be Kĕngkong’kongis (a medicine) and doctors will dream of him.”

Right away Isis’ wives and their mother turned to snowbirds and Cogátkis became Kĕngkong’kongis. Sometimes ordinary people see him in their dreams. Doctors always see him in the country where his mother and sisters lived. Isis went north, went far away. [[39]]

[[Contents]]

KUMUSH AND HIS DAUGHTER

CHARACTERS

Kumush (our Father) left Tula Lake and wandered over the earth. He went to the edge of the world and was gone a great many years; then he came back to Nihlaksi, where his sweat-house had been; where Látkakáwas brought the disk; where the body of the beautiful blue man was burned, and where Isis was saved.

Kumush brought his daughter with him from the edge of the world. Where he got her, no one knows. When he came back, Isis and all the people he had made were dead; he and his daughter were alone. The first thing he did was to give the young girl ten dresses, which he made by his word. The finest dress of all was the burial dress; it was made of buckskin, and so covered with bright shells that not a point of the buckskin could be seen.

The first of the ten dresses was for a young girl; the second was the maturity dress, to be worn while dancing the maturity dance; the third was the dress to be put on after coming from the sweat-house, the day the maturity dance ended; the fourth was to be worn on the fifth day after the dance; the fifth dress was the common, everyday dress; the sixth was to wear when getting wood; the seventh when digging roots; the eighth was to be used when on a journey; the ninth was to wear at a ball game; the tenth was the burial dress.

When they came to Nihlaksi Kumush’s daughter was within a few days of maturity. In the old time, when he was making rules for his people, Kumush had said that at maturity a girl should dance five days and five nights, and while she was [[40]]dancing an old woman, a good singer, should sing for her. When the five days and nights were over she should bathe in the sweat-house, and then carry wood for five days. If the girl grew sleepy while she was dancing, stopped for a moment, nodded and dreamed, or if she fell asleep while in the sweat-house and dreamed of some one’s death, she would die herself.

Kumush was the only one to help his daughter; he sang while she danced. When the dance was over and the girl was in the sweat-house, she fell asleep and dreamed of some one’s death. She came out of the sweat-house with her face and hands and body painted with wáginte.[1] As she stood by the fire to dry the paint, she said to her father: “While I was in the sweat-house I fell asleep and I dreamed that as soon as I came out some one would die.”

“That means your own death,” said Kumush. “You dreamed of yourself.”

Kumush was frightened; he felt lonesome. When his daughter asked for her burial dress he gave her the dress to be worn after coming from the sweat-house, but she wouldn’t take it. Then he gave her the dress to be worn five days later, and she refused it. One after another he offered her eight dresses—he could not give her the one she had worn when she was a little girl, for it was too small. He held the tenth dress tight under his arm; he did not want to give it to her, for as soon as she put it on the spirit would leave her body.

“Why don’t you give me my dress?” asked she. “You made it before you made the other dresses, and told me what it was for; why don’t you give it to me now? You made everything in the world as you wanted it to be.”

He gave her the dress, but he clung to it and cried. When she began to put it on he tried to pull it away. She said: “Father, you must not cry. What has happened to me is your will; you made it to be this way. My spirit will leave the body and go west.”

At last Kumush let go of the dress, though he knew her spirit would depart as soon as she had it on. He was crying [[41]]as he said: “I will go with you; I will leave my body here, and go.”

“No,” said the daughter, “my spirit will go west without touching the ground as it goes. How could you go with me?”

“I know what to do,” said Kumush. “I know all things above, below, and in the world of ghosts; whatever is, I know.”

She put on the dress, Kumush took her hand, and they started, leaving their bodies behind. Kumush was not dead but his spirit left the body.

As soon as the daughter died, she knew all about the spirit world. When they started she said to her father: “Keep your eyes closed; if you open them you will not be able to follow me, you will have to go back and leave me alone.”

The road they were traveling led west to where the sun sets. Along that road were three nice things to eat: goose eggs, wild cherries and crawfish. If a spirit ate of the wild cherries it would be sent back to this world, a spirit without a body, to wander about homeless, eating wild cherries and other kinds of wild fruit. If it ate of the goose eggs, it would wander around the world, digging goose eggs out of the ground, like roots. It would have to carry the eggs in a basket without a bottom, and would always be trying to mend the basket with plaited grass. If it ate of the crawfish it would have to dig crawfish in the same way.

A Skoks offered Kumush’s daughter these three harmful things, but she did not look at them; she went straight on toward the west, very fast.

After a time Kumush asked: “How far have we gone now?”

“We are almost there,” said the girl. “Far away I see beautiful roses. Spirits that have been good in life take one of those roses with the leaves, those that have been bad do not see the roses.”

Again Kumush asked: “How far are we now?”

“We are passing the place of roses.”

Kumush thought: “She should take one of those roses.”

The girl always knew her father’s thoughts. As soon as that thought came into his mind, she put back her hand and, [[42]]without turning, pulled a rose and two leaves. Kumush did not take one. He could not even see them, for he was not dead.

After a time they came to a road so steep that they could slide down it. At the beginning of the descent there was a willow rope. The girl pulled the rope and that minute music and voices were heard. Kumush and his daughter slipped down and came out on a beautiful plain with high walls all around it. It was a great house, and the plain was its floor. That house is the whole underground world, but only spirits know the way to it.

Kumush’s daughter was greeted by spirits that were glad to see her, but to Kumush they said “Sonk!” (raw, not ripe), and they felt sorry for him that he was not dead.

Kumush and his daughter went around together, and Kumush asked: “How far is it to any side?”

“It is very far, twice as far as I can see. There is one road down,—the road we came,—and another up. No one can come in by the way leading up, and no one can go up by the way leading down.”

The place was beautiful and full of spirits; there were so many that if every star of the sky, and all the hairs on the head of every man and all the hairs on all the animals were counted they would not equal in number the spirits in that great house.

When Kumush and his daughter first got there they couldn’t see the spirits though they could hear voices, but after sunset, when darkness was in the world above, it was light in that house below.

“Keep your eyes closed,” said Kumush’s daughter. “If you open them, you will have to leave me and go back.”

At sunset Kumush made himself small, smaller than any thing living in the world. His daughter put him in a crack, high up in a corner of the broad house, and made a mist before his eyes.

When it was dark, Wus-Kumush, the keeper of the house, said: “I want a fire!” Right away a big, round, bright fire sprang up in the center, and there was light everywhere in [[43]]the house. Then spirits came from all sides, and there were so many that no one could have counted them. They made a great circle around Kumush’s daughter, who stood by the fire, and then they danced a dance not of this world, and sang a song not of this world. Kumush watched them from the corner of the house. They danced each night, for five nights. All the spirits sang, but only those in the circle danced. As daylight came they disappeared. They went away to their own places, lay down and became dry, disjointed bones.

Wus-Kumush gave Kumush’s daughter goose eggs and crawfish. She ate them and became bones. All newcomers became bones, but those who had been tried for five years, and hadn’t eaten anything the Skoks gave them, lived in shining settlements outside, in circles around the big house. Kumush’s daughter became bones, but her spirit went to her father in the corner.

On the sixth night she moved him to the eastern side of the house. That night he grew tired of staying with the spirits; he wanted to leave the underground world, but he wanted to take some of the spirits with him to people the upper world. “Afterward,” said he, “I am going to the place where the sun rises. I shall travel on the sun’s road till I come to where he stops at midday. There I will build a house.”

“Some of the spirits are angry with you,” said Wus-Kumush. “Because you are not dead they want to kill you; you must be careful.”

“They may try as hard as they like,” said Kumush; “they can’t kill me. They haven’t the power. They are my children; they are all from me. If they should kill me it would only be for a little while. I should come to life again.”

The spirits, though they were bones then, heard this, and said: “We will crush the old man’s heart out, with our elbows.”

Kumush left Wus-Kumush and went back to the eastern side of the house. In his corner was a pile of bones. Every bone in the pile rose up and tried to kill him, but they couldn’t hit him, for he dodged them. Each day his daughter moved him, but the bones knew where he was, because they could [[44]]see him. Every night the spirits in the form of living people danced and sang; at daylight they lay down and became disconnected bones.

“I am going away from this place,” said Kumush, “I am tired of being here.” At daybreak he took his daughter’s bones, and went around selecting bones according to their quality, thinking which would do for one tribe and which for another. He filled a basket with them, taking only shin-bones and wrist-bones. He put the basket on his back and started to go up the eastern road, the road out. The path was steep and slippery, and his load was heavy. He slipped and stumbled but kept climbing. When he was half-way up, the bones began to elbow him in the back and neck, struggling to kill him. When near the top the strap slipped from his forehead and the basket fell. The bones became spirits, and, whooping and shouting, fell down into the big house and became bones again.

“I’ll not give up,” said Kumush; “I’ll try again.” He went back, filled the basket with bones and started a second time. When he was half-way up he said: “You’ll see that I will get to the upper world with you bones!” That minute he slipped, his cane broke and he fell. Again the bones became spirits and went whooping and shouting back to the big house.

Kumush went down a second time, and filled the basket. He was angry, and he chucked the bones in hard. “You want to stay here,” said he, “but when you know my place up there, where the sun is, you’ll want to stay there always and never come back to this place. I feel lonesome when I see no people up there; that is why I want to take you there. If I can’t get you up now, you will never come where I am.”

When he put the basket on his back the third time, he had no cane, so he thought: “I wish I had a good, strong cane.” Right away he had it. Then he said: “I wish I could get up with this basketful of bones.”

When half-way up the bones again tried to kill him. He struggled and tugged hard. At last he got near the edge of the slope, and with one big lift he threw the basket up on to level ground. “Maklaksûm káko!” (Indian bones) said he. [[45]]

He opened the basket and threw the bones in different directions. As he threw them, he named the tribe and kind of Indians they would be. When he named the Shastas he said: “You will be good fighters.” To the Pitt River and the Warm Spring Indians he said: “You will be brave warriors, too.” But to the Klamath Indians he said: “You will be like women, easy to frighten.” The bones for the Modoc Indians he threw last, and he said to them: “You will eat what I eat, you will keep my place when I am gone, you will be bravest of all. Though you may be few, even if many and many people come against you, you will kill them.” And he said to each handful of bones as he threw it: “You must find power to save yourselves, find men to go and ask the mountains for help. Those who go to the mountains must ask to be made wise, or brave, or a doctor. They must swim in the gauwams and dream. When you are sure that a doctor has tried to kill some one, or that he won’t put his medicine in the path of a spirit and turn it back, you will kill him. If an innocent doctor is killed, you must kill the man who killed him, or he must pay for the dead man.”

Then Kumush named the different kinds of food those people should eat,—catfish, salmon, deer and rabbit. He named more than two hundred different things, and as he named them they appeared in the rivers and the forests and the flats. He thought, and they were there. He said: “Women shall dig roots, get wood and water, and cook. Men shall hunt and fish and fight. It shall be this way in later times. This is all I will tell you.”

When he had finished everything Kumush took his daughter, and went to the edge of the world, to the place where the sun rises. He traveled on the sun’s road till he came to the middle of the sky; there he stopped and built his house, and there he lives now. [[46]]

[1] A red root. [↑]

[[Contents]]

WANAGA BECOMES WUS-KUMUSH

Two brothers, Kumush and Wanaga, lived east of Tula Lake. Wanaga was uneasy; he didn’t want to be always with Kumush, so one day he started off toward the northwest to hunt for woodchucks. When he had killed five, he took out the intestines, cleaned them, filled them with fat and cooked them in front of the fire. The bodies he cooked on hot stones. He was eating the intestines when his brother came up to the fire. Kumush’s face was wet, he had run so fast.

Wanaga was mad, but he said: “Now you are here, come and eat some of these intestines.”

Kumush didn’t want a part of the intestines; he wanted them all, and wanted the woodchucks, too, so he asked: “Which way did you come?”

Wanaga told him, but told him wrong.

Kumush said: “I saw a long track the way I came. I thought it was yours.”

“Why don’t you eat?” asked Wanaga.

“I can’t, my heart beats so. I am scared; I feel as if some one were near here, watching us. I will go down the hill and look around in the bushes.”

Kumush went into thick bushes where Wanaga couldn’t see him; he pulled every hair out of his head, eyebrows, eye-lashes, ears, beard, armpits, pulled out every hair on his body, and said to them: “You must be people; you must scream and shout and run after me, as if you were going to catch me and kill me.”

Right away the hairs became men, and pursued Kumush. As he ran, Kumush screamed: “Wanaga, save yourself! Wanaga, save yourself!”

Wanaga started up, then he remembered his bow and arrows. He got them, then he ran off as fast as he could; he forgot all about the five woodchucks. [[47]]

As soon as Wanaga was out of sight, the hairs were back in Kumush’s head and body, and he sat down to eat the woodchucks. As he ate he kept saying: “My brother, you shouldn’t eat such nice things alone; I like woodchucks.”

Wanaga felt lonesome, for he thought that Kumush had been killed. As he traveled along, he caught a woodchuck. Then he saw another one, and he followed it and killed it with a club; he killed a third one among the rocks. He built a fire and cooked the woodchucks. Just as he was beginning to eat the intestines, he heard Kumush call out: “Oh, I am glad you are alive. I was afraid those men had killed you.”

When Kumush came up to the fire he said: “I hid under the bushes where they couldn’t find me; that is how I got away! I saw tracks out here; are they yours?”

“I didn’t come that way,” said Wanaga.

“I feel queer,” said Kumush; “I will go back and see if there is any one around. I am scared.”

When he got where Wanaga couldn’t see him, he pulled all his hair out again, and said: “Be men! As soon as you are near the woods, make a ring around me and act as if you were going to kill me.”

When they surrounded him, Kumush screamed: “Save yourself, Wanaga! Run for your life! These men will kill you.”

Wanaga took his bow, quiver and club and ran off as fast as he could; he forgot about his woodchucks again, and Kumush ate them, saying: “My brother, you shouldn’t eat such good things alone.”

The next day Wanaga kept thinking about Kumush. At last he said to himself: “If Kumush wasn’t killed yesterday he is fooling me.”

Wanaga killed five woodchucks and this time he cooked them without taking out the intestines. Just as he was ready to begin eating, he saw Kumush coming. When Kumush came up to the fire he pretended to cry, he was so glad that Wanaga was alive. Wanaga offered him part of a woodchuck, but he wouldn’t take it. He said that he couldn’t eat; [[48]]he had seen tracks, and the grass was trampled down as if people were around; he would go and see.

Wanaga thought: “You’ll not fool me this time!” When Kumush screamed to him to run as fast as he could, he ran, but he took the woodchucks with him.

Wanaga traveled for two days without camping. Kumush was hungry, but he followed his brother. The third day Wanaga caught a wood chuck. He was cooking it when Kumush came up.

“I have been mourning for you,” said Kumush. “I thought you were killed. Over there by the bushes I saw tracks; I will go and look at them.” He tried the old trick, but Wanaga wasn’t fooled; he took the woodchuck with him.

It was cold, but Kumush followed Wanaga. He followed him all winter. In the spring, when Kumush was only one day behind, Wanaga came upon porcupine tracks. He made a fire near an old tree where he thought the porcupines would come when it began to grow dark. He hadn’t been there long before he saw a porcupine and killed it; then he saw another and killed it. The next day, when he was cooking the porcupines, Kumush came up. “How did you kill those porcupines?” asked he.

Wanaga was mad, but he said: “Sit down and eat, then I will tell you how I catch porcupines.” When they were through eating, Wanaga said: “If I want to kill porcupines, I find a tree where I think they live; I set fire to the tree, then I wrap my blanket tight around me and lie down under it; when the tree gets to burning well, the porcupines fall out of it.”

Wanaga traveled on, and Kumush stopped to kill porcupines. He set a tree on fire, wrapped his blanket tight around him and lay down. The tree burned quickly, and soon limbs began to fall. A heavy bough fell on Kumush, and he thought: “That is a big porcupine!” Another fell. Kumush lay still; he thought: “Oh, I shall have lots of big, fat porcupines!” At last the tree fell and killed him. His body was burned up, nothing was left of it but the skull and the disk. They lay in the ashes for a long time; at last the morning [[49]]star saw them and called out: “What is the matter, old man? Why do you sleep so long? Get up!”

Kumush sprang up, and right away began to track Wanaga. It was warm weather, and Wanaga was hunting woodchucks among the rocks. He had killed five when Kumush came. Wanaga divided the meat with his brother, and the two spent the night together.

“How do you kill woodchucks?” asked Kumush.

“When I see one among the rocks, I jump down and catch it. It is easy for me; I am used to it.”

They started on together, Wanaga ahead. Kumush saw a woodchuck; he jumped and caught it, then he cooked and ate it, for Wanaga had told him he must eat the first one he caught before he tried to catch another. When his stomach was full, he saw a woodchuck down in a hole between high rocks; he jumped, struck on the rocks, burst open and died.

His body lay there a long time; then crows came and ate it up, till only the disk was left. They tried to eat that, but couldn’t. At last the morning star saw the disk and cried out: “What are you doing down there, old man? Get up. Wanaga has gone far; you must hurry!”

Kumush sprang up. “Oh, I was sleeping!” said he.

Wanaga turned back. He wished for a wide river to flow between him and his brother, and right away it was there. Kumush traveled up and down the river. After a long time he found a ford and crossed. Wanaga was on Pitcowa flat, where a great deal of ges was growing. He got two sticks, umda, sharp at both ends, took them out on the flat, showed them the ges, and said: “Work hard. Dig lots of ges!”

They dug fast and made a great many piles of ges. At sundown, Wanaga went to the flat; he washed a few roots and ate them; they were nice and white, and the skin came off of itself. He carried the sticks back to his camp. The next day, when Kumush came, Wanaga gave him plenty of roots to eat.

“How did you get all of these roots?” asked Kumush.

“I made two sticks, one straight, the other bent. Then I took them to the flat and told them to dig.”

Kumush cut five sticks and sharpened them at both ends. [[50]]Wanaga said: “You must take them to the flat and leave them; you mustn’t go near them till sundown.”

Kumush took his sticks to the flat, put a basket by each stick, and said: “You must work hard; you must dig plenty of roots.” He went back, but he couldn’t wait, and in a few minutes he ran over to see if the umda were digging fast. That made them mad and they stopped digging. He went back again, for he thought that when he was out of sight they would go to work, but they didn’t.

The next morning Wanaga made small, and put into two baskets, the piles of ges his sticks had dug. (When he wanted to, he poured out the ges, thought hard, and it was big again.)

Kumush was so mad that he broke up his sticks and threw them away.

Wanaga took his sticks to the flat, stuck them in the ground, and said: “Grow here and be of use to people in later times.”

The sticks grew, and are the kind that are used in digging roots now. When he had planted the sticks, Wanaga said: “Hereafter I will be Wus-Kumush.” Then he left Kumush, stole away in the night. Kumush stayed two or three days. When he had eaten all the ges Wanaga left, he went off toward the east. Thenceforth he traveled about in the world, alone. [[51]]

[[Contents]]

STEALING FIRE

CHARACTERS

The ten Nébăks brothers, who lived in the east at the edge of the world, and the ten Súbbas brothers, who lived in the west, where the sky touches the earth, were the owners of fire.

Other people had no fire, they ate their meat raw, but they knew about fire, and were thinking how to get it; they knew that those men owned it.

At last Wus called a council of all the people in the world. When they had assembled, he said: “I feel sorry for the people who are to come.” (He had heard that people would come soon, and that he and his people would no longer be persons. He called the people who were to come Tcanpsaudewas.) “It will be hard for them in the world if they have no way of keeping warm. I know where fire is, and if you will help me I will get it.”

All promised to help, then Wus said: “You must stand in a line, one person a long running distance from another, and the line must reach from here to within one running distance of [[52]]the place where the Nébăks have their house. I will go to the house and steal fire, but you must bring it home.”

Wus sent the best runner to the farthest station, the second fastest runner to the second station and so on, till near home he placed men who could run only a little, men who soon tired out. The Kéis family he sent underground. People who traveled in the air formed a line above the earth.

“We will tell you how the Nébăks brothers live,” said the people of the air, “for we see them often. Every morning they build fires on the mountains to drive deer to their snares. When you see a big smoke, you will know that you are near their house. Two Moi brothers are the servants of the Nébăks. The Mois never hunt; they stay in the house and watch that no one steals fire.”

Wus traveled toward the east for a good many days. At last he reached the Nébăks’ house without being seen by the brothers, or by their servants. When he went through the smoke hole into the house, the Moi brothers were terribly scared; one ran out to call the Nébăks, but Wus drove him back.

“Why are you frightened?” asked he. “I have come to talk to you. Sit down. Why don’t you have your faces painted? you would look nice. I know how to paint; I will paint them for you.”

He took dead coals, drew long lines across their faces and said: “Go to the spring and look at yourselves.” (From that time those people have stripes on their faces.)

As soon as they were out of the house, Wus took the largest piece of fire, put it behind his ear and ran off as fast as he could. When he picked up the coal, the fires on the mountains died down.

“Somebody is in our house,” said the Nébăks brothers. “Somebody has stolen fire!” And they hurried home.

When Wus had fire behind his ear, he ran a long distance, ran till he met Tskel. Tskel took fire and ran till he came to Kaiutois; the next man to carry fire was Dásläts. Dásläts carried it till he came to Wámanik, who was stationed under the ground. [[53]]

The Nébăks brothers were fast runners and they nearly caught Wámanik. He was so scared that he was just going to drop fire and run off when he met Tsĭhläs and gave it to him. The next to carry fire was Lok. Lok was a slow runner and the Nébăks nearly came up to him before he met Moi, a fast runner. When Moi was getting tired, and was running slower, he came to Kékina. Kékina sprang away and was soon far ahead. When he reached Wûlkûtska the Nébăks brothers were a long way off, but Wûlkûtska was not a good runner, and the Nébăks gained on him fast. They got so near that he hid in the bushes and gave out a frightened call. Kûlta was waiting right there; he snatched fire and ran as fast as he could till he was tired and was thinking: “Where is the man who is going to take fire? I can’t hold out much longer.”

Then he met Tusasás. Blaiwas took fire from Tusasás; he went up in the air and carried fire a long distance, until Gowwá took it. When darkness came, Múkus was there to carry fire, and he and his people carried it till daylight. Then Sältgăls took it, and afterward Káwhas. Káwhas was about to drop it, when he saw Tcwais and called: “Take it quick! I am tired! I can’t hold it; I shall let it drop.”

Tcwais looked back as he started. The Nébăks were so near that his head turned yellow from fright, but he reached the next man—and so they carried fire day after day, till the ocean was not far off. Only a few runners were left, and some of them couldn’t run ten steps.

At last wood dove took fire, but the Nébăks brothers were so near that he hid in the bushes. He thought: “Now they will kill me, and then people will never have fire.” It made him feel lonesome; and he cried, not loud, but down in his throat.

The Nébăks heard his cry, and said: “We can never overtake these people; that cry is far off. We can’t get fire back, but the people who have stolen it will have us with them always. We will stay in their country; we won’t go back to our old place; we will scatter and live everywhere in the world.”

Till that time the Nébăks brothers had lived by themselves, and had never troubled people. After fire was stolen, they [[54]]were everywhere in the world. People had fire, but they had sickness too.

Wus-Kumush saw this race, but he didn’t help, for at the council, when he told the people what would happen, they wouldn’t listen to his words. They liked the words of Wus better.

Now Wus called a second council of all the people in the world, and when they came he said: “What else shall we do for the people who are coming? I think we should steal fire from the brothers who live in the west, at the edge of the world. I can go there and get it.”

“Kāhkaas, Súbbas’ servant, will see you,” said the people; “you will never get there.”

“Oh, I can get there,” said Wus. “I will kill the ten brothers and come back. It will not be hard.”

“What will you do when you get to the house? No person has ever been there.”

“Don’t kill all the brothers,” said Wus-Kumush. “If you do it will be dark here. There will never be any light again. It will always be night.”

“You will freeze to death,” said some of the people. “There is deep snow along that trail.”

“I will build ten houses, where I can rest and get warm.”

“Before you get to Súbbas’ house there is a long, broad flat,” said Blaiwas. “The brothers dig roots there. I often see them when I am up in the air. Near the house there is a high mountain. You must go to the top of it and watch the brothers from there. When they start for home, there is always a terrible snowstorm. The eldest brother goes first, and one follows another. In the morning, when they start to hunt for roots, the youngest goes first.”

When Wus came to the mountain he talked to it and asked it for help; then he watched for the brothers. Soon he saw the youngest brother come out of the house and start toward the flat. One brother followed another till all ten had gone to dig roots; then Wus went toward the house. The house was made of dirt and covered with turf. Kāhkaas didn’t see Wus coming; when he sprang in at the smoke hole Kāhkaas [[55]]screamed out. Wus jumped on him, choked him and scolded him; then he threw him into a corner, and said: “When I come to see you, what makes you scream? I want to talk nice to you; I want you to go home with me. This is a bad place. I will give you shells and nice beads.”

“I will go out and make just a little noise,” said Kāhkaas, “and then the brothers won’t come home; that is the way I do.”

Wus let him go out, but he followed him so he wouldn’t scream loud.

The brothers heard Kāhkaas and one said: “What’s the matter? I heard something.” When they heard him the second time they said: “Oh, that is Kāhkaas at play.”

“How do these men live?” asked Wus.

“Every morning they go early to dig roots; they dig all day, then one brother comes home. When he gets to the house, he puts down his basket of roots, comes to the smoke hole and looks all around to see if any one is here; then he comes in. Each brother comes in the same way; each one brings a basketful of roots, and each looks around the house before he comes in. The five oldest brothers come first, then the five youngest follow. As each one starts for home, there is a terrible snowstorm. I build a big fire from that pile of sticks outside the house. The snow and cold almost put the fire out, but I keep putting on sticks.”

“Where can I hide, so that they won’t see me when they look around?” asked Wus.

“They don’t look toward the east,” said Kāhkaas; “you must hide in the east part of the house, in the hole where we keep roots.”

“Hide me there,” said Wus. “I am going to take you home with me. You must tie up a bundle of roots for us to eat on the road. You will have to eat a good deal or you will give out. It is a long road.”

The eldest brother was coming, so Kāhkaas built a great fire. When the man got to the house he put down his basket of roots and looked in at the smoke hole; he looked all around, then asked: “Why did you scream?” [[56]]

“It was getting late; I wanted you to come home,” said Kāhkaas.

Just then Wus sprang at Súbbas and cut off his head. He and Kāhkaas pulled the body in and hid it; then they put the head in the hole where the roots were.

Again it began to snow; the second brother was coming. Soon he looked in at the smoke hole, and asked: “Why did you scream?”

“I missed the step and fell into the house,” said Kāhkaas.

“We have always told you to be careful,” said Súbbas.

That moment Wus sprang up. Súbbas screamed, but Wus cut his head off and dragged the head and the body to the hole where the roots were.

When the third brother came he asked: “What noise was that? I thought I heard my brother scream.”

“I was screaming,” said Kāhkaas. “I wanted to hurry you home.”

Wus killed the third brother, as he had the other two.

Again it began snowing; the fourth brother was coming. Wus told Kāhkaas that he must work around as he always did. “You must not talk,” said Kāhkaas; “he will hear you. He is stronger than the other brothers.”

Súbbas looked in at the smoke hole, and asked: “Why don’t you brush up the snow? What makes it so yellow?”

“I’ve been walking in the ashes,” said Kāhkaas.

Súbbas was just going to draw his head up out of the smoke hole and come down into the house, when Wus sprang at him and cut his head off. That time a good deal of blood was left. Kāhkaas couldn’t clean it up; it made the snow yellow.

Wus was afraid the fifth brother would see the blood. “I will go outside and kill him,” said he.

“You mustn’t do that,” said Kāhkaas. “If you do the other brothers will see you.”

Súbbas was at the house now; he left his basket outside and looked in. “Why does it look so around here?” asked he. “It looks queer.”

“Oh, I’ve worked around a good deal,” said Kāhkaas, “that is why it looks queer.” [[57]]

Súbbas stretched half his length in to see that no one was there and Wus sprang at him and cut his head off.

“Now the other five brothers will come,” said Kāhkaas. “They come quicker, for it is getting late.” The fifth brother had screamed louder when Wus killed him. His brothers had heard his scream and they were running.

Wus jumped out of the house and started for home. Kāhkaas picked up the bundle, put it on his back and followed. Both ran as fast as they could; sometimes Kāhkaas got ahead of Wus, then Wus was ahead. The wind blew terribly. Wus’ ears were filled with snow, and he was almost frozen. They were giving out when they reached the last house that Wus had built; the fire was still burning. They had just got warm when they heard the brothers coming, and started off again. They ran till Kāhkaas said: “I’m so tired I can’t run any farther!”

“Hurry,” said Wus. “They won’t overtake us. We are near the next house.” They reached the ninth house, and the fire was burning.

“Look and see if they are coming,” said Wus.

“Not yet.”

After a while Kāhkaas looked again. “They are coming!” called he. And off the two ran as fast as they could. When they got near the eighth house, the brothers were close behind.

“I am afraid!” said Kāhkaas.

“I am not,” said Wus, but he kept on running, though snow was in his ears and in his hair; he was almost frozen. They stopped at the seventh house, but Kāhkaas looked back and said: “They are coming; they are not far away!”

The brothers were tired. They began to think that they couldn’t overtake Wus and Kāhkaas. They still carried their baskets. Wus didn’t stop at the sixth or fifth house.

“Don’t open your mouth so wide,” said Kāhkaas; “if you do, it will fill with snow.”

“No matter,” said Wus, “that will help me to run.”

When the brothers reached the fifth house and found it empty, the elder said: “Let us be only five. We can never [[58]]catch up with the man who killed our brothers, and stole our servant. Let us go back, but we will always watch this country. We won’t let any one come here again. I thought we were the strongest people in the world. I wonder who this man is.”

They didn’t know the people of this world; they had always lived by themselves. The only man they knew about was Kāhkaas.

When the people saw Wus coming, they went to one place to wait for him. They talked about him, and said: “Wus is a smart man; we couldn’t have done what he has done.” When Wus came up to them, they saw that he had Kāhkaas with him. Kāhkaas still had his bundle of roots, for he hadn’t had time to eat many. Everybody was glad now, for there was summer and winter. Up to that time people had had only clouds and storms.

After a while Wus said: “We must do another thing for the Tcanpsaudewas. We have done a good deal,—they will have two kinds of fire,—but there is too much cold. We must hold a council and decide how much cold they can have,—how long winter will be.”

Wus sent for all the people in the world. Every one came; every one thought: “What will Wus say?” But nobody talked; they all sat still waiting. At last Wus said: “There should be ten months of cold.” Then everybody began to talk. Nobody wanted ten months. Some said: “If there are ten months of cold, people will starve to death; they can’t lay up roots and seeds enough. Let us have five months.” Others said: “Two months are enough.” Wus kept saying: “There should be ten.” When they couldn’t agree, some one said: “Let the oldest man here decide.” There was one very old man there,—the oldest of all, but he only listened, he didn’t say a word. Again Wus said: “There should be ten months.”

The council lasted all night; then people asked: “Where is Kânoa? Why doesn’t he talk?” It was getting daylight, and Wus still insisted on ten months. “The months can be short,” said he, “not many days long.” Now the people said [[59]]to Kânoa: “Speak, old man; maybe you have something in your mind to say.” He started to go, and just then he called out: “Danwacuk” (three months).

Wus was mad, but the other people were glad, and said: “The old man is right. There will be three months of winter.”

“I am afraid people will not be thankful for what we have done,” said Hedgehog, “and will eat us.” Porcupine was afraid, too, but others said: “We have got fire for them; we have killed five of the Súbbas brothers; we have made winter short; they will be thankful.”

The council broke up, and soon after all those people turned to common animals, for real people were coming.

The five Súbbas brothers lived in their house in the west, but they watched the world. And since then things have been as they are now. [[60]]

[[Contents]]

HOW SICKNESS CAME INTO THE WORLD

CHARACTERS

Kéis and his brother, Snoútiss, lived on the southwest side of Little Shasta. The three Gletcówas brothers lived on the northwest side.

The Gletcówas brothers were great hunters; they made snares of grass ropes knotted and tied together, and fastened them between trees. Each morning they drove deer into the snares. As the brothers traveled, they called out their own name, “Gletcówas,” and they called it as they went home at night. When they had snared as many deer as they wanted, they packed them up and carried them to the house; they never skinned or cut up a deer in the woods. The Gletcówas brothers were so small that they looked like children, but they were young men.

Kéis, the elder of the two brothers who lived on the southwest side of the mountain, always sat at home making bows and arrows. Snoútiss, his little brother, dug roots, and while he was digging he listened to the Gletcówas brothers. He heard their song, and knew that they were great hunters. One day he said to Kéis: “The Gletcówas brothers have plenty of meat.”

“Let us go to their snares and get some,” said Kéis.

“They never cut up their deer in the woods,” said the younger brother; “if they did, they couldn’t catch any more; they carry them home whole. You might go to their house and ask for meat, but don’t go near their snares; if you do you will get into trouble.” [[61]]

Kéis went, but he didn’t do as his brother told him. He went straight to the snares the Gletcówas brothers had set. In one of the snares was a large fat deer. Kéis tried to untie the knot in the rope around its neck; he couldn’t do it; so he pulled at it till he broke out all but two of his teeth.

“We will go to the snares, and see if we have caught anything,” said the eldest of the Gletcówas brothers.

“I will stay and dry meat,” said the youngest. There was a great deal of meat hanging on trees near the house.

When the two brothers came to where their snares were, they saw a man. “Who are you?” asked one of them.

Kéis didn’t answer, but as soon as they untied the deer he sprang upon it and cried: “This is mine!”

“No, it is ours!” said the eldest brother, “but if you will come with us, we will give you some of the meat. We can’t cut the deer up here; it would spoil our snares.”

Kéis didn’t listen to them; he went off. His mouth was bleeding, and he was mad. When he got home, he sat down and began to make poison—fever and black vomit and terrible things.

“What is the matter?” asked Snoútiss. “What makes your mouth bleed? Why are you working so hard over that bad stuff? It is wrong to make that. It may get out of our house and spread everywhere; then the people to come will have these terrible things and die.”

“Those brothers in the northwest took my deer from me,—a large, fat one,” said Kéis, and he kept on making the medicine.

“You must have gone to their snares,” said the boy. “They couldn’t cut the deer up there in the woods.”

Kéis didn’t answer, and Snoútiss thought: “I will go and find out what has made Kéis so mad.” When he got to the house of the three brothers, they said: “Come in, little boy. What is the trouble with your brother?”

“All his teeth are out, but two, and with those he is making bad medicine. He is mad; he says that you took a deer away from him.”

“We took our own deer. We told him to come and get [[62]]some of the meat, but he wouldn’t; he went away without saying a word.”

The brothers gave Snoútiss meat; he took it and started for home. When he got to the house he looked in at the smoke hole and he was frightened. His brother was hard at work; the whole house was dripping with sores; there were aches and pains of all kinds, and terrible sickness.

“I can’t come in,” cried the little boy. “You have made those things and now they will be here always, and will make trouble. You got mad for nothing. I can’t stay with you; I will go to my uncle.”

When Snoútiss came in sight of Wéwenkee’s house, a little boy saw him, and called to his father: “A boy is coming!”

“That is Snoútiss,” said Wéwenkee. “He has never been here before; he wouldn’t come now if he wasn’t in trouble.”

When Snoútiss got to the house, he stood outside, crying.

“Tell him to come in,” said Wéwenkee to his son. Snoútiss went in. “What is the matter? Why do you cry?” asked his uncle.

“My brother is mad. He has made all kinds of terrible sores and sickness. I feel badly, for those things can never be got rid of; they will live always to trouble the people who are to come. It looks badly and smells badly in our house. My brother got mad for nothing.”

“Those Gletcówas brothers are mean men,” said Wéwenkee, “but if Kéis wanted meat he should have gone to their house. I am stronger than your brother; I have a wildcat skin blanket, all painted. I will go home with you. How far away is your house?”

“On the other side of a flat there are big rocks, our home is under those rocks. I don’t want to go there. I can’t go in the house, it smells so badly.”

“I will go alone,” said his uncle.

When Wéwenkee got to the house, he crawled in through a crack in the wall. His nephew didn’t see him, didn’t know that he was there. There was such a terrible smell in the house that Wéwenkee couldn’t stay; so he got out quickly. The only way he could look in was by painting red stripes across [[63]]his forehead and around his wrists. When he got home, he said to Snoútiss: “You told me the truth. Hereafter there will be all kinds of sickness. Sickness will spread everywhere. Does Kéis think he is more powerful than I am? I can do all that he can do. I know that what he has made will live always. Will you go home now?” asked Wéwenkee.

“I don’t want to go,” said Snoútiss.

Wéwenkee started off again. After he had gone, his wife said to Snoútiss: “You should have gone with your uncle. Do you think that he has only one blanket? His blankets are doubled around his body, one over another, and one is worse than another. They are blankets of sickness and sores. Wéwenkee is chief of those things; he can make more bad medicine than your brother can. When he is mad, he can raise a terrible whirlwind. That is the kind of man he is. You should have gone with him.”

Snoútiss went out then and followed his uncle, but Wéwenkee didn’t see him. As the old man traveled, sores came out all over him. He cried, and his tears were drops of matter. When he went into his nephew’s house, he said: “You have done wrong; now all this bad stuff will soak into the earth and make great trouble.”

Wéwenkee made a big ball of soft bark, rolled it around and gathered on it all the sores and sickness that were on the top and sides of the house, and on the ground. “Don’t you wink again and let that stuff fall,” said he to his nephew.

He rolled the bark ball over Kéis’ body, cleaned him of sores, and then he squeezed the ball over his own head and said: “This is mine. How did you dare to let this out? Sickness belongs to Nébăks. It is only loaned to us; we had no right to let it out till he told us to. Now it has gone from us; I have saved some, but a great deal has scattered and gone through the world. You have frightened your brother so he won’t come back to you”—Wéwenkee didn’t know that Snoútiss was on top of the house listening to what he said.

“Will you change skins with me?” asked Wéwenkee.

“No,” said Kéis, “I want my own skin.”

“It is too bad I can’t get up all this sickness,” said Wéwenkee,[[64]]—he was still rolling the bark ball,— “it has soaked into the ground, and in hot weather and in winter it will come out.”

Kéis didn’t say much, for he didn’t want Wéwenkee to see that his teeth were gone.

“The Gletcówas brothers are bad men, but you should have asked them for meat, not tried to steal it,” said Wéwenkee.

“They wanted to kill me.”

“How many teeth have you?” asked Wéwenkee.

“Two.”

“Let me have them for a little while.”

“No, I want them myself; people will always hate me, these teeth will defend me. If I want to kill any one I can do it with my teeth. I can throw medicine at them and kill them. I shall keep poison medicine in the ends of my teeth; I will be as bad as others are.”

“I will always be good, unless somebody makes me mad,” said Wéwenkee. “In later times people will like my skin and want to take it. Maybe they will throw dirt at me so they can hide my face and eyes from them, but they can do me no harm. I will not be a servant to any one; but those who go to the swimming ponds on the mountains, and those who are willing to travel at night, I will like. I will give them my skin, and the earth will give me another.[1] I shall never appear to any one, who is not a doctor.”

“I will do just as I have done,” said Kéis. “If I get mad, I will kill people by throwing out sickness.”

“If you do, you will be hated, and you will always be in trouble,” said Wéwenkee. And he begged hard for Kéis to put away sickness. “You are my nephew,” said he; “you should do as I say. I am a chief, too. I am sorry for the people who are to come, and you ought to think of them. Let us put sickness back in our bodies, and never use it unless this earth tells us to. It won’t be long that we shall be persons; soon we shall live under rocks and in holes in the ground. When the people to come take our places, they will hate you. I am sorry for your little brother. I would go away now, but [[65]]I don’t want to be changed till some one comes to tell me what I shall be.”

So Wéwenkee talked to his nephew, and at last Kéis took off all his sicknesses and tied them up in a bundle. He put the bundle in his quiver, and said: “I will only take these out when people abuse me.” Then he told his brother to come in.

“My little nephew,” said Wéwenkee, “those Gletcówas can turn to anything; sometimes they are fish and sometimes they are bugs or ticks. You might catch one of them and think that you were holding him in your hand, but he would be gone. You can remember better than Kéis; that is why I tell you about those brothers. Sometimes they are large animals, sometimes they are a straw on a trail, or a stump of burnt wood, or lice. Often, in the night, they are wind; or they are mole hills for men to fall over. I can’t tell you all that they turn to. I know they are going to kill your brother, for he has tried to kill them.” Then he said to Kéis: “Stand up.” When his nephew stood up, Wéwenkee turned him around, looked at him on every side, and said: “I don’t like any part of your skin, and your mind is mean. What part of my skin do you like?”

Kéis said: “I like the spots on your breast and the gloss on your body.”

“Lie down,” said Wéwenkee, “and cover yourself up and sleep all day; then maybe your mind will be better and you won’t get mad so easily.” He told him over and over not to open the bundle of sickness, then he told Snoútiss to watch Kéis, and if he started to untie the bundle to come and tell him. He said: “Nobody will be able to kill sickness; your brother has spoiled the world. In later times we may have no mind, but we may want to go near houses. People will hate Kéis, but they will say: ‘His uncle was chief before we came,’ and they will know that I won’t hurt them.”

Kéis slept till night, then he woke up and sent his brother for water. “I wonder why he sent me for water when there was water in the house,” thought Snoútiss, and he hurried back and looked in at the smoke hole. Kéis was sitting by the fire, untying his bundle. When he heard Snoútiss on the [[66]]top of the house, he tied up the bundle and pulled his blanket around him.

“What were you doing?” asked Snoútiss.

“I was covering myself up.”

“I know what you were doing,” said the boy; “you were letting out sickness. Our uncle told you never to untie that bundle.”

Snoútiss ran off to his uncle’s house and told him what Kéis had done. Wéwenkee was so mad at his nephew that he stretched himself out full length; then he made a circle around the world and pressed everything together, but Kéis went in among rocks and Wéwenkee couldn’t press hard enough to break them.

“What are you doing?” asked Wéwenkee.

“What I want to,” said Kéis.

“If you want to be great of your own strength, I will leave you,” said Wéwenkee, and he started for home.

Now Kéis began to sing like a doctor; the three Gletcówas brothers heard his song, and wondered who was around among the rocks singing.

“I will find out,” said the eldest brother, and he went toward the rocks.

The second brother followed him. When near they smelt smoke,—Kéis was smoking Indian tobacco,—and they knew who was singing. “I wonder what that man is doing,” said one of the brothers; “we must think how to kill him.”

Now Wéwenkee sent Snoútiss to see what Kéis was doing; he came back, and said: “My brother is among the rocks, singing.”

Wéwenkee rubbed himself around in the dirt, and said: “This is what I knew would happen when he went by his own strength. All that I have talked to your brother I will take off and give to the dirt. I will rub off all that I promised to help him, and give it back to the ground. We will no longer be living persons. You will remember me in later times, for I have been a great chief. You will be near me always, for you will be my brother. Hereafter you will be only a little snake and blow with your mouth.” Right away Snoútiss [[67]]became a common little snake. Then Wéwenkee turned himself into a whipsnake.

The youngest of the Gletcówas brothers listened to Kéis’ song and watched for him to come out from among the rocks. As he ran back and forth he called: “Gletcówas! Gletcówas!”

“What is the matter?” asked his brothers.

“I have no father or mother; that is why I cry all the time.”

The brothers said to one another: “Kéis is the man who killed our father and mother; we must kill him.”

As Gletcówas went toward the rocks, he hit against a mole hill and fell; then he talked to the earth, and said: “You shouldn’t treat me in this way. I have no father or mother; you should carry me safely.”

As Gletcówas fell, Kéis came out from among the rocks. He had grown so tall that he almost touched the sky. His song was loud and nice.

The brothers hid behind rocks and tied cross sticks to their arrows. “Go up to the sky,” called they to their youngest brother, for Kéis was just going to throw his medicine at him.

The brothers shot their arrows and hit Kéis. He fell, but he kept singing. The eldest brother pulled up a tree stump and pounded him on the head till he died. They cut Kéis into small pieces, threw the pieces over the rocks, and said: “You will no longer be great; even old women will kill you.” The pieces became rattlesnakes.

Then the three brothers went north. Kéis had made them lose their minds. They crossed the Shasta River and became birds. [[68]]

[1] Doctors often rub a whipsnake in dust and pull off his skin, then he gets a new skin, so what Wéwenkee said was true. [↑]

[[Contents]]

HOW OLD AGE CAME INTO THE WORLD

CHARACTERS

Five brothers and their sister lived alone on a mountain; the brothers had killed a great many people in the country around.

The sister gathered the wood and cooked the meat. When it was time for her maturity dance, she asked: “How can I dance when there is nobody to sing for me?”

“Walk around all the time,” said her eldest brother; “pile stones, and don’t sleep for five nights.”

The girl kept awake four nights, then she was so tired that she fell asleep. She dreamed that her brothers were covered with sores and were starving. When she woke up, she cried and said: “I wish I had died long ago, then I shouldn’t have brought trouble on my brothers. I have done this by not dancing and by going to sleep.”

When she got home, she found that Sickness had been in the house. Sickness came every day for five days. Then each one of the five brothers had great sores on his body. There was nobody to hunt for deer, or rabbits, and soon the brothers were starving. The sister brought wood and kept the fire, but she couldn’t find anything to eat. Everybody was glad that the brothers were sick and hoped they would die.

One of the brothers saw two swans on a pond near the house, and when the sister came with a load of wood on her back, he said: “I wish we could kill one of those swans.”

“Maybe I can kill one,” said the sister. She got her brothers’ bows and tried the strings to see which string was the strongest. She put down one bow after another, saying: [[69]]“That isn’t strong.” The strings had been strong enough for her brothers, but for her they were weak. She took the bow that belonged to her youngest brother, pulled the string, and said: “This will do.”

When she started for the pond, one of the brothers watched her, he said: “Now she is near the pond; now she is sitting down on the bank!” She drew the bow, and when he thought she had missed the swan, he nearly fell, he was so sorry. He didn’t look out again. The arrow went through both swans.

The sister brought the swans home and left them outside; she took the bow and arrow in and put them away. Her brothers felt badly; they were disappointed. When she asked: “Shall I cook them in the house?” they were glad. They tried to get up, but they couldn’t stand on their feet, they were so weak.

The girl cooked the swans and gave her brothers some of the meat. She said: “Eat a little at a time, so it will last longer.” She saved the fat and rubbed her brothers with it, to heal their sores.

“Now I am stronger,” said the eldest brother. “Give me my bow; I feel as if I could shoot something.” Each brother said the same.

When the people at the foot of the mountain heard that the five brothers were sick, they were glad and sent a young man to find if it were true. He came back, and said: “They are sick and are going to die.”

When the sister had gone for wood, the eldest brother said: “I know that somebody is coming; I want to be strong.” They all had the same feeling, and each one tried his bowstring. When the sister came back, the eldest brother said: “You must roll us up in our blankets, and tie them around us as though we were dead. Put our bows and arrows and beads near us.”

When she had done that, she went off to the mountains, for she felt badly and didn’t want to stay with her brothers; she didn’t want to live any longer.

The brothers waited for her, and when it was dark and she [[70]]didn’t come, one said: “Our sister is always talking about dying; maybe she is dead.”

Now the people at the foot of the mountain sent a little boy to see if the five brothers were alive. He crossed the pond in a canoe; he rowed the canoe by saying: “Peldack! Peldack!” (Go fast). When the boy saw the men tied up in their blankets, he went back, and said: “They are dead. In their house there are bows and arrows and nice beads. You must go and get them.”

The chief said: “Get ready; we will go and scalp those men, and take their things.”

When the brothers saw the men coming, they said: “We will lie here as if we were dead, and when they pack up our things and start away, we will spring up and fight them with knives.”

The men came into the house. They unrolled the brothers and kicked them around; they took their blankets, bows, arrows and beads, took everything they could find, and started off.

Then the five brothers jumped up and ran at them with knives. They killed every man, threw the bodies into the pond, and started off to hunt for their sister. They hunted a long time. At last they found her body and burned it; then the eldest brother said: “Let us leave this country and kill every man we can find.”

They started and traveled toward the west. They killed every man or woman they met. When people saw them coming they ran and hid, they were so afraid of them. The brothers traveled a long time, and killed a great many people. At last they came to a big lake. They made a canoe and started to cross it, but before they got to land, the canoe sank. It went under the water and under a mountain and out into another lake. There they met Storm.

He was a man then and could kill anybody he could catch and draw into the water. He tried to kill the five brothers, but the youngest brother fought with him, cut him to pieces with his knife, and said: “You will be a person no longer; you will only be something to scare [[71]]people,” and he drove him away. All the people under the water hid, for they were afraid of the brothers.

When the brothers couldn’t find any one to kill, they turned toward the east and traveled till they came to a country where they found a very old man and a very old woman. They said: “We have come to fight you.”

“I don’t want to fight,” said the old man. “We have always lived here, this is our place; nobody ever came here before to trouble us. We don’t bother any one. Go away and leave us.”

“You must fight,” said the brothers. “If you don’t, we will kill you; we kill every one we meet.”

“You can’t kill us or harm us, no matter what you do,” said the old man. “We are Komúchass (Old Age). We shall live always.”

The five brothers were mad; they didn’t listen to the old man, but shot at him with arrows, and pounded him with clubs; then they built a fire and tried to burn him. When they couldn’t kill him in any way, they got scared and ran off.

The old man called to them to stop, but they didn’t listen; then he said: “We shall follow you; you cannot get away; wherever you go we shall go. You will never get home.”

The old man and old woman followed the brothers for a long time, and at last they caught up with the eldest brother. Right away he was old and weak. He stumbled along for a little way, then fell to the ground and died.

They overtook the second brother; he also grew old and weak, fell to the ground and died. The third brother reached the lake; he was running on the ice when Komúchass overtook him; he grew weak and fell; the ice broke and he was drowned. The fourth brother died in the same manner. The youngest brother thought he was going to get away from the old man; he was only a few steps from home when Komúchass overtook him. Right off he was an old man; he stumbled along a step or two, then fell to the ground and died.

This is how old age came into our world. If the five brothers had let the old man and his wife alone, they would have [[72]]stayed in their own country, and there would have been no such thing as old age.

Komúchass turned the bodies of the five brothers into five rocks, and those rocks are still to be seen in the Klamath country. [[73]]

[[Contents]]

LEMÉIS AND NUL-WE

CHARACTERS

Old Limālimáas was a man-eater. He lived among big rocks at one end of a long, swampy flat. At the other end of the swamp lived an old woman and her little grandson. Limālimáas had killed all the old woman’s kin, except the boy. He had strung their elbow and ankle bones on a grass rope and he wore them for a necklace. People called him Kókolaileyas, (Bone Necklace).

The grandmother was too old to dig roots, so the little boy dug them for her. One day Limālimáas saw the boy digging; he crept up and lay down near him, and when the boy’s basket was full of nice, white roots, he ate them all at a mouthful. After that, he came every day. No matter where the boy went to dig, Limālimáas followed him. If the boy ate a root while he was digging, Limālimáas struck him on the forehead with his hammer. He listened and knew when he took a root. The little boy felt badly; he wanted to carry roots to his grandmother, for he knew she was hungry. He cried all the time he was digging, cried “Nul-we! Nul-we!” (that was his name). He always went home at sundown.

One day he cried on the way home. His grandmother heard him, and said: “My grandson, you mustn’t cry so loud. A bad man lives among the big rocks. He will hear you and come where you are digging. Maybe he will kill you; he has killed your father and your mother and all your kin.”

The next morning, when Nul-we went to dig roots, Limālimáas came, and said: “Little Nul-we, I am waiting for you; I am hungry. I want you to grow fast and get big, then I will [[74]]kill you and eat you. I will put your bones in my necklace, between the bones of your father and the bones of your mother, and they will make my necklace nice and long.”

That evening, when Nul-we went home without any roots, his grandmother said: “When you were a little fellow, you brought your basket full of roots. Now it is always empty. I am hungry. I have only dry, old roots to eat.”

“I eat all the roots I dig,” said Nul-we; then he cried, he was so sorry for his grandmother. He didn’t want to tell her about Limālimáas.

The next morning, as soon as Nul-we began digging, Limālimáas came, rattling his bone necklace as he traveled. He lay down right by Nul-we, and said: “Little boy, I am tired; peel me some nice, white roots.” When he had eaten the roots, he took hold of his necklace, rattled it, and said, as he divided the bones: “These are your father’s bones; these are your mother’s bones; these are your sister’s bones; these are your brother’s bones; these are your grandfather’s bones. Now dig away, little boy; when you are big enough, your bones will be in my necklace.”

That day Nul-we dug four basketfuls, and Limālimáas ate them all. Then he said: “Little boy, you should kill me, for I have eaten your father and your mother and all your kin.” Then Nul-we thought: “Maybe I could kill this bad old man; I will get a bow and arrow and try.”

The next day, when Limālimáas had eaten all the roots, he said: “Little boy, you should kill me; I have killed all your kin. You must shoot me in the body; that is where I keep my heart.”

That night the grandmother asked: “Why don’t you bring me roots? I am hungry; you shouldn’t eat them all.”

“I dig roots early in the morning,” said Nul-we, “then I eat them and lie down and sleep all day.”

“That isn’t true,” said his grandmother, “you don’t deceive me; somebody takes your roots away from you.”

“I want you to make me a bow and arrow,” said Nul-we, “and put poison in the end of the arrow. I miss all the birds I shoot at with sticks.” [[75]]

In the morning Limālimáas said to him: “I think you are about big enough to eat.”

That night Nul-we said to his grandmother: “I dig a great many roots, but a bad man comes and eats them all. He wears a necklace made of bones. He says they are the bones of my father and of my mother and of all my kin; and that my bones will make the necklace nice and long.”

The grandmother was frightened, for she knew it was old Limālimáas, the man who lived among the rocks. She gave Nul-we his father’s strong bow and put fresh points on the arrows; then she made the bow and arrows look like a little boy’s first bow and arrows, and said: “That man’s heart isn’t in his body; it’s in the end of his first finger; you must shoot him there.”

When Limālimáas came, the boy fed him lots of roots. He dug fast and gave the old man all he could eat. Then Limālimáas lay down to sleep. Usually he lay with his head on his hands, but that time he lay with his face up and his hands spread out. Nul-we got his arrow ready, and made up his mind which way to run; then, when he saw something moving in Limālimáas’ finger, he shot. The heart came out on the end of the arrow.

Limālimáas sprang up and ran after the boy. Ever so many times he almost caught him, but each time Nul-we dodged and got away. At last they came to a dried up river-bed where there were big rocks and deep holes. Limālimáas was getting weak; he stumbled and fell into a hole. Nul-we ran across the river-bed; then he turned and called to Limālimáas: “You shall not live in this world and kill people. Hereafter you will make a great noise, but you will not have the power to harm anybody. When another strikes, you will shout for him; that is all you will be able to do.”

Nul-we took the heart off the end of his arrow, blew it up into the sky, and said: “You can go up there and live; you can’t live down here any longer.”

Now Nul-we could dig roots and carry them to his grandmother; he was glad, and he didn’t cry any more.

The old man-eater became Thunder. [[76]]

[[Contents]]

WIND AND THUNDER

CHARACTERS

Tcûskai and Tskel lived together on North Wind Mountain (east of Klamath marsh). Tskel thought it was time to have a wife. He knew there were women off in the north, so he said to Tcûskai: “Go to Sycan and get two women.” When Tcûskai got to the place, the women were digging roots. He snatched their caps and ran home with them. All the women followed him. In that old time this was one way of getting a wife. A man stole something a woman was wearing; then she knew he wanted her, and she followed him home.

When Tcûskai brought so many caps, Tskel was angry. He said: “Why do you always make trouble? I sent you for two women, and you have brought a great many. What will you do now?”

Tcûskai kept two of the caps and threw the other ones away. When the women came, they picked up their caps and went home; only two women stayed. After a while each woman had a little boy. They rubbed the children with ashes, and they grew fast.

As soon as the boys could run around and play, they began to quarrel. Tcûskai made them arrows to shoot birds and squirrels with; after that, when they got angry, they shot at each other. Then Tcûskai made them arrows with poisoned points, and one day when they were fighting, they killed each other.

Tcûskai stayed in the house, but he knew what had happened; he always knew everything. Tskel was away hunting [[77]]for deer. As soon as he came home, he looked around for his boys; when he found that the two boys were dead, he called Tcûskai and they burned the bodies. Then Tskel said to his brother: “I want you to travel in the mountains and swim in the ponds. After that you can go south and cut off Mówas Sléwis’ head.”

Tcûskai wanted to go north.

Tskel said: “If Tániäs Sléwis should put out his head, you would die. He would cover everything with ice, and you would freeze to death.”

“I can go north as well as you can,” said Tcûskai. “I don’t want to go south; you can go there.”

“Go north if you want to,” said Tskel. “It won’t be my fault if you are killed.”

They went to all the high mountains and swam in the swimming pools, then Tcûskai went to Tániäs Sléwis’ home, and his brother went south to Mówas Sléwis’ home.

When Tcûskai got near Tániäs Sléwis’ house, he rolled himself up tight in his blanket, but as soon as Tániäs Sléwis stuck his head out to see who was around, Tcûskai died. Wind and cold cut through his body and killed him. When Tániäs Sléwis drew his head in, Tcûskai came to life.

Tskel was at Mówas Sléwis’ place, but he saw Tcûskai and knew what was happening. Mówas Sléwis put his head out, Tskel cut it off, skinned it, and made himself a cap of the skin. Tskel had his emi[1] in his hand. Nothing in the world could break that knife, but whatever it was thrown at broke—Tskel made it that way by thinking hard. As soon as he had cut off Mówas Sléwis’ head, he went north to help his brother. When he got to Tániäs Sléwis’ house, he put Tcûskai under his blanket, and watched for Sléwis to put his head out. Tskel could endure the cold, for he had on the cap made of the skin of Mówas Sléwis’ head.

As soon as Tániäs Sléwis put his head out, Tskel cut it off. Now both Mówas Sléwis and Tániäs Sléwis were killed, and that is why it is not as cold in winter, or as hot in summer as it used to be. Their bodies are dead, but their spirits are [[78]]alive. The wind that blows from the south is Mówas Sléwis’ spirit, and the wind that comes from the north is Tániäs Sléwis’ spirit.

Tskel skinned Tániäs Sléwis’ head, and now he had two caps.

When they got home Tcûskai wanted the cap made of Tániäs Sléwis’ head, for whenever he put it on he could freeze people to death, but Tskel wouldn’t give it to him. He was afraid that Tcûskai wasn’t strong enough to wear it; that it would freeze him to death.

Tskel said: “The five Leméis brothers are bad men; they kill people and eat them. Their house is in a deep place, and there are great rocks around it. The tallest tree in the world wouldn’t reach to the bottom of the house. Our sister, who married Kaiutois lives there with her husband and his five brothers; we will go and visit her.”

Gäk and Káwhas went with Tcûskai and Tskel. When they came to the house the men were off hunting; only old Leméis and his wife and daughter and Kaiutois’ wife were at home. Tskel had on the cap made of Tániäs Sléwis’ head. The minute he went into the house ice was everywhere. Old Leméis and his wife were terribly scared; they thought somebody had come who was stronger than they were. They wanted to get away as soon as they could, but the ladder was covered with ice, and they kept slipping back into the house. At last they got out.

Kaiutois’ wife and children were warm. Tskel made it so, for she was his sister.

Old Leméis’ daughter was meaner than her brothers. The belt around her waist was made of men’s bones; she killed men by making them put on that belt. As soon as the belt was around a man’s waist, the bones pressed together until they cut him in two. She handed the belt to Tskel and told him to put it on.

He said: “I will put on your belt, if you will put on my cap first.” She put the cap on. It pressed her head and almost froze her to death, but she snatched it off and ran out of the house. She was scared.

Outside old Leméis and his wife were crying with cold. The [[79]]eldest of the five brothers came with two men in his belt. His father said: “There is somebody in our house who is stronger than we are.”

“There is nobody in the world stronger than I am,” said the young man. “I will kill the man who is in there.” He put one foot on the ladder, but sprang back and began to scream.

The second brother came with dead men in his belt. He said he was the strongest person in the world, but the minute he put one foot on the ladder, he sprang back, crying with cold.

The third brother put his foot on the second rung of the ladder, then he turned back. He roared terribly; he tried to frighten Tskel, but Tskel wasn’t afraid.

The fourth brother came with four dead men in his belt; one was kin to Tskel. He went down four rungs of the ladder, then sprang back; the dead man who was kin to Tskel slipped out of his belt and fell inside. Tskel made that so by thinking. Then he brought the dead man to life.

When the youngest and strongest one of the brothers came, he got down the ladder into the house, but he was out as soon as he was in. Just at sundown Kaiutois came with a deer on his back. Tskel took his cap off and Tcûskai put on his cap made of South Wind’s head. Right away all the ice was gone.

Now the Leméis brothers came inside. They built a big fire and heated rocks, put the rocks in a basket of water, and boiled pieces of the men they had brought home. Kaiutois roasted deer meat and gave it to his brothers-in-law. Gäk and Káwhas ate the meat old Leméis gave them. That is why crows and blackbirds eat any dead thing they can find.

After eating, everybody lay down. The five Leméis brothers lay in a row; they were watching, for they wanted to kill Tskel.

Káwhas had bright eyes; when he was asleep the Leméis brothers thought he was awake. Tskel made the five brothers go to sleep. They had long hair and Tskel tied one brother’s hair to another’s, till he had the five tied together. He did this so that when they woke up each one would think that his brother was pulling his hair, and all of them would get to [[80]]fighting. Tcûskai, Tskel, Gäk, Káwhas, Kaiutois and his wife went outside. Tskel hired Galaíwa to fill all the holes in the house with pitch and pile pitch wood up around it; when that was done he set fire to the place.

When the house began to burn, the five brothers sprang up; that made their hair pull and they began to fight one another with their long flint knives. Soon they were all dead. Their bodies were burned up, but their hearts flew out of the fire. Tcûskai and Tskel were watching, and as soon as a heart came out they pushed it back into the fire. They did this till each heart burst and the spirit came out and went away. Four of the hearts were destroyed, but the heart of the youngest and strongest brother got away from Tskel. It went up to the sky and became Leméis. Leméis is up there yet; we hear him when he travels around.

Klamath Indians think that Thunder is a little fellow with very long hair. [[81]]

[1] Obsidian knife. [↑]

[[Contents]]

GÁUKOS AND KÛLTA

CHARACTERS

Gáukos and Kûlta had a house among the rocks on the east side of Klamath Lake. On the west side of the lake lived the ten Kówe sisters, beautiful little women. Their clothes were covered with beads and porcupine quills. They were powerful women, too; they could do anything they wanted. A Weketas woman lived with the ten sisters. She was big and ugly, and the only thing she could do was to bring people to life.

Gáukos grew lonesome. He was tired of living in the world. Kûlta said: “I will go and tell the ten sisters that you want a wife. With a woman to cook for us, it won’t be lonesome.”

Kûlta went to the ten sisters, and said: “A young man on the east side of the lake wants one of you for a wife, but he don’t know which one.”

Each one of the ten sisters got ready to go; they cooked nice roots and pounded sweet seeds. They put on new moccasins and dresses, pulled their canoe into the water, and started. Weketas had nothing to cook and nothing new to wear. She had on a ragged old cap, and was half naked, but she went to row the canoe. The sisters kept pushing her, and saying: “Row faster, ugly thing! Row faster!”

Gáukos sat on the rocks where he could watch the sisters. When they reached land, they left the canoe, one by one. To the first one Gáukos said: “Not you; another.” To the second sister he said the same, and so on to the last.

Kûlta told them to go back to the canoe; then he said to Gáukos: “Tell me which one you want.” [[82]]

“The one at the end of the canoe.”

“What do you want of that ugly thing?” asked Kûlta. “You should take one of those nice girls.”

“I will take the one I know will be best for me, the one that will live in my heart and always save me.”

“Don’t take that ugly Weketas woman,” said Kûlta.

“I don’t want to live around here,” said Gáukos. “Every night, I see some of the big-mouthed people. They are watching me; they like to eat such men as I am.”

“How can that ugly Weketas woman save you?” asked Kûlta.

“If there should be only a little bit of me left in Lok’s mouth, she would bring me to life,” said Gáukos.

Kûlta was willing now, but the ten sisters wouldn’t let the Weketas woman pass them. She crept along on the edge of the canoe, and each sister pinched her as she passed; they made her arms and legs bleed.

Gáukos wiped the blood off, rubbed her with deer tallow, and gave her a nice blanket. Then he put her in his bosom and started off toward the east. As he left, he said to Kûlta: “You will see me every month; I shall live always and will always travel on the sky.”

To this day Gáukos travels and he always will travel. People can see Weketas, for Gáukos still carries her in his bosom. Sometimes they can see Weketas’ children lying near her. When Súbbas comes, and Gáukos is still in the west, he gets eaten up by the big-mouthed people, but Weketas always brings him to life and will do so just as long as he carries her in his bosom. [[83]]

[[Contents]]

TCOITCAK AND HIS PACK

CHARACTERS

Once Tcoitcak was going along near the house where two brothers, Tcûskai and Tskel, lived. He was carrying a big pack on his back. Tcûskai liked to stay outside the house looking around. Tskel scolded him for not staying at home, so when he went away he always left his tail hanging down inside the smoke hole and left his voice with his tail. He said: “If Tskel calls me, you must answer: ‘I am here’!”

When Tcûskai saw the man coming with a big pack, he went to meet him. “What are you packing?” asked he.

Tcoitcak didn’t answer.

“Let me see what you have in your pack,” said Tcûskai.

The man kept walking along, but didn’t speak. Tcûskai followed him and teased him to tell what he was carrying. “Sit down and rest,” said Tcûskai. “That pack is too heavy to keep on your back all the time.”

At last Tcoitcak got angry; he pulled the pack off his back and put it on the ground. In that big bundle Tcoitcak had lots and lots of little bundles. Tcûskai untied the big bundle, snatched one of the little bundles and opened it. Out came Darkness, and that minute it spread all over the world. It was black everywhere. Tcûskai couldn’t see, but he snatched a second bundle and pulled it open. A crowd of stars came out.

In the big pack there were bundles of all kinds. Twilight was in one bundle, Daybreak in another. Each big star that has a name was tied up in a separate bundle,—Morning Star in one, Evening Star in another. Whatever time there is [[84]]of day or night was in Tcoitcak’s pack. Clouds, Rain, Snow, everything was there.

Tcûskai was lost in the darkness. He ran around everywhere, but couldn’t find his way home.

Tskel knew what Tcûskai had done, and that he couldn’t find his way home. He let him run around for a long time, then he pointed his flint knife toward the east, and cut a hole in the darkness to let light in.

It is because Tcûskai was running around so long in the dark that nights are so long and dark in winter time. [[85]]

[[Contents]]

WITSDUK

CHARACTERS

When Witsduk was a person, her home was in the Modoc country; she and her family were that snow which the wind carries in every direction. Wherever they went, they made people shiver, blinded them, and took their breath away. Everybody was tired of the Witsduks and wanted to get rid of them.

At last Tcutûk, an old medicine woman, said: “I can destroy Witsduk and her family, but I am afraid of Wus. He is a bad man; he likes to tease people, and he is always around. I can put Witsduk and her family in my bag and hide them under rocks where they can’t get out, but if I meet Wus he will take the bag away from me, and untie it. Then the Witsduks will kill us.”

The people were glad when Tcutûk said she could destroy the Witsduks; they promised to watch for Wus and kill him if he tried to get the bag away from her.

Tcutûk went to the mountain where the Witsduks lived. She opened her bag and waited for a long time. The Witsduks were going back and forth in every direction; Tcutûks was so cold that she was almost frozen. At last they came near her hiding-place, but they didn’t see her. When they were right there, Tcutûk said magic words and the Witsduks began to go into the bag. They couldn’t help going; Tcutûk pushed them down, crowded them, packed them solid. When they were all in and her bag was full, she tied it with a buckskin [[86]]string, took it on her back, and went toward the rocks; she traveled fast.

When Tcutûk got to the foot of the mountain, she said to the people waiting for her: “I have every Witsduk in the world in this bag on my back; now you must come with me to the rocks where I am going to hide them. I am afraid of Wus; I am afraid that I will meet him. If he should open my bag and let the Witsduks out, I should feel badly, for then no one would be safe. The Witsduks are mad; they would come out and kill everybody. Then they would live forever; they would scatter and be everywhere.”

The people said: “If we meet Wus, we will kill him,” but they were afraid. They went a little way, then turned back. Tcutûk traveled on alone till she came to a log; when she was climbing over the log, she saw Wus; he was hunting for mice. Tcutûk stood still, for she didn’t know what to do. As soon as Wus saw her, he came up, and right away he began to tease her to tell him what was in her bag, to open it and let him see.

At last Tcutûk said: “I am carrying off people you have met, and they have made you shiver. I am going to destroy them.”

“Let me have them,” said Wus, “I will eat them. I can eat anything in the world, all the people that crawl, or fly. I can eat Wind and Air. You haven’t anything in that bag that I can’t eat. I can eat Clouds and Rain,—everything.”

“Are you sure that you can eat all kinds of people?” asked Tcutûk.

“There isn’t anything in the world that I can’t eat.”

“I am carrying the Witsduks; you don’t want to eat them, do you?”

“Yes. Open the bag and let them out; I will eat them right away.”

Wus talked and teased. Tcutûk tried to make him let her pass. He got mad and caught hold of her head-strap and pulled on it till it cut her forehead. When she couldn’t keep the bag any longer, she said: “Take the bag and untie it! But don’t untie it till I am across the flat over there.”

She dropped the bag from her back and ran as fast as she [[87]]could, but before she was half-way across the flat Wus loosened the string. Right away the Witsduks began to come out. Wus caught them, one by one, and ate them. Before Tcutûk reached the end of the plain, he loosened the string a little more; then the Witsduks came out fast. Wus caught them all; he ran around, snapped his mouth in every direction, ate as fast as he could,—ate till he was so full he couldn’t eat any more. The string came off from the bag, and the rest of the Witsduks rushed out in a crowd. They were mad; they went everywhere, covered the whole world. Wus ran away, but they overtook him and killed him. The Witsduks he had eaten came out through his mouth and ears and nose and eyes.

All the people Tcutûk had tried to save, by catching the Witsduks in her bag, were killed. Tcutûk turned to a squirrel and hid among the rocks.

The Witsduks scattered everywhere, and they will live forever. Wus did this. If Tcutûk had hidden them under the rocks, there would have been no more Witsduks in the world. At the place where Wus was killed nobody can live to this day; every one dies from cold or starvation, for old woman Witsduk lives there yet. [[88]]

[[Contents]]

DJÁKALIPS

CHARACTER

Djákalips lived on the west side of Klamath Lake. He had eyes as red as blood and he always looked down; he wouldn’t look up at any time. When he ate, he closed his eyes, and when fishing he shaded them with his arm.

Two sisters went to live with Djákalips and be his wives. He said to them: “When you clean fish, you must not break the gall; if you do trouble will come.”

One day one of the sisters said to the other: “Did you ever see Djákalips’ face?”

“No, I don’t lie as near him as you do; you must know how he looks.”

“I don’t, for I never see his eyes; he always covers them with his arm, or turns his face away from me.”

“I want to see his eyes,” said the younger sister; “I don’t want a man who won’t look at me.”

“Maybe if we saw his eyes we would die,” said the elder sister.

“Why do we stay here?” asked the younger sister. “Every woman has to look at her husband and every man at his wife. I feel as if something would happen to us, but I am going to see Djákalips’ eyes.”

They tried in every way to make Djákalips look up. Sometimes they told him that people were coming; sometimes they called out: “There is a deer!” But no matter what they said, he didn’t look up.

One morning Djákalips went fishing. At midday he had a basketful of nice fish. The elder wife cooked some of the fish in the coals and gave them to her husband to eat; she spoke [[89]]to him, but he didn’t answer. He kept his arm over his eyes. The two sisters sat down in front of their straw house to dress fish and watch Djákalips. They were mad at him. They didn’t like him any longer. The younger sister thought: “I will make him look up!” She broke the gall of a fish and screamed: “Oh! I’ve broken a gall!”

Djákalips looked up. His eyes were balls of fire, and his face was as red as blood.

The sisters were terribly frightened; they wanted to get away. The elder sister said: “We have no wood, you must come and help me get some.” They ran off to the river and began to twist reeds to make a rope long enough to reach from the ground to the sky. They worked fast. When the rope was finished, they made it into a ball and threw the ball up till it caught in the sky; then they climbed on the rope that hung from the ball. As they climbed, they said: “We will leave the rope, and if Djákalips follows us, we will come down again.” They left a little animal sitting on the ground near the end of the rope, and told him not to tell where they had gone.

Djákalips wondered why his wives didn’t come. At last he tracked them to the place where they had made the ball; he saw the little animal, and asked: “Where are my wives?” It wouldn’t tell. Djákalips pulled its hair, took out a handful; still it wouldn’t tell. He looked everywhere for tracks; then he came back to the same place and asked again: “Where are my wives?” He got no answer. He pulled out another handful of the little animal’s hair, then he went to hunt for tracks again. The tracks always led him back to the animal.

When he had pulled all of the animal’s hair out, it said: “They have gone to the sky.”

“How did they go?” asked Djákalips.

“On a rope made of reeds. Here is the end of it. Look up and you will see where they are.”

Djákalips climbed the rope. The sisters went far west, but he tracked them. They ran north and south, then they ran back to the rope and came down. As they touched the ground, the elder sister called to Djákalips: “You will never come back to this earth; you will always stay there [[90]]in the sky. You will stay where the sun goes down, and in later times, when you look up and people see your red eyes, they will say: ‘Djákalips is going to make water freeze.’ ”

Djákalips followed his wives north and south, but couldn’t find them; then he went back to where the sun sets and stayed there. He turned into the red clouds which we see in the fall of the year. When Djákalips is seen in the west, water freezes. [[91]]

[[Contents]]

MOASÄM BEPS, THE DAUGHTER OF SOUTH WIND

CHARACTERS

At Euks a great many people were starving to death; they were so weak they couldn’t stand. It was winter; snow was falling all the time. The people were out of doors. They didn’t live in houses. Tsákiak was the only person who had a house. He took people in, warmed them, and gave them a little to eat; he hadn’t much.

One day, when it was cold and there was deep snow everywhere, Tsákiak went on top of his house and stood looking around. He felt badly, felt sorry for the people, they were so cold and hungry. Just then he saw Moasäm Beps coming from the south; she was bringing minnows, holding them out in her hand as she came along; when she passed Tsákiak’s house, she gave him the minnows. He cooked them over his fire and gave them to the hungry people. He felt glad in his heart.

The next day, Moasäm Beps came again and brought many minnows; she had both hands full. When she passed Tsákiak, she gave them to him. He was hungry himself, but he gave all of the minnows to the starving people.

The next day Moasäm Beps’ hands were empty, but she asked Tsákiak where the nut pine trees were. He said: “They are on both sides of the fire in my house.”

Moasäm Beps went in and sat on a pine tree. As soon as she was there, the snow melted and went away. She said to Tsákiak: “Spread five blankets under each tree; then go out and don’t look in.”

Soon on each one of the ten blankets there was a big pile [[92]]of pine nuts. Then Moasäm Beps called the people in; those who were too weak to eat she fed.

Right away all the people were strong; they were happy, too. They gave Moasäm Beps wildcat skins and beads of every kind, and then they went their own way, for it was warm and they had plenty to eat. Tsákiak and Moasäm Beps went to Moasänik, her father’s home, for Moasäm Beps was Tsákiak’s wife now.

The day they got to Moasänik, Moasäm Beps gave her husband a pair of moccasins, and said: “You must wear these moccasins all the time you are here; if you take them off, you will die.”

The next day she told him to go and hunt for deer. He went to the top of a high mountain, where there was snow. Tsákiak tracked a herd of deer and killed five.

Tsákiak went hunting every day for five days,—he started before it was light in the morning and came home in the evening. Each time he went Moasäm Beps told him not to take off his moccasins. The sixth morning, when he was ready to start, Moasäm Beps said: “Even if your feet are wet and cold, you mustn’t take off your moccasins; if you do you won’t come home; you will die on the mountain.”

Tsákiak tracked deer for a long time. The ground was wet and muddy. At last he went to the other side of the mountain, where the ground was dry; it looked nice. Tsákiak said: “This is a good place to walk, the ground is dry. I will take off these wet moccasins and walk around a little.”

He took off one moccasin. Snow began to fall and the wind to blow hard and cold. Tsákiak took off the other moccasin. “I don’t care for you any longer,” said he. “You are cold and wet.” He picked up both moccasins and threw them as far as he could. Right away the wind blew furiously. It turned awfully cold, so cold that Tsákiak couldn’t walk; his legs were stiff. Snow came down fast, like big basketfuls tipped over. Tsákiak couldn’t get air, couldn’t breathe; he died. [[93]]

[[Contents]]

WEST WIND’S WIVES

CHARACTERS

Tkálmas Sléwis and his younger brother lived together. Tkálmas had two wives, Mówas Sléwis and Tániäs Sléwis; Mówas had a little baby.

Mówas was mild and kind and pleasant. The weather was nice when she was at home, but Tániäs was always cross and stormy.

Mówas went to visit her father at Moasänik, and only Tániäs was left at Tkálmas’ house. Right away it grew cold in the house and there was snow and ice everywhere. Tkálmas’ brother sat all the time looking toward the south, and kept saying: “I wish my sister-in-law would come. We shall die if she doesn’t come soon; we shall freeze to death.”

At last he saw Mówas coming. When she was still a long way off the snow on the top of the house began to melt, and water dripped down through the smoke hole, but as fast as it fell it dried up.

Tkálmas’ brother said: “Oh my best sister-in-law, even if water freezes as hard as a rock, you can melt it. No matter how much ice there is, your soft breath thaws it. You are the kindest and the most useful woman in this world.”

Tkálmas heard what his brother said, but he didn’t care; he was glad that Mówas had come. The house was dry now and the sun was shining. Mówas gave them nice things to eat, things she had brought from Moasänik.

Tániäs was angry at her brother-in-law, and jealous of Mówas, so as soon as Mówas came home Tániäs took all of Tkálmas’ beautiful beads, white, and yellow, and every color, [[94]]took the nice things she had brought when she came to marry him, and went back to her home in the north. But once each year she goes to her husband, and stays with him till Mówas comes home from Moasänik; then she gets angry and jealous and goes back to her home in the north. [[95]]

[[Contents]]

THE STAR BROTHERS

CHARACTERS

On the south side of Lake Klamath lived five brothers. The eldest was married to Skóla. Four of the brothers were without wives. Tekewas, their sister, was married to Kûlta, and lived not far away. The brothers were bad men. The name of the youngest brother was Tûtats. When he was a child his sister was fond of him; then her mother made her forget him, but after a long time she remembered him again, and thought: “I wonder where Tûtats is. I used to nurse him; he was nice when he was a baby. I will go and find him.”

Tekewas got to her brothers’ house at midday. When she had been there a while they asked: “Why don’t you go home?”

“I am not going,” said the sister. “I have come to stay all night.”

They tried to drive her away, but she wouldn’t go. The next day, when Tekewas’ brothers told her to go home, she went to her mother, who was outside pounding seeds, and asked: “What have you done with Tûtats? Is he dead?”

“What do you care if he is?” said her mother. “You had better go home. The next time you come I will tell you about Tûtats.”

Tekewas went home then, for she was glad. As soon as she was out of sight the old woman took Tûtats from under the [[96]]ground, where she kept him in a big bark basket, and his brothers carried him to the river and let him swim.

The eldest brother said to his mother: “I am the only person who knows what my sister thinks. She thinks bad; she will come again. You must make Tûtats dry and put him back.”

While swimming, Tûtats lost a hair out of his head. It was a beautiful, bright hair. The mother didn’t notice it; she wiped him quickly, rubbed him with deer fat, put him in the basket, and carried him back under the ground.

The next morning, when Skóla was starting off to dig roots, she saw something red on the ridge of the mountains. Her husband said: “That is Tekewas lying there; she means to kill us.” The brothers were so frightened that they wouldn’t go out of the house, but sat inside; they wouldn’t even look out. But Skóla watched.

When Tekewas came to the house, the eldest brother asked: “Why do you come so often? You were here yesterday.”

Tekewas stayed all day; while she was swimming in the river she found the long bright hair. She took it to her mother and asked: “Who is so beautiful as to have this kind of hair?”

“No matter,” said her mother. “Why do you come to trouble your brothers? You are Kûlta’s wife; you should stay with him.”

The next day Tekewas brought five pairs of nice moccasins, and told her mother to give them to her brothers, and tell one of them he must go home with her and get some of Kûlta’s beads. The eldest brother said: “I will go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” said Tekewas.

“Your second brother is ready to go,” said her mother.

“I don’t want him; he has enough of my beads.” One after another, the brothers got ready, but Tekewas refused each one. “No,” said she, “you have had enough of Kûlta’s beads. I want Tûtats to go with me.”

“Who is he?” asked her mother.

“You know that you can’t fool me. I have a young brother; [[97]]I want him to go with me. It is getting late; where is he?” Every time Tekewas turned her body she talked to the sun, told it to go quick, so it would be dark soon.

Her brothers didn’t want her to stay all night, so they took the basket from under the ground, and got Tûtats ready to go. They let down his hair and combed it. It was blue and beautiful, and reached to his feet. He cried all the time they were combing it, for he didn’t want to go with his sister. When she started, he walked behind her, crying.

Tekewas talked to the sun, told it to go down, scolded it to make it hurry. The sun was scared and it went as though it were sliding down a slippery place. When they came to a clump of cedar trees, it was already dark. Tekewas stopped and said: “We will camp here.”

“It is too near,” said Tûtats; he was crying.

“It is too dark to follow the trail,” said Tekewas. She built a fire and gave Tûtats roots from her basket. After eating, he lay down on one side of the fire and she on the other; then she thought: “Let him go to sleep quick.” When he was asleep, she went over to lie by him.

He woke and got up; he was still crying. “Let her sleep till I get half-way to the sky,” said he to himself. He found a log, put it by his sister’s side, and told it to keep her asleep. Then he hurried home.

“What is the trouble?” asked his brothers. “Why did you come back?”

“I don’t like my sister. I left her asleep. When she wakes up she will come to kill us. We must get away from here.”

The brothers hired old man Kaltsik to help them. Kaltsik made a basket and put the five brothers into it; then he made a web, took the basket up into the air, let it down into the web, and started.

“Don’t look down till I tie you to the sky,” said the old man. “If you do, you will fall out and get killed.”

When Tekewas woke up, she ran back to the house and asked: “Where are my brothers?”

“I don’t know,” said the old woman.

“Yes, you do. Here is a trail going up to the sky!” [[98]]Tekewas was so mad that she ran around the house so fast and so many times that she set it on fire.

Old man Kaltsik was half-way to the sky when he saw the blaze, and said: “Your house is burning!” The eldest brother forgot and looked down, over the edge of the basket. That minute the web broke, and the five brothers fell out, one after another.

The mother and daughter were fighting; each had a wooden paddle. When Tekewas saw her brothers falling, she said to her mother: “You mustn’t say: ‘Fall this side’; you must say: ‘fall in the middle.’ ”

“Fall this side! Fall this side!” cried the mother.

Tekewas knocked the paddle out of her hand into the fire. Four of the brothers fell into the fire. When sparks flew out, Tekewas pushed them back with her paddle. As often as her mother got her paddle out of the fire, Tekewas knocked it in again. The youngest brother fell last.

“This side! This side!” cried his mother.

Tekewas jumped on her and fought with her. Tûtats swayed back and forth, back and forth, and fell outside the fire, but his sister pushed him into it, and he was burned up.

His mother ran to the south side of the fire, his sister to the north side. The old woman knocked Tûtats’ heart out of the fire, for she was on the right side. She said to the heart: “We shall see who will live, you or your sister. You will be a great mountain with a white top, and will live always. In later times people will come to you to get wisdom, to be great talkers, and brave warriors, and you will talk to them and help them.”

The heart flew north and became Mount Shasta; then the mother stirred the fire till four hearts flew out and off toward the north. Each heart became a mountain. The heart of the eldest brother went as far as the ocean. But the youngest brother is the largest of the five, and he is the only one who always has snow on his head.

Tekewas, when she thought she had killed her brothers, went home to Kûlta; then the old woman remembered Skóla, and hunted for her. At last she found her; she was dead, [[99]]but by her side were two babies. The grandmother pressed them together with her hands, and they became one. She was glad and called the child Wéahjukéwas. She made a hole in the ground and hid him.

That night the old woman took the baby out and rubbed him with ashes. In the morning he noticed things. Each night she rubbed him with ashes; each morning he was larger and stronger. She talked to the earth, to the mountains, and to the springs, and asked them to make her grandson strong and make him grow fast.

One morning the grandmother saw Tekewas lying on the ridge of a hill; she was red and beautiful. The old woman was frightened; she thought Tekewas had seen the little boy.

Tekewas came to the grass house and asked for seeds and roots. The grandmother had forgotten the boy’s deerskin blanket; she had left it in the house when she put him under the ground as she always did in the daytime. Tekewas saw the blanket, and said: “You have a baby! Whose is it?”

The old woman said: “My daughter, you shouldn’t talk so to me. I am old; I had children, but now I am alone; you have killed all my sons. Go away! You know where the seeds and roots are; take them and go off.”

Tekewas got the seeds and started, but she came back and said: “I know whose baby it is. It is Skóla’s, and you must give it to me.”

“Skóla is dead,” said the old woman; “she had no children.” She drove Tekewas away and followed her to see that she didn’t stop on the mountain to watch the house. She was sorry that Tekewas had seen the blanket. When she came back, she rubbed the boy and talked to the earth, to the mountains, to the trees, to everything for a long time; then she put him away under the ground.

Each night and morning the old woman rubbed the little boy with deer’s fat, and soon he was large enough to run around and play. Then she said to him: “My grandson, you mustn’t show yourself; you must always play in the tall grass; never go away from it!” [[100]]

Tekewas came every day; sometimes she wanted to stay, but her mother drove her off. When the boy was large enough to trap birds, his grandmother said: “Stay near the house; don’t go far, for if you do, you will get killed.” One evening she asked: “What have you been doing all day?”

“Playing with birds,” said the boy. “They can talk to me now.”

“The best way to play is with a bow and arrows. You can shoot an arrow toward the sky, then watch and see where it falls.”

One day the boy noticed that his shadow was two, and he was one. The next morning, when he went out to play, he shot an arrow up to the sky; then he held his head down and listened. The arrow came back, hit him on the top of the head and split off one half of him; there was another boy just like him. He wished the second boy to be small, to be a baby. He called the baby by his own name. He went to a clump of brush, scratched a place in the middle of it, put his blanket down there, put the baby on it, and said: “Don’t cry; if you do, our aunt will come and eat us up.”

For a long time he sat and talked with his little brother, then he went home. It was night and his grandmother was frightened; she thought that Tekewas had killed the boy.

“Why did you stay so long?” asked she.

“I lost my blanket. I put it down in the brush and then couldn’t find it.”

The next morning his grandmother gave him a wildcat skin blanket, and he went out to play; but he didn’t play, he sat by his little brother and cried, he was so sorry for him. When it was dark, he covered the child with brush and went home. “What is the matter?” asked his grandmother. “Why have you been crying?”

“I shot at a bird and then couldn’t find my arrow.”

“I can make you as many arrows as you want; don’t cry,” said his grandmother.

The next morning, when he was starting out, the boy said: “I must take a few seeds with me; I get hungry.” [[101]]

She gave him seeds, tied them up in a squirrel skin and said: “Be careful this time, don’t lose your blanket or arrows.”

When he came home in the evening, he said: “Grandmother, you must pound seeds for me to carry to-morrow. I don’t like whole seeds, and I can’t eat the roots in my arms, I bite myself.”

The next day he took pounded seeds to his little brother, fed him, petted him, and talked to him till night, then he wrapped his wildcat skin blanket twice around the child, took his old blanket, and went home.

“Where is your new blanket?” asked his grandmother.

“I found my old one. I like it better. I left the new one in the brush.”

When four days old, the little boy could walk. The fifth day the elder boy cried all the time; he was wondering who had killed his father and mother. His grandmother had never told him; she only frightened him to make him careful. His little brother could play with him now.

That night his grandmother asked: “What ails you? Why do you cry?”

“Because I have nobody to play with.”

“You are a lonely child, but you mustn’t think of that,” said his grandmother, and she began to cry.

“To-morrow will you fill my sack full of pounded seeds?” asked the boy.

“You can’t eat all I give you; you must waste it,” said his grandmother, “but you shall have all you want.”

The little boy could eat a great deal; he ate the pounded seed his brother brought and that afternoon he cried for more. The elder boy made five straw rings to shoot at and roll around to amuse the little fellow. The next day, when the child began to cry for more seeds his brother went home, and said: “Grandmother, you must give me more pounded seeds. I shot my arrow up, and when it was coming down to hit me on the head, I ran away and it hit my sack and spilt all the seeds.”

“You must be more careful,” said his grandmother.

“You told me you would give me all I wanted to eat.” [[102]]

“Yes, but you must not waste things.”

She filled a willow pan, and told him to go away before any one saw him.

When night came, the boy gave his brother his bow and arrows, covered him with grass, and went home, crying.

“What is the matter?” asked his grandmother.

“I have lost my bow and arrow. I dropped them to follow a bird and kill it with a stone; when I came back I couldn’t find them.”

“Don’t cry,” said his grandmother. “I will make you another bow and more arrows. You shall have everything you want.”

“I threw away my moccasins to-day; I want a new pair,” said the boy.

The next morning he had a nice pair of new moccasins. The two boys played all day, rolling straw rings and shooting at them with arrows.

That night the old woman looked at her grandson and said: “You have only one head; where is the other?”

“I didn’t have two heads,” said the boy, and he began to cry.

“You had two heads.”

“I had only one.”

“You have always had two; now you have one. Where is the other?” At last he told her about his brother. “After it is dark,” said she, “go and bring your brother to the house.”

He brought the little boy on his back. The old woman cried when she saw him; she rubbed him with ashes, and talked to the earth and mountains, asking them not to hurt him. In the morning she put both of the children in the hole where the first child had been and threw a straw mat over the hole.

That day Tekewas came for roots. She saw the mat and asked: “Why did you throw away that nice mat?”

“Go off!” cried her mother. “Don’t torment me. You have killed your brothers. My spirit is old; you can kill me if you want to, but don’t torment me. Go away and let me alone!” She drove her off.

The next morning Tekewas went early to look for tracks. [[103]]She found the place where the boys had rolled straw rings and saw that some of the tracks were very small. She followed the larger tracks till she came to her mother’s house. “You didn’t tell me the truth!” cried she. “There are children here! Every afternoon I hear little boys laughing.”

The old woman scolded her, drove her off, watched her till she was out of sight; then she took the boys out of the hole and told them to go and play, but not to run around; if they did a bad woman would catch them.

That day the boys followed a white-necked duck. They tried to shoot it but couldn’t. At night the elder boy said: “Grandmother, you must give me an arrow with a strong head; then I can kill ducks.”

She gave him one and all the next day he followed the duck; at last he hit it. The bird screamed like a man and hid in the bushes. Ever since that time ducks like that one scream in the same way. When the boy found the bird, it said: “Don’t kill me. I always bring good news. Take this arrow out and I will talk to you.”

The boy pulled out the arrow, then the bird said: “Little boys, don’t think that you have a father and a mother. Your aunt killed them. She loved her youngest brother, but he didn’t love her, so she killed him and all of her brothers. Now she is trying to kill you. I hear her sing in her heart: ‘I will kill my nephews, I will kill my nephews!’ When you are large enough to shoot ducks from a canoe, you can kill her if you try. She swims in the lake in the form of a duck; when she is in the form of a woman she has long red hair. She will call you as though she loved you, but you must remember my words. Don’t tell your grandmother that you know about your aunt; she wouldn’t let you kill her. She could have saved your father if she had killed her daughter.”

“Grandmother,” asked the boy that night, “is there any place around here where there are green-headed ducks?”

“Yes, but you can’t kill them; you are too small.”

The boy went to the lake, sat in the reeds, and watched till he saw two green-headed ducks and killed them. The next day he killed five green-headed ducks. The old woman was [[104]]frightened. She didn’t dare to let a feather drop or fly away for fear Tekewas would see it. She burned each feather and roasted the ducks in hot ashes.

“When I kill a duck, I shiver, and am cold,” said the boy.

“Why is that?” asked the grandmother.

“Because I want a canoe.”

“To-morrow, when you go to the lake, you will find a canoe.”

He was glad. “I will take my brother,” said he.

“No,” said the grandmother, “he is too small; he might fall into the water and you couldn’t get him out.”

The boy started off alone, then he thought: “My arrows are not strong enough to kill big birds.” He ran back and his grandmother gave him five strong arrows and a straw mat to wrap them in. That day he killed many ducks, and his grandmother was glad.

The next morning he said: “When I am in the reeds at the edge of the water, I always feel that somebody is looking at me to scare me.”

“Don’t be afraid,” said his grandmother; “maybe the earth is trying to get hold of you.” She thought of Tekewas, but she didn’t want to tell the boys about her.

“No,” said he. “I feel that somebody is looking at me. I want my brother to go with me.”

“He can go, but be careful; don’t let him fall into the water.”

All day the little boy slept in the canoe; when the sun went down, his brother cooked him a duck to eat, and then the two went home.

That lake was their aunt’s swimming-place. One day when the boy had killed a good many ducks, and had gone to the shore to cook one for his brother, he saw something swimming in the water; only a head could be seen,—a great, ugly head, with long red hair floating around it. As soon as the boys saw the head, they made themselves small. The little boy screamed. The woman called to them and tried to go to them, but she could only come up out of the water as far as her [[105]]waist. “I shall see you another day,” screamed she. “I will wait till you are larger.”

When the boys got home, the grandmother asked: “Why did you scream so loud?”

“My brother swallowed a duck bone,” said the elder boy. “You must cook seeds for him to eat.”

Every day the brothers went for ducks. Many times the aunt floated up to their canoe, put her breast against the side of it, and almost tipped it over. Each time the little boy screamed. The elder boy drove her away. He was angry, but he was waiting for his brother to get older and stronger. Sometimes the woman didn’t come; she was with Kûlta, who lived in the lake near the place where the boys hunted for ducks.

The grandmother gave the older boy a knife to sharpen his arrows. “I want a stronger one.” said he. She gave him another, a very strong, sharp knife. That day Tekewas put her breast to the canoe and almost tipped it over. The little boy screamed, he was so scared.

When they went home, the grandmother asked: “Why did your brother scream so loud?”

“He cut his finger.”

“That is because I gave you a sharp knife. You shouldn’t let him have it.”

The next day they killed a good many ducks. When the aunt came toward them the boy said to his little brother: “Don’t scream.” But when the head looked up over the edge of the canoe the child couldn’t help screaming.

“Why does he always scream?” asked the grandmother. “You must be careful when you are down by the water.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the earth sometimes has a pain, and wants people.”

“Don’t be afraid, grandmother, we belong to the earth; it won’t hurt us.”

One day when the grandmother asked why the little boy screamed, his brother said: “He got choked with a bone. I got it out, but he was almost dead, and I cried.” [[106]]

“You must leave him at home.”

“No, the water looks ugly. I’m afraid when I’m alone.”

The next time Tekewas came to the canoe and tried to tip it over, the boy cut her head off with his sharp knife. He threw the head down in the end of the canoe, then dragged the body into a deep hole among the rocks in the water. The water around that place is Tekewas’ blood, and to this day it is as black as ink. As they pushed the body down into the hole, the elder boy said to it: “You will never be great again. You will be small and weak, and people will say you are too nasty to eat.” The spirit came out of the body and flew around the lake, an ugly bird.

The brothers shot ducks and piled them up on the head in the end of the canoe. When they got home, the elder boy said: “Grandmother, give us plenty of seeds and roots to eat.” While they were eating, the old woman began to bring in the ducks. Each time she went for a load, the elder brother talked to the fire, to the water, to the wood, to the bows and arrows, talked to the pounder, to the basket, and to the digging sticks, talked to everything in the house and everything outside, told them not to tell where he and his brother went,—but he forgot to tell awl. When he thought he had told everything, he took his brother and went down in the ground near the fire. He put a coal over the hole and started toward the east.

Each time the old woman brought in a basketful of ducks, she asked: “Are you here, boys?” and the spirit in the wood and the fire answered: “We are here.”

She found blood in the canoe, and wondered where it came from. When she got hold of the head, she screamed and ran to the house. She pulled her clothes off and was going to kill her grandsons. “Where are you?” cried she.

“We are in the corner.”

She went there, but didn’t find them. Then she called again: “Where are you?”

“We are on the top of the house.”

She looked for them there, then called: “Where are you?”

“We are in the grass of the house.” The house was made of twigs and grass. [[107]]

Then they said they were among the wood. She pulled the logs apart and threw them out, but she didn’t find the boys. “We are in the canoe.” She went there, and when she failed to find them, she screamed: “Where are you?”

“We are where your roots are.”

She scattered the roots.