THIRTY-SECOND ANNUAL REPORT
                                     OF THE
                          BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY

                                     TO THE
                    SECRETARY OF THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION


                                   1910–1911


                                   WASHINGTON
                           GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
                                      1918








    LETTER OF TRANSMITTAL


    Smithsonian Institution,
        Bureau of American Ethnology,
            Washington, D. C., August 17, 1911.


    Sir: I have the honor to submit herewith the Thirty-second Annual
    Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, comprising an account
    of the operations of the bureau during the fiscal year ended
    June 30, 1911.

    Permit me to express my appreciation of your aid in the work under
    my charge.


        Very respectfully, yours,

            F. W. Hodge,
                Ethnologist-in-Charge.

            Dr. Charles D. Walcott,
                Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution.







CONTENTS


REPORT OF THE ETHNOLOGIST-IN-CHARGE

                                                             Page
    Systematic researches                                       9
    Special researches                                         24
    Publications                                               29
    Illustrations                                              30
    Library                                                    31
    Property                                                   32
    Recommendations                                            32

ACCOMPANYING PAPER

    Seneca Fiction, Legends, and Myths; collected by
    Jeremiah Curtin and J. N. B. Hewitt; edited by
    J. N. B. Hewitt                                        37

    Index                                                 815







THIRTY-SECOND ANNUAL REPORT OF THE BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY

F. W. Hodge, Ethnologist-in-Charge


The operations of the Bureau of American Ethnology for the fiscal year
ended June 30, 1911, conducted in accordance with the provisions of the
act of Congress approved June 25, 1910, authorizing the continuation of
ethnological researches among the American Indians and the natives of
Hawaii, under the direction of the Smithsonian Institution, were
carried forward in accordance with the plan of operation approved by
the Secretary June 15, 1910.




SYSTEMATIC RESEARCHES

The systematic ethnological researches of the bureau were continued
during the year with the regular scientific staff, consisting of nine
ethnologists, as follows: Mr. F. W. Hodge, ethnologist-in-charge; Mr.
James Mooney, Dr. J. Walter Fewkes, Mrs. Matilda Coxe Stevenson, Mr. J.
N. B. Hewitt, Dr. John R. Swanton, Dr. Truman Michelson, Dr. Paul
Radin, and Mr. Francis La Flesche. In addition, the services of several
specialists in their respective fields were enlisted for special work,
as follows:

Dr. Franz Boas, honorary philologist, with several assistants, for
research in connection with the preparation and publication of the
Handbook of American Indian Languages.

Miss Alice C. Fletcher and Mr. Francis La Flesche, for the final
revision of the proofs of their monograph on the Omaha Indians for
publication in the Twenty-seventh Annual Report.

Miss Frances Densmore, for researches in Indian music.

Mr. J. P. Dunn, for studies of the tribes of the Middle West.

Mr. John P. Harrington, for researches among the Mohave Indians of the
Colorado Valley.

Rev. Dr. George P. Donehoo, for investigations in the history,
geography, and ethnology of the tribes of Pennsylvania for
incorporation in the Handbook of American Indians.

Mr. William R. Gerard, for studies of the etymology of Algonquian place
and tribal names and of terms that have been incorporated in the
English language, for use in the same work.

Prof. H. M. Ballou, for bibliographic research in connection with the
compilation of the List of Works Relating to Hawaii.

Mr. James R. Murie, for researches pertaining to the ethnology of the
Pawnee Indians.

The systematic ethnological researches by members of the regular staff
of the bureau may be summarized as follows:

Mr. F. W. Hodge, ethnologist-in-charge, in addition to conducting the
administrative work of the bureau, devoted attention, with the
assistance of Mrs. Frances S. Nichols, to the final revision of the
remaining proofs of part 2 of the Handbook of American Indians
(Bulletin 30), which was published in January, 1911. This work met with
so great popular demand that the edition of the two parts became
exhausted immediately after publication, causing the bureau much
embarrassment owing to the thousands of requests that it has not been
possible to supply. To meet this need in part, the Senate, on May 12,
adopted a concurrent resolution authorizing the reprinting of the
entire handbook, and at the close of the fiscal year the resolution was
under consideration by the Committee on Printing of the House of
Representatives. The Superintendent of Documents has likewise been in
receipt of many orders for the work, necessitating the reprinting of
part 1 some months after its appearance, and about the close of the
fiscal year another reprint of this part was contemplated. Much
material for incorporation in a revised edition for future publication
was prepared during the year, but lack of funds necessary for the
employment of special assistants prevented the prosecution of this work
as fully as was desired.

The bureau has been interested in and has conducted archeological
explorations in the pueblo region of New Mexico and Arizona for many
years. Since the establishment of the School of American Archæology in
1907, following the revival of interest in American archeology, by the
Archæological Institute of America, that body likewise commenced
systematic work in the archeology of that great region. In order to
avoid duplication of effort, arrangements were made between the bureau
and the school for conducting archeological investigations in
cooperation, the expense of the field work to be borne equally, a
moiety of the collections of the artifacts and all the skeletal remains
to become the property of the National Museum, and the bureau to have
the privilege of the publication of all scientific results.

Active work under this joint arrangement was commenced in the Rito de
los Frijoles, northwest of Santa Fe, New Mexico, in July, 1910, work
having already been initiated there during the previous summer by the
school independently, under the directorship of Dr. Edgar L. Hewett. In
August, 1910, Mr. Hodge visited New Mexico for the purpose of
participating in the work on the part of the bureau, and remained in
the field for a month.

The great prehistoric site in the Rito de los Frijoles is characterized
by an immense circular many-celled pueblo ruin, most of the stone walls
of which are still standing to a height of several feet, and a series
of cavate dwellings hewn in the soft tufa throughout several hundred
yards of the northern wall of the canyon. Accompanying the great
community ruin and also the cavate dwellings are underground kivas, or
ceremonial chambers. In front of the cavate lodges were originally
structures of masonry built against the cliff and forming front rooms,
but practically the only remains of these are the foundation walls and
the rafter holes in the cliff face. The débris covering these
structures has been largely cleared away and the foundations exposed,
and the walls of about two-thirds of the great pueblo structure in the
valley have been bared by excavation. At the western extremity of the
canyon, far up in the northern wall, is a natural cavern, known as
Ceremonial Cave, in which are a large kiva, remarkably well preserved,
and other interesting remains of aboriginal occupancy. This great
archeological site in the Rito de los Frijoles is important to the
elucidation of the problem of the early distribution of the Pueblos of
the Rio Grande Valley, and there is reason to believe that when the
researches are completed much light will be shed thereon. There is a
paucity of artifacts in the habitations uncovered, aside from stone
implements, of which large numbers have been found.

At the close of the work in the Rito de los Frijoles the joint
expedition proceeded to the valley of the Jemez River, near the Hot
Springs, where a week was spent in excavating the cemetery of the old
Jemez village of Giusiwa. About 30 burials were disinterred here, and a
few accompaniments of pottery vessels and other artifacts were
recovered; but in the main the deposits had been completely destroyed
by aboriginal disturbance, caused in part by covering the burials with
heavy stones and partly by displacing the skeletons previously buried
when subsequent interments were made. Giusiwa was inhabited in
prehistoric times and also well within the historical period, as is
attested by its massive, roofless church, built about the beginning of
the seventeenth century. Nevertheless, no indication of Spanish
influence was found in the ancient cemetery, and it is assumed that
burial therein ceased with the coming of the missionaries and the
establishment of the campo santo adjacent to the church. All
collections gathered at Giusiwa have been deposited in the National
Museum.

Other immense ruins on the summits of the mesas bounding the valley on
the west were examined with the view of their future excavation. The
exact position of the Jemez tribe among the Pueblo peoples is a
problem, and both archeological and ethnological studies thereof are
essential to its determination.

On completing this reconnaissance excavation was conducted in a
cemetery at the great stone pueblo of Puye, on a mesa 8 miles west of
the Tewa village of Santa Clara. About 50 burials were exhumed and sent
to the National Museum, but artifacts were not found in abundance here,
and as a rule they are not excellent in quality. In the joint work in
the Rito de los Frijoles the expedition was fortunate in having the
cooperation of Prof. Junius Henderson and Prof. W. W. Robbins, of the
University of Colorado at Boulder, who, respectively, while the
excavations were in progress, conducted studies in the ethnozoology and
the ethnobotany of the Tewa Indians, and also on the influence of
climate and geology on the life of the early inhabitants of the Rito de
los Frijoles. At the same time Mr. J. P. Harrington continued his
researches in Tewa geographic nomenclature and cooperated with
Professors Henderson and Robbins in supplying the native terms for
plants and animals used by these Indians as food and medicine in
ceremonies and for other purposes. The expedition was also fortunate in
having the services of Mr. Sylvanus G. Morley in connection with the
excavations in the Rito, of Mr. K. M. Chapman in the study of the
decoration of the pottery and of the pictographs of the entire upper
Rio Grande region, of Mr. Jesse L. Nusbaum in the photographic work,
and of Mr. J. P. Adams in the surveying. Valued aid was also rendered
by Messrs. Neil M. Judd, Donald Beauregard, and Nathan Goldsmith.

The scientific results of the joint research are rapidly nearing
completion and will be submitted to the bureau for publication at an
early date.

Throughout almost the entire year Mr. James Mooney, ethnologist, was
occupied in the office in compiling the material for his study of
Indian population covering the whole territory north of Mexico from the
first white occupancy to the present time. By request of the Nebraska
State Historical Society he was detailed in January, 1911, to attend
the joint session of that body and the Mississippi Valley Historical
Association, at Lincoln, Nebraska, where he delivered three principal
addresses bearing particularly on the method and results of the
researches of the bureau with the view of their application in local
historical and ethnological investigations.

On June 4 Mr. Mooney started for the reservation of the East Cherokee
in North Carolina to continue former studies of the sacred formulas and
general ethnology of that tribe, and was engaged in this work at the
close of the month.

At the beginning of the fiscal year Dr. J. Walter Fewkes, ethnologist,
was in northern Arizona examining the great cave pueblos and other
ruins within the Navaho National Monument. He found that since his
visit in 1909 considerable excavation had been done by others in the
rooms of Betatakin, and that the walls of Kitsiel, the other large
cliff-ruin, were greatly in need of repair. Guided by resident Navaho,
he visited several hitherto undescribed cliff-dwellings and gathered a
fairly good collection of objects illustrating prehistoric culture of
this part of northern Arizona, which have been deposited in the
National Museum. In order to facilitate the archeological work and to
make the region accessible to students and visitors it was necessary to
break a wagon road from Marsh Pass through the middle of the Navaho
National Monument to the neighborhood of Betatakin, and by this means
the valley was traversed with wagons for the first time.

On the return journey to Flagstaff, Doctor Fewkes visited the ruins in
Nitsi, or West Canyon, and examined Inscription House, a prehistoric
cliff-dwelling of considerable size, hitherto undescribed, the walls of
which are built of loaf-shaped adobes strengthened with sticks. On
account of the size and great interest of these ruins, it is
recommended that the area covered thereby be included in the Navaho
National Monument and the ruins permanently preserved, and that either
Betatakin or Kitsiel be excavated, repaired, and made a “type ruin” of
this culture area. Along the road to Flagstaff from West Canyon, Doctor
Fewkes observed several ruins and learned of many others ascribed to
the ancient Hopi. He visited the Hopi pueblo of Moenkopi, near Tuba,
and obtained considerable new ethnological material from an old priest
of that village regarding legends of the clans that formerly lived in
northern Arizona. He learned also of a cliff, or rock, covered with
pictographs of Hopi origin, at Willow Spring, not far from Tuba, the
figures of which shed light on Hopi clan migration legends.

Returning to Flagstaff, Doctor Fewkes reoutfitted in order to conduct
investigations of the ruins near Black Falls of the Little Colorado
River, especially the one called Wukoki, reputed to have been the last
habitation of the Snake clans of the Hopi in their stubborn migration
before they finally settled near the East Mesa. A little more than a
month was spent at these ruins, during which time extensive excavations
were made in numerous subterranean rooms, or pit-dwellings, a new type
of habitations found at the bases of many of the large ruined pueblos
on the Little Colorado. Incidentally several other pueblo ruins,
hitherto unknown, with accompanying reservoirs and shrines, were
observed. The excavations at Wukoki yielded about 1,800 specimens,
consisting of painted pottery, beautiful shell ornaments, stone
implements, basketry, wooden objects, cane “cloud blowers,” prayer
sticks, a prayer-stick box, an idol, and other objects. The results of
the excavations at Wukoki will be incorporated in a forthcoming
bulletin on Antiquities of the Little Colorado Basin.

On the completion of his work at the Black Falls ruins, Doctor Fewkes
returned to Washington in September and devoted the next three months
to the preparation of a monograph on Casa Grande, Arizona.

At the close of January, 1911, Doctor Fewkes again took the field,
visiting Cuba for the purpose of gathering information on the
prehistoric inhabitants of that island and their reputed
contemporaneity with fossil sloths, sharks, and crocodiles. A fortnight
was devoted to the study of collections of prehistoric objects in
Habana, especially the material in the University Museum from caves in
Puerto Principe Province, described by Doctors Montoné and Carlos de la
Torre. With this preparation he proceeded to the Isle of Pines and
commenced work near Nueva Gerona. In this island there are several
caves from which human bones have been reported locally, but the Cueva
de los Indios, situated in the hills about a mile from the city named,
promised the greatest reward. A week’s excavation in this cave yielded
four fragments of Indian skulls, not beyond repair; one undeformed,
well-preserved human cranium; and many fragments of pelves, humeri, and
femora. The excavations in the middle of the cave indicated that the
soil there had previously been dug over; these yielded little of value,
the best-preserved remains occurring near the entrance, on each side.
The skulls were arranged in a row within a pocket sheltered by an
overhanging side of the cave, and were buried about 2 feet in the guano
and soil; beneath these crania were human long-bones, crossed. Several
fragments of a single skull, or of several skulls, were embedded in a
hard stalagmitic formation over the deposit of long-bones. No Indian
implements or pottery accompanied the bones, and no fossils were found
in association with them. So far as recorded this is the first instance
of the finding of skeletal remains of cave man in the Isle of Pines.
Their general appearance and mode of burial were the same as in the
case of those discovered by Doctors Montoné and Carlos de la Torre.

Doctor Fewkes also examined, in the Isle of Pines, about 30 structures
known as cacimbas, their Indian name. These are vase-shaped,
subterranean receptacles, averaging 6 feet in depth and 4 feet in
maximum diameter, generally constricted to about 2 feet at the neck,
and with the opening level with the surface of the ground. Although
these cacimbas are generally ascribed to the Indians, they are thought
by some to be of Spanish origin, and are connected by others with
buccaneers, pirates, and slavers. They are built of masonry or cut in
the solid rock; the sides are often plastered and the bottoms commonly
covered with a layer of tar. On the ground near the openings there is
generally a level, circular space, with raised periphery. The whole
appearance supports the theory that these structures were used in the
manufacture of turpentine or tar, the circular area being the oven and
the cacimba the receptacle for the product.

Doctor Fewkes found that the Pineros, or natives of the island, employ
many aboriginal terms for animals, plants, and places, and in some
instances two Indian words are used for the same object. An
acknowledged descendant of a Cuban Indian explained this linguistic
duality by saying that the Indians of the eastern end of the Isle of
Pines spoke a dialect different from those of the western end, and that
when those from Camaguey, who were Tainan and of eastern Cuban origin,
came to the Isle of Pines at the instance of the Spanish authorities
they brought with them a nomenclature different from that then in use
on that island.

Several old Spanish structures of masonry, the dates of which are
unknown, were also examined in the neighborhood of Santa Fe, Isle of
Pines. The roof of a cave at Punta de Este, the southeastern angle of
the island, bears aboriginal pictographs of the sun and other objects,
suggesting that it is comparable with the cave in Haiti, in which,
according to Indian legend, the sun and the moon originated, and from
which the races of man emerged.

Doctor Fewkes has now collected sufficient material in Cuba to indicate
that its western end, including the Isle of Pines, was once inhabited
by a cave-dwelling people, low in culture and without agriculture. His
observations support the belief that this people were in that condition
when Columbus visited the Isle of Pines and that they were survivors of
the Guanahatibibes, a cave-dwelling population formerly occupying the
whole of Cuba and represented in Porto Rico and other islands of the
West Indies.

Doctor Fewkes also visited several of the coral keys southwest of the
Isle of Pines, but, finding no aboriginal traces, he crossed the
channel to Cayman Grande, about 250 miles from Nueva Gerona. The Cayman
group consists of coral islands built on a submarine continuation of
the mountains of Santiago Province, Cuba. A cave with Indian bones and
pottery, probably of Carib origin, was found near Boddentown on the
eastern end of the island, and a few stone implements were obtained
from natives, but as these specimens may have been brought from
adjacent shores they afford little evidence of a former aboriginal
population of Cayman Grande. The elevation of the Cayman Islands,
computed from the annual accretion, would indicate that Cayman Grande
was a shallow reef when Columbus visited Cuba, and could not have been
inhabited at that time. The discoverer passed very near it on his
second voyage, when his course lay from the Isle of Pines to Jamaica,
but he reported neither name nor people.

Doctor Fewkes returned to Washington in April and spent the remainder
of the year in completing his report on Casa Grande.

Dr. John R. Swanton, ethnologist, devoted the first quarter of the year
chiefly to collecting material from libraries and archives, as the
basis of his study of the Creek Indians. From the latter part of
September until early in December he was engaged in field research
among the Creek, Natchez, Tonkawa, and Alibamu Indians in Oklahoma and
Texas, and also remained a short time with the remnant of the Tunica
and Chitimacha in Louisiana, and made a few side trips in search of
tribes which have been lost to sight within recent years. On his return
to Washington, Doctor Swanton transcribed the linguistic and ethnologic
material collected during his field excursion, read the proofs of
Bulletins 44, 46, and 47, added to the literary material regarding the
Creek Indians, collected additional data for a tribal map of the
Indians of the United States, and initiated a study of the Natchez
language with the special object of comparing it with the other
dialects of the Muskhogean family. Doctor Swanton also spent some time
in studying the Chitimacha and Tunica languages.

From July, 1910, until the middle of April, 1911, Mrs. M. C. Stevenson,
ethnologist, was engaged in the completion of a paper on Dress and
Adornment of the Pueblo Indians, in the elaboration of her report on
Zuñi Plants and Their Uses, and in transcribing her field notes
pertaining to Zuñi religious concepts and the mythology and ethnology
of the Taos Indians.

Mrs. Stevenson left Washington on April 12 and proceeded directly to
the country of the Tewa Indians, in the valley of the Rio Grande in New
Mexico, for the purpose of continuing her investigation of those
people. Until the close of the fiscal year her energies were devoted to
the pueblo of San Ildefonso and incidentally to Santa Clara,
information particularly in regard to the Tewa calendar system,
ceremonies, and material culture being gained. Mrs. Stevenson finds
that the worship of the San Ildefonso Indians includes the same
celestial bodies as are held sacred by the Zuñi and other Pueblos. From
the foundation laid during her previous researches among the Tewa, Mrs.
Stevenson reports that she has experienced little difficulty in
obtaining an insight into the esoteric life of these people, and is
daily adding to her store of knowledge respecting their religion and
sociology. A complete record of obstetrical practices of the Tewa has
been made, and it is found that they are as elaborate as related
practices of the Taos people. The San Ildefonso inhabitants do not seem
to have changed their early customs regarding land tenure, and they
adhere tenaciously to their marriage customs and birth rites,
notwithstanding the long period during which missionaries have been
among them. It is expected that, of her many lines of study among the
Tewa tribes, the subject of their material culture will produce the
first results for publication.

After completing some special articles on ethnologic topics for the
closing pages of Part 2 of the Handbook of American Indians, Mr. J. N.
B. Hewitt, ethnologist, pursued the study of the history of the tribes
formerly dwelling in the Susquehanna and upper Ohio valleys. Progress
in these researches was interrupted by the necessity of assigning him
to the editorial revision and annotation of a collection of about 120
legends, traditions, and myths of the Seneca Indians, recorded in 1884
and 1885 by the late Jeremiah Curtin. At the close of the year this
work was far advanced, only about 150 pages of a total of 1,400 pages
remaining to be treated. As opportunity afforded, Mr. Hewitt also
resumed the preparation of his sketch of the grammar of the Iroquois
for incorporation in the Handbook of American Indian Languages.

As in previous years, Mr. Hewitt prepared and collected data for
replies to numerous correspondents requesting special information,
particularly in regard to the Iroquois and Algonquian tribes. Mr.
Hewitt also had charge of the important collection of 1,716 manuscripts
of the bureau, cataloguing new accessions and keeping a record of those
withdrawn in the progress of the bureau’s researches. During the year,
378 manuscripts were thus made use of by the members of the bureau and
its collaborators. Exclusive of the numerous manuscripts prepared by
the staff of the bureau and by those in collaboration with it, referred
to in this report, 12 items were added during the year. These pertain
to the Pawnee, Chippewa, Zuñi, and Tewa tribes, and relate to music,
sociology, economics, and linguistics.

The beginning of the fiscal year found Dr. Truman Michelson,
ethnologist, conducting ethnological and linguistic investigations
among the Piegan Indians of Montana, whence he proceeded to the
Northern Cheyenne and Northern Arapaho, thence to the Menominee of
Wisconsin, and finally to the Micmac of Restigouche, Canada—all
Algonquian tribes, the need of a more definite linguistic
classification of which has long been felt. Doctor Michelson returned
to Washington at the close of November and immediately commenced the
elaboration of his field notes, one of the results of which is a
manuscript bearing the title “A Linguistic Classification of the
Algonquian Tribes,” submitted for publication in the Twenty-eighth
Annual Report. Also in connection with his Algonquian work Doctor
Michelson devoted attention to the further revision of the material
pertaining to the Fox grammar, by the late Dr. William Jones, the
outline of which is incorporated in the Handbook of American Indian
Languages. During the winter Doctor Michelson took advantage of the
presence in Washington of a deputation of Chippewa Indians from White
Earth, Minnesota, by enlisting their services in gaining an insight
into the social organization of that tribe and also in adding to the
bureau’s accumulation of Chippewa linguistic data. Toward the close of
June, 1911, Doctor Michelson proceeded to the Sauk and Fox Reservation
in Iowa for the purpose of continuing his study of that Algonquian
group.

The months of July and August and half of September, 1910, were spent
by Dr. Paul Radin, ethnologist, among the Winnebago Indians of Nebraska
and Wisconsin, his efforts being devoted to a continuation of his
studies of the culture of those people, with special reference to their
ceremonial and social organization and their general social customs.
Part of the time was devoted to a study of the Winnebago material
culture, but little progress was made in this direction, as few objects
of aboriginal origin are now possessed by these people, consequently
the study must be completed by examination of their objects preserved
in museums and private collections. A beginning in this direction was
made by Doctor Radin during the latter half of September and in October
at the American Museum of Natural History, New York City. During the
remainder of the fiscal year Doctor Radin was engaged in arranging the
ethnological material gathered by him during the several years he has
devoted to the Winnebago tribe, and in the preparation of a monograph
on the Medicine ceremony of the Winnebago and a memoir on the ethnology
of the Winnebago tribe in general. In June, 1911, he again took the
field in Wisconsin for the purpose of obtaining the data necessary to
complete the tribal monograph. Both these manuscripts, it is expected,
will be finished by the close of the present calendar year.

By arrangement with the Commissioner of Indian Affairs the bureau was
fortunate in enlisting the services of Mr. Francis La Flesche, who has
been frequently mentioned in the annual reports of the bureau in
connection with his studies, jointly with Miss Alice C. Fletcher, of
the ethnology of the Omaha tribe of the Siouan family. Having been
assigned the task of making a comparative study of the Osage tribe of
the same family, Mr. La Flesche proceeded to their reservation in
Oklahoma in September. The older Osage men, like the older Indians
generally, are very conservative, and time and tact were necessary to
obtain such standing in the tribe as would enable him to establish
friendly relations with those to whom it was necessary to look for
trustworthy information. Although the Osage language is similar to that
of the Omaha, Mr. La Flesche’s native tongue, there are many words and
phrases that sound alike but are used in different senses by the two
tribes. Having practically mastered the language, Mr. La Flesche was
prepared to devote several months to what is known as the Noⁿʹhoⁿzhiⁿga
Ieʹta, the general term applied to a complex series of ceremonies which
partake of the nature of degrees, but are not, strictly speaking,
successive steps, although each one is linked to the other in a general
sequence. While at the present stage of the investigation it would be
premature to make a definite statement as to the full meaning and
interrelation of these Osage ceremonies, there appear to be seven
divisions of the Noⁿʹhoⁿzhiⁿga Ieʹta, the names, functions, and
sequence of which have been learned, but whether the sequence thus far
noted is always maintained remains to be determined. From Saucy Calf,
one of the three surviving Osage regarded as past masters in these
ceremonies, phonographic records of the first of the ceremonies, the
Waxoʹbe-awathoⁿ, have been made in its entirety, consisting of 80 songs
with words and music and 7 prayers. All these have been transcribed and
in part translated into English, comprising a manuscript exceeding 300
pages. In order to discuss with the Osage the meaning of these rituals,
Mr. La Flesche found it necessary to commit them to memory, as reading
from the manuscript disconcerted the old seer. At Saucy Calf’s
invitation Mr. La Flesche witnessed in the autumn, at Grayhorse, a
performance of the ceremony of the Waxoʹbe-awathoⁿ, the recitation of
the rituals of which requires one day, part of a night, and more than
half of the following day. It is Mr. La Flesche’s purpose to record, if
possible, the rituals of the remaining six divisions of the
Noⁿʹhoⁿzhiⁿga Ieʹta. He has already obtained a paraphrase of the
seventh ceremony (the Nikʼinoⁿkʼoⁿ), and hopes soon to procure a
phonographic record of all the rituals pertaining thereto.

In connection with his ethnological work Mr. La Flesche has been so
fortunate as to obtain for the National Museum four of the waxoʹbe, or
sacred packs, each of which formed a part of the paraphernalia of the
Noⁿʹhoⁿzhiⁿga Ieʹta, as well as a waxoʹbe-toⁿʹga, the great waxoʹbe
which contains the instruments for tattooing. Only those Osage are
tattooed who have performed certain acts prescribed in the rites of the
Noⁿʹhoⁿzhiⁿga Ieʹta. The rites of the tattooing ceremony are yet to be
recorded and elucidated. While the waxoʹbe is the most sacred of the
articles that form the paraphernalia of the Noⁿʹhoⁿzhiⁿga Ieʹta rites,
it is not complete in itself; other things are indispensable to their
performance, and it is hoped that these may be procured at some future
time.

While not recorded as one of the ceremonial divisions of the
Noⁿʹhoⁿzhiⁿga Ieʹta, there is a ceremony so closely connected with it
that it might well be regarded as a part thereof; that is the
Washaʹbeathiⁿ watsi, or the dance of the standards. The introductory
part of this ceremony is called Akixage, or weeping over one another in
mutual sympathy by the members of the two great divisions of the tribe.
There is no regular time for the performance of the Washaʹbeathiⁿ
ceremony. It is given only when a member of the tribe loses by death
some specially loved and favored relative and seeks a ceremonial
expression of sympathy from the entire tribe. It is the intention to
procure the songs and rituals of this ceremony, and specimens of the
standards employed in its performance.

Altogether Mr. La Flesche has made excellent progress in his study of
the Osage people, and the results are already shedding light on the
organization and the origin and function of the ceremonies of this
important tribe.




SPECIAL RESEARCHES

The special researches of the bureau in the field of linguistics were
conducted by Dr. Franz Boas, honorary philologist, one of the immediate
and tangible results of which was the publication of Part 1 of the
Handbook of American Indian Languages. It seems desirable to restate at
the present time the development of the plan and the object of this
work.

Through the efforts of the late Major Powell and his collaborators a
great number of vocabularies and a few grammars of American Indian
languages had been accumulated, but no attempt had been made to give a
succinct description of the morphology of all the languages of the
continent. In order to do this, a series of publications was necessary.
The subject matter had to be represented by a number of grammatical
sketches, such as are now being assembled in the Handbook of American
Indian Languages. To substantiate the inductions contained in this
grammar, collections of texts are indispensable to the student, and
finally a series of extended vocabularies are required. The plan, as
developed between 1890 and 1900, contemplated the assembling in the
bulletin series of the bureau of a series of texts which were to form
the basis of the handbook. Of this series, Doctor Boas’s Chinook,
Kathlamet, and Tsimshian Texts, and Swanton’s Haida and Tlingit Texts,
subsequently published, form a part, but at the time Swanton’s Texts
appeared it was believed by Secretary Langley that material of this
kind was too technical in character to warrant publication in a
governmental series. It was, therefore, decided to discontinue the text
series in the bulletins of the bureau and to divert them to the
Publications of the American Ethnological Society and the Columbia
University Contributions to Anthropology. Other series were commenced
by the University of California and the University of Pennsylvania. The
method of publication pursued at the present time, though different
from that first planned, is acceptable, since all the material is
accessible to students, and the bureau is saved the expense of
publication.

Doctor Boas has been enabled to base all the sketches in the first
volume of his handbook on accompanying text series, as follows:


    (1) Athapascan. Texts published by the University of California.
    (2) Tlingit. Texts published by the Bureau of American Ethnology,
        but too late to be used systematically.
    (3) Haida. Texts published by the Bureau of American Ethnology.
    (4) Tsimshian. Texts published by the Bureau of American Ethnology
        and the American Ethnological Society.
    (5) Kwakiutl. Texts published by the Jesup Expedition and in the
        Columbia University series.
    (6) Chinook. Texts published by the Bureau of American Ethnology.
    (7) Maidu. Texts published by the American Ethnological Society,
        but too late to be used.
    (8) Algonquian. Texts published by the American Ethnological
        Society.
    (9) Sioux. Texts in Contributions to North American Ethnology.
   (10) Eskimo. Texts in “Meddelelser om Grønland,” but not used
        systematically.


Although Doctor Boas has urged the desirability of undertaking the
publication of the series of vocabularies, no definite steps have yet
been taken toward the realization of this plan, owing largely to lack
of funds for the employment of assistants in preparing the materials.
It is hoped, however, that such a series of vocabularies, based on the
published grammars and on the series of texts above referred to, may be
prepared for publication in the near future. Much of the preliminary
work has been done. There are, for example, extended manuscript
dictionaries of the Haida, Tsimshian, Kwakiutl, Chinook, and Sioux, but
none of them is yet ready for the printer.

The work on Part 2 of the Handbook of American Indian Languages is
progressing satisfactorily. The sketch of the Takelma is in page form
(pp. 1–296), but Doctor Boas has undertaken the correlation of this
sketch with the Takelma Texts, which meanwhile have been published by
the University of Pennsylvania, and a considerable amount of work
remains to be done to finish this revision. The Coos grammar is in
galleys. The Coos Texts are at the present writing being printed by the
American Ethnological Society, and here also references are being
inserted. Dr. Leo J. Frachtenberg has continued his collection of
material for the handbook with commendable energy and intelligence. The
field work has been financially aided by Columbia University, partly
through a gift made by Mrs. Henry Villard and partly through funds
provided by Mr. Homer E. Sargent. It has also been possible to utilize
for the work on the Alsea the collections made at a former time by
Prof. Livingston Farrand on an expedition supported by the late Mr.
Henry Villard. On his last expedition Doctor Frachtenberg was able to
determine that the Siuslaw is an independent stock, although
morphologically affiliated with the Alsea, Coos, and Siuslaw group. He
also collected extensive material on the Alsea and Molala.

The most important result, which is appearing more and more clearly
from the investigations carried out under the direction of Doctor Boas,
lies in the fact that it will be possible to classify American
languages on a basis wider than that of linguistic stocks. In 1893
Doctor Boas called attention to the fact that a number of languages in
northern British Columbia seem to have certain morphological traits in
common, by which they are sharply differentiated from all the
neighboring languages, although the evidence for a common origin of the
stocks is unsatisfactory. Doctor Boas and his assistants have followed
this observation, and it can now be shown that throughout the continent
languages may be classed in wider morphological groups. It is
interesting to note that phonetic groups may be distinguished in a
similar manner, but these do not coincide with the morphological
groups. These observations are in accord with the results of modern
inquiries in Africa and Asia, where the influence of Hamitic phonetics
on languages of the Sudan and the influence of Sumerian on early
Babylonian have been traced in a similar manner. Analogous conditions
seem to prevail also in South Africa, where the phonetics of the
Bushman languages have influenced the neighboring Bantu languages. In
this way a number of entirely new and fundamental problems in
linguistic ethnography have been formulated, the solution of which is
of the greatest importance for a clear understanding of the early
history of the American Continent.

The Handbook of American Indian Languages as planned at the present
time deals exclusively with an analytical study of the morphology of
each linguistic family, without any attempt at a detailed discussion of
phonetic processes, their influence upon the development of the
language, and the relation of dialects. Doctor Boas recommends that the
present Handbook of American Indian Languages be followed by a series
of handbooks each devoted to a single linguistic stock, in which the
development of each language, so far as it can be traced by comparative
studies, should be treated.

The study of aboriginal American music was conducted among the Chippewa
Indians by Miss Frances Densmore, who extended her field of work
previously begun among that people and elaborated the system of
analyzing their songs. After spending several weeks on the Lac du
Flambeau Reservation in Wisconsin she accompanied the Chippewa from
that reservation to the Menominee Reservation in the same State, where
the Lac du Flambeau Chippewa ceremonially presented two drums to the
Menominee. This ceremony was closely observed, photographs being taken
and the speeches of presentation translated, and the songs of the
ceremony were recorded by Miss Densmore on a phonograph after the
return of the drum party to Lac du Flambeau. Many of the songs are of
Sioux origin, as the ceremony was adopted from that people;
consequently the songs were analyzed separately from those of Chippewa
origin. Numerous old war songs were recorded at Lac du Flambeau, also
songs said to have been composed during dreams, and others used as
accompaniments to games and dances. The analytical tables published
during the year in Bulletin 45, Chippewa Music, have been combined by
Miss Densmore with those of songs collected during the year 1910–11,
making a total of 340 Chippewa songs under analysis. These are analyzed
in 12 tables, showing the structure, tone material, melodic
progression, and rhythm of the songs, the rhythm of the drum, the
relation between the metric unit of the voice and drum, and other
points bearing on the development and form of primitive musical
expression. This material is now almost ready for publication. The
Sioux songs of the Drum-presentation ceremony, similarly analyzed,
constitute the beginning of an analytical study of the Sioux music,
which will be continued and extended during the fiscal year 1911–12.

Miss Alice C. Fletcher and Mr. La Flesche conducted the final proof
revision of their monograph on the Omaha tribe, to accompany the
Twenty-seventh Annual Report, which was in press at the close of the
fiscal year. This memoir will comprise 658 printed pages and will form
the most complete monograph of a single tribe that has yet appeared.

Mr. J. P. Dunn, whose studies of the Algonquian tribes of the Middle
West have been mentioned in previous reports, deemed it advisable,
before continuing his investigation of the languages of the tribes
comprising the former Illinois confederacy, to await the completion of
the copying of the anonymous manuscript Miami-French Dictionary,
attributed to Père Joseph Ignatius Le Boulanger, in the John Carter
Brown Library at Providence, Rhode Island. Through the courteous
permission of Mr. George Parker Winship, librarian, the bureau has been
enabled to commence the copying of this manuscript, the difficult task
being assigned to Miss Margaret Bingham Stillwell, under Mr. Winship’s
immediate direction. At the close of the fiscal year 20½ pages of the
original (comprising 95 pages of transcript), of the total of 155 pages
of the dictionary proper, were finished and submitted to the bureau. It
is hoped that on the completion of the copying the bureau will have a
basis for the study of the Miami and related languages that would not
be possible among the greatly modified remnant of the Indians still
speaking them.

Prof. Howard M. Ballou, of Honolulu, has continued the preparation of
the List of Works Relating to Hawaii, undertaken in collaboration with
the late Dr. Cyrus Thomas, and during the year submitted the titles of
many early publications, including those of obscure books printed in
the Hawaiian language.

Mr. John P. Harrington, of the School of American Archæology, proceeded
in March to the Colorado Valley in Arizona and California for the
purpose of continuing his studies, commenced a few years before, among
the Mohave Indians, and incidentally to make collections for the United
States National Museum. Mr. Harrington was still among these Indians at
the close of July, and the results of his studies, which cover every
phase of the life of this interesting people, are to be placed at the
disposal of the bureau for publication.




PUBLICATIONS

The general editorial work of the bureau continued in immediate charge
of Mr. J. G. Gurley, editor. The editing of Part 2 of Bulletin 30,
Handbook of American Indians, was conducted by Mr. Hodge, while the
editorial supervision of Bulletin 40, Handbook of American Indian
Languages, was in charge of Doctor Boas. At the close of the fiscal
year the Twenty-seventh Annual Report was nearly ready for the bindery;
more than one-third of Bulletin 40, Part 2, was in type (mostly in
pages); and Bulletin 47, a Dictionary of the Biloxi and Ofo Languages,
by Dorsey and Swanton, was in page form. Some progress had been made in
the revision of the galley proof of Bulletin 46, Byington’s Choctaw
Dictionary, a work requiring the expenditure of considerable time and
labor. Much of Mr. Gurley’s time during the year was given to the work
of editing and proof reading the Twenty-seventh Annual Report and its
accompanying paper, the monograph on the Omaha tribe, by Miss Fletcher
and Mr. La Flesche, above referred to. The following publications were
issued during the year:

Bulletin 30. Handbook of American Indians North of Mexico (F. W. Hodge,
editor), Part 2.

Bulletin 37. Antiquities of Central and Southeastern Missouri (Gerard
Fowke).

Bulletin 40. Handbook of American Indian Languages (Franz Boas,
editor), Part 1.

Bulletin 43. Indian Tribes of the Lower Mississippi Valley and Adjacent
Coast of the Gulf of Mexico (J. R. Swanton).

Bulletin 44. Indian Languages of Mexico and Central America and their
Geographical Distribution (Cyrus Thomas and J. R. Swanton).

Bulletin 45. Chippewa Music (Frances Densmore).

Bulletin 50. Preliminary Report on a Visit to the Navaho National
Monument, Arizona (J. Walter Fewkes).

Bulletin 51. Antiquities of the Mesa Verde National Park: Cliff Palace
(J. Walter Fewkes).




ILLUSTRATIONS

The preparation of the illustrations for the publications of the bureau
and the making of photographic portraits of the members of visiting
deputations of Indians were in charge of Mr. De Lancey Gill,
illustrator. Of the 246 negatives made, 120 comprise portraits of
visiting Indians. In addition, 372 photographic films, exposed by
members of the bureau in connection with their field work, were
developed and printed. Photographic prints for publication and exchange
were made to the number of 1,469, and 22 drawings for use as
illustrations were prepared. Mr. Gill was assisted, as in the past, by
Mr. Henry Walther.




LIBRARY

The library of the bureau has continued in the immediate charge of Miss
Ella Leary, librarian. During the year that part of the southeastern
gallery of the lower main hall of the Smithsonian Building which was
vacated by the National Museum was assigned to the use of the bureau
library, and three additional stacks were built, providing shelf room
for about 2,500 volumes. Nearly that number of books which had been
stored, and consequently made inaccessible, were placed on the new
shelves. The policy carried out from year to year of increasing the
library by exchange with other institutions has been continued, and
special effort made to complete the collection of serial publications.
Especially to be noted is the completion of the sets of publications of
the Maine Historical Society and the Archives of Pennsylvania, both
rich in material pertaining to the Indians. As in the past, it has been
necessary for the bureau to make use of the Library of Congress from
time to time, about 200 volumes having been borrowed during the year.
Twelve hundred books and approximately 650 pamphlets were received, in
addition to the current numbers of more than 600 periodicals. Of the
books and pamphlets received, 148 were acquired by purchase, the
remainder by gift or exchange. Six hundred and eighty-nine volumes were
bound by the Government Printing Office, payment therefor being made
from the allotment “for printing and binding * * * annual reports and
bulletins of the Bureau of American Ethnology, and for miscellaneous
printing and binding,” authorized by the sundry civil act. This
provision has enabled the bureau, during the last two years, to bind
many volumes in almost daily use which were threatened with
destruction. The catalogue of the bureau now records 17,250 volumes;
there are also about 12,200 pamphlets, and several thousand unbound
periodicals. The library is constantly referred to by students not
connected with the bureau, as well as by various officials of the
Government service.




PROPERTY

As noted in previous reports, the principal property of the bureau
consists of its library, manuscripts, and photographic negatives. In
addition, it possesses a number of cameras, phonographic machines, and
ordinary apparatus and equipment for field work, stationery and office
supplies, a moderate amount of office furniture, typewriters, etc., and
the undistributed stock of its publications. The sum of $304.62 was
expended for office furniture (including bookstacks at a cost of $205)
during the fiscal year.




RECOMMENDATIONS

For the purpose of extending the systematic researches of the bureau
and of affording additional facilities for its administration, the
following recommendations are made:

A question having arisen in the Committee on Appropriations of the
House of Representatives as to the purpose for which an increase of
$2,000 in the bureau’s appropriation in 1909 was intended, the work of
excavating and repairing antiquities existing in national parks and
monuments has been curtailed. The importance of elucidating the
archeological problems connected with these ancient remains and of
repairing the more important of them for visitors and for future
students is so apparent that the need of continuing this work is
generally recognized; consequently an estimate of $4,000 “for the
exploration and preservation of antiquities” has been submitted for the
next fiscal year.

Ethnological research in Alaska is urgently needed by reason of the
great changes taking place among the Indians and the Eskimo since the
influx of white people a few years ago. Unless this investigation is
undertaken at once the aboriginal inhabitants will have become so
modified by contact with whites that knowledge of much of their
primitive life will be lost. It is recommended that the sum of $4,500
be appropriated for this work.

The more speedy extension of ethnological researches among the remnants
of the Algonquian tribes formerly occupying the Middle West is desired.
In a number of cases these tribes are represented by only a few
survivors who retain any knowledge of the traits, language, and customs
of their people; hence it will be impossible to gather much of this
information unless the work is extended more rapidly, as the funds now
at the bureau’s disposal for this purpose are inadequate. The
additional sum of $1,000 is recommended for this purpose.

As previously stated, the demand for the Handbook of American Indians
has been so great that many schools and libraries have necessarily been
denied. The need of a revised edition is urgent, but the revision can
not be satisfactorily undertaken and the latest information
incorporated without the employment of special ethnologic
assistants—those who have devoted special study to particular
tribes—and editorial and clerical aid. It is recommended that the sum
of $3,800 be appropriated for this purpose.

The bureau is constantly in receipt of requests from schools,
historical societies, compilers of textbooks, etc., for photographic
prints of Indian subjects, since it is generally known that the bureau
possesses many thousands of negatives accumulated in the course of its
investigations. As no funds are now available for this purpose, it is
recommended that a reasonable sum, say $1,000, be appropriated for the
purpose of furnishing prints for educational purposes. In most cases
applicants would doubtless be willing to pay the cost, but at present
the bureau has no authority for selling photographs.

The manuscripts accumulated by the bureau form a priceless collection;
indeed many of them, if lost, could not be replaced, since they
represent the results of studies of Indians who have become extinct or
have lost their tribal identity. It is therefore urgently recommended
that the sum of $1,350 be appropriated for fireproofing a room and for
providing metal cases for the permanent preservation of the
manuscripts.


    F. W. Hodge,
        Ethnologist-in-Charge.







ACCOMPANYING PAPER







SENECA FICTION, LEGENDS, AND MYTHS

Part 1

Collected by JEREMIAH CURTIN and J. N. B. HEWITT;
edited by J. N. B. HEWITT





CONTENTS

                                                            Page

Introduction                                                  43

Part 1. Material Collected by Jeremiah Curtin

FICTION

      1. The sister and her six elder brothers                75
      2. The child and his uncle                              81
      3. Djogeon and his uncle                                84
      4. The woman who married a great serpent                86
      5. The ghost woman and the hunter                       90
      6. Hahnowa and his forces on the warpath                92
      7. The old man’s grandson and the chief of the
         deserted village                                     95
      8. The man who married a buffalo woman                  98
      9. A woman and her bear lover                          102
     10. The fox and the rabbit                              105
     11. The snake with two heads                            106
     12. A hunter pursued by Genonsgwa                       106
     13. The grandmother and her granddaughter               111
     14. The woman who became a snake from eating fish       111
     15. Gaqga makes a journey and kills many people         113
     16. Ohohwa and the two sisters                          115
     17. A great snake battle                                117
     18. The Ongwe Ias and his younger brother               118
     19. Haieñdoñnis and Yenogeauns                          121
     20. The man with a panther-skin robe and his brother
         with a turkey-skin robe                             127
     21. Deadoeñdjadases and the old woman’s grandson        135
     22. Hatʻhondas (the Listener)                           139
     23. The story of the Ohohwa people                      144
     24. The chestnut tree guarded by the seven sisters      147
     25. The otter’s heart and the claw fetishes             151
     26. The seven sisters who produce wampum                154
     27. The forsaken infant and Gaha                        160
     28. The old man and the boy                             162
     29. The story of the girls who went for a husband       166
     30. The creation of man                                 168
     31. Ganiagwaihegowa                                     169
     32. The man who became a fish, and a Ganiagwaihe        169
     33. A dead man speaks to his mother through the fire    172
     34. The potent boy                                      176
     35. The faithless wife and the three old men            180
     36. The Dagwanoenyent and her husband                   187
     37. A raccoon story                                     191
     38. The self-sacrifice of two dogs for their master     193
     39. The three young women                               195
     40. Hinon and the Seneca warriors                       197
     41. Hodadeñon and Yenyentʻhwus                          199
     42. The uncle and his nephew                            223
     43. Hinon saves a woman from suicide                    228
     44. The crawfish and the raccoon                        229
     45. The race between the turtle and the bear            229
     46. The woman who became a man-eater through the
         orenda of her husband’s dogs                        231
     47. Ganyadjigowa                                        236
     48. Hadentʻheni and Hanigongendatʻha                    251
     49. Dagwanoenyent                                       261
     50. The shaman and his nephew                           262
     51. The horned snake and the young woman                268
     52. The man pursued by his sister-in-law                270
     53. The story of bloody hand                            273
     54. The seven stars of the dipper                       276
     55. The story of the two brothers                       277
     56. Hodionskon                                          283
     57. The cannibal uncle, his nephew, and the nephew’s
         invisible brother                                   285
     58. Doonongaes and Tsodiqgwadon                         296

LEGENDS

     59. Genonsgwa                                           341
     60. The grandmother and her grandson                    347
     61. Heart squeezing and the dance of naked persons      355
     62. Hotʻho, the Winter God                              356
     63. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa and his three brothers            357
     64. The moose wife                                      361
     65. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa                                   365
     66. The porcupine’s grandson and the bear               365
     67. Genonsgwa                                           369
     68. Hinon Hohawaqk and his grandmother                  372
     69. Hagowanen and Otʼhegwenhda                          376
     70. Okteondon and Haieñtʻhwus. Part I                   389
     71. Okteondon and Haieñtʻhwus. Part II                  399
     72. Uncle and nephew and the white otters               401
     73. Deoyadastatʻhe and Hodjowiski                       406
     74. A genesis tradition                                 409
     75. The two brothers and the mice fetishes              415
     76. The orphan                                          417
     77. The great worm and Hinon                            420
     78. The chipmunk and the bear                           421
     79. The great white beaver and the Lake of the
         Enchanted Waters                                    422

TRADITIONS

     80. Ganon, the Seneca war chief                         428
     81. Hatcinondon: A historical tradition                 432
     82. Godiont and the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa                   436
     83. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa                                   437
     84. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa                                   437
     85. Genonsgwa                                           437
     86. Genonsgwa                                           439
     87. Genonsgwa                                           440
     88. Genonsgwa                                           440
     89. Genonsgwa                                           441
     90. Bald Eagle sends Mud Turtle around the world        450
     91. The poor hunter and Djogeon                         452
     92. The man killed by the three hunters                 453
     93. Hinon and the Iroquois                              456

TALES

     94. A shaman’s deed                                     457
     95. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa (modern)                          457
     96. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa                                   458
     97. The vampire skeleton                                458

MYTHS

     98. A tale of the sky world                             460
     99. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa and Hotʻhoh                       462
    100. The morning star and the cannibal wife              464
    101. The woman and the cannibal thunder                  469
    102. Gaqga and Sgagedi                                   472
    103. Dagwanoenyent and Gaasyendietʻha                    474
    104. Dagwanoenyentgowa Sʻhagodigendji and Yenonsgwa      481
    105. The twelve brothers and their uncle, Dagwanoenyent  485
    106. Ongwe Ias and his brother, Dagwanoenyent            488

MEDICAL NOTE

    107. Notes on the medicine nikahnegaah                   491


Part 2. Seneca Legends and Myths, Collected by J. N. B. Hewitt

    108. The legend of Hayanowe (He-the-fleet-footed)        495
    109. Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ and Gajihsondis (Skin-of-man
         and Spike-hitter)                                   501
    110. Gajihsondis, the Amulet-hitter                      519
    111. The legend of Honenhineh and his younger brothers   525
    112. The legend of Godasiyo                              537
    113. A legend of an anthropomorphic tribe of
         rattlesnakes                                        539
    114. The twins: grandsons of Gahoⁿʻdjiʼdāʹʻhoⁿk          543
    115. The legend of the misogamist                        555
    116. The acts of the seventh son, Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ            565
    117. The legend of Hodadeñon and his elder sister        573
    118. The legend of Gādjĭsʹdodoʻ and Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs       586
    119. The legend of Deodyatgaowen (Deodiăʼtgaōʹweĕⁿʻ
         = His-body-is-bifid or two-cleft)                   607
    120. An address of thanksgiving to the powers of the
         Master of Life                                      632
    121. A corn legend and a flood story                     636
    122. The legend of man’s acquisition of corn             642
    123. The bean woman (a fragment)                         648
    124. The legend of Onenha (the corn)                     649
    125. The origin of white corn, or kaneñhageñat           652
    126. The origin of the Porcupine people or clan          654
    127. The origin of the Bear songs and dances             658
    128. The origin of the Pigeon songs and dances           663
    129. The legend of Hahadodagwatʻha                       666
    130. The story of Hahskwahot (= It-standing-stone)       680
    131. The legend of Genonsgwa                             681
    132. The legend of the Stone Coats (Genonsgwa)           682
    133. The story of the white pigeon, the chief of
         the pigeons                                         694
    134. The weeping of the Corn, and Bean, and
         Squash people                                       701
    135. Sʻhagowenotʻha, the spirit of the tides             705
    136. Sʻhagowenotʻha (text), with interlinear
         translation                                         715
    137. The legend of Doädanegeñ and Hotkwisdadegeña        743
    138. The legend of Doädanegeñ and Hotkwisdadegeña
         (text), with interlinear translation                756

Notes                                                        791







SENECA FICTION, LEGENDS, AND MYTHS

Collected by Jeremiah Curtin and J. N. B. Hewitt; edited by J. N. B.
Hewitt


INTRODUCTION


THE SENECA

The following brief description of the Seneca is taken, with slight
alterations, from the article on that tribe in the Handbook of American
Indians:


    The Seneca (= Place of the Stone) are a noted and influential tribe
    of the Iroquois, or the so-called Five Nations of New York. When
    first known they occupied a region in central New York, lying
    between the western watershed of the Genesee r. and the lands of
    the Cayuga about Seneca lake, having their council fire at
    Tsonontowan, near Naples, in Ontario co. After the political
    destruction of the Erie and Neuters, about the middle of the 17th
    century, the Seneca and other Iroquois people carried their
    settlements westward to L. Erie and southward along the Alleghany
    into Pennsylvania. They are now settled chiefly on the Allegany,
    Cattaraugus, and Tonawanda res., N. Y., and some live on Grand
    River res., Ontario. Various local bands have been known as
    Buffalo, Tonawanda, and Cornplanter Indians; and the Mingo,
    formerly in Ohio, have become officially known as Seneca from the
    large number of that tribe among them.

    In the third quarter of the 16th century the Seneca was the last
    but one of the Iroquois tribes to give its suffrage in favor of the
    abolition of murder and war, the suppression of cannibalism, and
    the establishment of the principles upon which the League of the
    Iroquois was founded. However, a large division of the tribe did
    not adopt at once the course of the main body, but, on obtaining
    coveted privileges and prerogatives, the recalcitrant body was
    admitted as a constituent member in the structure of the League.
    The two chiefships last added to the quota of the Seneca were
    admitted on condition of their exercising functions belonging to a
    sergeant-at-arms of a modern legislative body as well as those
    belonging to a modern secretary of state for foreign affairs, in
    addition to their duties as federal chieftains; indeed, they became
    the warders of the famous “Great Black Doorway” of the League of
    the Iroquois, called Kaʻnhoʻhwădjiʼgōʹnăʻ by the Onondaga.

    In historical times the Seneca have been by far the most populous
    of the five tribes originally composing the League of the Iroquois.
    The Seneca belong in the federal organization to the tribal phratry
    known by the political name Hoñdoñnīsʹʻĕⁿʼ, meaning, ‘they are
    clansmen of the fathers,’ of which the Mohawk are the other member,
    when the tribes are organized as a federal council; but when
    ceremonially organized the Onondaga also belong to this phratry. In
    the federal council the Seneca are represented by eight federal
    chiefs, but two of these were added to the original six present at
    the first federal council, to give representation to that part of
    the tribe which had at first refused to join the League. Since the
    organization of the League of the Iroquois, approximately in the
    third quarter of the 16th century, the number of Seneca clans,
    which are organized into two phratries for the performance of both
    ceremonial and civil functions, have varied. The names of the
    following nine have been recorded: Wolf, Hoñnatʻhaiioñʹnĭʻ; Bear,
    Hodidjioñniʹʼgā; Beaver, Hodigĕⁿʹʼgegāʼ; Turtle, Hadiniăʹʻdĕñʻ;
    Hawk, Hadisʻhweⁿʹʼgaiiuʼ; Sandpiper, Hodiʼneʻsiʹiuʼ, sometimes also
    called Snipe, Plover, and Killdeer; Deer, Hadinioñʹgwaiiuʼ; Doe,
    Hodinoⁿʹʼdeogāʼ, sometimes Hoñnoñtʹgoñdjĕⁿʻ; Heron, Hodidaioⁿʹʼgāʼ.
    In a list of clan names made in 1838 by Gen. Dearborn from
    information given him by Mr Cone, an interpreter of the Tonawanda
    band, the Heron clan is called the Swan clan with the native name
    given above. Of these clans only five had an unequal representation
    in the federal council of the League; namely, the Sandpiper, three,
    the Turtle, two, the Hawk, one, the Wolf, one, and the Bear, one.

    One of the earliest known references to the ethnic name Seneca is
    that on the Original Carte Figurative, annexed to the Memorial
    presented to the States-General of the Netherlands, Aug. 18, 1616,
    on which it appears with the Dutch plural as Sennecas. This map is
    remarkable also for the first known mention of the ancient Erie,
    sometimes called Gahkwas or Kahkwah; on this map they appear under
    the name last cited, Gachoi (ch = kh), and were placed on the N.
    side of the W. branch of the Susquehanna. The name did not
    originally belong to the Seneca, but to the Oneida, as the
    following lines will show.

    In the early part of December, 1634, three Dutchmen made a journey
    (the itinerary of which was duly recorded in a Journal [1]) in the
    interests of the fur-trade from Fort Orange, now Albany, N. Y., to
    the Mohawk and the “Sinnekens” to thwart French intrigue there.
    Strictly speaking, the latter name designated the Oneida, but at
    this time it was a general name, usually comprising the Onondaga,
    the Cayuga, and the Seneca, in addition. At that period the Dutch
    and the French commonly divided the Five Iroquois tribes into two
    identical groups; to the first, the Dutch gave the name Maquas
    (Mohawk), and to the latter, Sinnekens (Seneca, the final -ens
    being the Dutch genitive plural), with the connotation of the four
    tribes mentioned above. The French gave to the latter group the
    general name “les Iroquois Superieurs”, “les Hiroquois d’eu haut”,
    i.e. the Upper Iroquois, “les Hiroquois des pays plus hauts, nommés
    Sontouaheronnons” (literally, ‘the Iroquois of the upper country,
    called Sontouaheronnons’), the latter being only another form of
    “les Tsonnontouans” (the Seneca); and to the first group the
    designations “les Iroquois inférieurs” (the Lower Iroquois), and
    “les Hiroquois d’en bas, nommés Agnechronnons” (the Mohawk;
    literally, ‘the Iroquois from below, named Agnechronnons’). This
    geographical rather than political division of the Iroquois tribes,
    first made by Champlain and the early Dutch at Ft. Orange,
    prevailed until about the third quarter of the 17th century.
    Indeed, Governor Andros, two years after Greenhalgh’s visit to the
    several tribes of the Iroquois in 1677, still wrote, “Ye Oneidas
    deemed ye first nation of sineques:” The Journal of the Dutchmen,
    mentioned above, records the interesting fact that during their
    visit to the tribes they celebrated the New Year of 1635 at a place
    called Enneyuttehaga or Sinnekens. The first of these names was the
    Iroquois, and the second, the Mohegan, name for the place, or,
    preferably, the Mohegan translation of the Iroquois name. The Dutch
    received their first knowledge of the Iroquois tribes through the
    Mohegan. The name Enneyuttehaga is evidently written for
    Onĕñiuteʼagāʹʼgeʻ, ‘at the place of the people of the standing
    (projecting) stone.’ At that date this was the chief town of the
    Oneida. The Dutch Journal identifies the name Sinnekens with this
    town, which is presumptive evidence that it is the Mohegan
    rendering of the Iroquois local name Onĕñʹiuteʼ, ‘it is a standing
    or projecting stone’, employed as an ethnic appellative. The
    derivation of Sinnekens from Mohegan appears to be as follows:
    aʻsinni, ‘a stone, or rock’, -ika or -iga, denotive of ‘place of’,
    or ‘abundance of’, and the final -ens supplied by the Dutch
    genitive plural ending, the whole Mohegan synthesis meaning ‘place
    of the standing stone’; and with a suitable pronominal affix, like
    o- or wă-, which was not recorded by the Dutch writers, the
    translation signifies, ‘they are of the place of the standing
    stone.’ This etymology is confirmed by the Delaware name,
    Wʼtassone, for the Oneida, which has a similar derivation. The
    initial w- represents approximately an o-sound, and is the affix of
    verbs and nouns denotive of the third person; the intercalary -t-
    is merely euphonic, being employed to prevent the coalescence of
    the two vowel sounds; and it is evident that assone is only another
    form of aʻsinni, ‘stone’, cited above. Hence it appears that the
    Mohegan and Delaware names for the Oneida are cognate in derivation
    and identical in signification. Heckewelder erroneously translated
    Wʼtassone by ‘stone pipe makers.’

    Thus, the Iroquois Onĕñiuteʼāʹgăʼ, the Mohegan Sinnekens, and the
    Delaware Wʼtassone are synonymous and are homologous in derivation.
    But the Dutch, followed by other Europeans, used the Mohegan term
    to designate a group of four tribes, to only one of which, the
    Oneida, was it strictly applicable. The name Sinnekens, or
    Sennecaas (Visscher’s map, ca. 1660), became the tribal name of the
    Seneca by a process of elimination which excluded from the group
    and from the connotation of the general name the nearer tribes as
    each with its own proper native name became known to the Europeans.
    Obviously, the last remaining tribe of the group would finally
    acquire as its own the general name of the group. The Delaware name
    for the Seneca was Mexaxtĭnʹnĭ (the Maechachtinni of Heckewelder),
    which signifies ‘great mountain’; this is, of course, a Delaware
    rendering of the Iroquois name for the Seneca,
    Djiionoñdowānĕñʹʻākă, or Djiionoñdowānĕñʻroñʹnoⁿʼ, ‘People of the
    Great Mountain.’ This name appears disguised as Trudamani (Cartier,
    1534–35), Entouhonorons, Chouontouaroüon = Chonontouaronon
    (Champlain, 1615), Onentouaronons (Champlain, 1627), and
    Tsonontouan or Sonontouan (Jes. Rel., passim).

    Previous to the defeat and despoliation of the Neuters in 1651 and
    the Erie in 1656, the Seneca occupied the territory drained by
    Genesee r., eastward to the lands of the Cayuga along the line of
    the watershed between Seneca and Cayuga lakes.

    The political history of the Seneca is largely that of the League
    of the Iroquois, although owing to petty jealousies among the
    various tribes the Seneca, like the others, sometimes acted
    independently in their dealings with aliens. But their independent
    action appears never to have been a serious and deliberate rupture
    of the bonds uniting them with the federal government of the
    League, thus vindicating the wisdom and foresight of its founders
    in permitting every tribe to retain and exercise a large measure of
    autonomy in the structure of the federal government. It was
    sometimes apparently imperative that one of the tribes should enter
    into a treaty or other compact with its enemies, while the others
    might still maintain a hostile attitude toward the alien
    contracting party.

    During 1622 the Montagnais, the Algonkin, and the Hurons sought to
    conclude peace with the Iroquois (Yroquois = Mohawk division?),
    because “they were weary and fatigued with the wars which they had
    had for more than 50 years.” The armistice was concluded in 1624,
    but was broken by the continued guerrilla warfare of the Algonkin
    warriors; for this reason the Seneca (“Ouentouoronons d’autre
    nation, amis desdits Yrocois”) killed in the “village of the
    Yrocois” the embassy composed of a Frenchman, Pierre Magnan, and
    three Algonquian ambassadors. This resulted in the renewal of the
    war. So in Sept. 1627, the Iroquois, including the Seneca, declared
    war against the Indians and the French on the St. Lawrence and its
    northern affluents by sending various parties of warriors against
    them.

    From the Jesuit Relation for 1635 (p. 34, 1858) it is learned that
    the Seneca, after defeating the Hurons in the spring of 1634, made
    peace with them. The Hurons in the following year sent an embassy
    to Sonontouan, the chief town of the Seneca, to ratify the peace,
    and while there learned that the Onondaga, the Oneida, the Cayuga,
    and the Mohawk were desirous of becoming parties to the treaty.

    In 1639 the war was renewed by the Hurons, who in May captured 12
    prisoners from the Seneca, then regarded as a powerful people. The
    war continued with varying success. The Jesuit Relation for 1641
    (p. 75, 1858) says the Seneca were the most feared of the enemies
    of the Hurons, and that they were only one day’s journey from
    Ongniaahra (Niagara), the most easterly town of the Neuters. [2]
    The Relation for 1643 (p. 61) says that the Seneca (i.e. “les
    Hiroquois d’en haut”), including the Cayuga, the Oneida, and the
    Onondaga, equaled, if they did not exceed, in number and power the
    Hurons, who previously had had this advantage; and that the Mohawk
    at this time had three villages with 700 or 800 men of arms who
    possessed 300 arquebuses that they had obtained from the Dutch and
    which they used with skill and boldness. According to the Jesuit
    Relation for 1648 (p. 49, 1858), 300 Seneca attacked the village of
    the Aondironnon, and killed or captured as many of its inhabitants
    as possible, although this people were a dependency of the Neuters
    who were at peace with the Seneca at this time. This affront nearly
    precipitated war between the Iroquois and the Neuters. [3]

    The Seneca warriors composed the larger part of the Iroquois
    warriors who in 1648–49 assailed, destroyed, and dispersed the
    Huron tribes; it was likewise they who in 1649 sacked the chief
    towns of the Tionontati, or Tobacco tribe; and the Seneca also took
    a leading part in the defeat and subjugation of the Neuters in 1651
    and of the Erie in 1656. From the Journal des PP. Jésuites for
    1651–52 (Jes. Rel., Thwaites’ ed., XXXVII, 97, 1898) it is learned
    that in 1651 the Seneca, in waging war against the Neuters, had
    been so signally defeated that their women and children were
    compelled to flee from Sonontowan, their capital, to seek refuge
    among the neighboring Cayuga.

    In 1652 the Seneca were plotting with the Mohawk to destroy and
    ruin the French settlements on the St. Lawrence. Two years later
    the Seneca sent an embassy to the French for the purpose of making
    peace with them, a movement which was probably brought about by
    their rupture with the Erie. But the Mohawk not desiring peace at
    that time with the French, perhaps on account of their desire to
    attack the Hurons on Orleans id., murdered two of the three Seneca
    ambassadors, the other having remained as a hostage with the
    French. This act almost resulted in war between the two hostile
    tribes; foreign affairs, however, were in such condition as to
    prevent the beginning of actual hostility. On Sept. 19, 1655,
    Fathers Chaumonot and Dablon, after pressing invitations to do so,
    started from Quebec to visit and view the Seneca country, and to
    establish there a French habitation and teach the Seneca the
    articles of their faith.

    In 1657 the Seneca, in carrying out the policy of the League to
    adopt conquered tribes upon submission and the expression of a
    desire to live under the form of government established by the
    League, had thus incorporated eleven different tribes into their
    body politic.

    In 1652 Maryland bought from the Minqua, or Susquehanna Indians,
    i.e. the Conestoga, all their land claims on both sides of
    Chesapeake bay up to the mouth of Susquehanna r. In 1663, 800
    Seneca and Cayuga warriors from the Confederation of the Five
    Nations were defeated by the Minqua, aided by the Marylanders. The
    Iroquois did not terminate their hostilities until famine had so
    reduced the Conestoga that in 1675, when the Marylanders had
    disagreed with them and had withdrawn their alliance, the Conestoga
    were completely subdued by the Five Nations, who thereafter claimed
    a right to the Minqua lands to the head of Chesapeake bay.

    In 1744 the influence of the French was rapidly gaining ground
    among the Seneca; meanwhile the astute and persuasive Col. Johnson
    was gradually winning the Mohawk as close allies of the British,
    while the Onondaga, the Cayuga, and the Oneida, under strong
    pressure from Pennsylvania and Virginia, sought to be neutral.

    In 1686, 200 Seneca warriors went W. against the Miami, the
    Illinois in the meantime having been overcome by the Iroquois in a
    war lasting about five years. In 1687 the Marquis Denonville
    assembled a great horde of Indians from the region of the upper
    lakes and from the St. Lawrence—Hurons, Ottawa, Chippewa,
    Mississauga, Miami, Illinois, Montagnais, Amikwa, and others—under
    Durantaye, DuLuth, and Tonti, to serve as an auxiliary force to
    about 1,200 French and colonial levies, to be employed in attacking
    and destroying the Seneca. Having reached Irondequoit, the Seneca
    landing-place on L. Ontario, Denonville built there a stockade in
    which he left a garrison of 440 men. Thence advancing to attack the
    Seneca villages, he was ambushed by 600 or 800 Seneca, who charged
    and drove back the colonial levies and their Indian allies, and
    threw the veteran regiments into disorder. Only by the overwhelming
    numbers of his force was the traitorous Denonville saved from
    disastrous defeat.

    In 1763, at Bloody Run and the Devil’s Hole, situated on Niagara r.
    about 4 m. below the falls, the Seneca ambushed a British supply
    train on the portage road from Ft Schlosser to Ft Niagara, only
    three escaping from a force of nearly 100. At a short distance from
    this place the same Seneca ambushed a British force composed of two
    companies of troops who were hastening to the aid of the supply
    train, only eight of whom escaped massacre. These bloody and harsh
    measures were the direct result of the general unrest of the Six
    Nations and the western tribes, arising from the manner of the
    recent occupancy of the posts by the British, after the surrender
    of Canada by the French on Sept. 8, 1760. They contrasted the
    sympathetic and bountiful paternalism of the French régime with the
    neglect and niggardliness that characterized the British rule. Such
    was the state of affairs that on July 29, 1761, Sir Wm. Johnson
    wrote to General Amherst: “I see plainly that there appears to be
    an universal jealousy amongst every nation, on account of the hasty
    steps they look upon we are taking towards getting possession of
    this country, which measures, I am certain, will never subside
    whilst we encroach within the limits which you may recollect have
    been put under the protection of the King in the year 1726, and
    confirmed to them by him and his successors ever since and by the
    orders sent to the governors not to allow any one of his subjects
    settling thereon ... but that it should remain their absolute
    property.” But, by the beginning of the American Revolution, so
    well had the British agents reconciled them to the rule of Great
    Britain that the Seneca, together with a large majority of the
    people of the Six Nations, notwithstanding their pledges to the
    contrary, reluctantly espoused the cause of the British against the
    colonies. Consequently they suffered retribution for their folly
    when Gen. Sullivan, in 1779, after defeating their warriors, burned
    their villages and destroyed their crops.

    There is no historical evidence that the Seneca who were on the
    Ohio and the s. shore of L. Erie in the 18th and 19th centuries
    were chiefly an outlying colony from the Iroquois tribe of that
    name dwelling in New York. The significant fact that in historical
    times their affiliations were never with the Iroquois, but rather
    with tribes usually hostile to them, is to be explained on the
    presumption that they were rather some remnant of a subjugated
    tribe dependent on the Seneca and dwelling on lands under the
    jurisdiction of their conquerors. It is a fair inference that they
    were largely subjugated Erie and Conestoga.

    The earliest estimates of the numbers of the Seneca, in 1660 and
    1677, give them about 5,000. Later estimates of the population are:
    3,500 (1721); 1,750 (1736); 5,000 (1765); 3,250 (1778); 2,000
    (1783); 3,000 (1783), and 1,780 (1796). In 1825 those in New York
    were reported at 2,325. In 1850, according to Morgan, those in New
    York numbered 2,712, while about 210 more were on Grand River res.
    in Canada. In 1909 those in New York numbered 2,749 on the three
    reservations, which, with those on Grand r., Ontario, would give
    them a total of 2,962. The proportion of Seneca now among the 4,071
    Iroquois at Caughnawaga, St Regis, and Lake of Two Mountains,
    Quebec, can not be estimated.




CHARACTERIZATION OF CONTENTS

The Seneca material embodied in the following pages consists of two
parts.

Part 1 comprises the matter recorded in the field by the late Jeremiah
Curtin in 1883, 1886, and 1887 on the Cattaraugus reservation, near
Versailles, New York, including tales, legends, and myths, several
being translations of texts belonging to this collection made by the
editor. This work of Mr. Curtin represents in part the results of the
first serious attempt to record with satisfactory fullness the folklore
of the Seneca.

The material consists largely of narratives or tales of fiction—naïve
productions of the story-teller’s art which can lay no claim to be
called myths, although undoubtedly they contain many things that
characterize myths—narratives of the power and deeds of one or more of
the personified active forces or powers immanent in and expressed by
phenomena or processes of nature in human guise or in that of birds or
beasts. They do not refer to the phenomena personified as things
unique, but as equaled or fully initiated by human personages made
potent by orenda, or magic power, hence they describe a period long
after the advent of man on earth, and in this respect do not exhibit
the character of myths.

Again, in some of the narratives the same incident or device appears as
common property; that is to say, these several stories employ the same
episode for the purpose of expansion and to glorify the hero as well as
his prowess. An instance in point is that in which the hero himself, or
others at his order, gathers the bones of the skeletons of other
adventurous heroes like himself, who failed in the tests of orenda and
so forfeited their lives to the challenger, and, hastily placing them
in normal positions with respect to one another, quickens them by
exclaiming, “This tall hickory tree will fall on you, brothers, unless
you arise at once,” while pushing against the tree itself. Sometimes it
is a tall pine that so figures in these accounts. Again, a pupil of a
sorcerer or a noted witch is forbidden to go in a certain direction,
while permission is given to go in any other direction. But at a
certain time the budding hero or champion wizard goes surreptitiously
in the forbidden direction, and at once there is collision between his
orenda, or magic power, and that of the well-known wizards and
sorcerers dwelling in that quarter. This pupil is usually the only
living agent for the preservation of the orenda of some noted family of
wizards or witches. The hero, after performing certain set tasks,
overcomes the enemies of his family and then brings to life those of
his kindred who failed in the deadly strife of orendas.

The identifications and interpretative field notes accompanying Mr.
Curtin’s material by some mischance were not made a part of the present
collection. Their loss, which has added greatly to the work of the
editor, is unfortunate, as Mr. Curtin possessed in so marked a degree
the power of seizing readily the motive and significance of a story
that his notes undoubtedly would have supplied material for the
intelligent explanation and analysis of the products of the Indian mind
contained in this memoir.

The texts recorded in the Seneca dialect by Mr. Curtin were very
difficult to read, as they had been recorded with a lead pencil and had
been carried from place to place until they were for the greater part
almost illegible. The fact that these texts were the rough field notes
of Mr. Curtin, unrevised and unedited, added to the difficulty of
translating them. Fortunately, in editing a large portion of one of
these manuscripts, the editor had the assistance of his niece, Miss
Caroline G. C. Hewitt, who speaks fluently the Seneca dialect of the
Iroquois languages.

Part 2 also consists of Seneca legends and myths, which are
translations made expressly for this work from native texts recorded by
Mr. Hewitt in the autumn of 1896. Two of the texts so translated appear
here, revised and edited, with a closely literal interlinear
translation in English. The matter of Part 2 constitutes about
two-fifths of the whole, containing only 31 items, while there are 107
in Part 1; but the latter narratives are uniformly much longer than the
former.

The Seneca informants of Mr. Hewitt in the field were Mr. Truman
Halftown, Mr. John Armstrong, and Chief Priest Henry Stevens, all of
the Cattaraugus Reservation, N. Y. These worthy men, who have all
passed away, were uniformly patient, kind, and interested. They were
men whose faith in the religion of their ancestors ennobled them with
good will, manliness, and a desire to serve.

Special attention is drawn to the freedom of these Seneca narratives
from coarseness of thought and expression, although in some respectable
quarters obscenity seems to be regarded as a dominant characteristic of
American Indian myths and legendary lore. This view is palpably
erroneous and unjust, because it is founded on faulty and inadequate
material; it is, moreover, governed largely by the personal equation.

To form an impartial and correct judgment of the moral tone of the
myths and legends of the American Indian, a distinction must be made
between myths and legends on the one hand and tales and stories which
are related primarily for the indecent coarseness of their thought and
diction on the other; for herein lies the line of demarcation between
narratives in which the rare casual references to indelicate matters
are wholly a secondary consideration and not the motives of the
stories, and those ribald tales in which the evident motive is merely
to pander to depraved taste by detailing the coarse, the vulgar, and
the filthy in life.

It is, indeed, a most unfortunate circumstance in the present study of
the spoken literature of the North American Indians that the headlong
haste and nervous zeal to obtain bulk rather than quality in collecting
and recording it are unfavorable to the discovery and acquisition of
the philosophic and the poetic legends and myths so sacred to these
thoughtful people. The inevitable result of this method of research is
the wholly erroneous view of the ethical character of the myths and
legends and stories of the American Indian, to which reference has
already been made. The lamentable fact that large portions of some
collections of so-called American Indian tales and narratives consist
for the greater part of coarse, obscene, and indelicate recitals in no
wise shows that the coarse and the indelicate were the primary motives
in the sacred lore of the people, but it does indicate the need of
clean-minded collectors of these narratives, men who know that the
obscene can not be the dominant theme of the legendary lore of any
people. Such men will take the necessary time and trouble to become
sufficiently acquainted with the people whose literature they desire to
record to gain the confidence and good will of the teachers and the
wise men and women of the community, because these are the only persons
capable of giving anything like a trustworthy recital of the legendary
and the poetic narratives and the sacred lore of their people.

Should one attempt to acquire standard specimens of the literature of
the white people of America by consulting corner loafers and their ilk,
thereby obtaining a mass of coarse and obscene tales and stories wholly
misrepresenting the living thought of the great mass of the white
people of the country, the procedure would in no wise differ,
seemingly, from the usual course pursued by those who claim to be
collecting the literature of the American Indian people by consulting
immature youth, agency interpreters, and other uninformed persons,
rather than by gaining the confidence of and consulting the native
priests and shamans and statesmen.

To claim that in American Indian communities their story-tellers, owing
to alleged Christian influence, are editing the mythic tales and
legends of their people into a higher moral tone is specious and is a
sop thrown to religious prejudice for the purpose of giving color to
the defense of an erroneous view of the moral tone of such myths and
legends.

It is notorious that in this transition period of American Indian life
the frontiersman and the trader on the borderland have not been in
general of such moral character as to reflect the highest ideals in
thought or action. Few genuine native legends and myths show any
so-called “moral” revision from contact with “white people.” It is, of
course, undeniable that the coarse, the rude, and the vulgar in word,
thought, and deed are very real and ever-present elements in the life
of every so-called Christian community; and they are present in every
other community. But this fact does not at all argue that it is useful
to collect and record in detail the narratives of these indecent
aspects of life in any community, because the wholesome, the
instructive, and the poetic and beautiful are, forsooth, far more
difficult to obtain.

Except in the case of novices in the work it may be stated that the
moral tone or quality of the mythic and legendary material collected in
any community is measurably an unconscious reflex of the mental and
moral attitude of the collector toward the high ideals of the race.

It is a pleasure to make reference here to the work of Mr. Frank
Hamilton Cushing, Dr. Washington Matthews, and Mr. Jeremiah Curtin,
who, in order to study with discrimination and sympathy the spoken
literature of the American Indians, took the necessary trouble to learn
the motif of the narratives of mythic and legendary origin of these
people; hence they did not feel it incumbent upon them to apologize for
the moral tone of the legends and myths they recorded and published,
for their own mental attitude toward the wholesome, the worthy, and the
noble was such as to enable them to discover and to appreciate the same
qualities in the thinking of the people they studied. To expound like
the priest, to speak like the prophet, and to think like the
myth-maker, were among the gifts of these men which enabled them to
understand the motives underlying the myths and legends of the tribal
men of the world, while they were at the same time fully alive to the
scientific use and value of these same poetic narratives when analyzed
and interpreted sympathetically.

Mr. Curtin obtained his Seneca material from the following persons of
the Seneca tribe, many of whom have since died: Abraham Johnny-John,
Solomon O’Bail, George Titus, John Armstrong, Zachariah Jimeson, Andrew
Fox, Henry Jacob, Henry Silverheels, Peter White, Black Chief, and
Phoebe Logan. He recorded an extensive vocabulary of the Seneca, with
which he had become familiar by intensive study of its structure.

Mr. Curtin, with the mind of a master, fully grasped the importance and
the paramount significance of the intelligent collection, and the
deeper sympathetic study, of legends and myths in general, and of those
of the American Indians in particular, in the final establishment of
the science of mythology.

To the editor it is one of the delightful memories of his early
official life to recall the many instructive hours spent with Mr.
Curtin in discussing the larger significance and the deeper
implications which are found in the intelligent study and
interpretation of legends, epics, and myths—the highest type of poetic
and creative composition. And for this reason he has so freely cited
from the writings of Mr. Curtin the meaning and the value which such a
study and analysis had for Mr. Curtin and has for those who like him
will fully appreciate that “the Indian tales reveal to us a whole
system of religion, philosophy, and social polity. ... the whole mental
and social life of the race to which they belong is evident in them.”

The following quotations give all too briefly, perhaps, his philosophic
views on these questions in his own deft, inimitable way. It is
believed that these citations will enable the reader and the student to
gain some clear idea of the pregnant lessons Mr. Curtin drew from the
analysis and interpretation of the legends and myths which he recorded,
as well as of his method of studying and expounding them. The Seneca
collection herewith presented forms only a small portion of his
recorded mythic material.


    A few tens of years ago it was all-important to understand and
    explain the brotherhood and blood-bond of Aryan nations, and their
    relation to the Semitic race; to discover and set forth the meaning
    of that which in mental work, historic strivings, and spiritual
    ideals ties the historic nations to one another. At the present
    time this work is done, if not completely, at least measurably
    well, and a new work awaits us, to demonstrate that there is a
    higher and a mightier bond, the relationship of created things with
    one another, and their inseverable connection with That which some
    men reverence as God, but which other men call the Unknowable, the
    Unseen.

    This new work, which is the necessary continuation of the first,
    and which alone can give it completeness and significance, will be
    achieved when we have established the science of mythology. [4]


Again, he asks: “How is this science from which men may receive such
service to be founded?”

On this point Mr. Curtin is clear and instructive, maintaining that
such a science of mythology can be founded—


    In one way alone: by obtaining from races outside of the Aryan and
    Semitic their myths, their beliefs, their view of the world; this
    done, the rest will follow as a result of intelligent labor. But
    the great battle is in the first part of the work, for the inherent
    difficulty of the task has been increased by Europeans, who have
    exterminated great numbers among the best primitive races,
    partially civilized or rather degraded others, and rendered the
    remainder distrustful and not easily approached on the subject of
    their myths and ethnic beliefs.

    Its weightiest service will be rendered in the domain of religion,
    for without mythology there can be no thorough understanding of any
    religion on earth, either in its inception or its growth. [5]


The next citation shows Mr. Curtin’s complete mastery of the subject in
hand, and his conclusions are well worth the careful consideration of
every student of mythic and legendary lore. In reference to the
collection of myths and tales and beliefs he presents the following
wise conclusions:


    There is everywhere a sort of selvage of short tales and anecdotes,
    small information about ghosts and snakes, among all these races,
    which are easily obtained, and most Europeans seem to think that
    when they have collected some of these trivial things they have all
    that the given people possess. But they are greatly mistaken. All
    these people have something better. There was not a single stock of
    Indians in America which did not possess, in beautiful forms, the
    elements of an extensive literature with a religion and philosophy
    which would have thrown light on many beginnings of Aryan and
    Semitic thought, a knowledge of which in so many cases is now lost
    to us, but which we hope to recover in time ... if civilized men
    instead of slaying “savages,” directly and indirectly, will treat
    them as human beings, and not add to the labor of those workers who
    in the near future will surely endeavor, singly or in small groups,
    to study the chief primitive races of the earth and win from them,
    not short insignificant odds and ends of information but great
    masses of material; ... these races possess in large volume some of
    the most beautiful productions of the human mind, and facts that
    are not merely of great, but of unique, value. [6]

    But we have no tale in which it is clear who all the characters
    are; the modifying influences were too great and long-continued to
    permit that. Though myth-tales are, perhaps, more interesting ...
    in their present form, they will have not their full interest for
    science till it is shown who most of the actors are under their
    disguises.

    This is the nearest task of mythology.

    There are masterpieces in literature filled with myths, inspired
    with myth conceptions of many kinds, simply colored by the life of
    the time and the nations among which these masterpieces were
    written and moulded to shape by artists, made strong from the
    spirit of great, simple people, as unknown to us as the nameless
    heroes who perished before Agamemnon. How much mythology is there
    in the Iliad and the Odyssey, in the Æneid, in the Divine Comedy of
    Dante, in the works of the other three great Italian poets? How
    much in Paradise Lost? How could “King Lear” and “Midsummer Night’s
    Dream,” or the “Idylls of the King,” have been written without
    Keltic mythology? Many of these literary masterpieces have not
    merely myths in their composition as a sentence has words, but the
    earlier ones are enlarged or modified myth-tales of those periods,
    while the later ones are largely modeled on and inspired by the
    earlier. [7]


Again he declares:


    It should be remembered that whatever be the names of the myth-tale
    heroes at present, the original heroes were not human. They were
    not men and women, though in most cases the present heroes or
    heroines bear the names of men and women, or children; they perform
    deeds which no man could perform, which only one of the forces of
    Nature could perform, if it had the volition and desires of a
    person. This is the great cause of wonderful deeds in myth-tales.
    [8]


With reference to the work already done in American Indian mythology,
Mr. Curtin remarks:


    We have now in North America a number of groups of tales obtained
    from the Indians which, when considered together, illustrate and
    supplement one another; they constitute, in fact, a whole system.
    These tales we may describe as forming collectively the creation
    myth of the New World.... In some cases, simple and transparent, it
    is not difficult to recognize the heroes; they are distinguishable
    at once either by their names or their actions or both. In other
    cases these tales are more involved, and the heroes are not so
    easily known, because they are concealed by names and epithets.
    Taken as a whole, however, the Indian tales are remarkably clear.
    [9]


As to the content of these American Indian tales and legends, Mr.
Curtin says:


    What is the substance and sense of these Indian tales, of what do
    they treat? To begin with, they give an account of how the present
    order of things arose in the world, and are taken up with the
    exploits, adventures, and struggles of various elements, animals,
    birds, reptiles, insects, plants, rocks, and other objects before
    they became what they are.... According to the earliest tales of
    North America, this world was occupied, prior to the appearance of
    man, by beings called variously “the first people,” “the outside
    people,” or simply “people,”—the same term in all cases being used
    for people that is applied to Indians at present.

    These people, who were very numerous, lived together for ages in
    harmony. There were no collisions among them, no disputes during
    that period; all were in perfect accord. In some mysterious
    fashion, however, each individual was changing imperceptibly; an
    internal movement was going on. At last a time came when the
    differences were sufficient to cause conflict, except in the case
    of a group to be mentioned hereafter, and struggles began. These
    struggles were gigantic, for the “first people” had mighty power;
    they had also wonderful perception and knowledge. They felt the
    approach of friends or enemies even at a distance; they knew the
    thought in another’s heart. If one of them expressed a wish, it was
    accomplished immediately; nay, if he even thought of a thing, it
    was there before him. Endowed with such powers and qualities, it
    would seem that their struggles would be endless and indecisive;
    but such was not the case. Though opponents might be equally
    dextrous, and have the power or the wish or the word in a similar
    degree, one of them would conquer in the end through wishing for
    more effective and better things, and thus become the hero of a
    higher cause; that is, a cause from which benefit would accrue to
    mankind, the coming race. [10]

    ... Among living creatures, we are not to reckon man, for man does
    not appear in any of those myth tales; they relate solely to
    extra-human existences, and describe the battle and agony of
    creation, not the adventures of anything in the world since it
    received its present form and office. According to popular modes of
    thought and speech, all this would be termed the fall of the gods,
    for the “first people” of the Indian tales correspond to the
    earliest gods of other races. [11]

    In the theory of spiritual evolution, worked out by the aboriginal
    mind of America, all kinds of moral quality and character are
    represented as coming from an internal movement through which the
    latent, unevolved personality of each individual of these “first
    people,” or gods, is produced. Once that personality is produced,
    every species of dramatic situation and tragic catastrophe follows
    as an inevitable sequence. There is no more peace after that; there
    are only collisions followed by combats which are continued by the
    gods till they are turned into all the things, animal, vegetable,
    and mineral—which are either useful or harmful to man, and thus
    creation is accomplished. During the period of struggles, the gods
    organize institutions, social and religious, according to which
    they live. These are bequeathed to man; and nothing that an Indian
    has is of human invention, all is divine. An avowed innovation,
    anything that we call reform, anything invented by man, would be
    looked on as sacrilege, a terrible, an inexpiable crime. The Indian
    lives in a world prepared by the gods, and follows in their
    footsteps—that is the only morality, the one pure and holy
    religion. [12]

    This creation myth of the New World is a work of great value, for
    by aid of it we can bring order into mythology, and reconstruct, at
    least in outline, and provisionally, that early system of belief
    which was common to all races: a system which, though expressed in
    many languages and in endlessly varying details, has one meaning,
    and was, in the fullest sense of the word, one—a religion truly
    catholic and œcumenical, for it was believed in by all people,
    wherever resident, and believed in with a vividness of faith, and a
    sincerity of attachment, which no civilized man can even imagine,
    unless he has had long experience of primitive races. [13]

    The war between the gods continued till it produced on land, in the
    water, and the air, all creatures that move, and all plants that
    grow. There is not a beast, bird, fish, reptile, insect, or plant
    which is not a fallen divinity; and for every one noted there is a
    story of its previous existence.

    This transformation of the former people, or divinities, of America
    was finished just before the present race of men—that is, the
    Indians—appeared. [14]

    In some mythologies a few personages who are left unchanged at the
    eve of man’s coming transform themselves voluntarily. The details
    of the change vary from tribe to tribe, but in all it takes place
    in some described way, and forms part of the general change, or
    metamorphosis, which is the vital element in the American system.
    In many, perhaps in all, the mythologies, there is an account of
    how some of the former people, or gods, instead of fighting and
    taking part in the struggle of creation and being transformed,
    retained their original character, and either went above the sky or
    sailed away westward to where the sky comes down, and passed out
    under it, and beyond, to a pleasant region where they live in
    delight. This is that contingent to which I have referred, that
    part of the “first people” in which no passion was developed; they
    remained in primitive simplicity, undifferentiated, and are happy
    at present. They correspond to those gods of classic antiquity who
    enjoyed themselves apart, and took no interest whatever in the
    sufferings or the joys of mankind. [15]

    Everything in nature had a tale of its own, if some one would but
    tell it, and during the epoch of constructive power in the
    race,—the epoch when languages were built up and great stories
    made,—few things of importance to people of that time were left
    unconsidered; hence there was among the Indians of America a volume
    of tales as immense, one might say, as an ocean river. This
    statement I make in view of materials which I have gathered myself,
    and which are still unpublished,—materials which, though
    voluminous, are comparatively meager, merely a hint of what in some
    tribes was lost, and of what in others is still uncollected....

    From what is known of the mind of antiquity, and from what data we
    have touching savage life in the present, we may affirm as a theory
    that primitive beliefs in all places are of the same system
    essentially as the American. In that system, every individual
    existence beyond man is a divinity, but a divinity under
    sentence,—a divinity weighed down by fate, a divinity with a
    history behind it, a history which is tragedy or comedy as the case
    may be. These histories extend along the whole line of experience,
    and include every combination conceivable to primitive man. [16]

    During eight years of investigation among Indian tribes in North
    America, I obtained the various parts of that Creation myth
    mentioned in this introduction, from tribes that were remote from
    one another, and in different degrees of development. Such tales I
    found in the east, in the central regions, and finally in
    California and Oregon. Over this space, the extreme points of which
    are 3,000 miles apart, each tribe has the Creation myth,—one
    portion being brought out with special emphasis in one tribe, and
    another portion in a different one. In tribes least developed, the
    earliest tales are very distinct, and specially valuable on some
    points relating to the origin and fall of the gods. Materials from
    the extreme west are more archaic and simple than those of the
    east. In fact the two regions present the two extremes, in North
    America, of least developed and most developed, aboriginal thought.
    In this is their interest. They form one complete system. [17]

    To sum up, we may say, that the Indian tales reveal to us a whole
    system of religion, philosophy, and social polity....

    Those tales form a complete series. The whole mental and social
    life of the race to which they belong is evident in them. [18]

    The results to be obtained from a comparison of systems of thought
    like the Indian and the Gaelic would be great, if made thoroughly.
    If extended to all races, such a comparison would render possible a
    history of the human mind in a form such as few men at present even
    dream of,—a history with a basis as firm as that which lies under
    geology.... We must make large additions indeed to our knowledge of
    primitive peoples. We must complete the work begun in America....
    The undertaking is arduous, and there is need to engage in it
    promptly. The forces of civilized society, at present, are
    destroying on all sides, not saving that which is precious in
    primitive people. Civilized society supposes that man, in an early
    degree of development, should be stripped of all that he owns, both
    material and mental, and then be refashioned to serve the society
    that stripped him. If he will not yield to the stripping and
    training, then slay him. [19]

    In the United States, little was accomplished till recent years; of
    late, however, public interest has been roused somewhat, and, since
    Major Powell entered the field, and became Director of the Bureau
    of Ethnology, more has been done in studying the native races of
    America than had been done from the discovery of the country up to
    that time.[18]

    Of course there is no true information in the American ethnic
    religion as to the real changes which affected the world around us;
    but there is in it, as in all systems like it, true information
    regarding the history of the human mind. Every ethnic religion
    gives us documentary evidence. It gives us positive facts which, in
    their own sphere, are as true as are facts of geology in the
    history of the earth’s crust and surface. They do not tell us what
    took place in the world without, in the physical universe, they had
    no means of doing so; but they do tell us what took place at
    certain periods in the world of mind, in the interior of man. [20]

    An ethnic or primitive religion is one which belongs to people of
    one blood and language, people who increased and developed together
    with the beliefs of every sort which belong to them. Such a
    religion includes every species of knowledge, every kind of custom,
    institution, and art. Every aboriginal nation or human brood has
    its gods. All people of one blood and origin are under the
    immediate care and supervision of their gods, and preserve
    continual communication and converse with them. According to their
    own beliefs, such people received from their gods all that they
    have, all that they practice, all that they know. Such people,
    while their blood is unmixed and their society unconquered, adhere
    to their gods with the utmost fidelity.

    The bonds which connect a nation with its gods, bonds of faith, and
    those which connect the individuals of that nation with one
    another, bonds of blood, are the strongest known to primitive man,
    and are the only social bonds in prehistoric ages. [21]

    A good deal has been given to the world of late on mythology by
    able writers who with good materials would attain good results; but
    as the materials at their disposal are faulty, much of their work
    with all its cleverness is mainly a persistent pouring of the empty
    into the void.

    We have seen attempts made to show that real gods have been
    developed by savage men from their own dead savage chiefs. Such a
    thing has never been done since the human race began, and it could
    never have been imagined by any man who knew the ideas of primitive
    races from actual experience or from competent testimony. The most
    striking thing in all savage belief is the low estimate put on man
    when unaided by divine, uncreated power. In Indian belief every
    object in the universe is divine except man. [22]...

    Vegetable gods, so called, have been scoffed at by writers on
    mythology. The scoff is baseless, for the first people were turned,
    or turned themselves, into trees and various plants as frequently
    as into beasts and other creatures. Maize or Indian corn is a
    transformed god who gave himself to be eaten to save man from
    hunger and death. When Spanish priests saw little cakes of meal
    eaten ceremonially by Indians, and when the latter informed them
    that they were eating their god, the good priests thought this a
    diabolical mockery of the Holy Sacrament, and a blasphemous trick
    of Satan to ruin poor ignorant Indians.

    I have a myth in which the main character is a violent and cruel
    old personage who is merciless and faith-breaking, who does no end
    of damage till he is cornered at last by a good hero and turned
    into the wild parsnip. Before transformation this old parsnip could
    travel swiftly, but now he must stay in one place, and of course
    kills people only when they eat him.

    The treasure saved to science by the primitive race of America is
    unique in value and high significance. The first result from it is
    to carry us back through untold centuries to that epoch when man
    made the earliest collective and consistent explanation of this
    universe and its origin.

    Occupying this vantage-ground, we can now throw a flood of light on
    all those mythologies and ethnic religions or systems of thought
    from which are lost in part, great or small, the materials needed
    to prove the foundation and beginnings of each of them. In this
    condition are all ancient recorded religions, whether of Greece,
    Rome, Egypt, Chaldea, Persia, or India. [23]


Again, in speaking of the first people, the ancients, or the man-beings
of the oldest myth, or rather cycle of myths, in America, Mr. Curtin
continues his exposition of the significance of these poetic figures:


    After they had lived on an indefinite period, they appear as a vast
    number of groups, which form two camps, which may be called the
    good and the bad. In the good camp are the persons who originate
    all the different kinds of food, establish all institutions, arts,
    games, amusements, dances, and religious ceremonies for the coming
    race.

    In the other camp are cunning, deceitful beings, ferocious and
    hungry man-eaters—the harmful powers of every description. The
    heroes of the good camp overcome these one after another by
    stratagem, superior skill, swiftness, or the use of the
    all-powerful wish; but they are immortal, and, though overcome, can
    not be destroyed....

    When the present race of men (that is, Indians) appear on the
    scene, the people of the previous order of affairs have vanished.
    One division, vast in number, a part of the good and all the bad
    ones, have become the beasts, birds, fishes, reptiles, insects,
    plants, stones, cold, heat, light, darkness, fire, rain, snow,
    earthquake, sun, moon, stars—have become, in fact, every living
    thing, object, agency, phenomenon, process, and power outside of
    man. Another party much smaller in number, who succeeded in
    avoiding entanglement in the struggle of preparing the world for
    man, left the earth. According to some myths they went beyond the
    sky to the upper land; according to others they sailed in boats
    over the ocean to the West—sailed till they went out beyond the
    setting sun, beyond the line where the sky touches the earth. There
    they are living now free from pain, disease, and death, which came
    into the world just before they left, but before the coming of man
    and through the agency of this first people....

    This earliest American myth cycle really describes a period in the
    beginning of which all things—and there was no thing then which was
    not a person—lived in company without danger to each other or
    trouble. This was the period of primæval innocence, of which we
    hear so many echoes in tradition and early literature, when that
    infinite variety of character and quality now manifest in the
    universe was still dormant and hidden, practically uncreated. This
    was the “golden age” of so many mythologies—the “golden age”
    dreamed of so often, but never seen by mortal man; a period when,
    in their original form and power, the panther and the deer, the
    wolf and the antelope, lay down together, when the rattlesnake was
    as harmless as the rabbit, when trees could talk and flowers sing,
    when both could move as nimbly as the swiftest on earth.

    Such, in a sketch exceedingly meager and imperfect, a hint rather
    than a sketch, is the first great cycle of American mythology—the
    creation-myth of the New World. From this cycle are borrowed the
    characters and machinery for myths of later construction and
    stories of inferior importance; myths relating to the action of all
    observed forces and phenomena; struggles of the seasons, winds,
    light and darkness; and stories in great numbers containing
    adventures without end of the present animals, birds, reptiles, and
    insects—people of the former world in their fallen state....

    To whatever race they may belong, the earliest myths, whether of
    ancient record or recent collection, point with unerring indication
    to the same source as those of America, for the one reason that
    there is no other source. The personages of any given body of myths
    are such manifestations of force in the world around them, or the
    result of such manifestations, as the ancient myth-makers observed;
    and whether they went backwards or forwards, these were the only
    personages possible to them, because they were the only personages
    accessible to their senses or conceivable to their minds....

    Since they had passions varying like those of men, the myth-makers
    narrate the origin of these passions, and carried their personages
    back to a period of peaceful and innocent chaos, when there was no
    motive as yet in existence. After a while the shock came. The
    motive appeared in the form of revenge for acts done through
    cupidity or ignorance; strife began, and never left the world of
    the gods till one quota of them was turned into animals, plants,
    heavenly bodies, everything in the universe, and the other went
    away unchanged to a place of happy enjoyment.

    All myths have the same origin, and all run parallel up to a
    certain point, which may be taken as the point to which the
    least-developed people have risen. [24]


And Mr. Curtin further says:


    At that period the earth ... was occupied by personages who are
    called people, though it is well understood at all times that they
    were not human; they were persons, individuals. [25]


To trace the ancestral sources of a people’s thought and character, a
careful and critical study of the myths, and later of the mythology of
that people, first exclusively and then comparatively, is required.
This study deals with ideas and concepts expressed by three well-known
Greek terms, mythos, epos, and logos, and also with those expressed by
the term resulting from the combination of the first and the last of
these words. These are among many words of human speech which comprise
all human experience and history. It is remarkable also that each may
be translated into English by the term “word.”

The word “mythology” is a philosophic term composed of two very
interesting and instructive Greek words, mythos and logos.

The first term, mythos, denoted whatever was thoughtfully uttered by
the mouth of savage and barbaric men—the expression of thought which
had been shut in to mature—a story of prehistoric time, a naïve,
creative concept stated in terms of human life and activity—a poem. In
matters of religion and cosmogony such an utterance was final and
conclusive to those men.

The second term, logos, having at the beginning approximately the same
meaning as mythos, became in Greek philosophic thinking the symbol or
expression of the internal constitution as well as the external form
and sign of thought, and so became “the expression of exact thought—...
exact because it corresponds to universal and unchanging principles,”
reaching “its highest exaltation in becoming not only reason in man but
the reason in the universe—the Divine Logos, the thought of God, the
Son of God, God himself” (Curtin). The logos is thus the expression of
the philosophy of men measurably cultured; it is the intelligent
exegesis of the content of the mythos in terms of objective and
subjective reality; it is scientific because it is logical; it is the
later literary criticism—the analytic and synthetic treatment of myths
and epics. So, in the experience of every people having an ethnic past,
mythos and logos represent two well-defined stages of human thought—the
naïve and the philosophic—and also the elder time and the modern. So
mythology may be defined as the science or the logic of the myth; it
belongs to times of relatively high culture and does not flourish in
savagery, for savages have only myths. It may be well to note that a
third stage of thought is expressed in the Greek term epos, which is
the adornment or garbing and dramatizing of the myth concepts in poetic
form, in story, saga, and legend—the epic.

Only modern research with its critical exegesis and sympathetic
interpretation brings down the study of the concepts of the myths of
the fathers measurably to the character of a science.

The highest type of poetry expresses itself in myth, in the epos, and
in the logos. For men of undeveloped thought, of inchoate mentation,
this is the mental process through which they dimly apprehend the
significance of the complex and closely interrelated phenomena of life
and of environing nature, and the medium by which they harmonize the
ceaseless functioning of these with their own experience, with the
activity of their own subconscious mind, and with the divine promptings
and visions vouchsafed them by the dawn of their own superconscious
intellect.

The initial step of the process is the ingenuous act of the imagination
in personifying, yea, in ideally humanizing, the bodies, elements, and
forces of environing nature; as, for instance, the picturing by the
Iroquois and their neighbors, the Algonquian, of snow as the living
body of a man formed by the God of Winter, whose breath was potent
enough to drive animals and birds into their winter retreats and some
even into hibernation, represented as the hiding of the animals from
his brother, the Master or God of Life.

The next step in the process is the socialization of this vast
company—the imputation of life, soul, purpose, and a rational rôle to
them constitutes the epic, which is also the poet’s handiwork.

As the basis of religious expression, Seneca-Iroquoian myths and
legends, in common with those of all other men, are to most people the
empty tales of superstition, the foundations of idolatry, because its
gods and deities, forsooth, have never actually existed. But myths are
fictitious only in form and dress, while they are true in matter and
spirit, for truth is congruity between reason and objects, and hence is
eternal and universal.

The human side of these personifications of the processes and phenomena
of nature in some instances has become so real and so natural that
these beings no longer act or function in terms of the processes of
nature only, but as the thaumaturgic fetishes of potent sorcerers,
performing wonderful feats of orenda, as they are represented as doing
in a large number of these narratives. Now, these accounts are
certainly not myths and are not legends in the true sense of the term,
but are, rather, fictitious narratives or tales of reputed individual
human achievement, quite incredible, of course, as authentic acts of
mankind. They center about the reputed affairs of a human being, or do
so at least in the view of the modern story-teller.

In the collection of Seneca narratives of Mr. Curtin eight relate to
the Genonsgwa (the Stone Coats or Stone Giants), six to Hiʹʼnoⁿʼ
(Hinon) or the Thunder People, six to the Dagwanoenyent or Whirlwind
People, five to the Shagodiioweq or Wind People, and three to the
Djogeon or Dwarf People. It is probable that the two groups of “wind”
peoples originally arose from a single personage. From single
personages like Hiʹʼnoⁿʼ or Thunder, Shagodiioweq or the Wind, and
Dagwanoenyent or the Cyclone or Whirlwind, the story-tellers of to-day
have created large bodies of fictitious people, representing a reversal
of the original process by which the first great concepts were formed.

But truth seemingly was not readily appreciable by primal men until it
was dramatized in saga, in legend, and in myth, in formulas, rites,
ceremonies, customs, and material symbols based on those narratives; in
short, it had to be couched in terms of human expression and activity.
These symbols and figurative expressions bore the fashion and impress
of the time and the place, and so before truth so dramatized can be
fully understood it must be carefully freed from the garb and trappings
of local and temporal use and need; in brief, the literal unreality of
myth must be lifted from the substantive and the spiritual realities it
symbolizes.

And, for this reason, a deity embodying or representing one of the
great recurrent processes of nature or one of the seemingly changeless
features of the universe is something vastly more than a mere figment
of the human brain; for, although conceived in terms of man, the
“deity” in his own sphere and function is limitless in power,
incomprehensible in mode of life and action, and abides without
beginning of days or end of years—properties which make the god divine
and infinitely superior to man, the creature of divine power.

One of the fundamental teachings of the study of the myths of the
American Indians is that the so-called Genesis or Creation myths relate
the activities and exploits, in more or less detail, of the “elder
people,” the “first people,” whom men later call the gods. Rightly
understood and sympathetically conceived, these events are not
predicated of human beings as such. These narrations explain in just
what manner the present order of things in nature arose; they detail
what took place in a condition of things different from the present,
and which were, in the minds of their relators, the necessary
antecedent processes resulting in the establishment of the present
order of nature. They treat only of the “first people.” None relate to
human beings and none treat of things done since man appeared on earth.

Human in form and in feeling, and yet most divine, were the gods and
deities of the ancient Seneca and the other Iroquoian peoples. While
the divine social and political organization was necessarily for
psychological reasons a close reflex or replica of the human, and
although both gods and man derived descent from an original first
parent, yet the first divine ancestor was a self-existing god, and the
first man was the creature of one of these divine Powers.

The expression of the mythic—the cosmogonic, the cosmologic—in terms of
human function and attribute and activity is well illustrated in the
legends and myths of the Iroquoian peoples. In these sagas the
personifications of the elements and forces of nature are classified as
human by the use of the term oñʹgwe, “a human being or mankind” (for
the word has both a singular and a plural signification), to designate
them.

The task of classifying these narratives, even tentatively, is not an
easy one, for the proportion of these stories which seem to be
unquestionably fiction to those which are myths and legends is
relatively much larger than might be suspected without some
investigation. It is clearly wrong to call everything legend or myth
when the evidence from the facts seems to forbid such action. For it is
evident that very many of the narratives are fiction—stories composed
and related to amuse, to mystify, or to glorify some hero, or perhaps
to spread the fame of some noted sorcerer and his fetishes.

The setting and the framework of the narrative or story may be taken
from a myth and one or more myth episodes incorporated in it, but the
result is a fabrication because it does not rest on facts of human
experience.

Now, for example, the narratives concerning the so-called Stone Coats,
Stone Giants, or the Genonsgwa are not myths but legends. These beings
do not figure in the Creation Myth of the Iroquois, but are a brood of
beings whose connection with Stone is due to false etymology of a
proper name in a myth. [26] This is an interesting and instructive
example of forgotten derivations of words and names and the resultant
new conceptions.

In the Genesis myth of the Iroquoian peoples the Winter Season, by
personification, was placed in the class of man-beings with the name,
“He-who-is-clad-in-ice,” or “He-who-is-ice-clad.” Now it so happens
that the word for ice and for chert or flint stone is derived from a
common stem whose fundamental meaning is “glare,” “crystal,” or “what
is ice-like.” But the myth-tellers, in order to add an air of the
mystical to their recital, did not fail to play on the double meaning
of the word for ice, and so represented the Winter Man-being as “The
Flint-clad Man-being” rather than as “The Ice-clad Man-being.” And the
results of Winter’s cold and frost were told in terms of flint or chert
stone, and so bergs and cakes and blocks of ice became in the narration
objects of flint and chert stone. Winter’s cold is conveyed from place
to place by means of cakes and bergs of ice, which are transformed by
the poet into canoes of flint or stone. And in time the stone canoe is
transferred from myth to the realm of fiction and legend to glorify the
fame of some human hero.

And in the thinking of the Iroquois the Flint-clad Man-being became
separated and distinct from the Man-being of the Winter. At this point
the fictitious Man-being who was Stone-clad parted company forever with
the personified nature force or process that was frost-bearing and
ice-clad. The former was gradually reduced to a peculiar species of
mankind—the stone giant, for he was represented as stone-clad, while
the latter retained his first estate as one of the chief characters in
the Genesis myth of the Iroquoian peoples.

The ordinary Iroquoian concept of the Stone Coat or Stone Giant
indicates, to the student at least, that the Winter God, the Great
Frost Giant of the common Iroquoian Genesis myth, was its source. Aside
from the evident etymologic connection, the most significant feature is
the constant tradition that the home land of these anthropoid monsters
is in the regions of the north where this same authority usually places
the burial place of the Winter God after his defeat and death at the
hands of his twin brother, the Life God, sometimes called the Master of
Life.

The tales which relate how the Stone Coat people are made from perverse
men and women first by carefully covering the body with pitch and then
by rolling and wallowing in sand and down sand banks repeatedly, shows
how utterly forgotten is the true source of this interesting concept
among the story tellers and their hearers. There is no doubt that the
original “Stone Coat” was the “Ice-Clad Winter God.” In the Curtin
collection there are eight stories which refer to the Genonsgwa, or
Stone Coats, sometimes called Stone Giants, but there is nothing in
them to connect these peculiar fictitious monsters with the original
conception. In none are the operations of the winter process predicated
of these fictitious beings. They are merely exaggerated human figures
and not symbols of a process of nature, their deeds are the deeds of
men, and are not the acts of a process of nature expressed in terms of
human activity.

And thus is founded the race of the Stone Giants or Stone Coats, or
more popularly the Giants. When once these fictitious beings were
regarded as human monsters they soon became confused with cruel hermits
and bloodthirsty sorcerers who because of evil tastes were cannibals
and dwelt apart from the habitations of men, who shunned and feared
them, and the tales about them became narratives that do not detail the
activities of the Winter God—the personified process of nature; and so,
like their human prototypes, they increased and multiplied mightily,
and so were as numerous as the leaves on the trees.

The persons or figures produced by the attribution of human life and
mind to all objective and subjective things were, by virtue of the
reality of the elements they embodied, the deities or the gods of this
system of thought. In brief, they were composed of both the
metamorphosed and of the unchanged first or ancient people who in
distinctive character were conceived of as the formal and outward
expression of human mind. In the course of time these deities or gods
are said to have taught their people the arts and crafts and the
elements of their culture and their faith, thus revealing their will
and the things which were to be in the future. This divine knowledge,
this wisdom of the gods, was obtained or revealed in dreams or visions
and by theophanies. But a knowledge of the activities of the people
holding these views makes it evident that the doctrines and the arts
and the crafts taught by the gods and the institutions founded by them
for the people are in fact the activities of the people themselves
which had been unconsciously imputed to these deities. Of course, the
gods can teach and can reveal only what has been before imputed to them
by the people.

The original and chief person in the myth was not a human being,
although he was represented as possessed of the form, the desires, and
the volition of a person. He is reputed to have performed acts which no
human being had the power to perform, acts which only the functioning
of a process of nature or of life could accomplish.

In some of these narratives human beings, bearing human names, have
been substituted and the heroes and heroines of these stories are men,
women, and children.

The substitution of human beings in the stead of the personified forces
or processes of nature supplies the reason that apparently wonderful
superhuman deeds are accomplished by the human substitutes, whereas the
acts portrayed are those of natural forces, not of human brain and
brawn.

The stories of the Dagwanoenyent, or Flying Heads, Cyclones, and
Whirlwinds, of the Genonsgwa, or Stone Coats (the Frost Giants, or Gods
of Winter, but originally named Tawiskaron), and of the
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, or Wind God, purport to relate historical events,
although they are mythic and legendary in form. But unlettered peoples
do not transmit history. The writing of history presupposes not only
the art of writing but also some kind of permanent social and political
organization. Individual experiences fade rapidly, for lacking the
needful general interest they do not unite with others in forming even
some phase of the local history of a group. The experiences of
individuals and even of small unimportant groups of people also lack
the interest necessary to bring about their transmission as history.
Hence such uncivilized peoples leave to their posterity no authentic
accounts of the events of their times, for only in song and saga, where
poetry mingles with fact, do they attempt to transmit the narratives of
historical events and experiences.

But with the organization and development of society into greater
complexity of social and governmental organization there arises the
need for the transmission of a record of tribal or communal experiences
in which a certain number of persons are intensely interested—tribal
wars, feats and acts and sayings of great leaders and reformers, and
other noteworthy public events claim permanency of record, and thus
history is written.

Popular tradition treats historical events in a naïve poetical way, and
authentic historical experiences may thus be preserved. Through poetic
treatment oral tradition becomes legend, so that one of the clearest
criterions of legend is the fact that it frequently relates things that
are not credible. Legend is the tradition of men who have not the art
of writing and is a particular form of poetic narrative. So that in
origin and nature history differs from legend because of difference of
spheres of interest. Private and personal affairs and experiences and
things that are of some interest to the common people and heroes, great
personages, and public events and affairs are made attractive to the
popular minds by means of poetic treatment. Legend is oral tradition in
use among folk who do not make use of writing or other graphic art to
secure permanency of record, while history is the written record of
events and achievements and thoughts of men, which always presupposes
the existence and the practice of graphic or scriptorial art.

Now, oral tradition, or legend, is not transmitted without important
variation in details from generation to generation, and so it is an
untrustworthy medium for the conveyance of historical events.

The saga, or popular story, may become sacred legend—that is, a
characteristically “sacred” narrative about the “first people,” or the
gods—or it may remain simply a story or tale. These two classes of
story or narrative had specific names among the Seneca and their
congeners of the Iroquoian stock. The sacred legend was called Kăʹkāāʼ,
or Kăʹkarăʼ by the r-using dialects of the Iroquoian tribes. The
literal meaning of this noun is not known; in the Onondaga dialect the
k-sound would be replaced by the g-sound. These legends are “sacred” to
the extent that they would not be related except during certain seasons
of the year for the fear of breaking a religious taboo, forbidding
strictly the telling of this class of narrative. The transgression of
this prohibition was punished by the offended and vexed “first people,”
concerning whom the myths or stories are related, although modern
story-tellers, with scarce an exception, who have forgotten the true
and logical reason for the inhibition mistakenly declare that the
aforesaid penalty would be inflicted by the toads or snakes or by some
other subtle animal.

The myths of the American Indian refer to an order of things which
preceded the present order, and to a race of man-beings who dwelt first
in the world above the sky and later in small number only on this earth
and who were the so-called “first people,” “the ancients.” It is
evident that myths of origins project backward to an assumed condition
of things the story of a day or of a year, and creation is described as
Spring on a universal scale, that is, it explains the manner in which
the order of things, existent where the stories are told, came about,
as a Rebirth of Nature. But no one will contend that there were human
eyewitnesses of what the narratives report.

The wise men, prophets, and priests of tribal men painted these tales
with the glamour and witchery of poetry. Myths are the poetic judgments
of tribal men about the phenomena of life and the outside world and
embody the philosophy of these men about the problems and mysteries of
the universe around them and in their own lives. So, in order to
understand these narratives, it is necessary to study them with the
deepest sympathy. But our sympathy with the viewpoint of the myth
narratives of tribal men should not veil the realities of science from
our minds.

Piloted by science in seeking to know the truth about the universe,
scholars do not expect to discover it in the myth-lore or the folk-lore
of tribal men. To study the birth and the growth of opinions forms one
of the most instructive chapters in the science of mind or psychology.

The Seneca name Sʻhagodiioweʹʻgōwā or Sʻhagodiioweʹqgōwā designates one
of the famous “man-beings” who are of the lineage of the “first
people.” Some unknowing Indian interpreters render this term
erroneously by the English words “false face,” which is a translation
which effectually conceals the literal meaning of the expression, which
is freely “The Great Ones Who Defend Them.” But as an appellative the
term is also applied to a single one of these fictitious beings. The
plural concept is evidently a late development, and probably arose
after the establishment of societies whose members, when ceremonially
attired, must for one thing wear a wooden mask having as its essential
mark a wry mouth. So it is clear that the expression “false face”
applies to the members of such societies and not at all to the
man-beings so impersonated. The Iroquoian myth of Creation knows only
one man-being, who assumed the duty of protecting mankind from
pestilence and disease. He was the God of the Air or the Wind,
sometimes appearing as the Whirlwind. Ceremonially he is addressed as
Sʻhedwásōʹdăʻ or as Etʻhiʻsōʹdăʻ, both meaning “He Who Is Our
Grandfather.”

It would seem that the pluralizing of the concept has resulted in a
marked forgetting of the original objective reality represented in the
concept, which in turn detracts from the high esteem in which the
original Wind God was held. The Onondaga name of this personage is
Haduʹʼiʼ; the Mohawk, Akoñʹwărăʼ. Both these names have arisen from
something peculiar to members of the so-called “False Face Societies,”
the first meaning, from the common postures assumed by the members,
“hunch-backed,” and the second, “mask,” from the wooden mask worn by
the members of the society when in session. So the expression of the
evil side of the manifestations of the Power of the Wind or Air,
Pestilence, Disease, and Death may safely be predicated of this member
of the “first people.”

A god or deity exerts or maintains its influence over the mind and
heart of man because it is something more than a mere creature of the
human brain. The god exercises certain attributes, peculiarities and
forces which place him outside the sphere of human knowledge and
experience and competence into a class by himself; he embodies in
himself, according to belief, the power to function as a process or
force of the universe plus the attributed human faculties and aspect.

Some of the French writers among the early explorers in North America
refer to a native belief in “the ancients of animals,” which, it was
stated, were regarded as the type and the progenitors of each
particular species of animal. But this statement gives only a glimpse
of a larger faith. These so-called “ancients of animals” were indeed
only a part of the great company of “the ancients,” “the ancestors,” or
“the first people,” each being a personified element or process of life
or of outside nature, who became by fated metamorphosis the reputed
progenitors of all faunal and floral life on the earth.

But an interpretative understanding of the Genesis myth of the American
Indians shows that these “ancients,” these primal “ancestors,” were
regarded as “human beings,” as belonging to that class of animate
beings to which the Indian himself belonged. Yet, these “ancients” were
the “gods,” “the beings,” or “the existences,” of anthropic form,
character, and volition, whose metamorphosis later produced, according
to the Indian philosophy, the present order of things on earth. So, the
“first beings,” conceived as “human beings,” were indeed the gods—the
personified agents of the powers, processes, and phenomena of nature.

It is this principle of transformation, or metamorphosis, that in part
explains why there are represented largely “anthropic gods” with
“animal masks” in Central America, Mexico, India, China, Egypt,
Babylonia, and Assyria, and not many true “animal gods” with “human
masks.”

But in some places there arose confusion between these poetic creations
of a childlike faith and the lineal ancestors of men. When pride of
birth and of position dominated the minds of aristocratic men they
sought to trace their pedigree to the gods, and so they blindly claimed
descent from these primal gods, who, in their anthropic aspect, were
mere fictions of the mind, and so in time and in some lands this
process resulted in what is usually called “ancestor worship.” This is,
therefore, never a primitive faith, but only a decadent culture.

All early men of inchoate mentation, of self-centered thinking, shared
their needs and afflictions, their woes and ambitions, their sufferings
and aspirations, and their joys and blessings with their gods, feeling
that their gods who bore their own likeness by the unconscious
imputation of human nature to them were endowed with the attributes,
whims, virtues, and frailties of human nature. They believed that their
gods must be men—man-beings, men like themselves—else these deities
could not foresee and understand their necessities and so could not
sympathize with men everywhere. Hence an Iroquois, thinking and
speaking of their deities only in terms of human speech and thought,
designates a god or other spirit of his faith by the word denoting man,
human being, or mankind.

Of the gods and deities of Iroquois myths the editor has written:


    Like most American Indian mythologies, the Iroquoian deals with
    three great mythic cosmical periods. In the first dwelt a race of
    gigantic anthropic beings—man-beings, let them be called, because
    though they were reputed to have been larger, purer, wiser, more
    ancient, and possessed of more potent orenda (q. v.), than man, and
    having superior ability to perform the great elemental functions
    characterizing definitely the things represented by them, they
    nevertheless had the form, mien, and mind of man, their creator;
    for unconsciously did man create the gods, the great primal beings
    of cosmic time—the controllers or directors, or impersonations, of
    the bodies and phenomena of nature—in his own image. To these
    man-beings, therefore, were imputed the thought, manners, customs,
    habits, and social organization of their creators; notwithstanding
    this, man regarded them as uncreated, eternal, and immortal; for by
    a curious paradox, man, mistaking his own mental fictions, his
    metaphors, for realities, explained his own existence, wisdom, and
    activities as the divine product of the creations of his own
    inchoate mind. The dwelling-place of the first great primal beings,
    characterized by flora and fauna respectively identical with the
    plant and animal life appearing later on the earth, was conceived
    to have been the upper surface of the visible sky, which was
    regarded as a solid plain. Here lived the first beings in peace and
    contentment for a very long period of time: no one knows or ever
    knew the length of this first cosmic period of tranquil existence.
    But there came a time when an event occurred which resulted in a
    metamorphosis in the state and aspect of celestial and earthly
    things; in fact, the seeming had to become or to assume the real,
    and so came to pass the cataclysmic change of things of the first
    period into that now seen on the earth and in the sky, and the
    close of this period was the dawn of the gods of this mythology.
    [27]


So the character and the nature of the deities and spirits of the faith
of the Iroquois peoples were a direct reflex of those attributes of the
people themselves. It may be inferred in general that the more
primitive and cultureless the people are the more crude, the more
barbaric and savage will be their conceptions of their gods and the
nature and functions of these naïve creations, but, conversely, it is
only with the possession of a higher degree of intelligence that come
nobler, more refined, grander, and more spiritual ideas of their gods.
This admits of no exception.

Whatever, therefore, the final terms are in which men at any time and
place define their deities, the premises of their reasoning about them
is always quite the same—namely, to define the unknown man in terms of
the known men themselves—but this known quantity, man, is variable and
inconstant, changing with time and place. All powers and functions and
attributes of mind and body, inherent in man and distinctive of him—no
matter whether beneficent or evil—men imputed to their gods in more or
less idealized form.

Guided by inchoate reasoning, the crude thinking of unscientific minds,
all early men, responsive to external stimuli and the internal yearning
for truth, ascribed to their gods and spirits not only all human
functions and attributes measurably idealized, but also all their arts
and social and religious institutions were likewise attributed,
probably quite unconsciously, to their gods and deities. These
anthropic features and activities and anthropopathic mind were not
ascribed, of course, to other men, but rather to the so-called “first
people”—the personified, animated and humanized phenomena and processes
of nature, of the environments of their experience. Thus, the social
and institutional organization of the gods becomes a somewhat idealized
epitome or reflex of the human society as it existed and exists among
the people in whose minds these divine organizations had their origin.
By so doing men painted, either consciously or unconsciously, in their
religious activities and in their god-lore a faithful picture of the
earliest culture and civilization of their own ethnic progenitors.

Hence, when authentic historical records are wanting the student may by
close and sympathetic analysis and interpretation of the myths and the
religion of a people acquire a fairly accurate knowledge of the history
and culture of such a people. In this manner, indeed, the gods verily
become the revealers of all history and the teachers of the arts and
crafts and industries and the true founders of the institutions—human
and divine—to that people. In this interaction of the human mind with
the forces and phenomena of life and environing nature lies the true
source of inspiration and prophecy. The history of the gods is the
history of man. Because the gods, in general, symbolize universal
processes in life and nature they and their attributes and functions in
time become more or less highly idealized creations of the conscious,
the subconscious, and the superconscious thinking of men.

The lesson of these myths and legends is that man is other than the
material world; that while he is in it he is not of it; that while he
feels nature’s elemental activities impelling him and impinging on his
senses, his apprehensive yearning heart sees the beckoning finger of a
higher and nobler destiny.

All bodies of myths agree perfectly on one fundamental principle,
transformation, through which all things on this earth have become what
they are.

This principle of metamorphosis indicates the mental process by which
these things were represented as becoming what they seemed to
be—animated things, subjectively endowed with human form, thought, and
volition, to explain the phenomena of life and surrounding nature.



I desire to record here my grateful acknowledgment of the assistance
rendered by Mr. F. W. Hodge, ethnologist in charge of the Bureau of
American Ethnology, in the form of valuable suggestions in connection
with the work and in other ways. I wish also to express my appreciation
of the courtesy of Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., of Boston, in giving
the bureau permission to use freely the material contained in the
instructive “Introductions” written by the late Jeremiah Curtin for his
interesting books, published by that company under the titles: “Myths
and Folk-Tales of the Russians, Western Slavs, and Magyars”; “Myths and
Folk-Lore of Ireland”; “Hero-Tales of Ireland”; and “Creation Myths of
Primitive America.”







PHONETIC KEY


a   as in father
ā   preceding sound, prolonged
ă   as in what
ä   as in hat
ǟ   next preceding sound, prolonged
â   as in all
ai  as in aisle
au  as ou in out
c   as sh in shall
ç   as th in wealth
d   pronounced with the tip of the tongue touching the upper teeth, as
    in enunciating English th in with; the only sound of d employed in
    writing native words
e   as in they
ĕ   as in met
f   as in waif
g   as in gig
h   as in hot
i   as in pique
ī   next preceding sound, prolonged
ĭ   as in pit
k   as in kick
n   as in run
ñ   as ng in ring
o   as in note
q   as ch in German ich
r   slightly trilled; this is its only sound
s   as in sop
t   pronounced with the tip of the tongue touching the upper teeth, as
    in enunciating the English th in with; this is its only sound
u   as in rule
ŭ   as in rut
w   as in wit
y   as in ye
dj  as j in judge
hw  as wh in what
tc  as ch in church
ⁿ   marks nasalized vowels, thus eⁿ, oⁿ, aiⁿ, ĕⁿ, äⁿ, âⁿ
ʻ   indicates an aspiration or soft emission of breath
ʼ   marks the glottal stop, äʼ, ĕⁿʼ
tʻh In this combination t and h are separately uttered, as th in the
    English words hothouse, foothold.







MATERIAL COLLECTED BY JEREMIAH CURTIN


FICTION

1. THE SISTER AND HER SIX ELDER BROTHERS

Once there was a lodge, which extended east and west, with two doors,
one at each end. The fire burned in the middle of the lodge, which was
occupied by a sister and her six elder brothers. Three of the brothers
used the eastern doorway, and the other three the western doorway, for
entering and leaving the lodge, while the sister made use of both
doorways.

The eldest brother said, “What would you say, my brothers and sister,
if I should take a wife?” “We do not know,” they replied; “perhaps
nothing, if she does not abuse us.” So he went to bring the young
woman. He addressed her old mother, saying, “Are you willing that thy
daughter and I should marry?” She replied, “Certainly, if you will not
ill-treat her, but have pity on her.” Then the young man went to his
home, where he said, “She will come.”

Now, the mother made marriage-bread for the occasion. When it was ready
the maiden, bearing the bread on her back by means of the forehead
strap, started for the place where abode the six brothers and their
sister. They received her bread and ate it with a relish.

Then the elder brother said to his wife: “Now, I will tell you. In this
room you must never cross to the other side of the fire; and when you
desire to go out of doors you must invariably leave by this eastern
doorway. But when you desire to enter the lodge you must enter at the
other side, through the western doorway.”

Then it came to pass that the brothers began to hunt, as was their
custom.

Some time after this event the bride said, “Oh, pshaw! What the man
[her husband] thinks is indeed of small account,” and went directly
through the lodge to the western doorway, the thing which she had been
forbidden to do.

Now, her husband, the eldest brother, was hunting, and he came to a
deep gully over which a log extended. In crossing on this log he fell
off in such a way that his body was caught so that his head hung down
into the gully.

When night came on his brothers began to fear, saying, “Oh, why does
not our elder brother return! Let us go seek him.” So they prepared
torches and started. Following his tracks, in time they arrived at the
place where the body of their elder brother was hanging. It was found
that he was barely alive. After carefully extricating him from the
perilous situation they carried him home, where they properly cared for
him, giving him food and drink and dressing his wounds.

The next morning the younger brothers said one to the other, “The woman
who is dwelling here has abused us in this matter; therefore let her
return to her home.” Overhearing this speech, the young woman replied,
“It is well. Now, I shall go home.” And, arising in her place, she
departed.

The fifth brother started in pursuit of her; and as he was about to
grasp her, she let her skin robe fly back in such a manner that it took
out the eyes of her pursuer. When the other brothers became aware of
this misfortune which had befallen him, they were very angry and
started in pursuit of the young woman. Just as they were about to grasp
her, again she let her skin robe fly back so that it took out the eyes
of all the pursuing brothers. Then, indeed, they were very miserable.

And now all the work about the lodge fell to the lot of the little
girl, the young sister of these blind brothers. These ate whatever
their young sister, all alone, was able to get for them—weeds and roots
of various kinds. She was in the habit of running around out of doors.

One day when she had gone for water she saw some boys coming, paddling
in a canoe and making a great noise as they drew near, laughing and
shouting. When they arrived where she was they exclaimed, “Come hither.
Get aboard and let us have some fun.” But she replied, “No; it will not
be possible for me to do so. I will not do so, because I am taking care
of my elder brothers. They would become too miserable should I leave
them.” But they persisted, saying, “Now, anyway, for a short distance
you can leap into this canoe.” She finally decided to comply with their
request, and saying, “Indeed, yes!” she got aboard the canoe at once.
Then they started back, and when they arrived at a bend of the river
the little girl said, “Now I will get out of the canoe.” But her
captors, saying, “Come still a short distance farther,” started on.

Matters continued in this wise until they had gone a long distance.
Then the little girl began to weep. Looking back, she saw a man ugly
beyond measure, being very filthy in body and exceedingly fat, with a
very broad face and an enormous stomach. Then the little girl looked to
the bow of the canoe to see the man who had been sitting there, but he
was gone; and she wept aloud. The canoe went directly toward the middle
of the lake. While paddling along they saw an island on which stood a
lodge. On landing, the ugly man said: “Let us enter the place where thy
grandmother has her lodge. And, moreover, you must continue to reside
here. There lives here, too, another girl, who will be your companion.
You two may play together.” The little girl entered this lodge, and the
old woman said, “I am thankful that my granddaughter has arrived.”

Some time after this event the little girl who was already in the lodge
said to the newcomer: “Do you know what will happen to us in this
place? We two shall die here, for they will kill us both and devour our
bodies.” So the little girl who had just arrived began to think much
about her situation.

After a while the little girl who was first at the lodge said to the
newcomer: “Now, verily, they are about to kill one of us. It is not
certain which it will be—whether you or I. Tomorrow will decide. The
one to be killed will be ordered to bring water, and will be killed
here.” So when night came the newcomer could not sleep; she was
thinking during the entire night.

When day began to dawn the son of Dagwanoenyent [1] [28] looked down at
her through the smoke-hole, and said to her: “It is I who will aid you.
When you go after water you must look for three white chert stones as
large as you can hold in your hands, and you must take a doll with you.
When you dip up the water you must set up the doll nearby. Then your
grandmother will think that it is you standing there when she shall go
there to strike you with her club. Now, do not fail to do all these
things as I have directed you.”

In the morning the old woman raised her voice, saying to the little
newcomer, “Hurry! Arise and draw water.” Then the old woman set the
kettle over the fire. The girl went to the spring and began to draw
water. While she was drawing water she carried the three white chert
stones and placed them side by side in the designated place and set up
the doll there, too. She did all that she had been directed to do by
the son of Dagwanoenyent. She was surprised to see a canoe make a
landing there; in it was a young man. Placing the stones in the canoe,
she got aboard, as requested by the young man. Then the canoe started
off.

When the canoe was being paddled far from the island the old woman
exclaimed, “Go-o-o-oh! My grandchild has been gone a long time,” and,
calling loudly for her, she went out to search for her. She ran around
over the entire island looking for her, but was not able to find her.
Then it was that she saw the doll standing near the spring; on striking
it a blow with her club she discovered that she had been tricked.
Thereupon she said, “She is somewhat of a witch. Verily, the son of
Dagwanoenyent has stolen her away from me; and he is a very ugly and
filthy man.”

Now she went to the lodge to procure her fishhook and then to the bank
of the lake at the canoe landing. After unwinding the fishline she cast
it after the fleeing canoe; the hook caught on the canoe and she began
to pull on the line. So, while the two were paddling they felt the
canoe going backward. The young man said, “Do you overturn the canoe
for there is where the hook has caught on it.” So the young woman
overturned the canoe and, seizing one of the white chert stones, she
struck the hook, and while the old woman was pulling on the line it
gave way. Then the old woman said, “Oh, it is sorrowful! The son of
Dagwanoenyent and the young woman I shall soon punish for this.”

Then the old woman made another fishhook and it caught on the fleeing
canoe, and again the young man and the young woman felt the canoe going
backward. Again the youth said, “Turn the canoe over again and you will
find the fishhook.” So she did this, and taking one of the white chert
stones, she struck and again broke the old woman’s fishhook. Once more
the canoe went forward, and the old woman pulled on the line, which
suddenly gave way, whereupon she said derisively, “Yeʹʼhe![2]
Nevertheless I shall kill you both.”

Then she made another fishhook and, going to the shore of the lake, she
cast the line again toward the canoe, to which it became fast. Again
the young man said to his young companion, “Overturn the canoe and
there you will find the fishhook.” This she did quickly and, seizing a
white chert stone, struck the fishhook a blow which broke it. This was
the last of the three stones which the young man had told her to bring
with her. They had now arrived at a point near the mainland.

The old woman now resorted to drinking up [3] the water of the lake,
and as she drew in the water the canoe started back toward her. When
they drew near the young man, the son of Dagwanoenyent, seizing a
knife, ripped the old woman’s body in two and she died. Then the two
turned their canoe around and soon reached the mainland.

They went together to the place where stood the lodge of the young
man’s mother, who was an elderly woman of the Dagwanoenyent people.
Near the lodge stood a large hollow stump, in which the young man
concealed his wife for the time being, and then he alone went to the
home of his mother. When he entered the lodge his mother’s pets, some
wolves, began to howl. The young man reprimanded them, saying,
“Djisʹnen! [Oh, stop it!] you miserable dogs,” and, seizing a club, he
struck them several blows, whereupon they fled under the old woman’s
couch. The old woman said, “They smell you, verily, for you smell like
a human being.” The young man replied, “Oh, pshaw! You know, indeed,
that I have been in places where human beings live;” he continued,
saying, “I am not certain what your mind would think if I should marry
a woman, a person of the human race.” The old woman said, “Aha!
Certainly, I suppose. Where is she now?” The young man replied, “Over
yonder, a short distance.” Then the old woman said, “It is well. In
what place is she?” She went out of doors and her son pointed, saying,
“Yonder, in that stump.” Going to the place, the old woman took her
daughter-in-law out of the stump, and they two went into the lodge of
the Dagwanoenyent woman, and then the wolves began to bark (howl). The
young man scolded them, saying, “it is disagreeable. You wretched dogs!
you wolves!” Thereupon these domestic animals ceased and went under the
bed.

Some time after this the young woman proved to be pregnant, and in the
fullness of time she gave birth to male twins. It was not long before
the twins were quite large.

Then the old woman, their grandmother, said, “Let there be made for
them sticks—lacrosse sticks for playing ball.” This was done and they
began to play ball. Again their grandmother said, “Perhaps it is time
that there should be made also bows and arrows;” and she added, “Now,
you two must continue to shoot at this thing,” and she gave them a
raccoon’s foot, taken from the bundle which she kept hidden away. And
the two did shoot at it in great glee, and this continued for some
time.

Then the old woman, their grandmother, said to them, “Do not ever go
toward the north. It will be dangerous for you.” But one of the boys
said, “Let us go there.” So they went there. Now in that northern place
there stood a very large and tall pine tree; in its top rested the nest
of a Dagwanoenyent, who was an old man. As soon as the two boys arrived
directly under the nest the old man shouted, “Yeʹʼhe! I have detected
you two, my grandchildren.” Then this disobedient little boy in reply
said, “So be it. What then shall happen?” Now it is reported that this
old Dagwanoenyent answered, “Would you two be willing that it should
rain, and that the raindrops should be mixed with spears (darts).”
“Certainly,” replied this boy, and immediately he with his twin brother
crawled far under a rock lying not far away, where they concealed
themselves.

Verily, it did rain and the raindrops were mingled with darts. As soon
as this rainstorm ceased each of the boys picked up a spear, and then
they started for the home of their grandmother, where they soon
arrived. The boy said, “He shall suffer for this.” His grandmother saw
the spear or dart that he had. The boy continued, “Tomorrow, he himself
in his turn shall suffer for this. I in my turn shall detect this, my
grandfather.”

Next morning, when daylight came the boys started. When they had
arrived near the tree the boy requested a mole to assist him, and it
complied with his request. The two boys entered its body and it carried
them unobserved to the place where stood the tree. Then the boy came
forth and, leaping up, shouted, “Yeʹʼhe! Grandfather, I have detected
you, Yeʹʼhe!” The old man asked, “What shall it be that shall happen?”
The boy said in reply, “Would you be willing that it do so (it is hard
to tell what you would think about it, should it rain fire).” The old
man said, “Ho! Certainly, I can do nothing about it. Come then, so be
it.” And the boy shouted, saying, “Let it rain fire,” and at once it
began to rain fire.

Then the boy hid himself with his brother under the rock. In a very
short time the body of the old man took fire and the dead Dagwanoenyent
fell down there. Then the boy and his twin brother went home again to
their grandmother. Now the younger of the twins began to relate what
had taken place on their journey. He said that his elder brother, the
other twin, had killed Dagwanoenyent. The old woman said, “Now he was,
indeed, my elder brother”; and she wept and kept saying, “You two have
killed my elder brother.”

After a while, as the twins were again going from place to place to
play, they saw a cave which seemed to be a lodge. At once one of the
boys said to his brother, “Let us enter it.” On going in they were
surprised to find a number of persons who were all blind, and in very
wretched condition, for indeed they were scarcely alive. The elder twin
asked the inmates of the cave, “What great calamity has taken place
that you are all blind?” One of them answered, “It is a fact that our
eyes have been taken from us by those false women who are making a robe
spangled with human eyes, and furthermore Shagowenotha has robbed us of
our sister younger than we are.” The elder twin then asked the blind
people, “In what direction do the eye-robe-making women live?” His
uncle (his mother’s brother) replied, “Directly thither, toward the
north.” The boy said, “I shall make the attempt to go to get them.”

So they two, the twins, started. In time they arrived at the lodge of
the women who were making a robe of human eyes; and one of the twins
said, “I shall go there.” When they reached the place where these women
obtained their water, he transformed himself, becoming a very small,
young, blue duck. When the youngest of these sisters, the makers of the
robe of human eyes, came to draw water she of course saw this pretended
duck and chased it around, but failed in her attempt to catch it.
Thereupon the water became turbid and she wholly lost sight of the
duck. The young water girl started back to the lodge. Having arrived
there, she related what she had seen, saying, “Verily, indeed, I think
there must be something hidden here (in my body). I do not know what it
is that stirs about inside.” The eldest of the sisters asked her, “How
long has it been so?” The youngest sister answered, “Just now.” So the
eldest sister examined her, and then said, “Indeed, you are pregnant,
it would seem.” In a very short time she began to have labor pains, and
it became evident that she would give birth to a child. She did give
birth to a male child, a fine boy, and all the sisters were pleased.

Then, it is said, the new-born infant began to cry, and to quiet him
they showed him various things. They kept this up during the night, so
they did not get any sleep. In the early morning all fell asleep from
weariness. The infant, however, was covered with the unfinished robe of
human eyes. Just as soon as all were asleep the pretended infant
quickly rose, and, taking the robe of human eyes, he started away. He
soon arrived where he had left his twin brother to await his coming.
Then he said, “Come; let us start.”

When they arrived at the place where the lodge of their uncles stood
they at once began to put the eyes back into the heads of their owners.
Everyone first made a selection from those on the robe of human eyes of
the eyes which were his. They were able to put eyes back into the heads
of all the blind uncles. Whereupon the latter were able to recognize
one another—their nephews and their brother-in-law, the son of
Dagwanoenyent, and also their sister.

After this they began to hunt, and they dwelt there together. They were
happy and contented. And finally, it is said, they became rabbits.[4]





2. THE CHILD AND HIS UNCLE

Once there was a child who was left alone in a lodge in a forest; he
was enjoying himself by playing around the lodge. At last he was
surprised to hear what seemed to him the voice of a man, which said:
“Is there no tobacco? Is there no tobacco? I should like to smoke
again.” Then the child said to himself: “It would seem, indeed, that
there is some one around here saying, ‘Tobacco. Give me tobacco, for I
want to smoke again.’ Yet I have always thought that I am alone here.
In any event, I shall look around from place to place. It seems that
there is another story (loft) in this lodge, and that it is from that
place that this man is speaking.” But, forgetting his resolution to
look for the man, he continued to play until nightfall.

The next morning, while he was again playing around the lodge, he was
once more surprised to hear the man saying, “Is there no tobacco? I
should like to smoke again.” Then the boy said, “Oh, pshaw! I forgot
this thing, but I think that I shall search this place tomorrow to
learn what this talking may mean.”

So the next morning he looked around in many places. Finding the loft
in the lodge, he climbed up into it, and while he was searching the
place he was surprised to find a man lying down who was so lean that he
appeared to be merely dried bones covered with skin. The boy said to
him, “What is it that you want?” And the skeletonlike man replied, “The
only thing I desire is tobacco, for I want to smoke again.” The boy,
answering, said, “Where is it that tobacco may be found in abundance?”
The man replied: “It is to be found in a certain place which is, beyond
measure, one of forbidding difficulties and frightful aspect; and I
know that in that place dwell Seven Sisters and an old woman, their
mother and tutor. These people are immune from the effects of normal
orenda or magic power; and it is these people who have the tobacco.”
After a pause he added: “Along the way through which the path thither
goes are obstructions of the most appalling character. In the first
place, there stands a Tree, a Pine Tree, whose leaves drop on the
intruder, piercing his body and causing him to die. Some distance
beyond this point are two living things, which are called Osigwaon;
that is, two huge Rattlesnakes, which occupy each side of the path, and
which bite with deadly effect any intruder. Still farther beyond stands
a great rock, through an opening in which passes the path, and there
stand two great living things, two Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, which also have
the power to kill any intruder who may succeed in reaching this point.
Farther on flows a river, on the other side of which stand two Blue
Herons, whose duty it is to give an alarm by loud cries to the Seven
Sisters and their mother on the approach of any intruder; and these, on
hearing the alarm, issue from their lodge in great fury, carrying their
war clubs, with which they quickly dispatch the unwelcome intruder.
Still farther on toward the lodge stands a tree, on which hangs the
dried skin of a human being, which, on the approach of an intruder,
sings, thereby giving the inmates of the lodge warning of the approach
of any person whatsoever, and these at once issue from their home,
bearing their war clubs, to kill the unwelcome guest.” After a long
pause the man of skin and bones continued: “This is the number of the
things which have the power to kill persons along the pathway to the
place where the tobacco is to be found.” [5]

Then the boy replied: “That is all right, for it will not prevent me
from going after the tobacco, and then you shall be able to smoke. At
all events, I will go after the tobacco; I will start tomorrow.” Early
the next morning he started on his perilous journey toward the place
where the tobacco could be found.

In time he arrived at the place where the first obstacle barred his
way, the Pine Tree having the magic power (orenda); this he found had
been transformed into a hickory tree. After looking at it for some
time, he finally rushed past it just as it was, although he boastingly
exclaimed, “It shall not fall on me.” And truly when he had got beyond
the tree he stopped and found that not a thing had touched him.

Continuing his course, finally he came to the spot where the two
Rattlesnakes stood guard over the pathway. Going into the bushes which
surrounded the path, to hunt for two chipmunks, he killed two.
Returning to the two Rattlesnakes, he gave a chipmunk to each, saying,
“You must not in any manner enchant me. I recompense you with these
chipmunks for the favor I ask of you.” Seizing the proffered chipmunks,
the Rattlesnakes began to swallow them.

Starting onward again in his journey, the boy continued his course
until startled by seeing the two Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa standing in the
narrow opening of the great rock. Going into the forest, he procured
some lichens, which he cut up. Making his way to the place where the
two Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa were standing, he said to them, “Do not enchant
me; for this favor I will recompense you with this tobacco,” and,
casting it to them, they received it, and he passed them and kept on
his journey.

He had gone a long distance when he came to the place at which the two
Blue Herons were on guard on the farther bank of the river, at the end
of the log-crossing. Immediately he went along the river a short
distance and then began fishing; soon he took two fish. Returning to
the spot where the two Herons were, he said to them, “You must not give
the alarm, for I will recompense you with these fish for the favor
which I ask of you”; he gave each a fish and then passed on.

Not far from there he came to the tree on which the entire dried skin
of a woman hung. For a moment he stood there and then he said, “Come
hither, thou mole; I am hungry (wearied).” Then the mole came forth
from out of the ground and the boy said to it, “I am entering your body
and I want you to go along beneath the surface of the ground and come
out directly under the place where that woman’s skin hangs yonder.” So
he entered the body of the mole, which went along at once under the
surface of the ground. When it reached the place where stood the tree
it came out directly under the woman’s skin. Then the boy came out of
the body of the mole and, addressing the dried skin of the woman, said,
“You must not tell that I am here. Do me this favor and I will
recompense you with wampum.” Then he went into the forest and peeled
off some slippery elm bark, which he formed into cylinders resembling
wampum; placing these in his pouch he returned to the spot where the
woman’s dried skin hung. When he arrived there he said to the dried
skin, “Now, I am bringing you a wampum belt,” [6] and he attached the
belt to the tree beside which she then stood, as he had requested her
to descend from her usual position.

Again entering the mole, the boy went to the lodge, into which he went
without anyone knowing of his presence; no one of the Seven Sisters nor
their Mother knew of his entrance into their lodge. There he found a
kettle of hominy seasoned with the flesh of the bear (gan­nyaʹgwai-geon
owa ne shaʹgat), which he began to eat. But he was surprised to hear a
voice coming out of the fire say, Odegwiyo hodekhoni. Then the old
woman said, “This is certainly provoking: it is perhaps true that
Odegwiyo has indeed come into the lodge.” At once she got her war club,
with which she furiously struck the burning fire a blow, saying that it
was probable Odegwiyo was concealed therein, as the voice issued from
the fire. Just then the boy was greatly surprised to hear outside of
the lodge the voice of the dried woman’s skin singing, “I have detected
(out-eyed) Odegwiyo.”

The old woman shouted to her daughters, “Have courage, my children, and
do your duty,” and then she derisively added, “Odegwiyo, you indeed
have courage,” signifying her contempt for the orenda, or magic power,
of the boy. Her children rushed out of the lodge, each one carrying her
war club, and they sought for the boy outside of the lodge, but could
find no trace of him. When they had about given up trying to find him,
the dried-skin figure of the woman again began to sing, “Verily, I have
told a falsehood”; and the old woman answered, “Forsooth, this is
discouraging,” and struck the dried skin of the woman a terrible blow.
The empty skin flew away, alighting on the top of another and larger
tree.

In the meantime the boy got possession of the tobacco and at once went
out of the lodge, carrying it in a band which he had around his neck.
He had not gone far when the old woman said, “I have been saying this
for a long time. Now, Odegwiyo is yonder indeed carrying away the
tobacco.” They pursued him for some distance, but as he had outwitted
them and had shown them that he possessed as powerful orenda as they
had, if not greater, they soon gave up the chase. [Text incomplete.]





3. DJOGEON (DWARF-MAN) AND HIS UNCLE

Djogeon lived in the woods with his uncle. When the boy was old enough
to learn, his uncle taught him how to shoot; for this purpose he took
him out to hunt. When the uncle grew too old to hunt the nephew then
went alone.

About noon one day while following an elk, a woman sitting on a log at
the edge of an opening in the forest called to Djogeon, saying, “Come
here and rest: I know you are tired.” At first he paid no attention to
her, but after she had called to him the third time he went to her and
sat by her side. She talked to him, and before he realized it she had
his head in her lap and had begun searching therein for vermin.

He soon fell asleep, and when she was satisfied that he was sleeping
soundly she put him into a basket which she placed on her back and
started off with great speed, traveling until the sun had almost set.
Then stopping, she put her basket down and roused the young man, asking
him, “Do you know this place?” “Oh, yes,” said he, “my uncle and I used
to hunt here. I know the place very well.” They spent the night there.

The next morning she searched again in his head until he fell asleep;
then putting him into the basket again, she hurried on as before until
late in the afternoon. She stopped at a lake and, putting the basket
down, she again awakened the young man, asking him, “Do you know this
lake?” “Yes; I have fished here many times with my uncle,” replied the
young man. Then, taking out of her basket a canoe no larger than a
walnut, she struck it with her hand repeatedly until it became large
enough to hold both. Then they both boarded it and paddled across the
lake. “We will now go home,” said she. “I have a mother and three
sisters; all the latter are married and live in the same lodge. We will
go to them,” she declared.

Djogeon and his companion traveled on until they reached her mother’s
lodge. When they stood at the door her mother saw the stranger with her
daughter and cried out, “Welcome, son-in-law. I am glad you have come.”
Djogeon became the young woman’s husband, and they lived happily until
one night the old woman had a frightful dream, rolling out of her couch
and over the floor to the edge of the fire. Then her son-in-law jumped
up and asked his mother-in-law, “What is the matter? Are you dreaming,
mother-in-law?” She paid no attention to him but rolled about,
muttering to herself. Then he said, “I will make her listen,” and,
taking the pestle for pounding corn, he hit her a heavy blow on the
head. She started up, saying, “Oh! I have had such a bad dream. I
dreamed that my son-in-law would kill the Ganiagwaihegowa.” “Oh,” said
he, “I will attend to that in the morning. Now go to sleep,
mother-in-law.” The next morning the old woman told her son-in-law he
must kill the bear and bring it back quickly. So he sought and killed
the bear without much trouble and brought it home.

The next night she dreamed that he must make a great feast for the
Dagwanoenyent,[7] and that he must invite them all to a feast and
provide so much food that they would not be able to eat it all. The
next day he hunted and killed a great many elk, deer, and bear. There
was an abundance of food, the lodge being full of meat, and still there
was more. Then he went out and called all the Dagwanoenyent to come to
a great feast prepared for them to eat their fill. They answered him,
all agreeing to be at the feast. Soon they began to appear, one after
another; they came in such numbers that the shelves, the floor, and the
seats were filled with them. They began to eat, and ate with a terrible
appetite. The old woman went around urging them, saying, “Eat, eat your
fill. I want all to have plenty to eat in my lodge.” They ate, and the
old woman still urged them, hoping that the supply would run short and
her son-in-law would be killed. The son-in-law, with his wife, her
three sisters, and their husbands went out to have more food brought in
case of need. At last the Dagwanoenyent ate until their jaws could move
no longer and their tongues refused to stir. They said, “We have had
enough. Mother, mother, enough.” When he heard these words the young
son-in-law motioned to the walls and roof, saying, “I want the roof and
walls of this lodge to become flint.” The old woman and the
Dagwanoenyent, seeing that they were caught, flew around in every
direction. The old woman begged for mercy. “Mother-in-law, you had no
mercy on me, so I will not let you out,” answered Djogeon. Then he
said, “I want this house to become red hot.” As it grew hot the
Dagwanoenyent flew about with terrible speed, knocking around the walls
and making such a noise as had never been heard in the world before. At
last all was still in the lodge.

Then the nephew with his wife and her three sisters and their husbands
set out for the lodge of Djogeon’s uncle. They went by the road over
which he and his wife had come. When they reached the lake it was
covered with thin ice, which could barely hold up a small bird. The
young man took eight puffballs from an oak tree and, making himself and
his friends small, each one entered a ball; and when the eight balls
stood side by side on the ice by the edge of the lake, he said, “Let
the west wind blow,” and the west wind obeyed, sweeping them over the
lake to the other side. Then they came out of the balls and, resuming
their natural size, continued their way until they reached the lodge of
Djogeon’s uncle.





4. THE WOMAN WHO MARRIED A GREAT SERPENT

A woman and her only daughter lived together in a fine bark lodge on
the outskirts of a village. The daughter was attractive in form and
feature, but haughty and proud in her bearing. Many young warriors had
made proposals of marriage to her through her mother. Her customary
reply was, “That man is not as fine looking and handsome as I want a
man to be.” Her mother, however, remonstrated with her often on her too
haughty manner and selfish pride, but she disdainfully disregarded her
mother’s advice.

One day the mother and daughter started off into the forest to gather
wood. When they were far from home darkness came upon them, which was
so intense that the mother said to her daughter, “I think we may as
well gather bark to make a temporary shelter and wood to make a fire,
so that we can remain overnight in this place.” So they constructed a
temporary lodge and kindled a cheerful fire, and made the necessary
preparations to stay there overnight. After preparing and eating their
evening meal they sat down on opposite sides of the fire to rest and
converse together.

Suddenly, while the mother was dozing, a man came and stood beside the
girl. When she looked up at him she was amazed and charmed by his great
beauty of face and form. He wore a wampum sash around his body and a
fine headdress with black eagle plumes waving over it. His entire
person seemed to shine with paint and oil. Without ceremony he informed
the young woman that he had come to marry her and that he would await
her answer. Answering him, the young woman said, “I will first tell my
mother what you have said, and when I get her reply I will talk to you
again.” The strange man stood near the fire while waiting for an answer
from the two women.

The young woman told her mother what he had said to her, and her mother
answered, “You must do as you yourself like. You have already refused a
great many men without good cause, so far as I know. Now, therefore, it
is for you to decide what you must do in this case. You must please
yourself.” With this equivocal response the girl went back to the man
and gave him her mother’s answer, adding, “I have decided to become
your wife. You may follow me to my mother”; then she took her seat at
his side. When they had been to talk to the mother they returned to the
fireside. He seemed to the mother also a very handsome man; so she
agreed to the marriage and the two became husband and wife.

Then the young man said to his young wife, “I want you to accompany me
to my own lodge tonight.” Then removing the beautiful wampum sash, he
gave it to her for her mother, saying, “This shall be a sign for your
mother that we are married.” The mother received it and hung it up, for
she was much pleased with it. Then the man and his wife started off
toward his lodge. As they traveled on the wife could see in the
distance a large clearing, at one end of which she saw a lodge which
her husband pointed out to her as his. They went into it, and the
people within seemed to be delighted to see her; so she sat down in her
husband’s seat. They passed that night and the next day together. On
the second day the young husband said, “I am going out to hunt.”

He went out. When he closed the door the young woman heard a very
strange noise; she did not know what to think of it. Then all became
still. In the evening she heard sounds of the same kind. Then the door
was flung aside and a tremendous serpent, with his tongue darting from
his mouth, entered the lodge and placed his head in the lap of the
young woman, asking her to hunt in it for vermin. She found in his head
a large number of bloodsuckers, angleworms, and other noisome
insects.[8] She killed all she found, whereupon then the serpent slowly
withdrew from the lodge and disappeared.

In a moment the young woman’s husband came into the lodge and he
appeared to her handsome as ever. He asked his wife, “Were you afraid
of me when I came in a short time ago?” She replied, “No; I was not
afraid at all.” The next day he went hunting again. As he started out
of the lodge and closed the door she again heard the same strange
sounds that she had heard the day before. About midday she went forth
to get fuel for the fire and to bring water to the lodge. While thus
engaged she saw a huge serpent sunning himself upon the rocks; then
another, and soon another; and she began to be very homesick and
disheartened.

In the evening her husband came home as before. After he had gone out
to hunt the third time she began seriously to think of escaping from
the terrible place in which she found herself, and firmly resolved to
try to do so. She went into the forest to gather wood, and while
standing there she heard a voice; turning toward the direction from
which it seemed to come she saw a very old man. When she looked into
his face he said: “My poor grandchild, you are very unfortunate. The
seeming man to whom you are married is evil and wicked. We have tried
many times to kill him, but he is very cunning and crafty, hence we
have not yet been able to destroy him. He is one of seven brothers.
They are all great sorcerers, and like all such evil persons their
hearts are not in their bodies. Their hearts are tied in a bunch of
seven, which is carefully hidden [9] under the couch of the eldest one.
You must now get it and escape with it. My friends and I will help you
all we can. Do as I have instructed you.”

Going quickly to the lodge, she found indeed the seven hearts tied in a
bunch, which hung under the couch as the old man had said. Placing it
under her robe, she fled out of the lodge as rapidly as possible and
ran at top speed. Soon she heard a voice calling to her, “Stop! Come
back!” but she rushed on as fast as she could. Then the voice said,
“You may think that you can, but you can not escape me, no matter how
you may try.” All her strength seemed to leave her: but at that moment
her grandfather was at her side, saying, “I shall aid you now, my
grandchild,” and, taking hold of her robe, he pulled her out of the
water. Then for the first time she saw that she had been in the water
all the time. A great black cloud was above them, and she saw the
Lightning flash, and the Thunder began to shoot his arrows, and the
Wind lashed the water into great foaming waves. In a few moments the
young woman saw that her grandfather had killed a great and terrible
serpent. She saw also standing on the shore men resembling her
grandfather, who thanked her for the aid she had been to them in
killing the great serpent and his progeny; for the old grandfather had
blasted the bunch of hearts with the lightnings and had shot them with
his arrows, thus killing the serpent and his offspring. These other men
drew the great serpent out of the water and cut him in pieces. They
stuck the head on a pole, whereupon the head appeared to her more
fierce and ugly than before. Then her grandfather said, “Now, my
grandchild, you must go home with us.” After packing suitable loads of
the serpent’s flesh they started for home, each with a load of the meat
on his back.[10]

In a short time they came to what seemed to her to be a lodge, which
they entered; there the young woman saw an old man whose hair was as
white as snow and whose manner and voice were kind. To him the leader
of the party said, “This woman of the human family has helped us to
kill the great serpent and his progeny.” The old man, looking up at
her, said, “My granddaughter, I am indeed thankful for the great help
you have given us in killing that awful serpent and his wicked
progeny.” While she was sitting there the old man said, “My
granddaughter, come here to my side.” When she stood beside him he
rubbed her body up and down with his hands, fortified with his orenda.
Whereupon several young serpents crawled from her; these were killed at
once by the men. Then the old man, remarking “You are now entirely
well,” bade her to be seated.

While she remained in this lodge the younger people went out to hunt
when they had the inclination to do so. They would bring corn for her
to eat, as they knew she could not eat their food, which was in large
measure the flesh of the serpents. They would tell her where they had
gathered the corn, and they told her also the names of the people from
whom they had taken it; she recognized the names of some of the people
mentioned.

One day the old man said to his sons, “Perhaps it would be better for
you to take the young woman with you to hunt. She shall thus secure
more orenda.” The sons agreed to this, saying, “It is well.” They told
her that one of their number was missing, saying, “Deep in the great
waters there is a terrible bloodsucker lying on a rock. One of our
number shot at it, but he was not quick enough to avoid the rush of the
great bloodsucker, and he was caught by it. He lies there on the rock,
and we can not save him, nor can we kill the bloodsucker. But you will
go with us, will you not?” She consented to go, and they started for
the place.

When they arrived at the place they looked down into the water, far
into its depths, and there they saw the great bloodsucker. All these
men went high up into the clouds and shot arrows down into the water at
the great bloodsucker, but they all failed to hit it. Then they asked
the young woman to shoot an arrow. Willingly she took her bow and
arrows and shot into the water at the monster. The great bloodsucker
moved. At her second shot there was a terrible struggle and commotion
in the water. When all became quiet again, and while she was still up
in the clouds with the men, they saw that the great bloodsucker was
dead. Just as soon as the monster died their brother got loose and came
up to them, and they all rejoiced and then went to their home.

After the woman had been with them about a year the old man said to his
sons: “I think that it is time that this young woman should go home to
her mother,” and to her the old man said, “You must not do any kind of
work—pounding or chopping. You must keep quiet for ten days at your
home.”

When the time was up they took her toward home. She thought that they
walked along as ordinary people do. When they neared her mother’s lodge
they told her to do just as her grandfather had requested her to do.
She then saw that she was standing in water. A heavy shower of rain had
just passed over the earth. Her mother’s home was near at hand and,
bidding her well-going, they left her. She reached home in due time and
her mother was delighted to see her long-lost child.

She observed her grandfather’s injunction for nine entire days without
any desire to break his command. But on the tenth day the women of her
family urged her to help them in their work. At first she refused,
saying that she could not do so. They urged her so hard, however, that
finally she struck one blow with the corn-pounder, whereupon the mortar
split in two and the corn fell to the ground. The orenda of the
Thunders had not entirely left her yet. This was why the old man had
enjoined her not to work for ten days.





5. THE GHOST WOMAN AND THE HUNTER

Once there was a young man in a village who was an orphan; he had
neither relatives nor home. He lived in first one lodge and then in
another.

Once in the fall of the year when warriors were preparing to go to hunt
deer the orphan wanted to go but could not get a chance to do so; no
one wanted him as a companion. So he was left alone in the village.
When all the men had gone he determined to go, too, and he went off by
himself. Toward night he came to a sort of clearing and saw a lodge on
one side of it near the bushes; he looked into it but he could see no
one. In the dooryard was a pile of wood and everything inside was
comfortable; so the orphan decided to pass the night there. It looked
as though the other hunters, too, had passed a night there. He made a
fire, arranged a place to sleep, and lay down. About midnight he heard
some one coming in and, looking up, he saw that it was a woman. She
came in and stood gazing at him, but she said nothing. Finally she
moved toward his couch but stopped; at last she said: “I have come to
help you. You must not be afraid. I shall stay all night in the lodge.
I know you are going out hunting.” The orphan said, “If you help me,
you may stay.” “I have passed out of this world,” said she; “I know
that you are poor; you have no relatives; you were left alone. None of
the hunters would let you go with them. This is why I have come to help
you. Tomorrow start on your journey and keep on until you think it is
time to camp, and then I will be there.” Toward daybreak she went out,
starting off in the direction from which she said she had come.

In the morning after preparing and eating some food he started on. In
the afternoon when he thought it was about time to stop he looked for a
stream. He soon found one and had just finished his camp as it became
dark. In the forepart of the night the woman came, saying, “We must now
live together as man and wife, for I have been sent to live with you
and help you.” The next day the man began to kill all kinds of game.
The woman stayed with him all the time and did all the necessary work
at the camp.

When the hunting season was over, she said, “There is no hunter in the
woods who has killed so much game as you have.” They started for home.
“We shall stop,” said she, “at the first lodge, where we met”; and they
slept at the lodge that night. The next morning she said: “I shall
remain here, but you go on to the village, and when you get there
everybody will find out that you have brought all kinds of meat and
skins. One will come to you and say, ‘You must marry my daughter.’ An
old woman will say, ‘You must marry my granddaughter,’ but do not
listen to them. Remain true to me. Come back next year and you shall
have the same good luck. [This was at a time when the best hunter was
the best man, the most desirable husband.] The next year when getting
ready to hunt, a man will try to come with you, do not take him. No one
would take you. Come alone. We will meet here.” Before daylight they
parted and he went on his journey with a great load of meat on his
back.

In the village he found that some of the hunters had got home, while
others came soon after. All told how much they had killed. This lone
man said, “I will give each man all he wants if he will go to my camp
and get it.” Accepting his offer, many went and brought back all they
could carry. Still there was much meat left. Everyone who had a
daughter or a granddaughter now asked him to come and live with the
family. At last the chief came and asked him to marry his daughter. The
orphan was afraid if he refused harm would come to him, for the chief
was a powerful man. At last he consented and married the chief’s
daughter.

The next fall the chief thought he had the best hunter for a son-in-law
and a great many wanted to go with him, but the son-in-law said, “I do
not think I shall go this year.” All started off, one after another.
When all had gone he went alone to the lodge where he was to meet the
woman. Arriving there he prepared the bed, and early in the night the
woman came in; stopping halfway between the door and the couch, she
said, “I am sorry you have not done as I told you to do. I can not stay
with you, but I decided to come once more and tell you that I know
everything you did at home and I can not stay.” She disappeared as
suddenly as she came.

Day after day the orphan went hunting, but he saw no game. He ate all
his provisions, and had to shoot small game—squirrels and birds—to eat,
for he was hungry. Returning home, he told the people that he had seen
no game. This woman who had befriended the orphan, it was said, was a
ghost woman.





6. HAHNOWA (THE TURTLE) AND HIS FORCES ON THE WARPATH

Hahnowa dwelt alone in his own lodge. He was a great warrior and had
led many war parties successfully.

One day the thought again came to him that he should go on the warpath.
So following the lead of his desire, he made the necessary preparations
and then boarded his canoe and paddled away along the river, singing as
he went along, “I am on the warpath. I am on the warpath.” When he had
gone but a short distance from his lodge he was hailed by a man who
came running to the bank of the river calling out, “Hallo, friend! Stop
a moment! I will go too. We will go on the warpath together.” So
Hahnowa stopped at the landing, and there on the bank stood an elk,
which said to Hahnowa, “I should like to go with you on the warpath.”
Hahnowa replied: “Before giving my consent, I desire to see you run,
for we might be defeated and then we shall have to run for our lives,
and unless we can escape through our speed we shall be killed and
scalped. Now, therefore, run to that mountain and return.” The elk ran
with great swiftness to the mountain and was back again in a very short
time. But Hahnowa said, “You can not go, for you do not run fast
enough. Only swift runners may go with me.”

Reentering his canoe, Hahnowa started off, singing, “I am on the
warpath. I am on the warpath.” In a short time a man hailed him,
saying, “Come back to the landing. I should like very much to go with
you on the warpath.” So Hahnowa turned and made a landing. Then he said
to his friend, “You must run to show me your speed, for you can not go
with me unless you can run very swiftly. Therefore run to that second
mountain and back at your highest speed.” Then Senon [11] showed his
great orenda and started off, but he had not got fairly started before
Hahnowa called him back, saying, “Come back; that is enough. You can
go.” So they two got into the canoe and started off, the Hahnowa
singing, “I am on the warpath. I am on the warpath. But you, brother,
smell quite strong.”

As they paddled along they saw another man, who hailed them. Making a
landing, they asked the man what he desired. In reply he said, “I see
that you are on the warpath and I want to accompany you.” The Turtle
answered him, “If you are a good runner, I will take you. To test your
speed you must run to yonder second mountain and back.” So Kahehda,[12]
for it was he, turning, started on a run. In this attempt his feet
crossed and he stumbled and fell. But he quickly arose and had taken
but a few steps farther when Turtle called to him to stop, telling him,
“You will do. Come to the canoe.”

So the motley crew started off, with the Turtle singing, “We are on the
warpath. You, brother, smell pretty strong. You, brother, have plenty
of arrows.”

They had not proceeded far when a man from the bank hailed them,
saying, “Stop! Come to the land, for I want to go with you on the
warpath.” So the Turtle and his friends landed and the Turtle informed
Degiyahgon [13] that he must show great speed in running to be
acceptable as a companion on the warpath, and he said, “Run as swiftly
as you can to yonder second mountain and return.” Degiyahgon was
instantly off, breaking and crashing through the boughs and shrubbery
as he rushed headlong on his way. When Degiyahgon returned, the Turtle
said, “You have failed in your trial of speed,” and he and his friends
again got aboard of their canoe and sailed away, singing as before.

They had not proceeded far when a man hailed them from the shore,
saying, “Bring the canoe to the land, for I desire to accompany you on
the warpath.” The Turtle replied, “I shall first come to see you run,
for we can take only swift runners, as something may happen while we
are gone which will make it necessary for us to run for our lives. So
go to that second mountain yonder and return as speedily as it is
possible for you to do so.” So Sigwaon [14] raised himself to run, when
Turtle exclaimed, “Oh, you will do! You may come with me, too.”

So the picked band of warriors again started, the Turtle singing, “We
are on the warpath. You, brother, smell pretty strong. You, brother,
have many arrows. And you, brother, have a black face.”

It was now nearly night and they were going to make war on the Seven
Sisters, whose dwelling place was not far distant. They soon arrived at
the place and disembarked. The Turtle told his companions that each
must choose the place best suited to his particular method of fighting.
So Senon declared that he would sit near the fireplace and that he
would attack with his odors the first person who approached the
fireplace. Kahehda chose the pile of wood for fuel, boasting that he
would attack with his arrows the first person who came out for wood.
Sigwaon on his part chose the skin bucket in which the shelled corn was
kept, declaring that he would assault the first person who should come
for corn. Lastly, Turtle exclaimed that he would station himself near
the spring and that if anyone went to draw water he would fight him.

So in the early morning of the next day the mother of the Seven Sisters
arose and took a fire poker to stir up the fire on the hearth. Then
Senon, who was posted there, at once attacked her with his foul odors.
The aged woman fell back nearly stifled and unable to open her eyes.
Her daughters, the Seven Sisters, hearing the commotion, arose quickly
to assist their mother. Seeing the man fighting their mother, they at
once attacked him. At first he bravely repelled their assault, but they
got clubs and fought until they had killed him, and they then threw his
body out of doors.

Now they started to make the fire, and one of their number went out to
bring in firewood. When she reached down to pick up a piece of wood she
felt a severe blow on the arm, and found her arm full of hedgehog
quills. She at once repelled this attack, and while she was fighting
Kahehda her sisters came to her assistance. On seeing what had caused
the trouble they took up pieces of wood and attacked Kahehda standing
among the logs. They hit him repeatedly on the head until they had
killed him, and then they threw his body away.

Then one of the sisters needed dried shelled corn to prepare for making
bread for the day’s meal. Going to the bucket where it was kept and
putting her hand into it, she instantly felt a sharp blow, and looking
into the bucket she saw therein a huge Hagonsadji.[15] She called her
sisters to her assistance, who at once responded. Arming themselves
with clubs they struck Hagonsadji many blows until he was dead, but by
this time the sister who had been bitten by Hagonsadji was dead.

Then the aged mother of the Seven Sisters asked one of the daughters to
bring water from the spring. Going to the spring, she stooped down to
draw up the water, whereupon she was seized by Turtle. He caught her by
the toe and held on persistently; she tried repeatedly, but she could
not get him off. Then she walked backward, dragging him along. When she
arrived at the lodge her mother was very angry and shouted, “Throw him
into the fire and let him burn up.” Then Turtle laughed out loud and
said, “You can not please me more than by casting me into the fire, for
I came from fire and I like to be in it rather than in anything else.”
So the old woman changed her mind and said, “I will take him to the
creek and drown him.” Thereupon Turtle cried out in great agony, “Oh!
do not do this. I shall die; I shall die if you do.” He begged hard for
his life, but it apparently availed him nothing. So the old woman and
the six living sisters, seizing Turtle, ruthlessly dragged him along to
the neighboring creek and cast him into it, thinking that he would
drown; he, of course, naturally sank to the bottom. But in a few
moments he rose to the surface of the water in midstream and, holding
out his claws as if exhibiting scalps, he exclaimed in derision, “I am
a brave man, and here is where I live,” and he at once sank out of
sight.





7. THE OLD MAN’S GRANDSON AND THE CHIEF OF THE DESERTED VILLAGE

A certain grandfather and his grandson lived together. They were the
only people of their tribe left. All the others had been killed by
sorcerers.

When the boy became old enough he had bows and arrows given him by his
grandfather, and he would go out hunting. As he grew older he hunted
larger game, until he was old enough to kill deer. Each time the
grandson brought home game the old man danced and rejoiced and told the
youth the name of the game which he had brought in.

One day the grandfather said: “Now, you are old enough to marry a wife.
I should like to have a woman here to cook. You must go south and find
a wife. The people there are good and healthy. None of them have been
killed off. For an ordinary man to reach their village it is a journey
of six years, but you will go much more quickly.” The grandfather gave
the young man, among other things, a pair of moccasins and sent him
off.

About noon of the first day the youth came to an opening in the woods.
There he found a large village in the opening. He went to one lodge and
then to another, but he found that they were all vacant. Then he went
to the Long Lodge,[16] and he looked in; there he saw the dead body of
a young woman, well-dressed, with beautiful ornaments, lying on a bench
in the middle of the room. As he looked in, he thought, “I will go in
and take those things. They will be good presents for my wife when I
find one.” So he went in, took off the bracelets and neck ornaments and
then went out. After he was outside of the Long Lodge he said to
himself, “I think I will go home now and look for a wife another day.”

So he started northward, as he thought, running along quickly. After a
while he came to a clearing, which, to his surprise, he found was the
one he had just left; he saw the same village and Long Lodge, and he
thought, “Well, I must have made some mistake in the direction.” He
took his bearings again and hurried on toward home. Again he came out
in the same village. “It must be that this woman brings me back because
I have taken her ornaments. I will give them back to her.” So he went
into the Long Lodge and put all the ornaments back on the dead body and
hurried homeward. On the way he killed a bear. Skinning it and taking
some of the best meat, he put it into the skin and carried it with him,
running as fast as he could, hoping to reach home that night. Once more
he came out at the same Long Lodge in the opening at the time it began
to be dark. “Well, this is wonderful,” thought he.

He made up his mind to spend the night in the Long Lodge, so he kindled
a fire, spread out the skin, cooked his meat, and sat down to supper.
As he ate he threw the bones behind him. Soon he heard back of him a
noise which sounded like the gnawing of bones by a dog. “Perhaps it is
a hungry ghost that does this,” thought the young man. “Well, I will
give it some meat.” So he threw it pieces of meat and heard the sounds
made as they were being eaten. After he had eaten his supper he got
under the bearskin to sleep. But he soon felt something begin to pull
the skin at his feet. When the fire began to die out he arose quickly
and stirred up the embers, putting on more wood. All was quiet,
however, and he lay down again. After a while, as the fire began to go
down again, something crawled over his body and came up to his breast.
He threw his arms around it, wrapping it in the bearskin covering, and
sprang to his feet. A terrible struggle now began between the man and
his unknown antagonist. They wrestled from that place to the other end
of the Long Lodge and then down along the other side of the room. When
they had almost reached the place where they started the gray of the
dawn came; instantly the body in his arms dropped to the floor and lay
still. He lashed the bearskin around it closely; then, leaving it on
the floor, he cooked his breakfast.

After breakfast he was curious to know what was under the bearskin, for
he thought it must be something connected with the woman. Opening the
bearskin carefully he found nothing but a blood-clot about the size of
his fist. First, he made a wooden ladle with his flint knife. Then,
heating water, he dissolved in it some of the blood. Forcing open the
skeleton woman’s jaws, he poured down her throat some of the blood.
Again he did the same thing.

At length her breast began to heave. When he had given her half the
blood she breathed, and when she had taken all the blood she said, “I
am very hungry.” The young man pounded corn and made thin gruel, with
which he fed her; soon she was able to sit up, and in a short time she
was well again. Then she said: “This village was inhabited a short time
ago. My father was the chief of it. He and all his people have gone
south and they live now not far from here. Many men from the north
wanted to marry me, and when I was unwilling to marry them they
enchanted me in this place, so that my father and all his people had to
leave, and I was left here for dead.” “Come! I will go with you to
him,” said the young man.

The young man and woman set out together for the south, and they soon
came to the village. The first lodge on the edge of the village was
inhabited by a Crow with a large family, who were very poor. The young
man was left at a tree outside the lodge to converse with Crow. He told
Crow the story of the Long Lodge and the recovery of the chief’s
daughter. The Crow hurried over to the lodge of the chief and said to
the chief and his wife, “Your daughter has come to life.” The old
woman, taking a club, began to drive the Crow out of the lodge, saying:
“You lying wretch! You know that no one has ever come to life after
being dead more than ten days.” “Oh, well; do not beat him,” said the
chief, “it may be true that our daughter has come to life, though dead
twenty days.” “She has,” said the Crow, “for she is over by my lodge.”
“Well, bring her here,” said the chief.

The two young people then came on invitation, and, as they were both
willing, the young man became the chief’s son-in-law. After they had
been married a few days the young man told his wife to go and get the
best bowl her father had, for he was sick at his stomach and wished to
vomit. She brought the bowl, and he vomited it full of the most
beautiful wampum. This was an act which young wizards are expected to
perform after marriage. “Take that now to your father,” said he. She
took the bowl of wampum to her father as a gift from her husband. The
old chief was delighted, and said: “That is the finest man I have ever
seen. I knew that he was of good stock. This wampum will do me great
good.”

Two or three days later the young man said to his wife: “You go and
borrow your father’s bow and arrows, for I want to go to hunt. All the
young men of the village are to hunt tomorrow, and I must go, too.”
Starting very early, each one went out alone to hunt deer. The Crow
went with the young man, and he said, “I will fly up high and look all
around to see where the deer are.” The Crow saw ten deer some distance
ahead, and, flying back, said to the young man: “I will fly behind
those deer and drive them this way. You can kill all.” The young man
stood behind and waited until the deer passed by; then he turned and,
as all were in a line, he killed the ten with one arrow. The Crow said
that in the village they never gave him anything but the refuse. “Oh!”
said the young man, “you can have one deer for yourself today.” The
Crow flew home with the news, and said: “What are all the other young
men good for? The chief’s son-in-law has killed ten deer long before
sunrise and the others have killed nothing.” None of the other hunters
had good luck that day.

At night there was a feast and a dance in the Long Lodge. The
disappointed hunters planned to take vengeance on the young man, the
chief’s son-in-law. When going around to dance he came to the middle of
the Long Lodge, by means of witchcraft they made him sink deep down
into the ground. But the Crow now called on his friend, the Turkey, to
dig him up. The Turkey came and scratched until he dug down to the
young man, and with the aid of a bark rope, which the Crow had made,
together they drew him up.

The old chief now made up his mind to leave the village and the bad
people, who were enemies of his son-in-law, and to go with the good
people of the village to live at the lodge of his son-in-law’s
grandfather. They all went and settled down there and lived happily.





8. THE MAN WHO MARRIED A BUFFALO WOMAN

Near the river, at the place now called Corydon, in Pennsylvania, there
lived a family of Indians. One of the boys arose very early one morning
and went to the river. The air was foggy, but the boy heard paddling
and soon saw two little people called Djogeon [17] in a canoe, who came
to the place where he was and landed. One of them said: “We came on
purpose to talk with you, for you are habitually up early in the
morning. We are on a buffalo hunt. There are three buffaloes, two old
and one young, which run underground. If they should stop in this part
of the country they would destroy all the people, for they are full of
witchcraft and sorcery. In two days you must be in this place very
early.”

When the time was up the boy went to the same spot on the river bank
and in a short while the Djogeon came and said: “We have killed the two
old buffaloes, but the young one has escaped to the west. We let him go
because some one will kill him anyway. Now we are going home.” When
they had said this they went away.

On the Allegany reservation the Seneca collected a war party to go
against the Cherokee. One of the company was the fastest runner of the
Seneca. Before they got to the Cherokee country they met the Cherokee
and all the Seneca were killed except the fast runner. He ran in the
opposite direction until out of their reach; then he started home by a
different road from the one on which the party had set out. The third
day, near noon, he came to a deer lick, and while he sat there he saw
tracks which looked like those of a very large bear; he followed these
until they led to a large elm tree; he found that the animal was not an
ordinary bear, but one of the old kind, the great Ganiagwaihegowa,[18]
that eats people, and he said, “It matters not if I die, I must see
it.” Climbing the tree and looking down into the hollow in the trunk he
saw the creature. It had no hair; its skin was as smooth as a man’s. He
thought: “I had better not attack that creature. I will go back to the
deer lick.” Getting down, he ran to the lick. Then he heard a terrible
noise and, looking back, he saw the animal come down from the tree.
Drawing back, he ran and jumped into the middle of the deer lick,
sinking almost to his waist in the mud; he could not get out, but he
could with great difficulty take a single step forward. He saw the
Ganiagwaihegowa coming toward the lick; when it got to the place whence
he leaped, it jumped after him. He dragged himself along, pulling one
leg after the other; the animal sank so it could scarcely move. The man
at last got to solid ground, but the Ganiagwaihegowa sank deeper and
deeper. When it reached the center of the lick it sank out of sight.

The man ran some distance and sat down on a fallen tree. He did not
know what to do; he was faint from hunger, having had nothing to eat,
and was too tired to hunt. Soon a man approached and said, “You think
you are going to die?” “Yes,” he answered. “No; you will not; I come to
assist you. Go where I came from, off in this direction,” he said,
pointing to one side. “You will find a fire and over it a pot; rest
there and eat; men will come and trouble you, but pay no attention to
them. When you sit down to eat one will say, ‘Throw a small piece over
this way’; another will say, ‘Throw a bit over this way’; but pay no
heed to them. If you throw even a bit, you are lost, for they will
destroy you.”

He went as directed and found meat and hulled corn in the kettle. As he
ate, it seemed as though a crowd formed in a circle around him, all
begging for a portion. They kept it up all night, but he paid no heed
to their begging.

In the morning, after he had traveled a short distance, he met the same
man who sent him to the kettle, who now said to him: “I am glad that
you did as I told you. Now you will live. Go toward the east, and when
it is near night sit down by a tree. I will come to you.”

He traveled all day, and near sunset he found a fallen tree and sat
down. Soon the man came and said: “Follow my tracks a little way and
you will find a fire and a kettle with meat and hulled corn in it; you
will be troubled as you were last night, but pay no heed to the words;
if you escape tonight, you will have no more trouble.”

He went as directed; he found the fire and the kettle hanging over it;
the kettle was filled with meat and hulled corn. That night a crowd
around him begged for food as they did the night before, but he paid no
attention to them. After he had started in the morning the man met him
and said, “Keep on your way; you will meet no further danger, and will
reach home safe and well.” After going on a little way he turned to
look at his friend, and saw that instead of being a man it was
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa.[19] He went along, and toward night he began to
think he had better look for game. He saw a deer, which he shot and
killed; then, building a fire, he roasted and ate some pieces of
venison. He was now in full strength.

The next day he kept on, and in the afternoon he shot a deer. When
night came he lay down by the fire, but he could not sleep. After a
while he heard some persons coming to his fire—a couple of women, he
thought. One asked, “Are you awake?” “Yes; I am awake,” he replied.
“Well, my husband and I have decided to have you marry our daughter
here,” came the rejoinder. When she said this he looked at them, and
they were attractive women, especially the younger one. He consented to
her proposal. He did not know where to go, and thought that if he
married her he would have company and could find his way home after a
time. The two women stayed all night. In the morning the mother said,
“We will go to my home.” They walked on until noon, when they came to a
village where he thought a goodly number of people were living. He
stayed with them a long time.

One night he heard a drum sounding near by and heard his father-in-law
say, “Oh! Oh!” The old man seemed frightened by the call. It meant that
the little Buffalo, which had escaped from the Djogeon and lived under
the hill, was going to have a dance and that all must come. That
morning they went to the place where the drum was beaten. The little
Buffalo was chief of all these people. He had two wives. When they got
to the place the whole multitude danced all night, and the little
Buffalo and his two wives came out and danced. He had only one rib
[19a] on each side of his body.

The next morning the chief and his two wives came out and went around
in the crowd. Being very jealous, he pushed the young Buffalo Man away
from his wives and began fighting them; then he went away again. The
next morning the old father-in-law said to the man, “The two wives will
soon come out and go to the stream for water; they will pass near you,
but you must not speak or smile, for their husband is a bad, jealous
man, and if you smile or speak he will know it at once and will harm
you.” He did not, however, obey the old man’s words. The two women went
for water, and as they came back they smiled and looked pleased, and
the young man asked them for a drink; they gave it to him and went on.
His father-in-law said, “You have not done as I told you; now the man
will come out and say he has challenged a man to a foot-race, and he
will name you.” Soon the Buffalo Man came out and said: “I have
challenged this man to run. If I am a better runner than he, I will
take his life; if he is better than I, he may take mine.” They were to
begin the race early in the morning and were to run around and around
the hill. The one who was ahead at sundown was to be the winner. The
father-in-law said, “You must have an extra pair of moccasins to put on
if yours get worn out.”

That morning the Buffalo Man came out, and saying, “Now start!” off he
went. At noon his friends told his opponent to do his best, for the
Buffalo Man was gaining on him, and had just gone around the turn
ahead. Soon the man overheard the Buffaloes tell the Buffalo Man to do
his best, for the other man was gaining on him. Shortly after noon the
chief’s son-in-law was only a few rods behind, and the Buffalo Man was
tired; the latter began to go zigzag and soon afterward his opponent
overtook him.

The latter did not know at first how to shoot the Buffalo Man. He could
not shoot him in the side, for it was one immense rib; so he decided to
shoot from behind. He shot and the arrow went in up to the feathers,
only a little of it protruding. The two ran around once more, and as
they came near the stopping place the people encouraged the man to
shoot a second time. He did so, and the Buffalo fell dead. So the words
of the Djogeon were fulfilled that some one would come who would kill
the young Buffalo. The people crowded around the man and thanked him
for what he had done.

After this the old man said to the people, “All can go where they
like.” They separated, but he and his wife with their son-in-law and
daughter went home. Then the mother-in-law said to the man, “Now you
must get ready and go to see your mother.” They started, the man, his
wife, and mother-in-law. They were ten days on the road. It was the
time of sugar making. When they got near his mother’s lodge his wife
said, “My mother and I will stop in these woods; your mother is making
maple sugar and we will help her all we can.” The young man saw his
mother and at night went to the lodge, leaving his wife and her mother
in the woods.

In the night the wife and mother collected all the sap and brought a
great pile of wood. The next morning when the mother and her son went
to the woods they found no sap in the troughs under the trees, but when
they got to the boiling place the big trough was full and a great pile
of wood was near by. The work continued for some days. Then the old
woman said to her son-in-law: “It is time for me to go home to my
husband, and now you may be free. Have no hard feelings. I shall take
my daughter with me. You must stay with your mother. There are many
women about here who want to marry you, but do not marry them; there is
but one that you should marry—the granddaughter of the woman who lives
in the last lodge at the edge of the village. They are very poor and
the girl takes care of her grandmother. You may tell the people when
you get home that you saw buffalo tracks in the swamp; let them come
out and shoot; the more they shoot the sooner we shall get home.”

The man told the people that he saw tracks in the swamp. The people
went out, but did not get far before they overtook the Buffaloes and
killed them. The man knew all the time that they were Buffaloes, but in
his eyes they seemed like people. As he had been absent from his people
so long, and as the rest of his company had been killed, the Seneca
thought him a great man. The women sought him as a husband for their
daughters, but, refusing every offer, he married the granddaughter of
the old woman who lived in the last lodge on the edge of the village.

When the Buffaloes were shot the people thought they had killed them,
but in reality they had not done so. The Buffaloes left their carcasses
behind, which the people ate, but their spirits went back to the old
man and they were Buffaloes again.[19b]





9. A WOMAN AND HER BEAR LOVER

A man and his wife with two sons—one on the cradle-board yet, and the
other three or four years old—lived in the woods.

After a while the elder boy became puny and sickly. The man was much
troubled by this and began to think that his wife was to blame. Every
day he set out to hunt, and the woman went to get wood and to dig wild
potatoes.

One day the man resolved to watch his wife; so he hid himself near the
lodge instead of going to hunt. In a couple of hours the wife came out,
gayly dressed, her face washed, and her hair oiled; she walked quickly
to the woods. He followed her stealthily. She stopped at a large tree
on which she tapped with a stick and said, “I am here again.” Presently
a noise as of scrambling was heard in the tree, and a great Bear came
out of the hollow in the trunk and slipped quickly to the foot of the
tree. After a while the woman went away, and the Bear again climbed the
tree. The man set off, seeking wild potatoes. Finding a place where
there were many good ones, he dug up a large quantity.

The next day he took the woman there and dug up as many as she could
carry; he then sent her home, saying that he would go hunting so that
they could have a good supper. The hunter then went straight to the
tree in which lived his wife’s lover, the Bear, and, tapping twice on
it, said, “I am here again.” The Bear soon stuck his head out, and the
man shot an arrow at him which brought him to the ground. The hunter
left the skin of the Bear; he merely opened his body and took out the
entrails, which he carried home.

The woman was glad and said to the little boy, “Your father has brought
us a good dinner.” She cooked the entrails and the wild potatoes. They
all sat down to eat, and the woman ate very heartily; but the man said
that he was sick, and did not eat of the entrails. When she had nearly
finished eating and her hands were full of fat, her husband said to
her, “You seem to like to eat your lover.” “What?” she said. “Oh! eat
more, eat plenty,” he replied. “I shall eat two or three mouthfuls
more,” she said. As she was doing this, he said again, “You seem to
like to eat your husband.” She heard him this time and knew what he
meant. Jumping up, she ran out and vomited and vomited. Then she ran
off into the woods to the westward. The next day she took medicine,
which caused an abortion, resulting in delivery of two bear cubs.
Leaving them on the ground, she cut off her breasts and hung them on an
ironwood tree.

A couple of days later the father said to the elder boy, “I think I
must go after your mother; you stay in the lodge and take care of your
little brother.” Then he brought a bowl of water and put feathers in
it, saying, “If anything evil happens to me the feathers will be
bloody.”

He started west. The first day he found the cubs and breasts on the
ironwood tree, which he knew came from his wife.

After leaving the cubs the woman went on until she came to a village.
She stopped in the first lodge at the edge of the village, where a
family of Crows lived. The woman said that she was looking for a place
to live, and, being a young woman, would like to get a husband. The old
Crow said to one of his sons: “Run over to the chief’s lodge, and tell
him that there is a young woman here who would like to get married.
Perhaps one of his sons would like to have her.” The boy did as
directed. “All right,” said the chief, “let her come over here.” The
woman went over. She had her hair pulled back and tied tight at the
back so there were no wrinkles on her face, and as her breasts were cut
off, she looked like a young woman. One of the chief’s sons married
her.

Two days later her husband appeared at the lodge of the Crows, asking
whether they had seen such and such a woman. “I have come looking for
my wife, who left me four days ago,” said the man. “Yes, such a woman
came here two days ago. She is married to one of the chief’s sons.” “Go
over,” said the Gagahgowa [20] to one of his sons, “and tell the chief
that his daughter-in-law’s husband has come.” The young Crow went over
and delivered the message. “Have you ever been married before?” asked
the chief of his daughter-in-law. “No,” replied the woman. “Then he
lies,” said the chief to the Crow’s son. Turning to some of the
warriors, he said: “We do not want such a fellow as that hanging
around; go over and kill him.” The warriors went over to the Crow’s
house, killed the man, and threw his body away.

Immediately the feathers in the bowl were bloody, and the boy knew that
his father was dead. The next day he started westward, carrying his
little brother on his back. Following the trail, they found the two
cubs lying on the ground. Then the little fellow on the cradle-board
looked at them, then at the breasts on the tree, and he knew that they
belonged to his mother. They went on until they reached the Crow’s
lodge, where they inquired, “Have you seen our father, who came after
our mother?” “Oh, yes; the chief has killed your father, and your
mother is at the chief’s lodge. She is the wife of one of his sons. You
run over and tell the chief that his daughter-in-law’s two sons have
come after her.” He went and told his message. “Have you ever had any
children?” asked her father-in-law and her husband. “No,” she said in a
faint voice. “Go home,” said the chief, “and tell them my
daughter-in-law never had any children. She is a young woman. How could
she have two sons?” Then, turning to the warriors, he said: “Run over
and kill those lying children. I do not want to have them around here.”
When his sons came home the Gagahgowa said: “They will kill those two
boys. It is a pity. Let us hide them.” When the warriors came the
Gagahgowa said, “They have gone; they went back home, I think.”

The Crows cared for the boys. After a while the old Crow said: “Let us
go away from here. Let us go far away into the woods where there will
be good hunting. These little boys will bring us luck.” The Crow family
moved far away into the deep woods; they planted corn and beans and had
good crops. The boys grew up and hunted; they had great luck and
obtained much game. The whole Crow family were fat and happy.

After several years the old chief at the village said one day: “I have
not seen that Crow family for a long time. Run over, somebody, and see
how they are getting along.” A runner, Haheshe,[21] went over and,
finding the Crow place in ruins, came back and said that their lodge
had tumbled down and that they had gone away somewhere. “Go,” said the
chief, “a number of you, and find them. They must be somewhere. Do not
come back until you know where they are living now.” After a long
search they found the Crow family living in happiness and plenty, far
away in the woods. When they told the chief he said, “Let us all go
there. There must be good hunting in that place.”

As soon as they were on the road it began to snow and to grow cold. It
continued to snow heavier and faster, the snowflakes being almost as
large as a man’s hand. The young chief and his wife hurried on ahead.
She had a child on her back. They reached the Crows’ lodge almost
frozen to death and covered with snow. The rest of the family were
either frozen to death, buried in the snow, or forced to turn back. The
snow was light near the Crows’ lodge, but as there was a great pile of
deer carcasses near it, they had to carry them in. The elder brother
was employed at this work when his mother and her husband came. Calling
out, “My son!” she came near him. He pushed her back with a forked
stick. She put her baby on him. He threw it on the ground in the snow.
Just then the old woman of the Crows came out and said: “You should not
do so. If your mother is wicked, you should not be likewise. Let them
come in.” And Gagahgowa, the old Crow, allowed them to live there.





10. THE FOX AND THE RABBIT

One winter a man was going along quietly over a light, freshly fallen
snow. All at once he saw another man coming toward him. The other man
when within hailing distance shouted, “I am Ongwe Ias” (i.e., I am a
man-eater). The first man decided to run for his life. Starting on a
run, he circled round and round, trying to escape, but the other man,
who was also a swift runner, was gaining on him. When the first man saw
that he could not escape, he took off his moccasins and, saying to
them, “You run on ahead as fast as you can,” he himself lay down and
became a dead rabbit, half rotten, and all dirty and black.

When the second man came up and saw the black, dirty old carcass and
the tracks ahead, he ran along after the moccasins. When he caught up
with them and saw that only moccasins had been running on ahead of him,
he was very angry, thinking, “This fellow has surely fooled me. The
next time I will eat the meat anyhow.”

Thereupon the man-eater turned back. As expected, the dead rabbit was
gone, and he followed the tracks. He soon came upon a man who sat
rolling pieces of bark, making cords. The man-eater asked, “Have you
seen a man pass by here?” No answer came from the cord-maker. Again he
asked and then pushed the cord-maker until the latter fell over;
whereupon he answered, “Yes; some one passed here just now.” The
pretended cord-maker had sent his moccasins on again.

The man-eater hurried on, and the cord-maker, springing up, ran on a
little and then turned himself into an old tree with dry limbs. He had
made a circuit and came in ahead of the man-eater. When the latter came
to the tree, he said, “I believe that he has turned himself into a
tree;” so, punching the tree, he broke off a limb that looked like a
nose, and that fell like dead wood. Then the man-eater said, “I do not
think that it is he,” and started off again on the trail of the
moccasins.

When he overtook the moccasins he thought, “I now believe that the tree
was the man, and that he has fooled me again.” He hurried back; when he
came to the spot where the tree had been it was gone, but where he had
broken off the limb he found blood. Then he knew that the tree was the
man he was seeking, and he followed the tracks.

When the man saw that his enemy was after him again, he fled until he
chanced to come upon the body of a dead man, which he pushed on the
path. When the man-eater came up, he said, “I will eat him this time;
he shall not fool me again. I will finish him.” Then he ate the putrid
carcass. The other man thus escaped his enemy.

[It is said that the man with the moccasins was a rabbit, while the
man-eater was a fox.]





11. THE SNAKE WITH TWO HEADS

In olden times there was a boy who was in the habit of going out to
shoot birds.

One day in his excursions he saw a snake about 2 feet long with a head
at each end of its body. It so happened that the boy had a bird and,
dividing it in two parts, he gave a portion to the snake in each mouth.

The next day he fed it again; and the youth made up his mind to do
nothing but hunt birds to feed the snake. He went out every day and
killed many birds and the snake grew wonderfully large. The boy, too,
became a very good shot; he even killed black squirrels and larger game
to feed the snake. One day the misguided youth took his little sister
along with him and pushed her toward the snake, which caught her with
one of its heads and ate her up.

The snake kept growing and ate larger and larger game. It devoured
anything the boy brought to it. At last it formed a circle around the
entire village of his people. The two heads came near together at the
palisade gate, and they ate up all the people who came out. At last
only one man and his sister remained. When the snake had swallowed
enough persons it dragged itself off to the top of a mountain and lay
there.

That night the man who was saved dreamed that he must make a bow and
arrows and take certain hairs from his sister’s person and wind them
around the head of each arrow; then he was to anoint the end of each
arrow with blood from his sister’s catamenial flow.

When the man arrived near the mountain he shot an arrow at the monster,
which struck it and worked into its body; and every arrow that the man
shot did likewise. Finally the snake began to vomit what he had eaten.
Out came all the people in pieces—heads, arms, and bodies, and wooden
bowls—for the people had tried to defend themselves with every kind of
weapon that they could grasp. The snake then began to writhe and squirm
violently and at last it rolled down into the valley and died.





12. A HUNTER PURSUED BY GENONSGWA [22]

Among a certain people in times past four warriors decided to go off on
a hunting expedition. In order to reach their destination they had to
ascend a large stream in canoes. Now, it is said these men were the
inventors of bark canoes.

The eldest member of the party said, “We will go and land at a point
which is called Kingfisher’s Place.” They had then been out for several
days, and so after he had told them this they felt glad to know that
soon they would land somewhere. They entered the mouth of an affluent
of the stream upon which they first started and, having arrived at
their destination, the leader of the party said, “This is the place.”
After they had landed and established their camp the leader said to his
comrades, “Now, you must hunt and bring into the camp all the game you
can.” It was then early in the summer. He told each one to do the best
that lay in his power, with a strict command to observe the usual fasts
and injunctions.

In the morning of the day following their arrival at the Kingfisher’s
Place the leader in behalf of his men and himself besought the Stars,
the Moon, and the Sun to prosper them and to give them a large measure
of success in killing an abundance of game for their larder. Being
expert hunters, they soon had plenty of meat and furs; the meat was
dressed and properly cured, while the skins were prepared for tanning
later.

One day one of the hunters said: “I am going a little farther away than
usual. I am hunting elks.” But the leader said to him: “You must be
careful in all that you undertake. No man must take any chances by
going far out of the usual bounds, for I fear something evil may come
to us.”

Now, it so happened that one of the hunters was exceedingly stubborn
and would not accept advice from any source. So, without regard for the
timely caution of his chief, he went farther than he had intended to
go, after an elk. When night came all the hunters reached camp safe,
except this stubborn man. As the others gathered around their fire at
night they discussed his probable fate if he had gone too great a
distance, reaching the conclusion that he had gone farther away than he
had intended to go.

Now, the stubborn man had traveled all day. When night came on he
erected a brush lodge and kindled a bright fire. He had encamped near a
stream. Soon he heard in the distance voices which seemed to be those
of human beings. Looking across the stream he saw on the farther bank
what he believed to be two women, one carrying a baby which seemed to
be very fretful, for the woman sat down and nursed it continually. The
hunter, who was deceived as to the true character of the supposed
women, was delighted to see people of any kind at that time.

Now, the women saw him at the moment he looked across the stream to
learn what kind of people were making the sounds he had heard; and one
of them hailed him with “Brother, how did you cross the stream?” It
seemed strange to him that these women should call to him from so great
a distance, but he told them to cross just below the point at which
they then were and to come directly toward his fire and camp. The women
kept on asking him, however, how he had crossed, but he answered only
as before. Nevertheless, the women continued to say, “Tell us. You must
have crossed in some place.” The hunter, still dissembling, said, “Yes;
I did cross right there where I have shown you.” While he talked to
them he reached the conclusion that these women were not human beings,
but that they must be Genonsgwa, of whom he had heard so much in the
traditions of his people. Nevertheless, they were clothed like the
women of his people, and one of them was quite beautiful in form and
feature.

One of the women asked him if she could not stop with him overnight.
The young hunter replied, “Yes; if you will come across the stream.”
After looking at them more closely, he was firmly convinced in his mind
that they were not women of the human species. Then one of the women
said to her companion, “We will go on a little farther; perhaps we may
find a ford.” Ascending the stream a short distance, they came to a
footbridge consisting of a fallen log, on which the man had crossed.
One of the women said to the other, “This is surely the place where he
crossed.”

When the hunter saw them crossing on the footbridge, he went quickly
some distance downstream and then, crossing at a ford, he again
ascended the stream to a spot opposite his camp.

The moment that the women arrived at his camp fire the hunter became
afraid, because of their actions. On looking across the stream they
soon saw that the man was then where they themselves had just been, and
one of them at once called to him: “Why do you run from us? Nothing
will happen to you, so come back here. We will do you no harm.” Making
no reply to these challenges, the man saw one of the women pick up his
tomahawk and draw her finger across its edge, saying, “I do wonder
whether this would kill a person or not?” The hunter shouted to her,
“Yes; it can take a person’s life, so put it down at once, lest it do
you harm.” She laid down the tomahawk and became very angry, because
she saw that the hunter was determined to keep out of her way. As these
women showed so great anger, the hunter felt sure they were in fact
Genonsgwa.

Realizing that they were determined to reach him, the hunter told them
to come across the stream directly to the point where he then stood,
assuring them that he would remain there until they arrived. One of the
women had requested him several times to return to the opposite side of
the stream, but his only reply was, “You, yourself, come here.” This
answer only made her angry. Finally the two women started for the
footbridge, telling the hunter to wait for them, and again he assured
them that he would do so. But when he saw them crossing he descended
the stream and recrossed it at the ford; so when they arrived at the
place where he had said he would await them, he was back at his own
camp.

The women could not walk side by side, but one had to follow the other.
The younger one carried the baby. When they saw him back at his own
fire, they became quite enraged, and one of them said to him, “A time
will come when I shall get at you.” The hunter replied, “You kill human
beings, and this is the reason why I do not want you to reach me.” One
of the women tauntingly replied, “On the other hand, you are not able
to kill anybody.” Then the hunter said, “You are very angry now, but I
am about to show you that I can kill you.” Drawing his tomahawk, he
struck a huge rock, which crumbled into small stones from the blow.
“Well!” said one of the women, “I do believe that he can kill some
persons.” Picking up his bow and arrows, the hunter aimed a shot at a
tree, which he hit with terrific force. Seeing his skill, one of the
women said, “There, he is really a man to be feared,” and she showed
signs of astonishment at his feats. The younger woman exclaimed, “We
have now come into contact with Thunder (i.e., Hinon), it seems.” But
the elder one said: “Now, I am determined to work my will. He is
dodging around in an attempt to escape, but I shall do what I intended
to do at first.”

While they were talking it grew dark and, night coming on, the hunter
could not see them but he could still hear them converse together. The
elder woman was angry to think that he had endeavored to avoid them in
every way. Having discovered who they were, the hunter was very
cautious in his movements and continually on his guard lest they come
on him unawares. Finding that, under cover of the darkness, they were
recrossing the stream on the footbridge, he went down under the water,
where he remained, going up and down in the middle of the stream bed.

When the elder woman could not find the hunter her anger was wrought up
to a high pitch against him. He remained in the water until daylight,
however, when coming up out of the stream he started off toward the
camp of his fellow hunters. He was a very swift runner and possessed
good staying powers on the race course; but when it was nearly midday
he heard a voice behind him saying: “Now I have caught up with you. Now
you are within my reach.” (The other members of this band were sad at
the loss of this man, and so they had not gone out to hunt on this
particular day.) When the fleeing hunter saw the woman overtaking him
he put forth his best efforts to maintain his exhausting pace, but he
felt his strength was fast failing him. At every sound of her voice he
fell to the ground from the effect of her orenda.[23] He knew by her
manner that she was greatly enraged at him for attempting to escape
from her.

Seeing that he could not possibly escape her by running he decided to
climb a tree. He did this none too soon, for he had just reached a
hiding place in the thick upper branches when the elder of the women
came to the tree. Like all Genonsgwa she could not look up into the
tree, for they are prevented from doing so because of the stony
covering of their bodies. In a short time the younger of the women came
up bearing the baby. Having nursed the child she said, “We will now
hurry.” Like her mother she could not look up into the tree, and so she
did not see the man. Then the elder said, “I shall keep on for the
reason that he is probably only one of a large hunting party.” As soon
as the child had finished nursing she desired to know how far the man
was ahead of them.

Taking a small, animate finger [24] from her bosom, the elder woman
placed it on the palm of her hand and asked it where the man was at
that time. In reply the finger stood on end, pointing directly at the
man in the tree. But the women, not understanding this, were somewhat
puzzled. While they were thus perplexed the hunter, realizing in a
moment the priceless value to them of the animate finger, decided to
steal it, if possible. So, slyly slipping down the tree, he struck the
ground with a bound, and before the two women realized what had
happened he had snatched the finger from them and had made good his
escape. With a wail of despair the Genonsgwa women called to the man to
give them back the finger, saying, “You will cause us much unnecessary
trouble if you do not return the finger to us.” But, finding the finger
of great service to him, he paid no heed to their pleadings.

He could run much faster since he got possession of the finger, as it
was his adviser and guide, indicating to him clearly the path to be
taken. He consulted it to learn how far he was from the camp of his
friends and in what direction the camp was located. After asking it
these questions, he would place the finger on the palm of his hand,
when it would point in a certain direction. After running some distance
he would consult again this animate finger. At last it did not stand at
an angle but pointed horizontally, and the hunter knew that he had
arrived very near the camp of his fellows. Having reached the camp, he
ate some food and regained his strength. He then told his comrades that
two Genonsgwa women were following him closely, although it is said
that after they lost the animate finger they could not go much faster
than a slow run. When the hunter had told his story the chief of the
party said, “We must gather up all our things and go home tomorrow.”

The next day, just as they had placed all their things in the canoe and
had pushed off from shore, they saw the elder of the women, who called
from the bank: “Give me back what you have stolen from me. If you will
return what belongs to me, you shall be successful; you shall always
have good luck.” She was weeping and was evidently in great distress.
Then the chief of the hunting party asked: “What did you take from her?
It may be true that we shall have greater success if you return it to
her. I think you would better do so. Show me what you took from her.”
The young hunter then drew out the animate finger and showed it to him.
The chief at once said, “Let her have it again.” The hunter replied:
“It is well. I suppose she will never molest us again.”

Now, all the party were aware that the woman was a Genonsgwa. Placing
the animate finger on the palm of his hand, the hunter held it out as
far as he could over the stream toward her. In reaching over the water
she lost her balance and fell into the stream. She sank at once, and
all that the hunters saw was bubbles arising from the water. Then the
young hunter said, “Let us be off quickly.” He retained the animate
finger, which he afterward used in all his hunting expeditions.

The party reached home safe in due time. The young hunter became noted
for his skill, owing to the animate finger, which he always consulted
and which would always point out where he would find whatever game he
wanted to kill—bear, elk, beaver, or pigeons.

So it happened that ever afterward he had a great supply of all things
good to eat and of many fine furs and feather robes.





13. THE GRANDMOTHER AND HER GRANDDAUGHTER

There was a grandmother living with her granddaughter. They had a skin
of some kind for their blanket, the hair of which had largely worn off.
Suddenly they found that the skin had become alive [24a] and was angry,
and with all their might they ran for their lives. They heard the skin
coming in fierce pursuit and it seemed very near to them. Then the
grandmother began to sing, saying in her song, “My granddaughter and I
are running our best for life; my granddaughter and I are running our
best for life.” At the end of the song she could scarcely hear the
sound of the animate skin following them. Not long afterward she heard
it more plainly, but then they were near home. When they reached the
lodge, the animate skin was so near it almost caught them. When they
jumped through the door the skin clawed at them, scratching their
backs, but they got in. The skin was a bear. The old woman and her
granddaughter were chipmunks. Chipmunks now have stripes on their backs
as the result of the scratches received by the two mentioned above.





14. THE WOMAN WHO BECAME A SNAKE FROM EATING FISH [25]

In the old times a young man and his wife lived together very happily
in a village. The young man had a hunting ground one day’s journey from
the village. There in the forest he had a lodge. He usually asked his
wife to go with him. She replied always that she would be very glad to
go and to have a good time there; thereupon he said, “Let us make ready
and go.” They would set out on their journey and would reach the place
in the evening. After making a fire and cooking their supper they would
spend the evening pleasantly.

The day after one such night the man went out and found plenty of game.
He had like success on the second and third days. Everything seemed to
be auspicious.

On the fourth day, while the man was gone, the woman saw many fish in
the neighboring stream when she went for water and decided that she
could catch some. So she caught several in the water basket. “What good
luck I have had,” said she; “my husband will be surprised to have fish
for supper.” She cooked and ate half of the fish and put the rest away
for her husband. After a while she began to be thirsty. Going to the
water basket she found it empty, so getting down on her hands and knees
she began to drink from the stream. After a while she thought that she
would stop drinking, but being still very thirsty, she drank more; then
she drank still more, and, on raising herself, she saw that she was
turning into a snake.

Meanwhile her husband came home. He did not find his wife in the lodge
and seeing no water basket, he thought she had gone for water. Hurrying
to the stream, he arrived there just in time to see her lower parts
become those of a snake. She told him what had happened with regard to
the fish—that she had had such a hunger for them that she had eaten a
good many; and that she was sorry, very sorry, to leave him, but that
she must go to the lake into which the stream flowed. She said,
further, that in the lake was a serpent with which she had to fight a
great battle, and that he might go to look on, and that he should burn
tobacco for her success in the fight.

The woman floated down the stream, and her husband followed her. He saw
the great battle in the lake. During this struggle the serpents would
raise their heads from the water higher than a great lodge, and they
fought and fought fiercely. She conquered the other serpent, but her
husband did not wait to see the end. He went home.

After a while the husband was told in a dream that he must make a
basswood woman and dress her up. He did this, using his wife’s clothes.
The figure became just like his former wife. In another dream he was
told that he must not touch the basswood woman for ten days. He
refrained from touching her for nine days. But on the tenth day—she was
so like his former wife—he touched her, whereupon she disappeared
forever, there being nothing left in her place but a basswood stick.





15. GAQGA (THE CROW) MAKES A JOURNEY AND KILLS MANY PEOPLE

A man, a Gaqga, was traveling. He did not know whence he came, nor
whither he was going. As he journeyed along he continually thought:
“How did I come to be alive? Whence did I come? Whither am I going?”

After traveling a long time, he saw smoke through the forest, and
approaching it, he found four hunters, named Djodjogis.[26] Being
afraid to go near them, he hid in the thickets and watched them. The
next morning, after they had departed to hunt, Gaqga crept up to their
camp and stole their meat, which he carried into the woods, where he
made a camp for himself. He was lonely and said, “I wish there was some
other people here.”

One morning he saw that some person was living west of his camp. Going
to the lodge, he found a man, his wife, and five children; they were
Djoñiaik [27] people. Gaqga ate the youngest child first and then he
ate the other four; in the meanwhile the father and the mother strove
to drive him away, but they could not. Then, leaving old Djoñiaik and
his wife crying for their children, he went home. Some time after this
he saw another camp off in the southeast, where he found a family of
Ganogeshegea28 people. Being afraid of the old people, he ran off, but
they ran after him and beat him on the head until they had driven him
far away. Then the man said, “Is it not a shame that such little
fellows should beat me,” but he dared not go back.

Now he roamed over all the forest, but he could not find his camp. At
last, saying, “Well, let it go; I do not care,” he walked on toward the
north. Just before dark he saw a camp. Going cautiously toward it, he
saw therein four men and a large quantity of meat. That night he hid in
the woods. Next morning, looking toward the camp, he again saw the four
hunters, and thought, “I will wait until they have gone to hunt and
then I will get their meat.”

Soon after this he heard the hunters moving around; then all became
quiet and he concluded that they had gone. He crept slowly toward the
camp, but when he reached it he could not find a bite of meat. These
were the same four brothers from whom he had stolen before. They had
now finished hunting, and had packed their meat and started for home.
Disappointed by this failure, he walked on; toward night he saw a camp,
and, creeping near it, he again saw the four hunters. He listened to
what they were saying. One said, “I wonder who stole our meat that
day.” Another said: “I think that man is walking around in the woods. I
think his name is Gaqga.” “Oh,” thought Gaqga, “they are talking about
me. They will be on the watch. How can I get their meat?” Then he said,
“I wish them all to sleep soundly.” They fell asleep, and he went up
boldly and took all their meat and hid it in the woods, saying, “This
is the kind of man I am.”

The next morning the four hunters missed their meat. One said, “Who has
stolen our meat?” Another said: “I dreamed that I saw Gaqga around
here. I saw him go off toward the southwest.” Then all said, “Let us
follow the direction given by the dream.” They started and soon came to
the place where Gaqga was camped. He had been out all night and was now
sleeping. One of the men said, “Let us kill him.” “No,” said another;
“let him live; he did not kill us while we were asleep.” They took the
meat and went away.

When Gaqga awoke he was very hungry, but the meat was gone. “Well,”
thought he, “I must go and hunt for more meat,” but he could find none.
About midday he heard the noises made by people. He listened and then
went on to a lodge. Some one inside was singing and the song said:
“Gaqga is coming. Look out. Be careful, Gaqga is coming.” “Why does he
sing about me?” thought Gaqga; “I will go inside and find out.” He
found a man and his wife and four children. Gaqga said, “I have come to
stay a few days with you.” “Very well,” replied the man of the lodge.
During the night Gaqga ate all the children; then he lay down and
slept. The next morning the old people said, “Where are our children?”
Gaqga replied: “I dreamed somebody carried off your children, and my
dream told which way he went. I will go with you to hunt them.” After
they had gone some distance Gaqga said: “The man lives on that high
cliff. I can not go with you for I do not like the man who lives there.
I will wait here.” As soon as the father was out of sight Gaqga went
away. Now he went on until he came to a place where he found many of
his own people; they were having a great dance, and he sat down to
watch them.

Soon Hanisheonon [29] [the Muckworm] came from the east. The people
stopped dancing and ran in every direction, but Hanisheonon pursued
them, and, catching them one after another by the neck, threw them off
dead. Gaqga, who sat watching, said: “What sort of a man is that? I
wish he would see me; he can not throw me off dead in that way.” After
killing many of the Gaqga people, Hanisheonon started toward the west,
with Gaqga following him, but Hanisheonon kept on his course and did
not regard the noise behind him. At last he stopped and, looking back,
asked, “What do you want?” “I do not want anything,” said Gaqga; “I
have just come to be company for you.” “I do not want your company,”
said Hanisheonon. Gaqga was frightened. Both stood still. Suddenly
Hanisheonon sprang at Gaqga and caught him, but Gaqga screamed so
loudly that all his people who had run away from Hanisheonon heard the
call and came to his aid. They flew at Hanisheonon and pecked him until
he was dead.





16. OHOHWA (THE OWL) AND THE TWO SISTERS

Two sisters of a tribe lived near the edge of a village clearing. The
chief dwelt near the center of it. The mother of these two sisters was
accustomed to pick up deer droppings to put into the hominy instead of
venison or fish. This was a custom practiced only by widows and by
families who from some misfortune were too poor to obtain meat or fish.

One day one of the sisters asked her mother to let her have some of the
droppings to mix with the hominy which she was preparing. Her aged
mother, who was a widow, replied, “You should be ashamed of yourself to
ask for such things, for you are a fine-looking woman and should marry
the chief’s son; then you would not be obliged to seek such things for
meat, for you would have a good hunter to provide you with all the meat
and fish you required.”

Somewhat abashed, the daughter answered, “Well, if my sister will go, I
will go; and if he will take us both, it will be well.” So they set to
work and prepared the usual marriage bread, and when they were ready to
start they asked their mother how the young man looked. She replied:
“He is a handsome man, with a hooked nose. Beside the fire he has two
deer heads, which are alive and open and shut their eyes whenever fuel
is placed on the fire. This young man is very strong in magic—is
possessed of potent orenda, and so he has many wild deer around his
lodge. You must be very careful lest you be deceived by his uncle, who
also has a hooked nose and very closely resembles his nephew. He will
attempt to seduce you on the way. The first large lodge you see is the
one to which you must go.”

So the daughters started and went along slowly. At last they saw a man
running around old stumps trying to catch something. He did not see
them coming. Shortly after they came in sight of him he stood
up—protruding from his mouth was the tail of a mouse. Seeing the girls,
he said, “Ho, ho, where are you two going?” “We are going to propose to
the chief’s son,” they replied. “Well, what is his appearance?” was his
next question. “Our mother said that he had a hooked nose,” came their
answer. The wily old man said, “Look at me! Is not my nose hooked?”
“Yes,” said the elder sister, “perhaps this is the man.” So they went
to his lodge, which was an old, ugly-looking place. He said to them
that he had to get his deer heads, so he got some old heads which his
nephew had cast away. His mother and his little boy sat by the fire. He
told them to keep quiet and they would have bread shortly. The child
cried out, “Father, give me some bread.” The old man said, “Why do you
not call me brother? I am your brother.” Then the old man shoved the
little boy aside and sat down near the girls. One of them said, “We
want to see the live deer you have around the lodge.” So they went
outside. This place was not far from that of the nephew. The old man
called the deer, but they ran away. Then he said to the girls, “You are
not mystically pure enough to come near those deer, for they are very
subtle.”

The girls spent the night with the old man. His bed had but few skins,
and one of the girls asked him, “Why do you not have a better bed?”
“Oh, my mother is washing the turkey-feather blanket in the creek,” he
declared.

During the night some person came to the door and said, “Old man, you
are wanted at the lodge of your nephew.” The old man paid no heed to
the summons. He was again summoned by the words, “Come! your nephew
wants you.” Then he declared that he supposed that the people had
become frightened at something and wanted him to call a council; so he
started off. After he had gone the girls said, “Let us go over and see
what is happening.” When they arrived at the lodge they heard loud
peals of laughter, and so they peeped through crevices in the bark
walls; they saw the old man dancing and before the fire a number of
mice roasting on spits. As the old man passed them in his dance he
would grasp one and eat it hot and burning, and everybody would laugh.

The girls ran back to the lodge of the old man and placed rotten logs
full of ants in their bed in order to deceive him into thinking that
they were lying there asleep. Then, taking their basket, which still
contained some bread, they went outside the lodge to watch. When the
old man returned they peered into the lodge to see what he would do.
They saw him quietly creep into the bed between the two logs. Soon he
began to be bitten by the ants. Thereupon he turned over, saying, “Do
not be jealous of your sister”; but as the biting continued, he
repeated his injunction. Finally, the ants made it so uncomfortable for
him that he sprang out of bed, and then realizing that he had been
lying between logs of wood full of ants, he bitterly upbraided his
mother, although she knew nothing of the matter.

The girls then went to the lodge of the nephew, who willingly took them
for his wives.

It was not long after this that the old man informed the people that
they must close up the smoke-holes of their lodges, for a great
pestilence was coming among them. So they did this. Then the old man,
after sharpening a beech rod, carried it wherever he went. He made a
great noise, saying: “Blue beech is coming. Blue beech is coming.” When
he arrived at his nephew’s lodge he cast the beech rod down the
smoke-hole, and it entered the breast of his nephew and killed him.

The next morning, when the people heard of the death of their chief,
everyone began to weep for him. By the death of the nephew the old man
became the chief. He said that some one must marry the girl wives of
the dead chief; so he called all the young men together, but before
they could speak their minds the wily old reprobate exclaimed, “None of
you will do.” He had asked each one for an expression of opinion, but
would not permit anyone to answer him. Then he closed the conference by
saying, “I must marry them myself.” But the girls would not remain and
quickly escaped to their own home.

The old man was an owl, but the nephew was an eagle.





17. A GREAT SNAKE BATTLE

In old times some Indians had a great battle with snakes, and this is
how it happened.

A certain man near the village of the Indians was hunting one day. He
found a rattlesnake, which he mercilessly tormented. He tied a piece of
bark around its body and passed another piece of bark through the body.
Then, fastening the snake to the ground and building a fire, he said,
“We shall fight,” as a challenge to the snake people. Afterward he
burned up the snake and tormented many other snakes in this way, always
challenging them to fight.

One day a man heard a peculiar noise. As he went near the apparent
source of the sound, he saw a large number of all kinds of snakes going
in one direction. Listening to their words, he heard them say: “We will
have a battle with them. Djisdaah [30] has challenged us.” They (the
snakes) were going to hold a council. The man overheard them say, “In
four days we shall have a battle.”

The man went back to the village and told the people what he had seen
and heard. The chief sent a number of men to the place, and as far as
they could see in all directions were snakes three or four feet deep,
all moving toward their rendezvous. The men ran back and told the chief
what they had seen. The chief said: “We can not avoid it; we have got
to fight, and so we must get ready.” To do this they cut great piles of
wood and drove stakes close together in the ground; there were two rows
of stakes the whole length of the village, and they stacked up the wood
in long piles. On the fourth day the chief told the men to set fire to
the wood in several places.

When the snakes advanced to attack the village they came right on
through the fire, and many of them were burned to death. So many rushed
into the fire that they put it out. The live snakes climbed over the
dead ones, and in spite of the resistance of the men, who were trying
in every way to kill them, they reached the second row of stakes. Here
again many were killed, but still the living climbed over the dead
above the second row of stakes, and then the battle for life began in
deep earnest. The first man they killed was Djisdaah, the man who had
challenged them, and then the snakes made for the village, and the men
stood and fought. Finally the chief shouted that he surrendered.

Then a snake, whose body was as large as a mountain, and whose head was
as large as a lodge, came right up out of the ground and said: “I am
the chief of the snakes; we will go home if you agree that as long as
the world stands you will not call any man Djisdaah and will not
maltreat my people.” The chief agreed willingly to this, and the snakes
went away.





18. THE ONGWE IAS (THE CANNIBAL) AND HIS YOUNGER BROTHER

Two brothers were in the woods on a hunting expedition, and after they
had been on the hunt a good while they had success in finding game, and
they had built a good sized lodge, in which they enjoyed everything in
common.

The elder said to the younger brother: “Now, for the future we must
live apart; let us make a partition through the middle of the lodge and
have a door at each end, so that you shall have a door to your part and
I a door to mine.” The younger brother agreed, and they made the
partition. The elder brother said further: “Now, each will live for
himself. I will not come to your room and you shall not come to mine;
when we want to say anything to each other we can talk through the
partition. You may hunt game as before—birds and animals—and live on
them, but I will hunt men and eat them. Neither of us will ever marry
or bring a woman to the lodge; if I marry, you shall kill me, if you
can, but if you marry I will try to kill you.” The brothers lived thus
apart in the same lodge, each going out to hunt alone.

One day while the brothers were out hunting, a woman came to the
younger brother’s room. The elder brother tracked her to the lodge,
caught her at the door, dragged her into his room, and killed and ate
her. When the younger brother came home the elder said, “I have had
good luck today near home.” The younger brother knew that he must have
killed and eaten the woman, but he said merely, “It is well if you have
had good luck.”

On another day the elder brother tracked a woman to his brother’s part
of the lodge and, going to the door, knocked, calling out, “Let me have
a couple of arrows; there is an elk out here.” The woman brought the
arrows, and the moment she opened the door he killed her and took her
body to his part of the lodge, where he cooked and ate it. When his
brother came back they talked through the partition as before. The
younger brother warned the next woman against opening the door; he told
her to open it for no one, not even for himself; that he would come in
without knocking.

The next time the elder brother ran to the door and knocked hurriedly,
calling out, “Give me a couple of arrows; there is a bear out here,”
the woman sat by the fire, but did not move. Again he called, “Hurry!
Give me the arrows—the bear will be gone.” The woman did not stir, but
sat quietly by the fire. After a while the elder brother went into his
part of the lodge. When the younger brother came home the woman told
him what had happened. While they were whispering the elder brother
called out: “Well, brother, you are whispering to some one. Who is it?
Have you a woman here?” “Oh,” answered the younger, “I am counting over
my game.” All was silent now for a time. The younger brother then began
whispering cautiously to the woman, saying, “My brother and I will have
a life-and-death struggle in the morning, and you must help me; but it
will be very difficult for you to do so, for he will make himself just
like me in form and voice, but you must strike him if you can.” The
woman tied to his hair a small squash shell so as to be able to
distinguish him from his elder brother. The latter again called out,
“You have a woman; you are whispering to her.” The younger brother
denied it no longer.

In the morning the brothers went out to fight with clubs and knives.
After breaking their weapons they clenched and rolled on the ground;
sometimes one was under and sometimes the other. The elder was exactly
like the younger and repeated his words. Whenever the younger cried,
“Strike him!” the elder cried out almost at the same time, “Strike
him!” The woman was in agony, for she was unable to tell which to
strike. At last she caught sight of the squash shell, and then she
struck a heavy blow and finished the elder brother.

They gathered a great pile of wood and, laying the body on the pile,
set fire to the wood and burned up the flesh. When the flesh was
consumed they scattered the burnt bones. Then the younger brother
placed the woman in the core of a cat-tail flag, which he put on the
point of his arrow and shot far away to the west. Running through the
heart of the upper log of the lodge, he sprang after the woman and,
coming to the ground, ran with great speed and soon found where the
arrow had struck. The cat-tail flag had burst open and the woman was
gone. He soon overtook her and they traveled on together. He told her
she must make all speed, for the ghost of his brother would follow
them.

The next morning they heard the whooping of some one in pursuit. The
younger brother said, “My brother has come to life again and is
following; he will destroy us if he can overtake us.” Thereupon he
turned the woman into a half-decayed stump and, taking off his
moccasins and telling them to run on ahead,[31] he secreted himself a
short distance away. “Go quickly through swamps and thicket and over
mountains and ravines, and come to me by a round-about way at noon
tomorrow,” he said to the moccasins.

When the elder brother reached the rotten stump he looked at it and,
seeing something like nostrils, put his finger in and almost made the
woman sneeze. Though suspicious of the tree, he followed the moccasin
tracks swiftly all day and night.

At the break of day the younger brother and the woman continued their
journey. At noon the elder brother came back to the place where he saw
the stump and not finding it, he was in a terrible rage. He knew now
that he had been deceived. He continued to follow the tracks, and on
the second day the pursued couple heard his whoop again. Taking out of
his pouch a part of the jaw of a beaver with a couple of teeth in it,
the younger brother stuck it into the ground, saying, “Let all the
beavers come and build a dam across the world, so that the waters may
rise to his neck, and let all the beavers in the world bite him when he
tries to cross.” Then he and the woman ran on.

When the elder brother came up, the dam was built and the water
neck-deep; finding that the tracks disappeared in the water, he said,
“If they have gone through I, too, can go through.” When the water
reached his breast all the beavers began to bite him, and he was forced
to turn back and look for another crossing. All day he ran but could
find no end to the dam and cried out, “I have never heard before of a
beaver dam across the world.” He then ran to the place whence he had
started. The dam was gone and all that remained was a bit of beaver jaw
with two teeth in it. He saw his brother’s work in this and was now
raving with anger. He rushed along with all speed.

The second day after the younger brother and the woman heard his whoop
again. Taking out a pigeon feather from his pouch, the younger brother
placed it behind him on the ground, saying, “Let all the pigeons of the
world come and leave their droppings here, so that my brother may not
pass.” All the pigeons of the world came, and soon there was a ridge of
droppings 6 feet high across the country. When the elder brother came
up he saw the tracks disappearing in the ridge; thereupon he said, “If
they have crossed I, too, can cross it.” He walked into it but he could
not get through, and so he turned back with great difficulty and ran
eastward to look for an opening; he ran all day, but the ridge was
everywhere. He cried in anger, “I have never known such a thing.” Going
back, he slept until morning, when he found that all was clean—nothing
to be seen but a pigeon feather sticking in the ground. He hurried on
in a frenzy of rage.

After dropping the feather the younger brother and woman ran until they
came to an old man mending a great fish net. The old man said: “I will
stop as long as I can the man who is chasing you. You have an aunt who
lives west of here, by the roadside. The path passes between two ledges
of rock which move backward and forward so quickly that whoever tries
to pass between is crushed, but if you beg of her to stop them for a
moment she will do so and will give you information.” They hurried on
until they came to the woman, their aunt, and prayed her to let them
pass. She stopped the rocks long enough for them to spring through,
saying: “Your path is through a river, on the other side of which is a
man with a canoe; beckon to him and he will come and take you over;
beyond the river is a whole army of Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, but they will
not harm you. A little dog wagging his tail will run to meet you.
Follow him and he will lead you to an opening in which is your mother’s
lodge. The dog will enter—follow him.”

When the elder brother came to the old man who was mending his net he
passed, and, pushing him rudely, called out, “Did anyone pass here?”
The old man did not answer. Then he struck him a blow on the head with
his club. When he did that the old man threw the net over him and he
became entangled and fell. After struggling to get out for a long time,
he tore himself free and hurried on. When he reached the old woman
where the rocks were opening and closing, he begged her to stop them,
but she would not; so, waiting for a chance, he finally jumped, but was
caught and half his body was crushed; he rubbed it with spittle and was
cured. Then he hurried on in still greater fury. When he came to the
river he shouted to the man in the canoe, but the man paid no heed;
again he shouted, and then he swam across. On the other side he found
an immense forest of withered trees, which for miles had been stripped
of their bark and killed by the hammering of turtle-shell rattles by
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, keeping time with them while dancing. These
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, turning upon him immediately, hammered all the flesh
off of him; they then hammered all his bones until there was not a
trace of him left. When the mother saw her son and his wife she was
very happy, and said: “I am so glad you have come. I was afraid your
elder brother who took you away would kill you. I knew he would try to
do so. Now you will always stay with me.”





19. HAIEÑDOÑNIS AND YENOGEAUNS [29]

One day Haieñdoñnis, carrying all his small effects, was walking along
through the forest. It seems that he did not know where he came from,
nor did he know to what particular place he was going, although he well
knew that he was going in a northerly direction. Wherever evening
overtook him there he would place his bundle on the ground and get into
it, when he had no hollow tree to enter, and thus spend the night. In
this way he traveled many days.

One morning he came to a steep precipice; here he began to wonder how
he might be able to descend its face with so large a pack on his back.
At last he placed his pack on the ground, and, hastening to a basswood
tree standing some distance away, he stripped all the bark from it,
which he slit into fine strands. Tying the strips together, end to end,
he made a long strand, one end of which he fastened to a hemlock tree
standing on the brink of the precipice and the other he let down over
the brink. Then taking hold of the strand near the hemlock tree, he
carefully lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. He was soon at
the end of the strand and there he hung. His bundle pulled down the
upper part of his body until he was in an almost horizontal position,
with his face turned upward, so he could not see just where he was.
Although he was near the ground he did not know it. Feeling that his
situation was critical, he thought: “What shall I do now? Would it not
be better for me to kill myself by letting go of the strand, for I can
not get up, nor can I in any manner descend.” Finally he decided to let
go of the rope of basswood bark and fall to the bottom of the
precipice; but, as he released his grip, his pack touched the ground
and his head rested on the pack. He thought, however, that he was
falling all the time. At last he felt weary of falling, and said, “I
will try to turn over on one side, so that I can see whither I am
going.” So turning himself on one side he found that he was on the
ground, and he exclaimed, “I have been greatly delayed by not knowing
that the ground was at the end of the strand of basswood bark.” So
saying he arose and went on.

When darkness came he found, after diligent search, a hollow tree, in
which he spent the night. In this manner he traveled for many days.
Finally he decided to find a place in which to dwell, and he resolved
that it must be a place where the trees stood only a short distance
apart. Having found such a spot, he built a small cabin, in which he
put his pack. Then he began to arrange his things in order—skins and
furs, ladles and bark bowls, pouch and weapons.

The next morning he went out very early to hunt for food. Soon he saw a
deer walking along, and on pointing his finger at it the deer fell
dead. Then he carried its carcass home on his back. He then ordered
that it skin itself, and this it did. He cut the carcass into suitable
portions, some of which he hung up around the inside of the cabin and
some he roasted for his meal. That night he found that he had no
firewood. Going out of doors, he said in a loud voice, “Let wood for
fuel come and pile itself beside my doorway.” The wish thus expressed
was immediately accomplished.

This remarkable man had an influence over every kind of game. When he
desired a particular animal, all that he had to do was to point his
finger at it, and the victim would fall dead. In this way he was able
to kill much game in a day. When he returned to his small cabin he did
not carry the game, but would stand at the door and say, “Let the game
which I have killed be piled up beside my doorway.” When this was done
he would say, “Let the skins come off and the meat be quartered, put up
to dry, and be smoked.” Then he would enter his cabin, paying no
further attention to the game. In the morning he would find the meat
hanging up to dry and a large heap of skins lying at his door. He would
then spend the day in tanning the skins.

One day while he was out hunting he saw Gaasyendietʻha,[32] whereupon
he pointed his finger at him and Gaasyendietʻha at once fell dead.
Haieñdoñnis took off his skin for a pouch. Going some distance farther,
he beheld a panther. On pointing his finger at it, the panther fell
dead and he then skinned it. In like manner he killed and skinned a
fox. With these three skins he was enabled to make three pouches,
which, on his arrival at his home, he hung on the wall of his cabin.

After a while the thought came to him, “What shall I do with these
three pouches?” Then he took down the pouch made of the skin of
Gaasyendietʻha and commanded it, saying, “Stand upright here.”
Instantly Gaasyendietʻha stood there before him alive. Then Haieñdoñnis
made the other two pouches come to life in the same manner, and there
they stood inside his cabin. Meanwhile the rumor spread that
Haieñdoñnis had settled down in that place and that he was possessed of
potent orenda, or mighty magic power, and that he was a sorcerer
through possession of this mysterious potency, which worked good for
his friends and evil for his enemies.

Not far from the cabin of the mysterious Haieñdoñnis stood the lodge of
a woman and her three daughters. The mother was reputed to be a great
witch, and it was said that she had come there to dwell because no one
in the settlement of her tribe wanted to live near her.

One day she said to her three daughters, “Let us pound corn for meal
and make corn bread.” So, having prepared the corn for the mortar, they
began to pound it, each using a pestle. The corn was soon reduced to
meal and the mother made it into corn bread. Filling a basket with
this, she said to her eldest daughter, Deyondennigongenyons,[33] who
was a very handsome girl, “I want you to go to Haieñdoñnis’s lodge to
learn whether he will marry you or not.” They lived one-half day’s
journey from Haieñdoñnis. Willingly obeying her mother, the girl
started with the basket of corn bread.

Haieñdoñnis saw the woman coming with a basket on her back, and he
exclaimed: “Hoho! There is a woman coming. I think that she is coming
to see me. I do wonder if indeed she desires to marry me.” Then,
addressing the pouch, Gaasyendietʻha, he said: “I want you to go yonder
and to stand beside that tree there. You, Panther, stand a little
nearer to the cabin, and you, Fox, stand in the doorway of the cabin.”

As the woman drew near Haieñdoñnis sat smoking his pipe. She came quite
close to Gaasyendietʻha, but as she walked with her head down at first
she did not see him; but when just in front of him she noticed
something, and, looking up, saw so fierce-looking a person that
instinctively she turned back and fled. As she ran along the bread all
fell out of her basket, so when she reached home there was none left.
Her mother, Yenogeauns, asked her, “What is the matter?” But she was
entirely out of breath and could not answer. Haieñdoñnis was laughing,
for he saw her run all the way home.

After several days the mother said to her daughters, “We will again
make corn bread.” Soon the girls had prepared and pounded the corn into
meal, which the mother made into bread. Then she addressed her second
daughter, Yonwithahon,[34] saying: “Take this basket and go to the
lodge of Haieñdoñnis and see if he will marry you. Your sister was a
great coward, and so she failed.” Obeying her mother, the girl started
on her journey.

Haieñdoñnis saw her coming and said: “Here comes another woman. She
will soon be scattering her corn bread, too.” So he stationed the
living pouches as he had before. The girl came along with her head down
until she reached Gaasyendietʻha, and, seeing him, she said, “I need
not be afraid,” and passed on. In like manner she passed Panther, and
came to the doorway; there before her stood a man rubbing something
against the door which frightened her greatly, and she screamed and
fled homeward. On her way she likewise lost all the bread out of her
basket. Seeing her flight, Haieñdoñnis laughed at her, too.

Haieñdoñnis hunted a good deal and was accustomed to clean intestines
of the game he had killed and fill them with blood and pieces of fat
and meat, and so cook them. He cooked many of these and hung them over
his couch.

After a few days had elapsed the old woman said to her daughters, “Let
us make another trial.” It would seem that the mother well knew what
had happened to her daughters who had made the journey to the lodge of
Haieñdoñnis. So they made corn bread of such kind as was customary in
proposals for marriage, and they filled a basket with it. Then the wily
old mother said to her youngest daughter, Yenongäa: “You make the
attempt this time. Do not notice anything or fear anything, but go
directly to the lodge of Haieñdoñnis.” The dutiful daughter replied
with some inward misgivings: “It is well. I will try,” and, taking up
the basket of bread, she started.

Now, Haieñdoñnis soon saw her coming, and he exclaimed: “Is it not
wonderful what small value these people place on bread? They come here
with it and then run off, scattering it along the path as they flee.
Now this one is coming with a basketful on her back, and I suppose that
she will run off, dropping it along the way behind her.” He watched her
come up to Gaasyendietʻha, and saw her look at him and then strike him,
so that he fell to the ground. She saw that this seemingly ferocious
figure was only the animated skin of Gaasyendietʻha. So coming up to
Panther, she dealt with him as she had with Gaasyendietʻha. On arriving
at the door where her second sister had thought she saw a man, Yenongäa
went up to Fox and struck him a blow with her hand; down he fell, for
he, too, was nothing but a pouch of fox skin, the tail of which the
wind had been brushing against the flap of the doorway, the occurrence
which frightened her sister. The other sisters had thought that living
beings stood before them.

Now, when Haieñdoñnis saw her doing these things, he thought, “She will
surely come into the lodge; so I must get my pipe and pretend to be an
old man.” On entering the lodge, Yenongäa inquired, “Where is
Haieñdoñnis?” Receiving no answer, she repeated her question, and then
Haieñdoñnis replied in an old man’s accents. “It seems to me that I
hear a woman’s voice.” So she called in a louder tone. Then he looked
up, saying, “I do not think that he is at home, or that he will return
before the end of ten days.” The unabashed young woman replied, “It is
well. Then I will come in ten days,” and started for home.

At the end of ten days the youngest daughter again set out for the
lodge of Haieñdoñnis. When she drew near he saw her, and said to
himself, “Now I shall change myself into a small boy.” On this visit
the young woman paid no attention to the animated pouches representing
Gaasyendietʻha, Panther, and Fox, but went directly to the doorway and
stood there. On making her presence known, she heard the voice of a
small boy say, “Come in.” After entering the lodge she asked, “Where is
Haieñdoñnis?” The answer came: “He has just gone out. He has gone to
the other side of the world.” “How long will he be gone?” was her next
inquiry. “Oh!” came the reply, “he said that he would be gone about ten
days.” Then she assured the small boy that she would return in that
time.

At the end of the time Haieñdoñnis saw her coming again, and resolved
to make himself invisible this time, to deceive her. So when she had
made her way into the lodge and set her basket down, she looked around
but saw no one. Then, saying, “I will wait a while,” she sat down on
the couch of Haieñdoñnis. The situation was so amusing that Haieñdoñnis
laughed out loud, and the young woman, becoming frightened, arose and
fled home, where she arrived quite ashamed of herself, for she had left
her basket of corn bread. Her mother asked, “Where is the basket of
corn bread?” but she made no reply, knowing that her mother was aware
of what had taken place. The mother then heated water and prepared to
wash her daughter clean, for she saw that some of the deer intestines
which hung in the lodge of Haieñdoñnis were clinging to her daughter.
The old woman took them with the remark: “I am thankful to you. These
are good meat. You shall go there again to-morrow.”

So the next morning she went again, and when Haieñdoñnis saw her he
laughed, saying, “I think that all the intestines will go this time.”
On entering the lodge she saw Haieñdoñnis in his real shape. He asked
her what she was going to do with the basket of bread which she had
left in his lodge. She replied, “My mother sent me to live with you as
your wife.” He replied, “It is well, and I agree to it,” and from that
time they lived together as man and wife. These two were evil-minded,
wicked people, who were full of the orenda, or magic power, of
sorcerers, and all wizards and witches in the world knew just the
moment that they became man and wife.

The next morning Yenongäa said to her husband that she desired to visit
her mother. Haieñdoñnis readily gave his consent to her going; so she
went to her home. At once her mother began to work over her for the
purpose of endowing her with much more evil-working orenda, and she
instructed her, too, how to enslave her husband. She also said to her,
“You must urge him to come to live with us.” The young woman returned
to her husband, who, on looking at her, discovered that she was being
equipped to enslave him. But he foiled her this time and every
succeeding time that she undertook to do so. She went to her mother’s
lodge for a long time. Finally, Haieñdoñnis became wearied by this
conduct of his wife and her mother, and said to himself: “I wonder why
they act in this manner. I think that it would be well for me to
destroy her people.” To this he made up his mind.

The next morning she again told him that she was going to visit her
mother. After she had started Haieñdoñnis followed her. By taking a
circuitous route he got ahead of his wife, arriving at her mother’s
lodge before she did. Rushing into the lodge, he faced the old woman.
He said to her, “I have come to fight with you,” and the aged hag
graciously accepted his challenge. So they at once began fighting with
war clubs, and were fighting fiercely when the wife entered the lodge.
She wondered how her husband had passed her. She stood there powerless
to aid either one. The combatants kept on fighting until Haieñdoñnis
was certain that the old mother and the two elder daughters were dead.
Then addressing his wife, he said, “You go off yonder a little way,”
and she willingly obeyed him. Thereupon he set the lodge on fire, and
the flames were soon rising high. After the fire had died out somewhat
there were a number of explosions among the embers, sounding pop! pop!
Then up flew a horned owl, a common owl, and a screech owl to the upper
limbs of a tree standing near the scene. These were owls in human form.

Thus were the three women utterly destroyed. Then Haieñdoñnis said to
his wife, “Let us go home now.” But she stood there looking in one
direction; she seemed spellbound. At last her husband took her by the
arm, again saying, “Let us go home,” and she turned and followed him.

It seems that those who were most skilled in the arts of sorcery and
enchantment, who dwelt even to the very edge of the world, knew the
exact moment Haieñdoñnis had killed the old woman and her wicked
daughters, for at that moment a great shout of joy went up from the
people, which was heard all over the world; they rejoiced because these
women so powerful in magic and so utterly wicked were dead and burned
up.

Now, Haieñdoñnis, putting spittle on his hands, rubbed with opposing
orenda, or magic power, the head of Yenongäa,[35] his wife. He gently
pulled and smoothed her hair, which had been short before that time,
and it soon became long and glossy. He had neutralized her orenda
through this manipulation. Thereafter they dwelt in the lodge of
Haieñdoñnis in great contentment.





20. THE MAN WITH THE PANTHER-SKIN ROBE AND HIS BROTHER WITH A
TURKEY-SKIN ROBE

In the olden time an uncle lived in a lodge together with two nephews,
the one 2 or 3 and the other 15 or 16 years of age. They dwelt happily
in a forest. When the uncle went out to hunt the elder nephew would
remain at home and when the elder nephew was out hunting the uncle
would not leave the lodge, for the younger nephew was too small to
leave alone during the day.

One day the elder nephew said to his uncle: “Mother’s brother, will you
kindly kill a turkey gobbler for me? If you will, I will make a robe
for my little brother.” “How will you do that?” queried the uncle. “Oh,
I shall skin him and make a feather coat for my little brother,”
declared the elder nephew.

The next day the indulgent uncle brought home from his hunting a
beautiful white wild turkey gobbler and his nephews were delighted to
see it. Then the elder nephew skinned the fine bird, leaving the head,
legs, wings, and tail attached to the skin. He rubbed and carefully
prepared in the usual manner the skin with the feathers in place, and
when it had been thoroughly cured and tanned with smoke he placed the
turkey-skin robe on his little brother, whom it fitted very well. The
boy thrust his feet into the skins of the legs and his arms into the
skins of the wings. The skin was a close fit, because the little boy
was just the size of a turkey gobbler, and now he looked just like one.
The little fellow was able to walk around looking for beechnuts and he
could also fly up into trees, so his uncle and elder brother called him
“Turkey Brother.”

The uncle and his two nephews lived together until the elder nephew was
of an age to be married. Then the uncle said: “Oh, I am tired of
cooking and of doing other kinds of woman’s work. I would like to have
something prepared by a woman. You, my nephew, are now old enough to
marry; so now go off among the people and seek a suitable wife. There
is a chief living not far from here who has three excellent daughters,
and you can get one of them for the asking.” The nephew, after a
moment’s hesitation, replied, “It is well; I am willing to go to seek a
wife.”

Now it happened that the Turkey Brother earnestly desired to leave home
in quest of a wife, but his elder brother deprecated his desire to go
at this time, saying, “Oh, my Turkey Brother, it is better that you
remain at home with our uncle, who is now in need of our company—how
can we leave him entirely alone?” But the Turkey Brother, unmoved by
this plea, answered, “I do not want to stay with my uncle; my wish is
to accompany you.” No matter how much the elder brother coaxed or how
bitterly he scolded him for his great desire to leave home at this
time, the Turkey Brother was determined to go at all cost, so finally
he was permitted to leave. The uncle said to him: “Now, my nephew, you
must have a suitable outfit of raiment and a fitting stock of weapons,
for people must see that you are a great man. I will now bring what I
have prepared for you for an occasion of this character.”

Then the uncle brought forth a fine coat or robe of wildcat skins and
placed it on his nephew. Stepping back in order to see better how his
nephew looked in it, he declared, “That is not good enough.” Then he
brought out a beautiful lynx-skin robe and placed it on his nephew’s
shoulders. Again stepping back to get a better notion of the set of it,
he exclaimed: “This, too, is not befitting the occasion. Oh, I have
another, which is just the thing for you.” Thereupon he took from his
bark chest of treasures a magnificent panther-skin robe, with the head
of the animal formed into a cap or hood. When the wearer of this
remarkable robe became excited this head would cry out in anger. In
this cap the uncle placed two loon feathers, which sang at all times.
This fine robe the uncle put on the shoulders of his nephew and, after
critically inspecting him, he exclaimed, “This is befitting and
needful, and it will suit the purpose of your journey; now, the people
will see you as you are.” To complete the outfit the uncle now brought
out a pair of handsome moccasins and a pair of beautiful leggings to
match them and an ornamented pouch of a whole fisher’s skin, which,
whenever an enemy came near its wearer, snapped at and bit him. In this
pouch was a stone pipe, the bowl of which represented a bullfrog and
the stem a water snake; when this pipe was smoked the bullfrog would
croak and the snake would wriggle and try to swallow the frog. Lastly
the uncle gave his nephew a fine bow and a quiver full of arrows, and a
war club.

Then, addressing his nephew, the uncle said: “Now, my nephew, go
directly toward the west. It is six years’ journey to the country
whither you are going. For a long distance from here on all sides the
people have been carried off, and we are the sole survivors of our
tribe; this is the reason you must go so far to obtain a wife. There is
a dangerous spring halfway between here and your destination; it is
close to the path, but you must not under any circumstances stop there
or touch the water. Farther on, about midway between the spring and the
chief’s lodge, dwells an old man, a great sorcerer and robber. You must
not pay any attention to him. Do not on any account stop with him or
listen to him.”

The two brothers started on their long journey at sunrise. By midday
they had reached the spring, although it was distant three years’
ordinary traveling. As soon as the elder brother saw the spring he
became very thirsty and strongly desired to drink of the water, but the
Turkey Brother exclaimed, “Our uncle warned us not to touch this
spring, for it is dangerous to do so.” As they were passing on, the
elder brother, looking again at the spring, became so thirsty that he
went back to drink from it. Lying on his hands and face, he started to
drink, when something caught him by the hair and pulled him into the
water. Gripping the creature, he succeeded after a long struggle in
drawing it upon the bank. It was a strange creature covered with hair
and resembling a man in form and size. As it lay on the bank it gasped
and piteously begged to be returned to the water, saying, “Oh,
grandson, throw me back into the water!” “Oh, no! You must remain where
you are,” he sullenly replied. He stooped the second time to drink,
when another creature seized him, but this also he pulled out of the
water. It, too, gasped, “Oh, grandson, throw me back into the water!”
Without making a reply he stooped a third time to drink and was then
undisturbed. The water was very sweet and wholesome. When he had drunk
his fill he killed the two creatures. Then with the Turkey Brother’s
help he collected a great pile of dry wood on which they placed the two
creatures and soon burned them to ashes. Thereupon they continued their
journey.

In the middle of the afternoon they came to a place where there were
many tall trees. There they saw a poor-looking old man, who kept
running around in great haste, shouting: “Oh, grandson, shoot it! Look
here! Such a fine raccoon! Oh, shoot it for me! Just one arrow you need
spare me.” He begged so urgently that the elder brother shot an arrow
at the raccoon, which struck its body. The raccoon ran into a hole in
the tree, as the elder brother thought. The old man shouted: “Oh, you
must get your arrow! We must find the raccoon; you must take off your
garments, lest you should spoil them. You need not be afraid. I shall
not touch them, for I shall go up the tree, too.” So the young man
removed his robe, leggings, moccasins, and pouch and laid them at the
foot of the tree, which he climbed, the old man following him closely.
When they reached the hole in the tree the young man peered into it,
and, thinking he saw right at hand the arrow sticking in the raccoon,
he reached to pull it out; but the old man pushed him into the hole in
the tree, and down he went through the hollow in the trunk to the
bottom. There was there no raccoon, only an illusion.

Now, the old man, quickly descending to the ground, donned the
panther-skin robe, the leggings, and the moccasins, and he also took
the pouch with the pipe. At once he began to grow younger in looks; he
felt younger, too, and the cap began to roar. Taking the bow and
arrows, he started off westward toward the lodge of the chief.

The poor Turkey Brother began to weep and to scream for his lost
brother whose clothes were stolen. He flew upon a tree and sat there
weeping.

On recovering his senses the elder brother thought: “Now I am certainly
in trouble. My dear uncle warned me not to listen to this old man. How
can I ever get out of this place? There is no way of climbing out of
this den, for the opening is smooth on every side.” Under his feet he
felt the bones of other unfortunate people who had been thrown in there
before by the wicked old man, and he smelt the odor from them. He
remained all night in the hollow of the tree. Toward morning he
remembered that in his boyhood he had had a dream, in which a large
spider appeared to him, saying, “When you get into trouble I will help
you.” He therefore cried out, “Oh, great Spider, come to me and help me
now!” At that moment a great Spider began to make a web in the tree,
and soon it had made a large ladder woven of thick strands. “Now
climb,” said the great Spider. But the young man had not gone up more
than halfway when the web ladder broke. “Oh,” said he to the great
Spider, “you are not able to help me at this time.”

Then he remembered that he had had another dream, in which an enormous
blacksnake had appeared to him and had promised to help him whenever he
was in trouble. Therefore he cried out, “Oh! Blacksnake, come to me and
help me now.” Straightway there came a great Blacksnake on the tree,
which slipped its tail down into the hollow in the trunk until the
young man was able to seize it; then the snake coiled itself up,
bringing the young man to the top in safety; thereupon the great
Blacksnake disappeared.

The Turkey Brother greatly rejoiced to see his brother and, flying to
the ground, said: “What can we do? Must we not go home to our uncle
now?” “Oh, no!” said the elder brother; “we must go on. I will put on
the old man’s clothes.” So he arrayed himself in the old man’s worn-out
garments—his shabby robe, stiff leggings, old moccasins, and filthy
headdress. He now looked like the old man, having a weak voice and a
terrifying cough.

Meanwhile the old man felt grand in the stolen panther-skin robe, for
he had arrived at the chief’s village early in the evening. In front of
the chief’s lodge was a broad river. The chief appeared to him on the
opposite side, and the old man shouted across to him to be ferried
over. The chief’s eldest daughter rowed across in a canoe and, seeing
the fine-looking man wearing the panther-skin robe and moving around
with a haughty bearing, asked him, “Who are you and whither are you
going?” The old man coolly replied: “I come from the east, and I am
going to the lodge across the river. The truth of the matter is, I am
looking for a wife, and I hear that the chief has three marriageable
daughters.” “Well, I am one of his daughters,” replied the young woman.
Then the old thief answered, “Oh! I think that you would suit me very
well.” “Then you are my husband, and we will live together,” rejoined
the young woman. She brought him to her father’s lodge and showed him
her couch, which was beautifully adorned with fine furs and skins,
saying, “This is your place for repose.” He sat there quietly until his
wife came to him.

The next evening the elder brother and the Turkey Brother appeared on
the opposite side of the river. The former attempted to shout, but his
voice was so weak and thin that for a long time he could not make
himself heard. At last, some one outside of the lodge said, “There are
a man and a turkey on the other side of the river, who are trying to
cross.” The youngest daughter of the chief went over and asked the man,
who was old in appearance, whence he came and who he was. “I came from
the east,” he replied, “and I am on my way to the chief’s lodge. I want
to get married, and so I am looking for a wife.” “Looking for a wife?
Why, you are too old to marry,” replied the chief’s daughter. “I am not
old; I am quite young. Perhaps I look old, but here is my brother who
is a little boy yet.” “You come from the east, you say; do you come
from beyond the sorcerer’s spring?” she asked. “I am from beyond that
spring,” he replied. “Did you pass the spring?” she persisted. “Yes, I
did; and I cleared it of its monstrous denizens,” declared the elder
brother. “Did you come past the little old man who runs around the
tree?” was her next question. “Yes; and that is why I look as old as I
do. He craftily stole my enchanted outfit—my garments and dress,”
declared the elder brother. In her own mind the young woman thought
that this was the man for whom they were waiting, so she resolved to
marry him. Saying to him, “You may come along with me,” she ferried him
with his brother across the river and took him to the lodge of her
father, where she showed him to her couch, which was also beautifully
adorned with skins and fine furs. She told him, “This is your place of
rest.” Above it was a smaller bed, and she added, “Your brother can
have that couch,” and they placed the Turkey Brother up there.

That night the old thief opened the fisher-skin pouch to take out the
pipe, but the fisher bit his finger and it was with the greatest
difficulty that he released his finger from its mouth.

After the youngest daughter brought her husband home there was great
dissatisfaction in the lodge because of her seemingly poor choice of a
husband. They tried to get the aged chief to dissuade her from living
with her husband, but with a knowing look he would say, “Oh! she knows
what she is doing; so let her alone.”

For a number of days these families lived without any unusual incident.
Then the husband of the youngest daughter informed her that he was ill
with severe pains in the stomach, and that she must get from her father
his best wampum bowl, because he, the sick man, desired to disgorge
into it. Hurrying away, she brought the bowl. Her husband cast up
enough beautiful black wampum to fill it completely. Then he bade her,
“Take this to your father and give it to him for me.” In receiving it,
the chief remarked: “Oh! thanks. I knew that he is a great man, for he
came from a good country. He is the greatest man of whom I have ever
heard. This is a beautiful present.” [36]

When the eldest daughter’s husband heard of this he said to his wife,
“Run to your father and get his wampum bowl. I too desire to use it.”
When she had brought it, he filled it in a similar manner, but only
with half-decayed lizards and worms and all manner of foul things of an
intolerably offensive odor. He then bade her to take it to her father
as a present from him. She did so, but her father was very angry,
saying: “How dare you bring that vile stuff to me. Run to the creek
with it, and thoroughly wash and scrape the bowl; wash it many times
over. But never do this again.”

A few days later the husband of the youngest daughter said again, “Go
to your father and get that wampum bowl again.” This time he filled the
bowl heaping full with beautiful white wampum. He then said, “Take this
to your father as a present from me.” She ran with it to her father,
and the old chief was delighted with it, saying: “Oh! he is a man. I
thought that there was something great in him, for he comes of a
powerful family of a great tribe in a good country.”

When the husband of the eldest daughter heard of this present of white
wampum he again sent for the wampum bowl and used it with such result
that his devoted wife did not dare go with it to her father, but went
quickly to the creek, where she spent an entire day in thoroughly
cleansing it.

At this time a Wildcat and a Fox came to visit the husband of the
youngest daughter of the chief, for they were his friends. As they
walked around, the Wildcat would rub against his legs and purr, and
talk to him. It was not long before the Fox saw the Turkey Brother
sitting on his couch over the bed, and said to the Wildcat, “That is a
fine gobbler up there. Can you get him for us?” The next night the
Wildcat, as the Turkey Brother’s bed was near the fire, crawled down
the smoke-hole to a point from which it could reach him. But the Turkey
Brother, sitting with his eyes open, saw the Wildcat, and, waiting
until it got within reach, struck it on the head with a club which he
kept and tumbled it into the fire, in which the Wildcat rolled about a
number of times, with the result that it got a singed coat. It got out
of the fire and began to cry, “Oh! I have fits.” “You can not have fits
here,” cried the eldest sister, jumping out of her bed and kicking it
out of doors. “That is not a turkey,” said the Wildcat to the Fox, “it
is a wizard.”

At this time the youngest daughter of the chief said to her husband,
“Why do you not take your enchanted articles of dress from that old
thief?” Her husband replied: “I shall do so when the proper time comes.
But in the meantime, will you ask your father for his bow and arrows,
for I much wish to go on a hunting trip?” So she went to her father
with her husband’s request, and her father willingly gave his
permission for the use of his bow and arrows, saying, “Yes; he shall
have them if he needs them,” and his daughter carried them back to her
husband.

The next day her husband went on a hunting expedition, and he had the
good fortune to kill a large number of deer; more, in fact, than had
ever been killed before in that place. He called the Wildcat and the
Fox and said to them, “I give you one deer from this pile.” So they
gladly dragged the deer away and ate it. After the game was brought to
the chief’s lodge it was distributed among the people, and all had an
equal share. No one was left without venison, and every one wondered at
the prowess of the hunter.

Then the old chief notified the people that there would be a great
council on the following day at the lodge of public assembly. Everyone
else was up at the break of day, but the eldest daughter of the chief
and her husband slept soundly. While they were asleep the husband of
the chief’s youngest daughter took from the old thief the panther-skin
robe, the moccasins, the leggings, and the pouch of fisher skin which
had been stolen from him by craft. Having recovered his own garments
and accouterments, he now donned them to attend the council.

There remained in the chief’s lodge only the old woman, the servants,
and the sleeping couple. Finally the old woman, the chief’s wife, went
to the couch of the sleepers, and said, “Come! come! you two, arise,”
at the same time shaking her daughter. Then looking more closely at her
sleeping son-in-law she started back in utter disgust, with the
exclamation, “That is a nice-looking husband you have in your arms!”
When the covers were removed the true character of the man appeared.
With the loss of the stolen enchanted garments he had immediately
become old and shrunken, with the face of an owl. The unhappy woman
awoke, and, looking at her husband, she was surprised to see what an
ugly creature had been sleeping with her. So without any compunction
she dragged him out of bed and pushed him with his own soiled garments
out of the lodge, saying, “I shall never again have you for a husband.”
The wily old owl at once disappeared and was never seen in that place
again.

When the husband of the chief’s youngest daughter came into the lodge
he looked strong, young, and vigorous. The panther’s head on his robe
cried out, the loon’s feathers sang. Opening his pouch and taking out
the pipe, he lighted it and smoked; the bullfrog croaked, the
blacksnake wriggled and tried to swallow the bullfrog. All the people
looked on in wonder, and they said, “We have never before seen a man
with orenda so powerful.” Then this magically potent son-in-law said to
his father-in-law, “I must now go home to my uncle in the far east.”
“We shall go, too,” replied the aged chief, and all the people shouted
assent. They were soon ready to follow. The young husband replied: “It
is well. My brother and I will go on ahead to prepare for you. You are
welcome.”

Then, calling his Turkey Brother, he said to him, “Now, my dear
brother, I think that you may take off your turkey-skin robe and put on
garments such as other boys wear.” His brother had grown to be a large
boy, for he was nearing the age of puberty. So he removed his
turkey-skin robe and put on his new style of garments, in which he
looked well.

The two brothers then started, and they reached home in one day. But
the old chief and his people were six years on the way. They could not
travel with the speed of men possessed of powerful orenda. They were
welcomed with joy on their arrival in the country of the chief’s potent
son-in-law, and the old chief and his people thereafter lived there in
comfort and peace.





21. DEADOEÑDJADASES (THE EARTH-GIRDLER) AND THE OLD WOMAN’S GRANDSON

An old woman and her grandson lived together in a lodge in a large
forest. They were both feeble and poor, for the old woman had no
able-bodied person to help her and her grandson was still a very small
boy. The old woman cried much of the time, therefore, on account of
their needy condition. Every day, however, she went into the forest to
gather firewood. She felled trees by burning, and when they were on the
ground she burned them into pieces of such length that she would be
able to carry them to her lodge; but whether she was going or coming
from the forest she wept without ceasing.

At last her little grandson said to her, “Grandmother, why do you cry
all the time, both night and day? Tell me, will you?” In reply she
said, “I had many brothers and relatives, but they are all dead now.”
Then she took the little boy by the hand, and drawing him to a door,
she opened it and led the boy into another room, in which he had never
been before. This room was full of articles of dress of every kind and
of weapons, ball clubs, balls painted (with symbols of) heads, and a
drum. The boy wondered at what he saw here and wanted very much to
touch the various articles, but his grandmother told him that he must
not remain in the room, nor should he touch any of the things.

The next day when she had again gone after wood for fuel the boy went
to the forbidden room and beat the drum, whose sound was so pleasing
that he was delighted. Taking a ball and a lacrosse club he went out of
doors and began to play ball—that is, lacrosse. He threw the ball with
the club and it flew far away toward the east. So he ran after the ball
until he found it in a large clearing. And this place was so pleasant
that he was very glad to be there. But he soon started for home,
arriving there before the grandmother had returned with the wood to the
lodge.

On the following day, while his grandmother was absent in the forest,
the little grandson again visited the mysterious room and played around
in it; but he did not forget to be home before his grandmother
returned. He did likewise for several days. But finally he beat the
drum so heavily that the old woman heard him far away in the forest.
She hastened home at once and scolded the lad for his disobedience,
saying, “Why did you go into that room when I told you not to go there
nor to touch any of the things?” “Oh, grandmother,” he replied, “do not
talk about that, but tell me where are all our friends—my father and
mother, my brothers and sisters, and my cousins?” The grandmother said
deprecatingly: “Oh, you can never see them. There is a man dwelling far
away in the east who carries off people and devours them. His name is
Deadoeñdjadases, and it is he who has eaten all our friends and
relations.” The lad with impatience replied: “Make me four pairs of
moccasins. I will fetch them back.” His grandmother, weeping, refused
his request, yet she prepared him for the journey.

When he was ready he went eastward, traveling many days and nights
until he arrived at a broad clearing in the forest. In the middle of it
he saw a long lodge and a person who looked like the inflated skin of a
man, watching this clearing, which was occupied by a large strawberry
patch.[37] This sentinel guarded the field night and day. Oddly enough,
the long lodge extended from north to south instead of from east to
west.

The lad, standing concealed within the edge of the woods and calling a
mole, said to it, “I want to borrow your skin for a while.” The mole
agreed to his request, and then the lad removed his own garments and
laid them back of a tree. Then, after reducing his size sufficiently,
he crawled into the skin of the mole. Making his way under the leaves
and underground until he came to the spot above which was the skin man,
he shouted to the sentinel: “Come down, my friend! I want to talk with
you.”

After the lad had promised to liberate the skin man, Hadjoqda, and to
give him back his flesh body, Hadjoqda related to him all the secrets
of this mysterious clearing and of the people who lived in it. He told
him: “The man who dwells in that long lodge is called Deadoeñdjadases.
He goes around the world every day, seizing and killing people, whose
bodies he brings home to eat. Living in the lodge with him are three
sisters, who are all great witches. Every day they are engaged in
preparing human flesh and pounded green corn, for their ferocious
brother will eat nothing else. When not so occupied, the three sisters
spend their time driving elks out of the clearing, which is covered
with the most beautiful strawberries.” Hadjoqda continued: “Neither
Deadoeñdjadases (nor his sisters, for that matter) has a heart in his
body; and no one can kill them by beating or cutting them up, for their
lives are in another place. In the corner of the lodge is a bed; under
this bed is a lake; in this lake a loon swims about; and under the
right wing of this loon are the four hearts (the lives) of
Deadoeñdjadases and his sisters. The largest heart is his own, the next
in size is that of his eldest sister, and the smallest is that of his
youngest sister. If you squeeze these hearts their owners will faint
away; but if you crush them they will die.” [38]

The lad gave Hadjoqda a piece of false wampum which he had made from a
small reed and colored with strawberry juice, saying: “The sisters are
calling you now. You must tell them that you were making this wampum as
the reason why you have remained away so long. I shall become in person
just like their brother and shall return home ill, as it were, and
expectorate blood. When I am in their lodge I shall cause the elks to
run into the strawberry patch, and you must give the usual alarm. While
the sisters are out driving the elk I shall have time to take their
hearts from under the wing of the loon.”

The sisters, missing Hadjoqda, called to him many times. When he
reached the lodge they angrily asked him: “Where have you been? What
have you been doing?” “I have been making this piece of wampum,” said
he. All three sisters wanted it, and they were satisfied, for he gave
it to them. They pardoned him for his absence. Then he told them that
their brother had come home earlier than usual, and that he was ill and
spitting up blood.

Now, the lad, going back to the mole, returned its coat and donned his
own garments. Then, assuming the exact form and manner of
Deadoeñdjadases, he walked through the clearing toward the lodge,
spitting blood.

When he entered the lodge none of the sisters except the youngest
suspected any deceit. She looked at him sharply, saying, “This is not
our brother.” Then they tried him with different kinds of food, but he
would eat nothing until they brought him human flesh and pounded green
corn, which he ate heartily. This satisfied them that there was no
deception.

While he was eating, the alarm came that the elks were in the
strawberry patch, and the three sisters, armed with their war clubs,
ran out to drive away the elks. The lad lost no time in going to the
bed and raising its cover. There he saw a lake in which a loon was
swimming. He called it to him and asked for the hearts. The loon raised
its left wing, for it was in doubt whether to give up the hearts or
not. “Oh, no,” declared the lad; “the hearts are under your right wing.
So raise that wing.” Being satisfied as to his right to ask for the
hearts, the loon did so; and the lad, seizing them, rushed out of the
lodge just as the sisters returned from chasing the elks.

Resuming his natural form, the lad ran around exultingly, crying, “I
have taken your hearts. I have taken your hearts.” Then the three
sisters pursued him with their war clubs. As the eldest was on the
point of overtaking him, the lad squeezed her heart and she fell down
in a faint. Then the second sister drew close to him, when he at once
squeezed her heart and she, too, fell in a faint. The same thing
happened to the third sister also. Then the lad came to a great round,
flat rock, where Deadoeñdjadases was accustomed to kill his victims; he
ran around this while the sisters, who had recovered from their
fainting spells, sought to close with him. Every little while he would
squeeze a heart and its owner would fall in a faint; but as soon as he
stopped squeezing she would spring up again. When he had sufficiently
tortured the sisters in this manner he ruthlessly dashed their hearts
against the great rock, one after another, and thus all were killed.

When the cannibal returned at the usual time and did not find his
sisters at home he was very angry; but Hadjoqda assured him that they
were pursuing the elks and that his dinner was left all prepared for
him. Deadoeñdjadases sat down and began to eat. Emboldened by the fact
that the lad stood beside him holding the heart of Deadoeñdjadases,
Hadjoqda taunted Deadoeñdjadases, “the Earth-circler.” [39]

At once Deadoeñdjadases rushed after the lad, who ran toward the great
rock. When the man-eater drew near him the lad would squeeze the heart
and the great Deadoeñdjadases would fall in a faint. When the lad
ceased squeezing the heart the man-eater would rise again. So, no
matter how he tried, he could get only as near the lad as the latter
would let him. When tired of this kind of sport the lad dashed the
heart of the man-eater against the rock, and Deadoeñdjadases fell dead
in his tracks.

Around the great rock on every hand the lad found heaps of human bones,
which he carefully gathered together into a great pile. Placing
Hadjoqda on the ground with his head toward the west and his feet
toward the east, the youth went to a great hickory which was standing
near and shouted, “Do you all rise and run or the tree will fall on
you.” On the instant a great number of persons arose and ran in every
direction. Hadjoqda received his body back and became at once as well
as ever. But some had legs and arms which had belonged to others, and
hence were deformed in these members.

“Now,” said the lad to Hadjoqda, “there is no other such strawberry
patch in the world. We must all come here to live. This field shall
belong to you, and I and all my people shall settle around here. I
shall go after my grandmother and you must go after your friends.”

Among the people whom he had raised the youth found all his relations,
and these persons accompanied him on his journey to bring his
grandmother to that country. His grandmother was very glad to see all
her relations again, as she had never expected this good fortune.
Taking their garments and weapons which the grandmother had kept for
them in the long room, all set out, with the aged grandmother, for the
great strawberry patch of Deadoeñdjadases. With their friends and
relations from far and near, all settled in villages around the great
strawberry patch, they lived in great contentment thereafter. Among
these people who were raised by the potent youth were the Okweson,
Osoon, and the Goqgwaih [i.e., the Partridges, the Wild Turkeys, and
the Quail]; the youth and his grandmother, and even Hadjoqda, belonged
to the Osoon tribe.





22. HATʻHONDAS (THE LISTENER) [40]

Once upon a time an uncle and his nephew lived together in the forest.
Being very needy, they gathered and cooked for food fungi which grow on
trees. After they had lived some time in this way his uncle said one
day to the boy, who had grown nearly to the age of puberty, “To-morrow
you must go out yonder into the ravine to listen, and as soon as you
hear something you must hurry back to tell me what it is.”

The nephew did as he was ordered. The next morning as soon as he heard
the song of a bird he hurried home, rushing almost breathless into the
lodge and crying, “Oh, uncle, I have heard something!” “Wait a while,
nephew,” said the uncle. “Wait until I light my pipe and the smoke
rises from it.” [41]

Soon the smoke arose from the pipe; then Hatʻhondas told what he had
heard, imitating the call of a bird. “Oh, nephew! that is nothing. Go
again to-morrow,” said the uncle. He went the next day, and heard a
bird of some other kind. After rushing to the lodge as before, and
after his uncle had lighted the pipe, he told his uncle what he had
heard. Each day he heard a new bird and told his uncle what he had
heard. After several such fruitless trips to the ravine he heard two
women singing, “I am going [am on my way] to marry Dooehdanegen.” [42]
The women were moving through the air coming toward his uncle’s lodge.
Hatʻhondas rushed home almost breathless, crying, “Oh, uncle! I have
heard it.” “Well, what is it?” asked the uncle, and straightway he
lighted his pipe and the smoke arose from it. “I heard two women
singing, ‘I am going to marry Dooehdanegen,’ and they are coming this
way,” declared the nephew. “We must make ready to receive them,” said
the uncle; “we must put the lodge in order.” He therefore smoothed the
skins on his couch and put his nephew’s bed away from his own in the
corner near the ashes, telling his nephew to lie there while the women
were in the lodge, and to face the other way, and further to keep quiet
and not to show his face. The old man then put on his best garments,
with two feathers in his cap, and tried to be as nimble and bright as
when a young man. He kept sending his nephew out to see how near the
women were. When at last they reached the lodge the nephew ran in,
crying, “Oh, uncle, they are here.” “Go to your bed; lie down, and do
not stir,” said the uncle.

The women entered the lodge, bringing a basket of marriage bread.[43]
The old man hurried around to make it pleasant for them, but could not
interest them, for their minds were elsewhere. They kept looking toward
the corner where Hatʻhondas was lying. When night came the old man
spread out the skins of his couch and told them there was the place for
them to lie down; but, going over to the corner where the ashes were
piled, they lay down with Hatʻhondas. They smoothed his hair and
fondled him, speaking pleasant words to and about him. The old man was
very angry and slept none that night. The women left the lodge at
daybreak. When Hatʻhondas awoke, he had become a man in full vigor,
strong and fine looking.

The old uncle now called his nephew, saying: “You now have become a
man. You must follow the women. The mother bears the most noted name in
sorcery in her tribe. She is now seeking a husband for her daughter.
Near her lodge grows a large hickory tree [44] on which sits an eagle
as a target. Whoever can bring down that eagle will get the daughter.
Men go there from every direction and place to shoot at it, but no one
has yet hit it. You must shoot at it, too.”

The old man then brought out from his chest an outfit consisting of a
cap of otter skin, a panther-skin coat, leggings of wildcat skin,
moccasins of owl skin, and a tobacco pouch of fawn skin. The garments,
which were beautiful and endowed with rare orenda (magic power), fitted
the young man well. Then the uncle took the garments off his nephew;
and the cap became a live otter, the robe, or mantle, a live panther,
the leggings a pair of live wildcats, and the moccasins two live owls.
Again he put the garments on his nephew, telling him to sit down. The
latter did so and, opening the pouch, took out a pipe, which he filled
with tobacco. Immediately two girl sprites and two trick pigeons leaped
out of the pouch; the girls brought fire to light the pipe, and as soon
as he put it to his mouth the two pigeons, which were perched on the
stem, rustled their wings and cooed, being very happy.

“Now, my nephew,” said the old man, “spit.” He spat and the spittle
fell to the ground in a shower of wampum beads. “That is enough,” said
the uncle; “you shall always spit wampum from this pipe. Your outfit
will always do what it has done to-day. Now you must start. Go directly
east. About noon you will find a trail. Take that and keep on until you
come to the great hickory tree. Here are a bow and arrows. The arrows
will never miss the mark. On the road you must keep no man company.
Sleep alone and hurry on your way.”

So the young nephew set out. In an hour he came to a trail. Finding it
so soon, he thought it could not be the right one and ran back to
inquire. “Oh! you are a swift runner,” said the uncle; “you found the
right trail. Follow it.” Hatʻhondas started again. Again he found the
trail, which bore toward the east. Near evening he saw a man who was
making a fire by the wayside, and who inquired of Hatʻhondas, “Where
are you going?” “Oh! where all are going—to shoot at the eagle on the
hickory tree,” replied the young man. “Stay with me. It is too late to
go farther,” said the stranger. “No! I must go on,” answered
Hatʻhondas, hurrying away. At night he built a fire and slept by
himself. The next day he went on without interruption until evening,
when a man who was building a fire beside the trail urged him to stop,
but he refused to do so. Again the man urged him but Hatʻhondas would
go on.

The third evening he came on a man who insisted and coaxed so much that
he remained with him overnight. Each occupied one side of the fire.
After supper, Hatʻhondas took off his garments and soon fell asleep.
The strange man attempted to steal the clothes, but the mantle,
changing into a panther, would not let him come near. Then the man, bit
by bit, fed meat to the panther until the animal was pacified, when he
put the mantle on his own shoulders. So with the leggings and all the
other things, until at last he got possession of the whole outfit of
the young man, except the bow and arrows, which he forgot. When ready,
he thrust a sharp dart of hickory bark down the backbone of Hatʻhondas,
and at daylight hurried away to the company which had gathered at the
great woman’s lodge to shoot at the eagle.

Hatʻhondas awoke in terrible pain; he was doubled up like an old man
and began to cough badly. After much effort and great suffering, he
succeeded in putting on the other man’s garments and in dragging
himself some distance to a log, on which he sat, holding his bow and
arrows, with his head bowed in sorrow.

After he had been sitting there a couple of hours, a poor,
destitute-looking girl came to him, saying: “My mother lives not far
from here. I will take you to her.” On going home with the girl he
learned that her mother was his own sister and that she was therefore
his niece. He told his sister about the visit of the two women, about
setting out to shoot the eagle and being robbed on the road of
everything but his bow and arrows, and, lastly, about becoming decrepit
and aged-looking from the effects of the hickory bark thrust down his
backbone. His sister and her daughter were very poor. They had no meat.
As they were talking, a robin perched on the edge of the smoke-hole.
Hatʻhondas drew his bow with great difficulty and shot an arrow which
killed the bird. His sister cut it into small pieces and, bruising
them, made some soup, which in a measure strengthened her brother. The
next day a partridge came in like manner and he killed that, too; and
then a turkey, so they had provision enough. Many days later his sister
drew the bark from her brother’s back and he became well again.

As he sat by the door one day he heard a great shouting and tumult, and
asked what it meant. They told him that it was the sounds made by those
who had assembled to shoot the eagle, and pointed out the great hickory
tree, the top of which could be seen above the forest, seemingly not
more than 200 or 300 rods away.

The next day, on looking toward the tree, he could see that some arrows
came very near the eagle, some not so near, and others far away from
it. At last he said, “I must shoot an arrow at that eagle.” “Oh!” said
the sister, “you can not hit it from here.” But he would have his own
way, and going outside of the lodge with his bow and arrow, he said to
his sister’s daughter: “Go out into the crowd. When I shoot the arrow
and the bird falls to the ground run and bring it here with the arrow
sticking in it, and let no one take it from you.” The girl went. Her
uncle shot, and his arrow, flying through the air, struck the eagle.
When she grasped the bird after it had fallen to the ground a man
pushed her aside, and snatching the bird from her disappeared in the
crowd. She cried out, but no one heeded her. Now, the crowd gathered at
a mound, a short distance from the tree. On this mound the great witch
woman was sitting with her friends to witness the shooting. The people
stood in a circle. The stranger came up with the eagle and claimed her
youngest daughter, who, insisting that he was not the right man,
refused to marry him; but the old woman said her promise must be kept,
and had the marriage proclaimed.

When, in the evening, the young wife would not remove her designated
husband’s clothing, the old woman did so. On taking off the moccasins,
and throwing them, tied together, over a crossbar near the couch, they
became owls, so wretchedly weak that they were barely able to hold on
to their perch; and so with the panther, the wildcats, and the otter;
they seemed scarcely alive.

The young woman would not go near her designated husband, but, rolling
herself up in a bearskin, slept apart. The next morning the
mother-in-law, addressing her intended son-in-law, said: “What can you
do for me [in thaumaturgy]?” He opened his pouch, from out of which
came the girls, who were barely able to bring a coal of fire, and the
pigeons, nearly lifeless. He smoked, and cast spittle on a deerskin
which was spread before him, and spittle it remained. Again he tried,
but with the same result. Then the mother-in-law, growing angry, went
away in disgust and chagrin.

The evening after Hatʻhondas was robbed the sky was red, and his uncle
at home knew that his nephew was in great trouble—that his life was in
danger. He sat down by the fire, throwing ashes on his head, and wept,
saying, “Oh! nephew, I shall mourn for you ten summers.” But now the
sky was not so red, and the old man knew that his nephew had gained
some relief.

The second night the young woman slept apart from her designated
husband.

The next day Hatʻhondas’s niece, the poor woman’s daughter, said, “I
will visit the great witch woman, for she is a friend of mine.” When
the girl went to the lodge, the great woman was glad to see her. She
heard all the news of the marriage and that the young woman would not
go near her designated husband. On reaching home she told her mother
all she had heard. The next day very early, while the strange man was
still asleep, Hatʻhondas’s sister went into the great witch woman’s
lodge and, taking the panther-skin coat with the rest of the garments
and having thrust the piece of hickory bark into the back of the
sleeping husband, hurried home.

Hatʻhondas now had his whole outfit. Putting on his garments and taking
his bow and arrows he went to the lodge of the great witch woman. When
the daughter saw him coming, she could scarcely retain herself for joy,
crying out, “That is the man! That is the man!”

It was now almost noon, and the designated husband had not appeared. On
looking for him they found him on the couch all doubled up, old and
miserable, and coughing terribly.

As the arrow which was still sticking in the eagle was unlike his
arrows but just like those which were in the quiver of Hatʻhondas, the
people were convinced that the old man was a deceiver, so they threw
him out without pity.

Hatʻhondas was now married to the young woman and her mother proclaimed
to all the people, “My youngest daughter is now married.” In the
evening, when the young wife pulled off her husband’s moccasins and
threw them on the crossbeam, they became a pair of fine owls with great
eyes, and hooted; as soon as the panther-skin coat touched the beam it
became a large panther; the leggings became two wildcats; and the cap
an otter.

The next evening the mother-in-law asked her son-in-law, “What can you
do for me?” and spread a deerskin in front of him. As he opened his
pouch the two girls jumped out of it, followed by the two pigeons. The
girls, running nimbly to the fire, brought coals for lighting the pipe.
The pigeons, perching on the pipe as he put it into his mouth, rustled
their wings and cooed. As often as he spat the spittle fell on the skin
in a shower of wampum beads.

The next day he went hunting and killed so many deer, bear, and elk
that all the people had enough, and he sent a great supply to his
sister.

After they had enjoyed life a while, he said, “Now, I must go to my
uncle.” His sister prepared provisions for the journey. She would shake
all the flesh of a deer until it became small as the end of her little
finger, continuing this process until she had in a small pouch venison
enough to fill a lodge. On the way when they wanted to eat venison all
they had to do was to strike a very small portion, when the meat would
resume its natural size. So they traveled till they came to the old
uncle’s lodge.

While his nephew had been away, animals had tormented him by coming to
his door while he was sitting near the fire mourning for his nephew. He
would hear a voice at the door cry, “Quick, Uncle! I have returned,”
but on opening the door-flap he would find merely a fox, rabbit, or
some other creature.

Now, to make sure, he cut a hole in the skin door-flap saying, “Put
your hand through the hole, if you are my nephew.” This being done, he
tied a strong bark string around the wrist and fastened the other end
to the pole at the fireplace; then, seizing the corn-pounder, he opened
the door carefully, intending to strike the intruder. On discovering,
however, that it was really his nephew, he rejoiced and cried out: “Oh!
you have come at last with your wife. Wait, until I clean up a little.”
Soon he let them in. The venison was increased in quantity again by
striking it against the ground, and there was more than enough to fill
the lodge, so they had to build a new lodge in which to store it.

They lived on together happily. This is the story of Hatʻhondas, “The
Listener.”





23. THE STORY OF THE OHOHWA PEOPLE

In a quiet forest, in a lodge of their own, a husband and his wife of
the Ohohwa people lived in much contention. It was their invariable
habit to quarrel all night long. In the morning, however, all was
pleasant again.

One night a visitor came to pay them a call. As soon as the man of the
lodge saw the newcomer he went away from the lodge. Thereupon the
would-be visitor remarked to the woman, “It is indeed strange that he
should go out just as I came in, so I shall go, but will come again at
another time.” With these words he left.

In a short time the husband returned, and being very jealous of his
wife, seized the occasion of this visit of a strange man to scold and
quarrel with her until, becoming enraged, he beat her and finally she
fought in defense of herself. At last, becoming tired of fighting, the
husband started off with the remark: “I am going to get another wife. I
will not be troubled in this way any longer.” Weeping bitterly, she
followed him until, touched by her plight, the husband grew sorry for
what he was doing and returned with her to their lodge.

In the morning he told his wife that he had had a dream during the
night. He said, “My dream spirit told me that I must kill a large bear
and be back home before the dew is off the grass.” Ostensibly he
started away to carry out this injunction, but when he got out of sight
of the lodge he went to the lodge of another woman, who also was of the
Ohohwa people, where he remained all day. Toward night he started for
home. On his way he met a fine-looking woman. He addressed her, saying,
“Where are you going, my cousin?” She replied, “Oh, I am only going
home.” He asked, “Let me go home with you?” Answering coquettishly,
“All right, if you can overtake me,” off she ran with great speed, with
him in pursuit. This woman was of the Djohkwehyanih [45] people.

All night long they ran toward the north. About midday they came to a
lodge, which the woman entered. The Ohohwa man followed, but on
entering the lodge he did not see the woman, but only two old men. He
asked them, “Have you seen a woman pass here?” The two men sat with
their heads down and did not answer the question. But on the question
being repeated by the intruder, one of the men, looking up, said, “It
seems to me that I heard some sound,” and the other made the same
remark. Then he who spoke first said, “Then get our canoe.” Going to
another part of the lodge, the second man returned with a bark canoe
and two basswood knives. “Now,” said the other old man, “seize the game
that has come to our lodge.” The intruder drew back as the old man
advanced, cautioning the old men, saying: “Be very careful, old men.
You are Nosgwais people, as I know. I came only to ask for
information.” But as the two old men advanced the intruder turned and
fled. The old men chased him with great speed. After a while, turning
and running back to the lodge, he seized a wooden mallet and the first
man that appeared at the doorway he knocked on the head, and he did
likewise to the second man. As the old men picked themselves up they
said, “It seems that there is a great deal of fun in the game animal
that has come to us.” On their making another attempt to enter their
lodge the intruder again knocked them down. Thereupon one of the old
men said: “Get up and do the best you can [magically]. Are we to be
beaten in this way? It would indeed be a singular occurrence for us to
be overmatched by the game animal that has come to us.” But in making a
third attempt to enter the lodge the old men were still again knocked
down. But the intruder said to himself, however, “I can not kill these
people, and so I would better try to escape.” So, passing out of the
doorway at the opposite side of the lodge, he saw the tracks of the
woman going directly northward. He followed them all day. When night
came he still saw her tracks leading in the same direction. He remarked
to himself, “I will soon overtake her, I think.” But these tracks were
not those of the woman. He had made a circuit and at daybreak he was
near the starting point. He looked down and, seeing his own tracks,
said: “Oh, another man is following her! I will kill him when I
overtake them.” Soon he came to the lodge of the two old men from which
he had started. Again he inquired of the old men about the woman, but
they caught him and threw him into their canoe. Then they began to
dispute as to which should kill and quarter him. At last they said,
“Push the canoe back and leave it, for the game animal can not run
away.” Indeed, the man could not release himself, as he seemed to be
fastened to the canoe.

Toward night be heard a voice saying: “You think that you are going to
die. You would be were it not for me.” The man in the canoe replied, “I
do think so.” Then the invisible man said: “No; you shall not die. At
the end of the canoe there is a string, to which hang the two hearts of
the old men; and this is why you were not able to kill them by knocking
them on the head when you were here before (he now knew for the first
time that he was in the same lodge again). Wait until it is dusk; then
try to move and you will work loose. Then get out of the canoe quietly,
and I will give you light to see where the hearts are. Take them off
the string and pound them up, and you will be free. You can then remain
here all night. The canoe has great orenda (magic power), and these two
old men use the canoe when they travel. If you wish, I will teach you
the song that belongs to it.” The man in the canoe, being very weak,
could hardly speak, but he replied, “Yes; I should like to learn the
song.” Then the invisible man answered, “I will teach you the song,”
and he began singing, “Tgâiiehe onĕⁿ o’waqdĕñdĭʼ neʼʹ akʻhoñwâⁿʼ.” When
he finished singing “Correctly my canoe has started” the man in the
canoe thanked him, saying that he had learned the song. After dusk he
began to move, and as he moved he gained strength. Looking around, he
saw a pale light in the end of the canoe. Having freed himself, he took
the hearts from the cord, and as he crushed them he heard groans and
wails of pain. Placing them under the canoe, he crushed them, and their
cries ceased. Then the young man lay down and slept.

The next morning he awoke and said: “Now I have something in which I
can travel. I shall now soon overtake the woman.” Setting the canoe
outside of the lodge, he turned its bow toward the north, and, getting
into it, he sang the song which he had learned to cause it to fly. The
canoe started off so rapidly that only the wind could be heard as it
flowed past his ears. All the time the canoe kept going higher and
higher and swifter and swifter, and the youth grew more and more
frightened; he began to fear that the canoe might bear him off to some
evil place. Suddenly he heard a scrambling sound at the stern of the
canoe, as if some one were trying to board it from the rear. Looking
around, the youth saw a man getting aboard, who said: “It is wonderful
how fast you are going. I was bound to get aboard, so I leaped. You are
afraid this canoe will carry you away. I am the person who was with you
last night. It is my fault that you are frightened, for I did not give
you full instructions. The reason the canoe goes faster and faster and
higher and higher is that you keep repeating the song. You should
change the words of the song, and then you can guide it. I came to tell
you this.” As he stopped speaking, he stepped off the stern of the
canoe into the air and disappeared.

The youth now changed the words of the song, singing, “Tgāiiehe
wa’tkĕⁿ’dioñʹdă’t ne’ʹ akʻhoñʹwãⁿʼ,” and at once the canoe began to
descend, gradually coming to the ground. But the occupant of the canoe
exclaimed, “Oh! this is not what I wanted. I desired to come down a
little lower only, not to the ground.” So he sang again the first words
of the song. At once the canoe shot upward like an arrow and, heading
northward, flew faster than it did before. As it flew along the youth
saw the woman’s tracks ahead. Higher and higher went the canoe, the
wind whizzing past his ears in a frightful manner. The speed of the
canoe troubled the youth, and finally he exclaimed, “Oh! I am getting
too high again.” Then, recollecting that he must change the words of
the song, he sang, “Tgāiiehe hehdageshon hohweson nakʻhoñʹwâⁿʼ.” The
canoe descended, but its speed was so great that he was greatly
disturbed and distressed. At last he said, “I have learned the music,
and all I have to do is to sing, ‘My canoe must stop immediately.’”

[The story ends here thus abruptly.]





24. THE CHESTNUT TREE GUARDED BY THE SEVEN SISTERS

In a small lodge, deep in a dense forest, a man lived alone with his
nephew. It was the custom of the uncle to cook every day the food
required by his nephew, but he never ate with him. There came a time,
however, when the little nephew asked his uncle to eat with him. The
only reply was, “No; I have already eaten my food.” Then, urging his
nephew to be quiet, he would remark, “I have cooked this food for you
alone.”

As the little nephew grew older he began to wonder at this strange
conduct of his uncle. Finally he asked him: “Oh, my uncle, I never see
you eat! How is this?” But the uncle made him no reply. So the little
nephew decided to try to catch his uncle eating by spying on him. One
night after this, when the little nephew had eaten his supper, he said:
“Oh, uncle, I am very tired and sleepy. I am now going to bed to get a
good rest.” With this remark he lay down on his bed, and drawing over
him the deerskin cover soon began to snore as if he were sound asleep.

The wily old uncle waited a while, and then assuming that his nephew
was fast asleep, he decided to begin getting his own evening meal.
Going to his bed and carefully searching among the skins with which it
was covered, he drew forth a small kettle and a very small bundle. Then
placing the kettle on the bench near the fire and opening the bundle,
he took out of it some substance, a small quantity of which he scraped
into the kettle. After putting water into the kettle he hung it over
the fire. When the water began to boil the old man, taking a wand from
its wrappings of skin, began to strike gently on the kettle while he
sang the words, “Now, my kettle, I want you to grow in size.” Obedient
to the words of the song, the kettle began to increase in size and its
contents grew in bulk. Repeating the words and continuing to tap gently
on the kettle, the old man watched it becoming larger and larger. He
kept up the singing until he decided that the kettle would hold enough
of the mush which he was making to satisfy his hunger; then he stopped
singing and tapping on the kettle. Carefully replacing the rod, or
wand, in its skin wrapping, he removed the kettle from the fire and sat
down to eat. After finishing his supper he carefully washed his kettle;
then he shook it until it decreased to the size it was when he took it
from the hiding place under the bed, to which place he now returned the
rod, the bundle, and the kettle.

The nephew, who was still feigning sleep, was watching his uncle
through a hole in the bed covering. He decided to take breakfast with
his uncle in the morning, and in order to do this he resolved to arise
much earlier than usual. When he arose, however, the youth found that
his uncle had finished breakfast and was preparing something for him to
eat.

After the uncle had gone out to hunt the youth brought into the lodge a
large quantity of bark to make a good fire. About midday he said to
himself: “I am going to be very kind and good. My uncle will be tired
when he returns, so I shall have his supper all ready for him. I think
that I can prepare it just as he does.” For a long time he searched in
his uncle’s bed for the bundle; at last he found it. On opening it he
discovered that it contained a small fragment of a chestnut. Beside the
bundle he found the kettle, which was very small. These were the only
articles he found under his uncle’s bed. He wondered and wondered at
what he had discovered, for he could not understand how it was that
with this bit of chestnut and the tiny kettle his uncle could make
enough mush to feed him. Finally he decided on his course of action,
saying to himself: “Well, I must do this exactly as my uncle did. This
chestnut must be enough for one more meal.”

Kindling a good fire, the youth carefully scraped all the chestnut into
the kettle; and then he poured water into the kettle and set it over
the fire. Then taking the wand from its skin wrapping, when the water
began to boil he gently tapped on the kettle, saying, “I want you to
grow, my kettle.” He was so much amused by the increase in size of the
kettle that he kept on tapping it and repeating the magical words,
until there was hardly room enough in the lodge for him, because the
kettle and the mush which it contained had grown so large; so, climbing
to the roof, he continued to tap the kettle until it touched the sides
of the lodge. He was so busy that he did not see his uncle approaching.
The latter from a distance saw him on the roof, and watched his
actions. As he approached the lodge he heard the nephew say, “Oh, grow!
my kettle. Oh, grow! my little kettle,” and then he knew that the youth
had discovered everything. This made the uncle very sad and depressed.
He called to his nephew: “What have you done now, my nephew?” The youth
replied in delight: “Oh, I have so much pudding that we shall have a
grand feast.” Then he told his uncle everything.

The uncle asked, “Did you use all the chestnut?” The youth replied,
“Yes. There was only a small bit here.” Thereupon the poor uncle
exclaimed: “By doing this you kill me. That is the only kind of food I
can eat. I shall die of hunger now. That kind of chestnut does not grow
everywhere, and only a person who has great orenda (magic power) can
get it.” “Oh, pshaw!” replied the nephew; “I know where there are whole
trees full of chestnuts of this kind. I can get a large bagful for you,
my uncle. So do not worry.” The uncle, unconsoled, replied: “No, it is
not possible for you to do so. This is a bad thing that you have done.
This chestnut would have lasted me for years. Now I never can get
another; I shall starve to death. I may as well tell you about it, for
I must soon die.”

Then, shaking the kettle slightly to decrease its size so that he could
get into the lodge, the uncle said: “There is but one tree in the world
that bears such chestnuts. Seven sisters who are great sorcerers own
that tree. Many men have lost their lives in trying to get these
chestnuts.” The youth confidently replied, “I am sure that I can get
you one.” The uncle answered: “No, you can not. You are yet only a
small boy. You would lose your life. These seven women have a great
eagle perched upon a very tall tree to watch it. Night and day he
guards it. Not a living thing can come near the tree, for if even a man
try his utmost the eagle would discover him and scream out a cry of
distress. Thereupon the sisters would come forth and beat the intruder
to death no matter who he might be. Men have often taken the forms of
various birds and animals to try to deceive them, but so far they have
all failed in their attempts. These seven sisters have beaten to death
everything that has come near that chestnut tree.” But this kindly
advice did not change the youth’s resolve to make the attempt to get
some of these well-guarded chestnuts.

The next morning he said to his uncle, “You must tell me where the tree
stands, for I am going to try to find it.” When the fond uncle saw that
he could not repress his nephew’s desire to go, he replied: “Go toward
the rising sun, and after you have passed through the forests
intervening you will come to a large open space. In the middle of this
great clearing you will see a very tall tree near which stands a lodge.
On the top of this tree sits the eagle with his sharp eyes looking in
all directions; and it is in this lodge that the seven sisters dwell.”

Taking a bag, the young nephew said: “Now, cheer up, uncle. I will
bring you a whole bagful of chestnuts before you have finished eating
the pudding in that kettle.” With this remark the youth started toward
the sunrise. After traveling for some time he killed a deer, which he
cut up, filling his bag with the venison.

Finally the nephew came to a place where he began to see through the
forests to an opening, whereupon he resolved that he must put forth all
his caution and craft. So, having the mole as his fetish, he called out
“Now, my friend, I want you to come to me; come to me, you mole!” In a
short time the leaves began to rustle at his feet, and a mother mole
appeared and asked him, “What do you want of me?” The youth replied: “I
have done a great mischief to my uncle by scraping away all his
chestnut. Now I want you to help me get more for him. I shall enter
your body and you will carry me underground to that tall tree yonder on
which the eagle is sitting. When you are under the tree thrust out your
nose a little so that I can see. I shall have to carry my bag with me.
Do you think that you can bear me and it, too?” The mole answered, “Oh,
yes! I can carry all.”

After reducing his size magically, the youth entered the body of the
mole and then it made its way to the tree indicated. As the mole
arrived directly under the tree, thrusting its nose out of the ground,
it said, “The eagle is looking.” In a flash the youth, stepping out of
the mole, scattered venison all over the ground under the tree. The
eagle flew down and began to eat voraciously of the meat. In the
meantime the youth stuffed his bag with the chestnuts, which he
gathered in handfuls, and just as the eagle was finishing the last
morsel, the mole was engaged in carrying the youth with his bag back to
the forest. When the meat was all eaten the eagle uttered a loud
scream, and out ran the seven sisters with their clubs. When they saw
that the chestnuts were already stolen and that no one was in sight,
they fell upon the eagle and beat it until they had nearly killed him.

Arriving in the forest, the youth said to the mole: “Now, I will hide
my chestnuts here, and you must then take me back to the lodge of the
seven sisters, so I can hear what they say, in order to learn whether
they intend to follow us in an attempt to recover the chestnuts.”
Having again entered the body of the mole, the youth told it to go
under the ground until it came to the lodge. The mole obeyed him
literally. When the mole reached the lodge, it thrust out its nose and
mouth. The youth then stuck his ear out of its mouth and listened to
what was being said in the lodge. He finally overheard one of the
sisters say: “It must be a young man just grown. No one has succeeded
since his uncle in stealing the chestnuts. Perhaps he has a nephew now
who is as crafty as he used to be, and it may be that he, too, is going
to live on chestnuts.” Another answered her, saying: “Well, they are
stolen. We may as well let them go.” After hearing this last speech the
youth asked the mole to bear him back to the forest at once. After
reaching the forest the youth dismissed the mole with thanks for its
aid, and then hurried home.

When the youth reached home he found his uncle sitting by the fire,
singing his death song, “I must now die of hunger, for my nephew will
never return to me.” Then the nephew rushed into the lodge, saying,
“Oh, my uncle! I have brought you here a bag full of chestnuts.” The
old man welcomed his nephew home and gave thanks to their guardian
spirits for the latter’s success, and he was very, very happy. He is
still making chestnut puddings. His nephew became a great hunter. He
obtained whatever be desired, because he had the mole for his guardian
spirit and aid.

[Note.—There are several versions of the foregoing story. In one
version the tree is guarded by geese. The lad entered one of the geese,
and as the seven sisters were bathing he slipped from the goose into
the person of the youngest sister, and she thereby became pregnant.
Being born of her, he became the master of the chestnuts.]





25. THE OTTER’S HEART AND THE CLAW FETISHES

Once in the fall of the year in time long past, a prominent chief with
six or seven families went on a hunting expedition far away from their
village. Having arrived at their usual hunting grounds, they did not
find any game for many days. At last the chief, whose fetish, or charm,
was a fawn skin, calling the members of the party to his kanosʻha
(temporary lodge), asked each person to lay hold of his pouch fetish,
and to declare while touching the pouch what he or she intended to kill
on the following day.

The first one to touch the pouch was a man who said that he intended to
kill a bear; the next said that he intended to kill a deer, and so on;
and finally the chief’s wife declared that she intended to kill geese.
But, as the pouch passed around, the chief’s daughter requested her
husband not to touch it by any means; when it was nearing them on its
round she grasped her husband’s arm to keep him the more effectually
from putting his hand on the pouch. As he showed a disposition to touch
it, she pushed him over on the ground, but he arose again while she
still clung to him. In spite of her he finally placed his hand on the
pouch, saying, “Tomorrow, I shall kill two otters before daylight.”

At midnight the chief’s son-in-law, arising, went to a place where the
neighboring stream made a very pronounced loop, and there he watched
for the otters. Soon he saw two approaching and killed both. He was
very hungry, and as it was not yet daylight he took out the hearts of
the otters, which he roasted and ate. By doing this he unwittingly
destroyed the power of the orenda (magic potency) of the pouch for
those who had touched it; so that day all the other persons returned to
the lodge without any game. The chief’s wife, who had said that she
would kill geese, also returned empty handed. When she saw the geese on
the wing and clapped her hands, shouting: “Let them fall dead! Let them
fall dead!” the geese kept on flying; in fact the charm, or orenda, of
the pouch had been broken or spoiled by some one. After these things
had been reported to the chief, he examined the two otters slain by his
son-in-law. When he saw that their hearts had been removed, he became
very angry with him. His daughter, the wife of the culprit, becoming
frightened for the welfare of her husband, concealed a piece of dog’s
flesh and a knife, at the same time telling her husband where he could
find them in case of need.

The chief said to his retinue, “My son-in-law has nullified the orenda
of the pouch by eating one of the taboos, which is the earnest of the
compact with it; so I think we would better kill him.” But his daughter
exclaimed, “If you kill him, you must first kill me.” As the chief was
quite averse to killing his daughter, he said, “Then, instead of
killing him we will leave him here naked and without provisions and we
will go far away to avoid the consequences of his act.” So the chief
and the people stripped the son-in-law of everything, even of his
weapons, and then departed, taking his wife with them.

At midnight, when all alone, the son-in-law heard some person
approaching on snowshoes, for this was in the winter season. In a short
time a man came to the lodge and said to the young man, “You feel that
you are doomed to die, do you not?” The young man answered, “Yes; I do
think so.” Then the stranger said: “You shall not die. I have come here
to assist you. Tomorrow morning follow my tracks to a hollow tree.
There you shall find a bear. Kill it and you will have plenty of meat
and you can make yourself a robe and footwear from its skin.” Then the
stranger went away. The next morning the young man could find no tracks
other than those of a rabbit. These he followed to a large hollow tree,
in which indeed he found a bear, which he killed. Carrying it home, he
skinned and dressed it. From its skin he made himself a robe and a pair
of moccasins.

Again about midnight the young man heard some person approaching on
snowshoes, for the snow was deep. Soon a man’s voice from outside his
lodge said to him: “I sent you help last night. Tonight I have come to
tell you that your wife will be here tomorrow about midday. She
believes that you are dead from hunger and exposure and she has run
away from her father’s camp to come to look for you. As soon as she has
rested, send her on the following day for her father and his people.
Instruct her to tell her father that you are alive and well. Let her
say to him, ‘My husband has meat enough for all.’ They will be glad to
come back to you, for they have no meat and are hungry. They have been
punished enough for abandoning you.” Then the stranger departed.

The next day about noontide the wife came and she was welcomed by her
husband. After resting that night the young man in the morning sent her
for her father. The night she was absent the stranger again came to the
lodge and said to the young man: “Your father-in-law will be very glad
to know that you have meat sufficient for yourself and for his people,
and he will be very willing to come to you. When he has arrived here he
will exhibit his fetishes, and ostensibly to repay you he will give you
your choice. Among them is one which you must select; this is wrapped
in bearskin. It is the claw which I lost when your father-in-law caught
me in a trap. You must not pay heed to your father-in-law’s statement
that it is not of much account. He will insist that you take some other
which he will represent as of much greater potency than this. But take
my advice and choose this one.” Then the stranger departed.

The next morning toward midday the chief and all his people returned to
the lodge of the chief’s son-in-law, who welcomed them and offered them
what he had in the way of food.

In a few days the chief unfolded all his fetishes, informing his
son-in-law that he could take his choice. On his reaching over and
taking the one wrapped in bearskin, his father-in-law said, “Oh,
son-in-law! that is of no account; here is a better one.” But the young
man, remembering the advice of his midnight visitor, replied, “No; I
will keep this one,” so he retained the one wrapped in bearskin.

Some time afterward the young man went into the forest to meet the
strange man who had befriended him and to whom the claw, or finger,
belonged. He had not gone far when he saw what appeared to be a lodge
standing in the middle of a clearing. On going to this lodge he found a
man in it who received from him the claw or finger. Thanking him for
its return, the man said: “I shall always be your friend for this
favor. You shall succeed in all that you may undertake.” As the young
man turned to go home the strange man bade him farewell. Having
proceeded a short distance toward home, the young man turned to take a
look at the lodge, but to his surprise it had disappeared. What he had
thought was an opening in the forest was now a large body of water.

Ever after this circumstance the chief’s son-in-law enjoyed good
fortune in all that he undertook. He became a great hunter and a great
warrior. When his tribe waged a war against a neighboring people he
took many scalps and many prisoners. Whatever he desired he obtained
easily in abundance. It was said by those who knew the circumstances
that his good luck came from the friendship of the otter, whose finger,
or claw, the young man had so generously returned to it.





26. THE SEVEN SISTERS WHO PRODUCED WAMPUM

In the long ago there lived seven sisters who were endowed through
their orenda with great skill in sorcery. These sisters lived together
in a lodge situated on a high mountain. From this advantageous
situation they were able to see a long distance in every direction.

One of their chief occupations during berrying time was to gather large
quantities of huckleberries for drying and storing. They would carry
long baskets on their backs by means of the forehead strap and smaller
ones in their hands, for collecting the berries from the plants and
bushes. These berries they gathered in the neighboring patches which
belonged to them and brought them home to dry in the sun.

Now, it so happened that these seven sisters were misanthropes, and
they boasted that they hated men. Each one of them sincerely and
frequently said, “I can not bear the odor of a man.” True to their
animosity to men, they would not permit one to come near their
domicile. They carried this aversion to the presence of men to the
extent that they would have no relations whatever with married women,
even turning up their noses at them, with the contemptuous remark, “Oh,
they smell of men.” So they would not allow either men or women near
their huckleberry patch.

Among the young men who heard of these peculiar sisters was one who
determined to have a look at them. In order to see them he managed to
conceal himself in their huckleberry patch about the time of their
coming. When the sisters, therefore, came with their baskets into the
berry patch the young man saw the youngest, with whom he immediately
fell deeply in love, for she was very beautiful in face and attractive
in figure. He then and there decided to approach stealthily the spot
where she was picking berries by herself and to speak to her at all
hazards. He did not get the opportunity until the next day.

On going again to the spot he had chosen as the best place to meet her,
he concealed himself and awaited the coming of the seven sisters to
their daily task of gathering berries. By good fortune the youngest
sister came directly to the place near which the ardent gallant was
concealed, and he lost little time in making his presence known by
speaking to her in very low tones lest the other sisters should hear
him. The sister addressed, turning around, saw him and at once fell in
love with him, for he was a fine-looking young man. He said to her, “I
greatly desire to speak to you, but I do not want your sisters to
overhear me, for I am afraid of them.” So she stopped picking berries
and listened to what he had to say to her. They conversed together for
a long time. At last he remarked: “I must go lest your sisters discover
me. I will meet you here tomorrow.”

After her lover had gone the youngest sister tried very diligently to
fill her basket with huckleberries, but she did not have time to do so
before the eldest sister called out, “Come, now, my sisters, our
baskets are full, and we must go home.” They started toward their
lodge, but missing their youngest sister, called her until she came.
She acted shyly, being afraid to go very near them lest they should
detect any odor which would let them know that she had been near a man.
Then they asked her, “How is it that you have not filled your basket?”
To deceive them she feigned illness, but the eldest sister, going near
her, exclaimed in disgust: “Oh, pshaw! She emits the odor of a man.
Indeed, she has been near a man.” The youngest sister attempted to deny
this charge, for she was afraid of her sisters; but they would not
believe her. Too well did they know the odor of a man. They were very
angry, and they scolded and threatened her; but she was now thinking of
the young man, and so did not care what they said or did.

The next day they started out again to gather huckleberries, and the
youngest sister went directly to the spot where the young man had
promised to meet her. She was more than delighted to see him there
awaiting her coming. She sat down with him and they made love to each
other. The other sisters, being very busy, forgot to watch her, as they
did not expect that anyone would have the temerity to lurk, unwelcome,
in their huckleberry patch. Finally she told him how angry her sisters
were on the preceding day because her basket was not full, and so they
began to pick berries together. When her basket was nearly full, the
eldest sister again called out: “Come, sisters! our baskets are full.
We must now go home.”

The youngest sister lagged behind as long as possible, and the other
sisters waited for her until she came up to them. When she drew near
they cried out in bitter anger: “Oh! she smells strong of a man. She
can not deny that she has been talking again to a man.” Thereupon they
threatened to turn her away and not to let her enter their lodge again.
But she begged them not to do so, saying: “What if I do marry? I shall
not bring my husband into this lodge, for he will take me away to his
own lodge.” But they would not listen to her pleading, their only
answer being, “Tomorrow we shall go once more to pick huckleberries,
and if you again talk to a man we shall never permit you to come again
into our home.”

All that evening and night she sat pensively thinking of her situation
and of the young man. She could not bring herself to the point of
giving him up. Finally she decided to cast her lot with his people,
saying to herself, “Well, they may do as they like, but as for me I
shall accept the young man as my husband.” Collecting a small bundle of
her belongings, she carefully concealed them outside the lodge, so that
in case they would not let her return to the lodge she could get them.
During that same evening and night her sisters kept saying: “Oh! what a
disgusting smell that is. How can she stand it?” and they made fearful
grimaces at the odor.

The next day the seven sisters went again to gather huckleberries. The
elder sisters were so incensed at their youngest sister that they paid
little attention to her beyond murmuring continually against her
reprehensible conduct.

On her part she went directly to the usual place, where she met the
young man, who was impatiently waiting for her. After hearing how
bitterly opposed his sweetheart’s sisters were to her love-making, he
said to her, “If they do not let you go to your home, come to me, and I
will be most happy to care for you.”

When the time came for the sisters to go home and they made the usual
call, she would not go near them, telling them to go on and that she
would make her way home by herself. Then they said: “She has been with
that man again. She will indeed bring shame upon us.” At last some of
the younger sisters, relenting a little, said: “What shall we do? She
is our youngest sister. She is very proud. If we turn her away from
home, she will never come back again. We shall then lose her forever”;
and they were very sad and disconsolate. But the elder sister, more
conservative than they, said, “We must turn her away from us, because
if we do not do so, some other sister here will be doing the same thing
as she has done.” She was able to bring them, as least outwardly, to
her view, and so when the erring one came to the lodge, they said, “You
must not come into this lodge any more.”

Deeply grieved, the youngest sister replied, “If you have thus
deliberately cast me out from you, I will go away,” and true to her
answer, she started away. Weeping bitterly thus to leave her sisters,
whom she loved dearly, she walked along, hardly knowing whither she was
going. But in her grief she instinctively started back to the young
man, who had promised to care for her should her sisters cast her out.
Suddenly, while she was thus pensively walking along, she heard the
voice of the young man addressing her, saying: “Lo! I followed you near
enough to see for myself how your sisters would treat you. Now that
they have cast you out, I ask you to come with me to my lodge and be my
wife.” Having no other present resource, she accepted his offer and the
young man led her home in triumph. Now it so happened that the young
man was an only son, and his mother was delighted to learn that he had
obtained a fine-looking young wife.

For a time they were undisturbed in their happiness arising from their
devotion to each other. But there came an evil day when the young man’s
mother began to be jealous of her daughter-in-law, for she felt that
the young wife had displaced her in her own son’s affections. She felt
this the more keenly because up to the time of his marriage he had been
devoted to his mother and had not passed his time in the company of
other women and men. Now he was attentive to his wife and tried to
grant her every wish, although he did not neglect his mother at all on
this account. The young man and his wife were accustomed to go away on
hunting trips for several days at a time, and on their return brought
much game and meat. But the young man noticed that his mother’s manner
had changed toward him and his wife, and this troubled him.

His wife, being a prospective mother, did not accompany him when her
term was approaching; but when her husband left he would say to her:
“You must be very wary, as I am afraid that my mother may do you harm,
for she is very jealous of my love for you. Before knowing you I loved
only her; but now I love you, and of course she feels that you have
taken her place. I am afraid that she may do you harm, although I do
not think that she will attempt to poison you. But you must be kind to
her, and do not let her know what I have told you. Be on your guard at
all times.”

At last, without telling his mother the reason, he took his wife away
with him to the forest, where he built a lodge and remained. Soon a boy
was born to them.

After a while the young man, wishing to know whether his mother was in
need, went to visit her, carrying a large quantity of game. He was not
long absent. He made several such trips to his mother. It was his
practice to tell his wife just when she should expect him to return,
and he did not fail to keep his promise. At last, however, he did not
return. Time passed; his wife anxiously waited for him day after day,
but he never returned. She told her son, who had grown to be quite a
lad, that his father must be dead or that his mother had made him a
captive in such manner that he could not escape to return to them.

Years passed and the boy grew into manhood. In looks and manner he was
the exact double of his father. He had become a great hunter and was
very fond of killing turkeys.

One evening on his return from hunting he found only the upper half of
his mother’s body lying on her bed, while the other half was gone. She
told him that while she was bending over a kettle, cooking, two men
came into the room and, stealing up behind her, with a single blow
cleft her body in two; that they then fled with the lower half, leaving
her to die. She had crawled on her hands to her bed.

The youth, who was in terrible grief by reason of his mother’s
misfortune, exclaimed: “Oh, mother! you can not live. Oh! you will
surely die.” But she consoled him by telling him that she had healed
her body and that she could live a long time as she was then; and that,
if she could recover by any means the lower half of her body, she could
cause the two parts to unite again, so that she would be as well as
ever.

Moreover, calling her son to her side, she said to him: “Now you are
old enough to know about such things, I will tell you all that you
should know. This misfortune has come upon me through the machinations
of my sisters, who are six in number. There were seven of us. When I
was unmarried wampum beads of great value passed from me. This was true
also of my sisters. But when I married your father this ceased, and my
sisters were very angry with me. This is the reason why my sisters do
not marry, for they are becoming very rich by selling the wampum beads
which they obtain in this manner. Since your father went away I again
pass wampum beads; and this is the reason that the lower part of my
body has been stolen by the two men, who were sent here by my sisters.
It now hangs in the lodge of public assembly, so that the wampum beads
may be gathered from it. You shall bring back my body to me. I will
give you the magic power to do it—the orenda which will enable you to
call to your assistance any being or thing that you may need.” Placing
her head upon his shoulder and her hand on his head, she continued:
“You are my son, and I am one of the Seven Sisters. Whatever you wish
to do you will now always be able to do by such aid as you may call on
to assist you.”

After this annunciation she thrust her hand into her bosom and drew
therefrom a tiny black dog. Giving it to her son, she said: “This
little dog shall be a companion to you hereafter. It will aid you.” The
youth exclaimed with delight, “Oh, mother! why did you not give me this
beautiful little dog long ago?” The boy was delighted with the tiny
dog, taking it up and caressing it in an exuberance of joy. When he put
the dog down, it leaped around, trying to bark and seeming to be full
of life. “Now,” said the mother, “I will show you what you have to do
in this matter.” Taking a small wand from her bosom, she gently tapped
the dog, accompanying the action with the words, “Grow! my dog. Grow!
my dog.” With each blow of the wand the dog increased in size until he
became an immense beast. Then she said to the boy: “Get on his back and
you will see that he can carry you. You must be very kind to him and
never neglect him. He will always fight for and protect you. Should you
desire to make him small again, pull his ears and shake him gently, and
he will assume any size you may wish, from a great dog to one so small
that you can secrete him in your bosom.”

The youth willingly accepted his mother’s commission, saying: “Mother,
I shall not wait another day to perfect my preparations. I will go
after the lower part of your body at once.” His mother told him that
the oil of a wild turkey was the only thing which could make the parts
of her body grow together again; that it must come from a gobbler; and
that he should prepare this oil before he went after the lower part of
her body. She told him further that the oil must be rubbed hot on the
raw flesh, and that then the two parts would grow together again, and
she would be well. The youth said, “I will kill the turkey gobbler on
the way.” But his mother said to him, “Oh, no! The turkey must not be
killed until we are ready to use the oil, for it must live until the
last minute.”

Then the youth started on his quest for the lower part of his mother’s
body. While on the way he encountered a flock of wild turkeys and
contrived to take a fine gobbler alive. He fastened it to a tree where
it would not be devoured by prowling animals of prey and where he would
find it on his return.

When the youth drew near the lodge of public assembly, which was his
destination, he heard loud laughing, screaming, and quarreling over
wampum beads, which the people were getting from his mother’s body.
This made him very angry and determined to accomplish his errand.
Having made his dog very large, he said to it, “Remain here until I
return”; then he went to the lodge of assembly. On his way there he
called on the Chief of the Crows to come to his aid. In a moment the
Black Chief was at his side ready for any command. To him the youth
said: “Friend, my mother’s body is hanging on a post inside of the
lodge and the people are getting wampum beads from it. Now, when the
people stoop down to gather the beads I wish you to go in at the
smoke-hole, draw up the body out of the lodge, and quickly bring it to
me.” The Black Chief replied, “I will do your bidding at once.” Waiting
until the people on the inside of the lodge began to scramble and fight
for the wampum beads, he swooped down through the smoke-hole, and
seizing the part of the body which he sought, he flew out with it to
the waiting youth, who sat on the back of the monster dog. With an
exclamation of thanks to his friend, the Black Chief of the Crows, the
youth parted from him. The huge dog ran homeward with great speed,
directing his way to the place where the turkey was fastened to the
tree. Having obtained it, the dog soon brought the youth, the part of
the mother’s body, and the turkey to the waiting mother, who hardly
expected her son back so soon. At once the youth killed the turkey, and
taking the oil from it, rubbed it on the severed surface of the lower
part of the body.

After treating likewise the surface of the upper part he brought the
two parts of her body close together, whereupon they joined of
themselves. Then the woman with her hands rubbed the place of juncture.
Becoming then entirely whole, she arose and, standing, said, “I am well
now, and no one shall come to trouble us again. I am thankful to you.”
This prediction proved true, for they two lived in peace and
contentment.

The youth became a great hunter, famous for his great successes in the
chase. His mother continued to pass wampum beads as in former years,
and their lodge was richly ornamented with many strings of wampum, each
of which was worth a man’s life and two that of a woman.[46] Although
the youth was always looking for his father, the latter never returned.





27. THE FORSAKEN INFANT AND GAHA (THE WIND)

A number of Seneca went hunting. When they had finished their hunting
and were ready to return home, they did not know what to do with a
little boy whose father and mother had died while they were at the
chase. They had so much meat that they could not well carry him, and,
owing to his infancy, he could not walk. Finally they decided to leave
him in the hunting lodge, with plenty of wood and meat. Learning this,
the child cried bitterly.

When the hunters reached home the report went around that a child had
been left in the woods, and all feared that it would die. At once the
chief sent a trusty man to see whether the child was alive. When he got
outside the village the man turned himself into a great bear, so that
he could run the faster.

Meanwhile the child kept a good fire and cooked meat and lived fairly
well. One cold night he began to cry, for the meat was nearly gone and
all the wood had been burned. At last he heard some one come to the
door, making a sound as if shaking the snow off his feet, and call out:
“Well, little boy, you think you are going to die, but you will not. I
am going to help you. The chief has sent a man to see whether you are
still alive, but he will not be here for some time yet. I will be your
friend. When you want me to aid you all you have to do is to think of
me and I will come.” Soon after that the boy fell asleep. In the
morning he found a pile of wood at his door, and on a low limb of a
near-by tree hung a piece of meat. Now he was happy. Building a fire,
he cooked and ate some of the meat.

The next night this strange man came again. Stopping at the door, he
shook his feet but he did not come in. He said: “The man who is coming
will not help you; he is coming in the form of a great bear; he will be
here tomorrow forenoon. In the morning you will find between the roots
of the old stump in the dooryard a trusty knife. You must sharpen this
knife to kill the bear. When he is near, you must run to the spring
where the tall hemlock stands and climb the tree a little way; the
great bear will follow you. Then slip down on the other side, and when
he is coming down after you, stab him in the forefoot.”

The next morning the boy did as the voice told him. After he had killed
the bear, he went to the lodge and was very glad.

The next night he awoke, and the stranger, knocking, said: “My friend,
I want to say to you that men are coming for you; you must go with them
for they will be fond of you. You must not be proud. The headman of the
tribe will want you to stay with him. You will be one of the fastest
runners among your people. Do not forget that I am your friend; you
will not be able to see me, for I am the one whom you call Gaha. If you
are in trouble just think of me and I will come and help you. Tomorrow
afternoon four men will be in this lodge. They will ask you about the
great bear, and you shall say, ‘I saw no great bear, but a strong wind
went through the woods one morning.’”

The next day four men came to the lodge with food; they saw that the
boy had wood and meat but no bow nor arrow. They took him home the next
day. The chief ordered them to bring him to his lodge for the lad’s
relatives were all dead. The chief said, “You shall be my grandson and
you shall live with me.” The boy wanted a club instead of a bow and
arrows. “What do want a club for?” asked the chief. “To kill deer
with,” replied the boy. The chief had a club made for him. Owing to his
great speed, the youth used to chase deer, which he struck in the
forehead with his club; he also killed birds by striking them before
they could rise to fly.

The last word that his friend Gaha said to him was: “Do not think that
you are the swiftest runner living. Do not boast of your speed.” But
the boy had this idea of running always in his mind; when he saw other
boys running, he laughed, thinking, “That running is nothing; I can run
faster than any other living man.”

One night he heard some one come and strike the door post near the bed.
He did not speak. Then a second knock, and the visitor spoke, saying,
“Who is there?” “I am here,” answered the boy. “Well, I challenge you
to run a race with me, because you think that you are the swiftest
runner living. We will start from the second mountain and run from
sunrise to sunset,” declared the stranger.

In the morning the boy asked his grandfather whether he had heard a man
talking in the night. “No,” came the answer. “Well, a man challenged me
last night to run a race,” said the boy. “Oh! I do not believe it is a
man. It is a beast. Perhaps you will get killed,” said the old man.
“Well, I must be ready,” said the boy; “we run on the third morning
from this.” The youth made ready ten pairs of moccasins, put flint on
his arrows, and took prepared parched corn to eat.

On the third morning he went to the appointed place. As he drew near he
saw there a great dark mass. When nearer he saw an immense creature,
but he did not know what it was. When daylight came, he saw that it was
a great bear. When the sun appeared the bear said, “Now, we will
start.” At once he leaped straight across the valley to the next hill.
The ground sank where he struck. He leaped from hill to hill all the
time, but the boy had to run through the valley. At noon the great bear
was ahead, and the boy was falling behind. The latter began to think,
“I am lost; I wish my friend Gaha would come.” At that moment Gaha came
in a whirlwind and carried the boy far ahead of the bear. Gaha threw
all the trees down, and the bear was delayed jumping over them. The boy
called to the great bear, “You must do better than that.” The great
bear then gave up, telling the boy that he might have his life; so the
boy killed him. Then he took some burned tobacco to his friend Gaha,
and, after doing this, asked to be taken home. His friend, carrying him
in a whirlwind, set him down in front of his grandfather’s lodge. The
boy said: “I have come, grandfather. I have killed the great bear, and
you must send and get his body.” The grandfather sent eight men to get
his body. They were twenty days going and twenty days returning. The
boy was not one day coming, for Gaha carried him over the woods and
under the clouds.





28. THE OLD MAN AND THE BOY

In the past an old man and a small boy lived together in a lodge by
themselves. With great affection they passed the time. Each called the
other “friend.” They were not blood relatives, only cousins.

One day the old man dressed himself richly—sticking new feathers in his
headdress, trimming his hair, and painting his face, and putting on new
moccasins. The little boy, watching him, asked, “What are you going to
do, my friend?” “Oh, I am going to see the world. I shall be gone a
good while. I shall make a long journey,” the old man answered. “Can I
not go with you?” asked the boy. “Well, if your father and mother will
let you go, I will take you along,” said the old man.

Going to his mother, the boy asked her if he might go. After thinking a
minute, she said, “Yes; you may go,” and gave him a new pair of
moccasins to wear on the journey.

He returned to his friend, who washed him, trimmed his hair, painted
his face, put new feathers in his headdress, and gave him a fine new
bow and arrows. Then both set out together. They traveled until night,
when they stopped and made their fire in the woods; then they ate their
evening meal and slept.

They traveled in this way for five days, until they came to a lake so
broad that they could not see the other shore. “How can we get across?”
asked the boy. “Oh! we shall have to make a canoe,” said the old man.
“Will it take long?” asked the boy. “About one day,” the old man
replied. He looked around in the woods until he found a large bitternut
hickory tree; stripping off the bark he made a large canoe.

The next morning the old man and the boy, putting their bows, arrows,
and fur robes into the canoe, started across the lake. The boy was
seated in front and the old man, who paddled, in the stern. In the
evening they came in sight of a low island, and without landing they
fastened their canoe to the bullrushes that grew around the shore. “How
can we sleep here? Is it safe? Are there not things in the water that
might kill us?” were some of the anxious queries of the boy. “Oh!” said
the old man, “there are fish in the water, and there are in the world
evil things reaching from the bottom of the water up to the home of the
Master of Life.” [47] “If the wind blows we shall be carried off into
the lake,” said the boy. “Oh, no! we are safe,” said the old man. So
both lay down and soon fell asleep.

About midnight the boy heard a rushing sound as of swiftly moving
water, and it seemed to him that the canoe was moving rapidly. He
thought that the wind must be blowing hard. On sitting up in the canoe
he found that the weather was calm. Then he thought that the water must
be running very fast, and putting his hand overboard he found this to
be true. He roused the old man at once by shaking his feet and saying:
“Get up, friend, and see what the trouble is. The water is running by
very fast. Where is the lake going? What are we to do?” “Lie down,”
said the old man, “no harm will come to you or me.”

The boy then lay down, but he could not sleep. Just at daybreak a voice
spoke to him. Opening his eyes, he saw a fine-looking, middle-aged man,
beautifully decorated with paint and feathers, standing at the bow of
the boat. The boy saw, too, that the canoe was on dry land. Now the
stranger roused the old man saying, “Come with me.” Taking up their
bows and arrows and other equipage, they followed the man, who took
them to a long lodge. They entered it. There were, they saw, many
persons inside, some asleep, some awake. When the old man of the lodge
met them he said to the guide, “Oh! you have brought them,” and then,
turning to the two friends, he said: “I am glad that you have come. I
know you have heard of us before. We are the people whom you call Hinon
in your home. We bring rain to make corn and beans and squashes grow.
We sent our young man to the island for you. It is we who put it into
your mind to come east. We want you to help us, for you are more
powerful in orenda than is anything else. The world was made for you.
You are more powerful in orenda in some respects than we are, and we
want you to help us to kill some of your and our enemies.”

Then they ate their morning meal. There were all kinds of food—corn,
beans, squashes. “We have these things. We take a little from a great
many fields,” said the old man. “When you see a small row of corn, or a
withered squash, or bad kernels of corn on an ear, or dried-up beans in
a pod, then you may know that we have taken our part from these. We
have taken our part—that part is the spirit of these things—and we have
left the shells, or husks. If you should see a whole field blasted and
withered, then you would know that we had taken the whole field. But we
seldom or never do that. We take only a little from each field.”

After they had eaten, the youngest warrior of the long lodge said: “Now
we will go and try to kill the great porcupine. Off there on the hill
stands an immense hemlock tree, the largest tree in the whole country.
On that tree dwells a terrible porcupine, of such size that his quills
are as large as long darts. These he hurls in all directions, killing
all who approach him. We Hinon can not kill him, and we are afraid to
go near the tree.” So they all agreed to go together.

As they went toward the tree the boy marched ahead with his little bow
and arrows. The old man, his friend, and the Hinon laughed to see him,
and the old man said in fun: “I think that our little friend might try
his luck first.” “All right,” said the Hinon. The little boy was
pleased with the suggestion. They stopped at a good distance from the
great hemlock tree. No one would venture nearer.

Then, the little boy going down into the ground, went forward until he
was directly under the tree in which the porcupine lived. Putting his
head and arms out of the ground, and taking aim, he sent an arrow into
the porcupine’s body. It moved a little. Then he sent another and still
another arrow in quick succession. Feeling something hit him, the
porcupine, raising his quills, shot them in every direction. To avoid
them the boy hid under the ground. Then the porcupine groaned and,
rolling from the tree, fell to the ground dead. Thereupon all the Hinon
with the old man came up. Cutting open the great porcupine, which was
very fat, they took out his entrails, and then dragged his body home;
they saved his quills and ate his flesh. All wondered at the orenda of
the little boy.

Old Hinon was delighted. “Now,” said he, “we have another enemy—a great
and terrible sunfish, which lives in our river here and which lets no
one come near for water; he devours everything, and he even springs up
out of the water and catches birds as they fly over the river. The
little boy said, “I can kill him without trouble, for he is in the
water.”

The next day the Hinon and the old man went near enough to show him
where the sunfish lived. The trunk of a great tree had fallen into the
river, and it was under this that the sunfish used to lie in wait. He
was in his lurking place when they arrived there. The little fellow at
once saw him; he shot his arrow straight into the heart of the sunfish,
which came to the surface and died. Springing into the water, the whole
party of Hinon pulled the sunfish to land and dragged him off to the
lodge of old Hinon, who was overjoyed at seeing his second enemy dead.
“He is good eating,” said old Hinon, and they feasted on him that day.

The third day old Hinon said: “Now comes the turn of our last enemy.
Every other day there flies past here an enormous butterfly, as big as
a cloud. He brings sickness, and many of our people die because of him.
If we could kill this butterfly, we should have good health and very
few of us would die. He passes over here from the west early in the
morning and goes back in the evening. Wherever he goes he carries
sickness. He will come tomorrow morning.”

The next morning very early they went out in the high grass, where they
waited. Soon the great butterfly appeared, flying toward them. He was
almost over the place where they were concealed when the little boy,
drawing his bow, let an arrow fly. This struck the butterfly, whereupon
the hind part of his body immediately dropped, hanging toward the
ground. All expected to see him fall. Instead of that he turned and
flew back slowly in the direction from which he came. Hinon said: “I am
very glad. I do not think that he will come again to this place. Our
last enemy is destroyed.”

They then went back to the lodge and ate. As the day passed, the old
man said to the two friends, “You may stay and live with us or go home,
as you choose.” The old man said: “I am old and can not help you, but
my young friend—the little boy—may stay. He is very powerful in orenda.
He can do anything, and will be of great assistance to you.” “Well,”
said the Hinon, “we are going to your place this evening. There will be
a great dance there tonight. We will all go and have some sport, and
will carry you as we pass along in the clouds.”

After dark, when the council lodge was full of men and women dancing,
the old man, the boy, and the Hinon went in. As the Hinon entered, they
began to dance. When they shook their heads the lightnings began to
play around the lodge. The chiefs said, “Our grandfathers are here
tonight. They should behave themselves or they may do us harm.” Then
for a little while the Hinon quieted down. Later, again becoming
excited in the dance, they shook their heads until the lightning
flashed everywhere and the people were afraid.

After dancing as much as they wished the Hinon went home, leaving the
old man but taking the boy with them, and today the little boy goes
with them everywhere. “And after the great peals of thunder we hear the
little fellow with his boyish voice, and we say, ‘That is the boy.’ We
burn tobacco to him, saying, ‘This is all we have to give you,’ and we
thank him for the rain that he and the Hinon bring,” say the Seneca.





29. THE STORY OF THE GIRLS WHO WENT FOR A HUSBAND [48]

There was an old woman Yegondji of the Awaeh people with three
daughters who had grown to young womanhood. One day she said: “My
daughters, I have had a great deal of trouble in rearing you, and thus
far I have not eaten anything but onehsa [moss]; now I should like to
have some meat to eat. You are old enough to get married. There is a
rich woman of the Donyonda people, named Doendjowens, who has a son,
Tagonsowes. He is a good young man and a great hunter. I want two of
you to go to her lodge and marry this son.”

The girls set to pounding corn for the marriage bread. The old woman
baked 22 cakes in the ashes, which she wrapped in corn husks. The next
morning she dressed the girls’ hair and painted their faces with red
stripes. She told the elder to carry the basket, and cautioned them,
saying, “Stop nowhere until you come to the lodge of Doendjowens, and
do not inquire of anyone on the way, or speak to any man.” The elder
daughter took the basket and the younger followed her.

About midday they saw a middle-aged man of the Ohohwa people running
across the road, who was saying: “I have lost my arrow. I was shooting
a fisher on a tree and the arrow has gone so far that I can not find
it.” The elder daughter put her basket on a log and both girls hunted
for the arrow. The strange man ran around the girls, and seizing the
basket of marriage bread, carried it home. The younger sister did not
like hunting for the arrow and reminded her sister of what their mother
had said, but still she had to follow her elder sister. After a while,
failing to find the arrow, they returned to the log; discovering that
the basket was gone, both girls went home. The mother asked them what
had become of the bread. The younger said, “A man asked us to look for
his arrow, and I think that he stole it.” The old woman scolded them,
saying: “You do not love me. You know that I am suffering for meat, and
still you disobey me.” Then she said to the younger girl, “We will make
more marriage bread to-morrow and you and your youngest sister shall go
this time.”

The next day they made 22 loaves of marriage bread. The day following,
after the old woman had dressed their hair and had given them the same
cautioning as before, the two girls set out. Going by the same road,
they again met the Ohohwa man, whom they asked how far it was to the
lodge of Doendjowens. “Oh,” he said, “it is not so far. It is right
over here,” showing them his own lodge. There they found Ohohwa’s wife
and one little boy. The girls put down the marriage bread near the
woman, thinking that she was Doendjowens.

When the man came home he sent his wife to the other side of the fire,
telling her to pretend that he was her brother. She did so. He sat
between the girls, talking to them. Soon the little boy began to say,
“Father! Father!” Thereupon Ohohwa said: “This is my sister’s son. His
father was buried yesterday and the boy is calling for him.” Then
Ohohwa began to cry for his brother-in-law.

At last somebody was heard running. He came and kicked at the door,
calling, “Ohohwa, they want you at Doendjowens’s long lodge.” Ohohwa
said to the girls: “They are always using nicknames here. My real name
is Tagonsowes.” He continued: “They are holding a council and can not
get on without me, so I must go. You lie down here whenever you like,
and I will come home soon.” Then he went away to attend the council.

The younger girl whispered: “Let us go out. This is not Tagonsowes’s
lodge. If we could get the basket we might go on.” When Ohohwa’s wife
fell asleep the younger girl took the basket of marriage bread out of
doors, saying: “We must go on. Let us put two elm logs in the bed.”
They did so, and started away.

Soon they came to an open place in the center of which stood a council
lodge. They stood near the lodge and, peeping through a crack in the
side of it, saw Doendjowens, a fine-looking woman and her son, who sat
near her, a splendid young man. There were two fireplaces in the lodge.
There were also many people, men and women. Ohohwa was in the lodge,
and the people were singing for him to dance. As he danced they threw
pieces of meat into his mouth and struck his blanket with fat. He was a
sight to look at. The girls recognized him.

The younger daughter now went into the lodge followed by the elder, who
put the basket of marriage bread near Doendjowens. The two sisters sat
on each side of the young man, and Doendjowens was glad, for she liked
the two girls. All sat and looked at Ohohwa. Just as he looked at
Doendjowens he had his mouth full of mush, and he saw the sisters
there. Dropping his blanket in astonishment, he ran out. The people
wondered what the matter was with him. Ohohwa ran home. There he saw,
as he thought, the two girls in bed, so he sat down on the couch and
smoked a while. As he sat there, he was pinched several times by black
ants. Turning to the bed he said, “Wait a while. I shall be there
soon.” At last, having finished smoking, he undressed; then he
discovered that what he had taken for the girls were two logs.

The daughters of the Awaeh Yegondji lived with Tagonsowes and were
contented. He was a good hunter and they had plenty of everything to
eat.

After a time Doendjowens said to the wife, her daughter-in-law: “You
must go home and take your mother some meat. She is suffering for it, I
know.” So making ready a pack of meat, she caused it to become small.
On reaching home she threw down the pack, and it became as large as
ever. Before the sisters set out for home Doendjowens said: “You must
bring your mother here. I will give her one fire in the lodge as her
own to use.” After Awaeh Yegondji had eaten enough meat and was glad,
her daughters brought her to Doendjowens’s lodge, where she lived happy
and contented.





30. THE CREATION OF MAN

(MODERN FOLK EXPLANATION)

God at first created the sun and the moon. One day while walking about
on the earth, becoming lonely, he said, “I will make a human being to
keep me company.” He held his way until he came to an uprooted hemlock,
which had raised a great pile of earth with its upturned roots. Now,
the roots of the hemlock are very numerous and slender and are covered
with tufted rootlets for, as the tree grows on thin, pale, sandy soil,
it needs many feeders to provide the necessary sustenance. God made a
human being from the earth piled up among the roots of this tree. There
were so many small fibers in this earth that the human being was
seemingly hairy, and the soil was so poor and light-colored that he had
a pale, sickly complexion. God breathed on him and he stood up and
walked. Then God looked at him from behind the roots of the tree, but
being not pleased with his creation, he resolved that he would try
again.

God soon came to a walnut tree lying uprooted, which had pulled up with
its roots a mound of black earth. From this earth God made another
human being. As he looked at him, he saw that, being black, he had too
much color. So God was not satisfied with this piece of work, either.

Going on farther, he came at last to an uprooted sugar maple. There the
earth had a fine deep color; so out of this God made the third human
being, whose body was smooth and firm and of a full rich tint. And God,
pleased with his looks, said, “He will do; he looks like me.” This last
human being was an Indian; thus the Indian was the native human being.





31. GANIAGWAIHEGOWA

Once a Seneca warrior was missing from his village. It was thought that
his disappearance was due to witchcraft in the neighborhood. A party of
skilled men was formed to find out the cause of his unexplained
disappearance. They discovered great tracks near the village, which
they followed to a cave in the woods. Making a large fire, they threw
burning brands into the cave. In a short time a Ganiagwaihegowa came
out. They shot arrows at the beast, but none of these injured him, for
he was full of evil orenda. But, while the bear was rushing around, he
happened to raise his fore feet, and when the men shot him there, he
died instantly, for it is said that the life of the Ganiagwaihegowa is
in the soles of his fore feet, and that this bear is vulnerable in no
other spot.

The Ganiagwaihegowa used to eat common bears. No bear but this would
eat a bear and no other kind of bear could be killed by being shot in
the feet.





32. THE MAN WHO BECAME A FISH, AND A GANIAGWAIHE

Two young warriors, who were cousins, started on a hunting expedition.
Having arrived at their destination, they constructed a temporary camp.

Some time after camping they heard a very peculiar noise, and one of
the cousins said, “I am going to see what is making that sound.” On
investigation he found that the sound came from a hollow tree, so he
concluded naturally that it was caused by a bear. Going back to the
camp, he said to his companion, “There must be a bear in that hollow
tree, although the noise which it makes is like that of a whirlwind.”
Then they both went to the tree to investigate further the cause of the
peculiar sounds. One climbed the tree to take a look into the cavity.
At first he could see nothing, but finally he saw at the bottom of the
hollow cavity a spotted trout, which was leaping around swiftly in
water collected there. Crawling into the hole, he captured the trout
with his hand. On getting out, he threw the fish down to his cousin,
who said: “This is a curious fish. Let us take it back to camp.” The
other replied, “No! Do not touch it; it may be something that will
bring us harm.” But the other young man would not heed this advice.
Taking the fish to camp, he cleaned, cooked, and ate it. When he had
finished eating, he began to be very thirsty, and said to his
companion, “Go and get me some water, cousin.” The cousin brought him
water, and the other drank and kept on drinking, seeming to be unable
to get enough water.

Then his cousin said to him, “Do you not think that the fish is making
you ill?” The only reply was, “Oh! get me more water. Take my moccasins
and get me plenty.” He brought both moccasins full of water, which the
thirsty man drank at once. At last the man who was not ill said, “I am
tired of getting water for you; go to the spring and there you can
drink all you want.” Visiting the springs he drank until he was tired
of drinking; then he rested, and then he began to drink still more.

The cousin, being busy around the camp, did not pay much attention to
the sick man, but after a while he went to the spring to look after his
cousin. Arriving there, he was frightened when he saw him, for his
mouth had become like that of a fish. He asked the sick man how he
felt. The other replied, “Oh, about as usual.” Then came the query,
“Does not your mouth feel queer?” Putting up his hand, the afflicted
youth found that his mouth had grown large, but still kept on drinking.
His companion hurried back to the camp in sorrow. The next time he went
to the spring he found that his cousin had become a fish to the waist.
Later, when he went again to the spring, his cousin had completely
changed into a fish, and had gone into the spring. The following
morning his cousin had become a great fish, dwelling far under the
water, and the spring had grown into a large pond.

The man sat down on the bank of the pond. Soon the great fish, raising
its head out of the water, said: “My poor cousin, you see how I have
turned into a fish. Go home and tell my parents what has become of me.
When you need fish, come to this pond and you shall get all you want.
This pond will always be full of fish.”

The man went home, where he told everyone what had befallen his
companion. The people then visited the pond, whereupon the great fish,
lifting its head above the surface, said, “I shall not long be a fish,
for I shall soon become a Ganiagwaihe.” Then the people departed.

In a short time the great fish became a Ganiagwaihe, having hair only
on its back and feet. It remained around the lake, and of those who
came there to fish it always killed and ate one. The people did not see
this done, but always missed one of their number at that place. They
did not like this at all, knowing that if the fish continued to live
there long it would kill many persons. The people therefore assembled
in council to decide how to get rid of the great fish. At last two or
three young men agreed to go there and try to kill the Ganiagwaihe; but
they never returned. Men who went to find them recovered only their
garments.

Finally the cousin of the man who had become a Ganiagwaihe said: “I
shall now go. Perhaps I may be able to kill it.” So they prepared for
him parched corn, new moccasins, and a very good bow and twelve fine
arrows. Having arrived at the pond, he camped there. That night he
dreamed that his cousin, appearing to him in the form of a man, asked
him: “Why did you come? I can kill you.” The other answered, “I have
come to kill you because you are doing great harm to our people.” Then
Ganiagwaihe said, “I shall start at daylight, and you pursue me and see
if you can catch me.”

Early the next morning the young man started in the direction the
Ganiagwaihe had indicated it would flee, and, running as swiftly as he
could, he kept up the pursuit until midday, when he saw the tracks of
the Ganiagwaihe. Thereupon he shouted in triumph: “Now I shall kill
you. I shall soon overtake you now.” Then he ran faster than he had
been running before. He ran until night, when he camped and built a
fire. On looking at his bundle of corn flour he found that it had
become ants; so he had nothing to eat. This mishap was caused by the
Ganiagwaihe in order to deprive the man of food. It was now night.
While the young man sat there thinking about his situation he heard the
approach of footsteps. He knew that it was his cousin, the Ganiagwaihe,
and he was ready to take aim when the Ganiagwaihe called: “Stop,
cousin! Hold, until I can have a talk with you. If you will permit me
to escape this time, I will start early in the morning and will leave
this part of the country forever, and I will injure your people no
more.” The young man replied: “If you are in earnest in what you have
just said, I will spare your life. You know that too many have already
been killed by you, and you must stop killing our people at once.”
Thoroughly frightened, the Ganiagwaihe agreed to this; and, having bade
each other farewell, they parted.

The next morning the young man went home, where he told the people what
had occurred, adding: “You can now fish in the pond as much as you
desire; there is no one to give you trouble now.” So it came to pass
that the Ganiagwaihe kept his word to his cousin.





33. A DEAD MAN SPEAKS TO HIS MOTHER THROUGH THE FIRE

An old woman and her son lived in a lodge in a certain village, and a
brother and his sister in another. The old woman’s son and the brother
were of the same height and looked so much alike that they could
scarcely be known from each other; they were great friends.

The son often visited the brother and sister, and the brother found out
that he thought of marrying his sister, who was yet very young, when
she became old enough. The brother was not pleased with this prospect,
so he made up his mind to kill his friend. The next time the latter
came the brother killed him. Digging a deep hole under the fireplace
and putting the body therein, he covered it with earth, and made a fire
again over the spot.

The mother waited for her son, but he did not come home. Then she went
to the other lodge and asked, “Where is my son?” “He left here to go
home. It may be he is in the woods now. He said he was going to cut
wood for arrows,” answered the young man.

When the woman went out the brother started off and, cutting wood,
quickly ran to her lodge, where he sat down and began to whittle
arrows. Soon afterward she came in. Turning to her, he asked, “Where
have you been, mother?” “Oh! I have been over at your friend’s lodge.”
She failed to detect any difference between her son’s voice and his. He
said, “Well, mother, I am going over there a while.” Putting up the
arrows and running home, he said: “I am afraid, my sister, that there
is impending danger and that we are going to die. Hurry to the spring
and leave your pail there: then run around in every direction so as to
make many trails and come back to the lodge.”

Going to the spring, the girl covered the ground with tracks and
returned. The brother said, “I am now going to put you into the head of
my arrow and send you off to a safe place.” Taking hold of his sister’s
arm, he shook her until she became very small; then opening the
arrowhead, he put her into the cavity, and after carefully securing her
there, said: “I am going to shoot you toward the east. When the arrow
strikes the ground you must jump out and run. I will soon overtake
you.” Standing by the fireplace, he shot the arrow out of the
smoke-hole. In due time it came down on a stone far off in the east,
when the arrow burst and the girl came out and ran off.

After running around in circles and making many tracks around the
lodge, the brother then went up the smoke-hole and stood on the roof.
There was visible a long streak, or trail, which the arrow had made
through the air. Running under this trail, he soon came to the spot
where the arrow had struck the stone, and then he followed his sister’s
tracks.

The old woman, the murdered man’s mother, growing tired of waiting for
her son, went over to the neighboring lodge to see what he was doing.
She found the lodge empty. While sitting there by the fire, a voice
spoke to her out of the flames, saying: “My friend has killed me. My
friend has killed me.” Thereupon she dug down under the hearth until
she found her son’s body. On reaching home she became a
Ganiagwaihegowa. Then she followed the girl’s tracks to the spring and
back again to the lodge. She could find no one in the lodge. At last,
looking up through the smoke-hole, she saw the trail of the arrow
through the air. Hurrying out, she ran toward the east.

In the meantime the young man had overtaken his sister before she had
gone far from the stone. After a while they heard the roaring of
Ganiagwaihegowa. The girl trembled from great fear and grew weak. Her
brother encouraged her. Stopping at night, they lay down and slept a
little. The young man dreamed that a woman came to him, saying: “You
think you and your sister are about to die, but you are not; here is a
stone with which to defend yourself. Tomorrow about noon throw this
piece of stone behind you, with the words, ‘Let there be a ridge of
rocks across the world so high that nothing can climb over or pass
it.’”

In the morning he saw near the brush lodge the very stone he had seen
in his dream. He took this piece of stone with him. Before midday they
heard the roaring of Ganiagwaihegowa. At noon the young man threw the
piece of rock behind him, and at that moment a ridge of rocks, rising
so high that no living thing could climb over it, stretched itself
across the world.

On coming to the ridge the Ganiagwaihegowa saw that the tracks of the
brother and sister went through the wall. She clambered up and then
fell backward, howling terribly and crying, “I will overtake and eat
them both.” The young man’s sister heard the words of the monster. The
Ganiagwaihegowa ran toward the north, but could find no end to or
opening in the wall of rocks. Then, coming back, the monster ran to the
south, but could find no end there. Once more returning, she lay down
near the tracks by the wall. It was now night. The Ganiagwaihegowa
staid there until morning. On rising she was greatly surprised at
finding nothing but a small stone in her way. Picking up the stone, she
ground it to powder in her mouth, and then, roaring terribly, went on.

The brother and sister had now gone far ahead. Toward noon they heard
the roaring of the Ganiagwaihegowa and knew that she was drawing near.
Taking a pigeon feather from his pouch, the young man threw it behind
him, saying, “Let there be a thick rampart of pigeon droppings across
the world, so high that nothing can pass over it or go through it.”
Then he hurried on with his sister. Soon the bear rushed up to the
rampart in a fearful rage. She tried to climb the rampart, but could
not do so. Then she tried to push through it, but went out of sight in
the filth, nearly smothered, and had hard work to get out. Then the
monster ran as fast as possible to find an opening, but without
success; so, coming back at night, she lay down and slept until
morning, when she found nothing in the way but a feather. This she bit
and chewed to pieces.

The brother and sister came to a great wood, all the trees of which
were dried up and leafless. They found a lodge, which they entered. An
old man, who was their uncle, was sitting inside. They told him their
trouble; whereupon he said, “I will do all I can for you, but you have
another uncle living not far from here who can help you much better
than I can.” The old man was engaged in chipping flints. When he got a
handful of flint chips he would fling them out at the trees; in this
way he had killed the whole forest, for he had great powers of
witchcraft.

The brother and sister then went to the next lodge. The old uncle whom
they had left had a heap of flint chips piled up near him. When he
heard the Ganiagwaihegowa coming he struck it again and again with the
chips. But the Ganiagwaihegowa did not turn away; coming up to the
door, she asked the old man, “Have you seen a couple of persons pass
here?” “No,” said he, “I pay no attention to anyone who comes.”
Thereupon the monster crushed his head, thus killing him. Then,
discovering the tracks, the Ganiagwaihegowa said, “They have gone
ahead; it is too bad that I have killed the old man.” Roaring loudly,
she rushed on. “I will overtake you and eat you,” she said.

Soon the brother and sister came to the other uncle. After hearing of
their troubles he said, “I will help you all I can, but hurry on until
you come to another uncle.” Then he made a trap on the trail, and near
that a second and a third. When the Ganiagwaihegowa came up, she rushed
into the first trap, where she struggled a long time. Finally, breaking
through this trap, the monster went on until she got into the second
trap. After a longer struggle she broke through this, only to fall into
the third trap, from which also she escaped at last. Coming soon to the
third old man, the Ganiagwaihegowa asked, “Have you seen a couple of
persons pass this way?” “I have not,” was the reply, whereupon the
monster, seizing the old man, ground him to pieces with her teeth.
Then, finding the tracks of the young couple, she said: “Here are the
tracks again; they have passed on. I am sorry that I killed the old
man.”

The brother and sister went to the third uncle. Rushing into his lodge,
they found him making a net. His eyes were closed and filled with
matter, but still he was at work. He had long upper eyelids hanging
down on his cheeks. Raising the lids he cleaned his eyes; then with a
piece of buckskin he tied the lids across his forehead. When the
brother and sister rushed in, they said, “Uncle!” but he did not hear
them. They called again, “Uncle! we are running away and want your
assistance,” but he did not stop, for he failed to hear them. Then the
brother hit him on the head with a corn pounder, whereupon, raising his
eyelids, he said, “I heard a voice.” The brother and sister exclaimed,
“We are closely pursued by a Ganiagwaihegowa.” “I will help you as far
as I can, but your grandfather, who lives near here, will do more than
I. Run to him,” was his answer. They hurried on.

The Ganiagwaihegowa came nearer and nearer. The old man laid a long net
across the trail, in which the Ganiagwaihegowa was caught. After
struggling somewhat, she cleared herself. On coming to the old man’s
door she asked, “Have you seen two people pass this way?” “No!” said
he. The old man had told them to run to their grandfather, and they had
done so.

On reaching their grandfather they found Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa there, who
had rattles. When the brother and sister came up Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa told
them to go on and that they would come to a lodge, and that the people
in that lodge were very strong in sorcery, having great orenda.

The boy and his sister went on. The bear came to the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa,
whom she killed after a hard fight. The two fugitives reached the
lodge, in front of which was an old Djogeon [49] woman, who was very
small. She told them to go in and sit down. She had three sons inside
and also a great deal of bear’s fat. The old woman told the boys to
make a fire on the tracks of the brother and sister and to put over it
to boil a kettle of bear’s oil. They made two fires, putting two
kettles over them, into which they poured the oil. Then the three boys
got red willow, from which they soon made a number of arrows.

The Djogeon woman stood near the first kettle when the Ganiagwaihegowa
came rushing along asking, “Are the two persons here who made these
tracks?” “Yes; they are in the lodge,” was the reply. The
Ganiagwaihegowa started to go around the kettles, but the woman said,
“No, you must go the way they went, right through the fire, kettles and
all; you must do the same as they did.” On starting to do so the
Ganiagwaihegowa got her paws in the boiling oil and overturned the
first kettle. Badly burned, the monster fell back, growling. In making
for the second kettle, that too was upset in the same way and she was
burned still more. Then the boys killed the Ganiagwaihegowa with their
red-willow arrows, and, building a fire, they burned her bones to
powder, so that the monster could not come to life again.

The old Djogeon told the brother and sister to stay two or three days
at her lodge and rest; then her sons would take them home. She told her
sons that this old Ganiagwaihegowa woman stole a young boy and girl
from them and took them away, wishing to make the girl marry her son.
The boys took the brother and sister two days’ journey, which was as
far as they could go. Then they directed the former fugitives so that
they got home.

It is said that the Ganiagwaihegowa woman’s boy had a tuft of yellow
hair hanging down his back, and that when he was killed, his companion,
having cut off this tuft, fastened it to the top of his own head. When
the Ganiagwaihegowa woman’s boy went hunting, he would send his arrows
home and they would go into the lodge just where they belonged; but
after the other man obtained the hair, his arrows would go home in the
same way, for the orenda was in the tuft of yellow hair.





34. THE POTENT BOY [50]

A man and his wife lived together in an ugly looking lodge in the
woods. They had a son four or five years old.

After a time the woman gave birth to another boy, not longer than one’s
hand, who was very bright and lively. Wrapping the little fellow
carefully, the father, thinking he could not live, placed him in a
hollow tree outside the lodge. Then he burned the body of the mother,
who had died when the baby came into the world.

The man went hunting every day as before. The older boy played around
the lodge by himself and was lonely. After some time had elapsed he
heard the baby in the hollow log crying, for he, too, was lonely and
had nothing to eat. The elder boy found his little brother and, making
soup of deer intestines, gave it to him to drink. He drank the soup
with great relish and became much strengthened. The brother gave him
plenty of it. At last the little fellow came out of the log and the two
boys played together.

The elder brother made the little one a coat of fawn skin, which he put
on him. This made the baby look like a chipmunk as he ran around. They
went to the lodge and played there. Noticing a decrease in the stock of
provisions, the father asked the boy what he did with the deer
intestines. “Oh,” said the boy, “I ate a good deal of them.” Then
looking around the fire and seeing a small track and very short steps,
the father said: “Here are the tracks of a boy. Who is it?” The boy
told him how he had found his little brother in a hollow tree, and that
he had given him soup and had made him a fawn-skin coat, and that they
had played together. “Go and bring him,” said the father. “He would not
come for anything, for he is very timid,” was the answer. “Well, we
will catch him. You ask him to go to hunt mice in an old stump there
beyond the log. I will get him.” Catching a great many mice, the man
put them in his bosom, in his clothes, and all around his body and,
going beyond the log, turned himself into an old stump full of mice.

Going to the hollow tree, the boy said, “Come, let us play catching
mice.” The little fellow came out and running to the stump rushed
around it, catching many mice. The little boy, wild with excitement,
laughed and shouted with joy, for it seemed that he had never known
such fun. All of a sudden the stump turned into a man, who, catching
him in his arms, ran home. The boy screamed and struggled, but it was
of no use; he could not get away, and he would not be pacified until
his father put a small club into his hand, saying, “Now strike that
tree.” He struck a great hickory which stood near. The tree fell.
Everything he struck was crushed or killed; he was delighted and cried
no more. The little boy stayed now with his brother and played with him
while their father went hunting. “You must not go to the north while I
am away,” said the father; “bad, dangerous people live there.” When the
father was gone the little boy said, “Oh, let us go north; I should
like to see what is there.” Starting in that direction, the boys went
on until they came to wooded, marshy ground. Then the little boy heard
many people call out, “My father! My father!” “Oh, these people want to
hurt my father,” said he. Making ready a pile of red-hot stones, he
hurled them at these people and killed all of them. They were frogs and
sang nohqwa. When the boys came home their father was very angry and
said, “You must not go again, and you must not go west; it is very
dangerous there, too.”

When their father had gone hunting the next day the little boy said, “I
should like to see what there is in the west; let us go there.”
Traveling westward, they went on until they came to a very tall pine
tree. In the top of the tree was a bed made of skins. “Oh!” said the
little boy, “that is a strange place for a bed. I should like to see
it. I will climb up and look at it.” Up he went. He found in it two
little naked children, a boy and a girl; they were frightened. On
pinching the boy, the child called out: “Oh, father, father! some
strange child has come and he has frightened me nearly to death.”
Suddenly the voice of Thunder was heard in the far west. It came nearer
and nearer, hurrying along until it reached the bed in the tree top.
Raising his club, the little boy struck Thunder, crushing his head so
that he fell dead to the ground. Then, by pinching her, he made the
little girl call: “Mother, Mother! some strange boy has come and is
playing with me.” Instantly the mother Thunder’s voice was heard in the
west, and presently she stood by the nest. The boy struck her on the
head with his club, and she, too, fell dead. Now, thought the boy:
“This Thunder boy would make a splendid tobacco pouch for my father. I
will take him home.” So, striking him with his club, he threw him down,
and the little girl also. When the boy with the club reached the
ground, he said to his brother, “Now, let us go.” On getting home, he
said, “Oh, father! I have brought you a splendid pouch.” “What have you
done?” said the father. When he saw the dead Thunder baby he said:
“These Thunders have never done any harm. They bring rain and do us
good, but now they will destroy us all in revenge for what you have
done.” “Oh! they will not hurt us. I have killed that whole family.”
The father took the skin for a pouch. “Now, my boy,” said the father,
“you must never go north, to the country of the Stone Coats.” The elder
brother would not go, so the little one went off alone. About noon he
heard the loud barking of Stone Coat’s dog, which was as tall as a
deer, so he knew the master was near. He jumped into the heart of a
chestnut tree, where he found a hiding place.

Presently Stone Coat came up, and, looking at the tree, said, “I think
there is nothing here;” but the dog barked and looked up, so that
finally he struck the tree with his club, splitting it open. “What a
strange little fellow you are,” said Stone Coat, looking at the boy as
he came out; “you are not big enough to fill a hole in my tooth.” “Oh!
I did not come to fill holes in your teeth. I came to go home with you
and see how you look and how you live,” said the boy. “All right. Come
with me,” said Stone Coat. Stone Coat was of enormous size. He carried
in his belt two great bears, which to him were as two squirrels to an
ordinary man. Every little while, looking down, he would say to the
little fellow running by his side, “Oh! you are such a funny little
creature.”

Stone Coat’s lodge was very large and long. The little boy had never
seen anything like it. Stone Coat skinned the two bears; he put one
before his visitor and took one for himself, saying to the boy, “Now
you eat this bear, or I will eat you and him together.” “If you do not
eat yours before I eat mine, may I kill you?” asked the boy. “Oh, yes,”
said Stone Coat. The little boy cut off mouthfuls, and cleaning them as
fast as he could, he put them into his mouth. He kept running in and
out, so as to hide the meat. In a short time all the flesh of his bear
had disappeared. “You have not eaten yours yet; I am going to kill
you,” said the little fellow to the Stone Coat. “Wait until I show you
how to slide down hill”—and Stone Coat took him to a long hillside,
which was very slippery and which ended in a cave. Putting the little
fellow in a wooden bowl, he sent him down at a great rate. Presently he
ran up again to the place where he started. “Where did you leave the
bowl?” asked Stone Coat. “Oh! I do not know; it has gone down there I
suppose,” replied the little fellow. “Well, let us try to see who can
kick this log highest,” said Stone Coat. “You try first,” said the
little one. The log was two feet in diameter and six feet long. Putting
his foot under it, Stone Coat lifted the log twice his own length. Then
the little boy, placing his foot under the log, sent it whistling
through the air. It was gone a long time; then it came down on Stone
Coat’s head, crushing him to death. “Come here,” said the little fellow
to Stone Coat’s dog. The dog came and the boy got on his back and rode
home, saying, “Now my father will have a splendid hunting dog.” When
the father saw the dog he cried out, “Oh! what have you done? Stone
Coat will now kill us all.” “I have killed Stone Coat. He will not
trouble us any more,” replied the Potent One.

“Now, my boys, you must never go to the southwest, to the gambling
place,” said the father. The next day about noon the little boy started
off alone. He came to a beautiful opening in the woods, at the farther
end of which was a lean-to, under which was a man with a very large
head (far larger than the head of a buffalo), who played dice for the
heads of all who came along. Crowds of people were there betting in
threes. When the game was lost the big-headed man put the three persons
on one side in reserve; then he played again with three more, and when
they lost he put them with the first three, and so on until the number
was large enough for his purpose; then, getting up, he cut all their
heads off. As the boy approached, a number who had lost their bets were
waiting to be killed. Hope came to them all, for they knew that this
little fellow had great orenda. Immediately the game began. When the
big-headed man threw the dice the boy caused some to remain in the dish
and others to go high, so the dice in the throw were of different
colors. When he himself threw, all the dice, turning into woodcocks,
flew high and came down sitting, and all of one color in the bowl. The
two played until the boy won back all the people and the big-headed man
lost his own head, which the boy immediately cut off. The whole crowd
shouted, “Now, you must be our chief.” “Oh! how could such a little
fellow as I be a chief. Maybe my father would consent to be your chief.
I will tell him,” said the boy. So the boy went home and told his
father, but the latter would not go to the land of gambling.

“Now,” said the father, “you must never go to the east; they play ball
there; you must never go there.” The next day the boy, starting for the
east, traveled until he came to beautiful plains, a great level
country, where the wolf and the bear clans were playing on one side
against the eagle, the turtle, and the beaver clans on the other. The
little boy took the side of the wolf and the bear; they said, “If you
win, you will own all this country.” They played, and he won for them.
“Now,” they said, “you are the owner of all the country.” On reaching
home the little boy said to his father, “I have won all the beautiful
country of the east; you come and be the chief of it.” His father
consented, and going to the country of the east with the two boys,
there they lived. That is the story.





35. THE FAITHLESS WIFE AND THE THREE OLD MEN

A man and his wife went into the forest to hunt. They built a lodge of
hemlock boughs, in which they lived very happily. In the course of time
a boy was born to them. They had plenty of meat, for the man was a
successful hunter. While he was away hunting in the forests his wife
would busy herself in dressing the meat, in bringing bark to keep up
the fire, and in taking care of the child. Later another child, a girl,
was born.

Everything went well until the boy was large enough to do errands. Then
his mother began to send him for water, which was at some distance from
the cabin. For some reason unknown to her the child was much afraid of
going to the spring. Whenever his mother ordered him to go he would
complain and try to beg off; but, taking him by the hair, she would
lead him to the door, push him out, throwing the water vessel after
him. Then the child knew he must pick up the vessel and go. When he had
brought the water into the lodge the mother would wash herself, comb
her hair carefully, and after donning her best robe she would take the
forehead strap and hatchet and go away, telling the boy that she was
going for bark for the fire and that he must stay with his sister.

This conduct was repeated at the same time every day for a long while.
Then the mother began to be very cruel to the boy. She did not feed him
properly, and neglected him in every way, seeming almost to hate him.
At last the boy told his father that his mother did not give him enough
to eat. The father had noticed that she was cross and cruel to the
child, and had begun to think that something was wrong. Finally as he
and the son were lying down together one night on one side of the fire
and the mother and the little girl on the other side, the father began
to question the boy about what took place at home while he was away
hunting. Then the boy told him that about the same time every day his
mother sent him after water to a place where he was afraid to go; that
then, after washing herself and combing her hair, she would go off into
the woods for bark for the fire, and remain a long time.

The next day when the father came home he asked whether the same thing
had taken place. The boy replied, “Yes.” Then the man determined to
watch his wife. The following day he started out to hunt, as usual.
After going some distance, he crept back to a place whence he could see
what took place around the cabin. Shortly he saw the skin door open and
his boy thrust out and the water vessel thrown after him. He saw the
boy pick up the vessel and start off, crying bitterly. This made the
father very sad, but he waited as patiently as possible to see what
would happen next.

The boy brought the water. Soon after this his wife came out in new
garments, carrying her strap and hatchet. She walked away from the
lodge in a bee line, her husband following cautiously. Walking down a
little hill, she went on until she came to a dry black ash tree, from
which the bark could be stripped easily. There she stood, looking up at
it. Her husband drew as near as he could without being seen by her.
After gazing up into the tree for a moment, she struck it with the back
of her hatchet, making a beautiful sound. After waiting a while, she
struck it a second time. Again the same musical sound was heard. The
third time she struck it he heard a bird on the top branches. As she
struck it the fourth time the bird flew down. As it alighted on the
ground it became a handsome man. The husband saw how his wife and her
lover dallied together. At that moment, drawing his bow, he shot an
arrow. In the twinkling of an eye the lover, turning himself into a
bird, flew upward and disappeared in the air. The woman sprang up, and
seeing her husband, said, “It is you, is it?” “Yes,” he replied, “now I
know why you abuse our boy.” “Yes; I do abuse him, and I will abuse
you, too,” she declared. Seizing a club, she beat him until he was
helpless; then, leaving him on the ground, she ran home, put her
children outside the cabin, and set fire to the hemlock boughs
composing its roof. These blazed up and soon the lodge was in ashes.
Then she said to her children, “You stay here; everything will be all
right.” Then, taking up a handful of ashes, she threw them into the
air, saying, “Let there be a snowstorm and let the snow lie as deep as
these trees are high.” As the snow began to fall, she said to the boy,
“Here is your dog; keep him with you, and take care of your sister.”
Then she started off.

The snow kept coming down. Soon the boy and girl were covered, but they
felt as comfortable as if they were in a warm cabin.

After a while the father, having recovered, dragged himself toward his
home. When near, he saw there was no longer a lodge. He searched for
his children and at last found and rescued them. Then he set about
building a lodge of boughs. The boy told him what his mother had said
and done, and he was very sad. When the lodge was finished, he said:
“You must stay here and take care of your little sister and your dog,
‘Beautiful Ears.’ [51] You must always give him plenty to eat, as much
and as good food as you have yourself. When you go out you must always
carry your sister on your back. Never put her down nor leave her for a
moment, and when the dog shows himself uneasy, turn around and go home.
Now I am going in pursuit of your mother.” So saying, he started off.

In the morning when the brother and sister and dog woke up they found
breakfast already cooked. The boy first gave the dog his share and then
he and his little sister ate. At meal times their food was always ready
for them to eat. Some time afterward the boy, becoming lonely, said to
his sister and the dog, “We will go out to amuse ourselves.” He had a
bow and arrows, but could not use them much, for he carried his sister
on his back from place to place. The dog usually ran ahead, then it
would run back, and it was in motion at all times. They kept looking
around and enjoying themselves until the dog began to whine and tease,
wishing to go home. Then the boy said, “I think our dog wants to go
back home.” So they turned back, and when they got home their supper
was ready.

A few days later they went out again, a little farther than on the
first day. Again on their return home supper was ready. The boy always
gave the dog his share first. A third time they went out. They had
already gone a considerable distance from the lodge when all at once
the dog ran after some wild turkeys. The boy followed the dog, which at
last chased them into the bushes. The boy could not get into the bushes
to shoot them, for his sister was strapped on his back. Thereupon he
said to himself, “I will unstrap her for just a moment. Then we shall
have a good fat turkey to eat.” So he took her off for a minute, but
almost before he had reached the bushes she screamed, and he saw a
great bear run off with her. The boy and the dog followed the bear for
three or four days. The boy heard the dog bark as it ran on. At last it
got out of hearing and he lost all track of both dog and bear; now he
was alone in the world. He had nothing to live for and wished to die.
He tried several times to destroy himself, but he could not.

One day he climbed the high banks of a great lake. Mounting a rock,
with the thought, “Now I will end my life,” he leaped into the water.
When he struck the surface he lost his senses. On coming to himself
again he seemed to approach a beautiful country with the purpose to
stay there, and he thought that he was very comfortable. But it turned
out that a great fish had swallowed him when he had struck the water.

After a few days the fish got into a small stream, on the banks of
which two sisters had built a lodge; they had also made a dam to catch
fish. One morning on going to the dam they were delighted to find a
great fish there. The first said, “Let us dress it right away.” “Wait,”
the other said, “until we get the water boiling to cook it. We must cut
it up carefully. Such a fish must have much roe.”

When everything was ready they opened the fish carefully; in the place
of roe they found a beautiful boy. For a moment they forgot the fish.
They washed the boy and cared for him, and were rejoiced that such a
gift had come to their door. They said: “We will take good care of him.
Perhaps he will become a great hunter and get meat for us when we are
old.” The sisters and their son, as they called him, lived very happily
together. He soon surprised them by killing large game and by becoming
a great hunter. When they found, however, that while hunting he
wandered off a long distance from home, they were alarmed and cautioned
him to keep near the lodge and, above all, not to go near the setting
sun. Finally he killed a great deer. While the sisters were pleased
with his power and skill, they were afraid something might happen to
him, since there were so many wicked people about. The fear worried
them greatly. They kept warning him of danger, saying that he must
never on any account go toward the setting sun.[52]

After a time the youth killed any kind of game he wished. One day he
said to himself: “I wonder what there is near the setting sun? I will
go to see for myself.” He had not gone far before he came to a
clearing, in which he saw a cabin that seemed to be empty. Everything
was quiet around it. Creeping up cautiously, he peeped in; an old man
was sitting there with his head bent upon his breast. The latter
instantly called out, “Well, nephew,[53] have you come?” Knowing that
he was discovered (by sorcery), the boy answered: “Yes; I have come. I
thought I would see what you are doing.” “Well, come in and wait a
moment. I will get my head up,” the old man replied. Taking up a mallet
and a large wooden pin that lay at his side, he drove the pin down his
spinal column. Up came his head, whereupon he said, “I have a rule that
when one of my nephews comes I play a game with him, and we bet.” “What
do you bet?” asked the boy. “I bet my head against his,” came the
reply. “All right,” said the boy. The old man dusted off the fireplace
and made it smooth; then he shook the bowl and plum pits. The agreement
was that the first who turned the plum pits all of one color was to be
the winner. The old man said, “You must throw first.” “No,” said the
boy, “you proposed the game; now you must play first.” At last the old
man agreed to this. As he shook the bowl the six plum pits flew out of
the smoke hole. When they got outside they turned into birds, which
flew off out of hearing. By and by the boy heard them again; down into
the bowl they rolled as plum pits. Bending over, the old man stirred
and stirred them, repeating, “Let them be white; let them be white!”
But he could not get them all of one color. At last he ceased his
efforts. Then the boy threw his own dice, and, like the others, they
went out of the smoke hole and, turning into birds, flew off. Thereupon
the old man began to stir the dish, saying, “I wish this, I wish that.”
Down came the birds as plum pits. Then both stirred them, repeating, “I
wish this, I wish that,” and they all turned to one color. When the old
man saw that he had lost the game he wished to play once more. “Oh,
no,” said the boy; “that is not the rule.” “Well, let me smoke once
more,” begged the old man. “No,” the boy said, and, catching up a
tomahawk, he cut off the old man’s forfeited head. Afterward he set the
cabin afire. Later he went home, but said nothing about his adventure.

After a few days he thought he would go again toward the setting sun.
Passing the old man’s place, he soon came to another opening, in which
he saw a second cabin. All around it the ground was very smooth as if
it were a great playground. Seeing nobody, he walked up quietly and
peeped into the cabin; an old man sitting within called out: “Is that
you, nephew? Come in. I have been waiting for you now some time.” “Yes,
I was going by, and I thought I would look in and see you,” said the
boy. “Well, I have a way of passing time. I play a game when my nephews
come,” declared the old man. “What is your game?” asked the boy.
“Playing ball,” replied the old man. “I like that game,” answered the
youth. “I bet my head against my nephew’s,” said the old man. “All
right. Let us play, then,” was the boy’s reply. They went to the middle
of the clearing. At each end was a stake. The young man said, “Are you
ready?” Counting, “One, two, three,” they threw the ball. The old man
beat the young man in throwing, but the young man struck the ball, and
was the better runner. When he was getting far ahead, the old man threw
a horn after him, which stuck into the middle of the boy’s foot. He had
to stop, sit down, and pull out the horn. Just as he drew it out, the
old man passed him. Spitting on his hand, the young man rubbed his
foot, and it was healed. He then threw the horn, hitting the old man,
who now had to sit down and pull the horn out of his own foot. The ball
rolled on, passing between the stakes. At the next turn the result was
the same, so the game was lost for the old man, who wanted to try
again; but the young man said, “No; that is not the rule.” Thereupon
with his knife he cut off the old man’s head, and, after burning his
cabin, went home.

A third time the youth went toward the setting sun, farther than
before. Passing the first and second clearings, he came to a third, in
which he saw a great pond covered with ice; near it was a cabin. As the
young man peeped in, an old man sitting there called out: “Well,
nephew, I knew you would come. I am glad to see you.” “Yes, I thought I
would look in and see you. Now I must go,” added the youth. “Oh, no! I
have a rule that when one of my nephews comes I play a game. I run a
race on the ice, and whoever gets beaten to the end loses his head. No
matter how he gets there; only let him get there first, he wins.” Just
as he was ready to start, the young man, taking a ball off an oak tree,
said, “Let there come a high wind!” He got into the ball (which grows
on the oak tree at a certain time of the year) and in a moment he was
over the ice. The old man was scarcely halfway across. The young man
then pulled out of his pouch a white flint. As he threw it toward the
middle of the pond, he said, “Let this stone melt the ice and boil the
water.” In an instant the old man was sinking in boiling water and
cried for mercy, but the young man said, “No!” As the water boiled it
melted all the ice; thereupon then the water disappeared, dry land
appeared, and the old man was left in the middle of it, a great stone
monument. After setting fire to the cabin the young man went home. He
had never forgotten his father and sister, and he knew where they were.

One day a runner came to the lodge of the two sisters, announcing, “I
have been sent by the chief to give notice of the marriage of a certain
woman. The chief wishes all to come.” Knowing that the boy had orenda
(magic powers), the sisters were careful of him. When he said, “I want
to go to the gathering,” they raised many objections, saying, “Bad
people will be there; all sorts of games will be played.” They were
afraid to let him go. He replied: “You were afraid to have me go toward
the setting sun. I have been there. I have destroyed the dice man,[54]
the ball man, and the ice-pond man.” The sisters were greatly
astonished. The youth added. “Now, I am going to the gathering. My
mother, father, sister, and dog are there.” Yielding at last, they told
him how to find his grandmother, and said that she would tell him what
to do.

He set out; after traveling a long way he struck another trail; then he
began to meet many people, and as they journeyed the crowd kept
increasing. When night came they all camped together and were very
hungry. Going out, the youth killed game, which he told the men to
bring in; this the women prepared. The next day all went on. The
sisters had said to him before starting: “There will be one woman in
the crowd who will seem to have power over all men. Do not notice her.”
He saw the woman, for the men all crowded around her, and one after
another she satisfied all their desires. He looked at her but passed
on.

At last he reached the place where his grandmother lived. She was very
poor. He said, “Grandmother, I have come.” “Poor grandchild, I am
sorry. I have so little to give. I am alone and poor,” murmured the
grandmother. “Oh! do not mind; we shall be all right,” said he,
bringing in game until the old woman was so glad that she was almost
crying with joy. She hurried around like a young girl to prepare food.
Then he began to question her. She told him: “There is a great
gathering at the Long Lodge. The chief’s daughter is to be married. She
has been married before, but she nearly destroyed her husband, her
daughter, and their dog. She had a son, but nobody knows where he is.
Now she is going to torture her husband to death. He is hung up at one
end of the Long Lodge, and everyone can strike him with a burning
brand; his tears become wampum beads. Her daughter is hanging on a peg
over the fire, slowly roasting. The dog is at one end of the fire and
everyone who passes gives him a kick. He has consumption and his hair
is all singed off.”

The boy was very angry. When night came he said to his grandmother, “I
am going to the gathering.” She warned him to beware of evil men and
women who played games and tried to deceive people. When he arrived at
the gathering he pretended to be a little boy, playing around with the
children and going into the Long Lodge with them. There he saw his
mother decked out gaily, perched on a high seat in the middle of the
room, where she could be seen by everybody. He saw his father secured
to a stake. Over the fire his sister was roasting, and he heard his dog
coughing, barely alive. Then he told his grandmother what he had come
for; that the woman was his mother and the man his father. “Now, my
mothers, the two sisters, told me to ask you to help me. Tell me what
to do.” Consenting, she said: “I know everything and am ready to help
you. I have a pair of moccasins you must wear. At certain intervals
your mother orders your father to be branded. Now, you must stand near
the fire. The moccasins, being made of the skin of a woman’s private
parts, have sympathetic power over them. When your mother calls out,
‘Brand him,’ you must stick your foot into the fire.” The boy obeyed
her, sticking his foot into the flame as the woman gave the order
“Brand him.” That instant his mother screamed with pain. All, wondering
at this, questioned her, but she would not tell. She was ashamed. Then
the boy ran out of doors, but when it was time for her to give the
order again he was near the fire. As she was beginning to say “Brand
him,” again he put his foot into the fire and at that moment she
screamed with pain. He tormented her in this way until she died. Each
time she suffered his father and sister felt great relief. When she was
dead, he took his father and sister and dog out of the building. Then
he said, “Let this building turn to red-hot flint.” Immediately the
lodge was in flames. As some of the people of the lodge had magic
powers, their heads burst, the pieces striking against the stone walls,
while their spirits flew out through the top into the air in the form
of owls and other birds of ill omen.

Spitting on his hands, the young man rubbed his father and sister and
dog, and they became as well as ever. Then he said, “Now, we will go
home.” Thanking his grandmother, they started for the sisters’ cabin.
When they came near, the sisters ran to meet them, saying, “We will be
your father’s wives.” And they all lived happily together.





36. THE DAGWANOENYENT (DAUGHTER OF THE WIND) AND HER HUSBAND

There were a nephew and an uncle, who lived together in a bark lodge in
the woods. The uncle gave the nephew nothing to eat, making him live on
fungus. He told him he must not go north to collect fungus, but always
south. The uncle himself went hunting every day but brought back no
game. At home he lived on chestnut pudding and bear’s oil. The nephew
could not find out for a long time how he made the pudding, but at last
he discovered the process. The uncle had a little pot and a chestnut.
He would put the least bit of chestnut into the pot, saying,
“Watchisgwengo, Swell, Pudding.” Thereupon the mush would increase in
quantity.

The next day after his discovery the boy did just as he had seen his
uncle do, with the result that he had a good meal of chestnut pudding.
He did likewise every day while his uncle was hunting. Then he began to
wonder why his uncle forbade him to go northward. After thinking over
the matter a few days, he determined to go in that direction
notwithstanding his uncle’s injunction.

The boy started on his journey, traveling until he came to a Long
Lodge. In the lodge was a great supply of venison and bear meat, and
skin bags of bear’s oil were hanging all around the wall. The only
person within was a woman, who was sitting in the middle of the room,
with her head bent down. There was also a small boy toddling around,
who clapped his hands and laughed when he saw the young man. The woman
took no notice of him. The young man played a while with the child.
After a time he started for home, taking with him a small piece of meat
which he had filched. The uncle, returning home, prepared his pudding
in secret as before.

Thus it happened every day from year to year. It was the custom for the
old man to set out to hunt and for the young man to go to the Long
Lodge to play with the little boy. The woman never moved nor spoke.

The little boy of the Long Lodge was about 15 when one day he said to
the young man: “You and I are cousins. Your uncle is my father and that
woman sitting there is my mother.” The nephew then asked, “Why does she
never speak?” He asked her various questions, but she would not answer
him a word. Thereupon with his bow and arrow he shot at a bag of bear’s
oil which hung above her head. The arrow pierced the bag and the oil
flowing out fell upon the woman’s head and face. This made her very
angry, but she did not speak.

Now, all the meat in the lodge was the game which the uncle of the
young man killed and brought in every day. He never came there until
late in the day while the nephew went home early, so that in all these
years they had never met at the Long Lodge. When the uncle came that
evening he found the bag broken and the oil spilt over the woman. He
suspected that his nephew had been there. On reaching his own lodge
that night he asked, “Have you been at the Long Lodge?” “Oh, yes,” said
the nephew; “I have been going there for the last 13 years. I have
always eaten of the meat there. I have not eaten fungus for many
years.” The uncle was very angry, and asked him whether he broke the
bag containing the bear’s oil. “Yes,” the young man answered. “Oh! you
have destroyed us both, I fear. That woman is an awful witch. She can
not be killed. She will ruin us both,” said the uncle.

The next day the uncle went off again. But that time the nephew
remained at home. During the day, raising the cover of his uncle’s
couch, he found a great pot. This he filled with water, putting in also
a good-sized piece of the chestnut, for he was very angry with his
uncle. When the pot boiled, he began to strike it, saying, “Swell, Pot!
Swell, Pot!” When it came up as high as the bed, he climbed on the bed.
On the pot rising higher, he climbed on the shelf, which extended
around the side of the lodge. When it rose as high as that, he climbed
out of the smoke hole on the roof, enjoying immensely the increase of
the pudding, knowing how terribly angry his uncle would be when he
returned in the evening.

When his uncle came home he said to the boy, “What have you been
doing?” “Making chestnut pudding,” declared the nephew. “Oh! it is too
bad,” exclaimed the uncle. “Oh! that is an old story with me. I have
been eating chestnut pudding for 15 years,” declared the boy. “By doing
this you will destroy us both,” said the uncle, who was more angry than
ever before. “You have enraged that woman. She will never stop her
revenge until she has killed us both,” continued the uncle.

They went to bed, the old man feeling very bad. Just at daybreak the
next morning they heard a terrible noise away off in the distance. The
trees began to moan. The sound grew louder and louder. The two anxious
watchers heard the cracking of branches and the falling of trees. They
said the most awful tempest they had ever heard was coming, with the
woman right in the midst of the storm. Sweeping down on the lodge and
tearing it up from the ground, she caught up the uncle and bore him
away. The nephew had hidden, so she did not find him.

That day the boy, going to the Long Lodge as before, found the old
woman sitting there, mute and motionless, as if nothing had happened in
the meantime. He asked the other boy, “What has your mother done with
your father?” “Oh! you will never see him again. She will come for you
tomorrow morning. I do not know what she has done with my father, but
she went off with him and came back without him,” declared the boy.

The nephew of the man went home to prepare for the coming of the woman.
He had a mole for his guardian. He got inside of the mole, which,
instructed by him, went down into the ground under the lodge as deep as
he could. The next morning the woman came again with terrible fury,
raging worse than before. She uprooted all the trees in her path, but
she could not find the nephew, so she had to go away without him.

Soon afterward the nephew went again to the Long Lodge. There sat the
woman, motionless as before. “Oh!” said the small boy, “she went for
you this morning, but could not find you. Where were you?” “I was right
there,” replied the nephew of the man.

Then the nephew went home. The next morning at daybreak a similar
tempest came; but the boy was down in the ground, inside the mole, so
that the woman could not find him. Thereupon, making herself into a
great whirlwind, and digging a deep hole in the ground, she lifted the
earth to the sky, carrying the mole along in the dirt. The mole fell,
but escaped, while the boy was killed. The old woman went home well
satisfied.

The mole went immediately to work, however, and by blowing the breath
into the boy’s mouth and withdrawing it brought him back to life.

After that the nephew set out to find where his uncle was, going
northward. He went beyond the Long Lodge, traveling as fast as he could
all day and night and carrying the mole with him. The next morning at
daybreak the witch again came after him in a terrible tempest. Once
more getting into the mole, he went into the ground, where she could
not find him, so she went home to the Long Lodge. He traveled the
second day as fast as he could. On the third morning the woman came
still again in a roaring tempest. Finding that the nephew was in the
mole, she made once more a whirlwind, which scooped up the earth,
leaving a great hole, and carried him in the dirt far up into the
clouds. The mole falling to the earth, the boy was killed. The witch
went home satisfied. The mole, by again working over the dead nephew,
brought him back to life. Whereupon the latter, putting the mole into
his belt, ran on as fast as he could all the third day. That night he
spent deep down in the great rocks of a mountain.

On the fourth morning at daybreak the woman came in a tempest, as
before, but could not find the nephew. The same day he traveled until
he came upon a lodge in an opening, like the other Long Lodge, which
was supplied with everything; there, under the roots of a great elm
tree near the lodge he found his uncle. The tree was standing on his
breast, and his feet were sticking out at one side and his head at the
other. He was reduced to skin and bones. He begged for a smoke,
exclaiming, “Oh, my nephew! if only I could have a smoke.” “Poor uncle!
I will get you a smoke,” said the nephew, and pushing the tree down he
gave him a smoke. After smoking, the uncle arose, well. He and the
nephew then went into the lodge, where they remained together two or
three days.

One morning at daybreak the tempest came again. By watching the young
man had found that the witch came in a narrow path and that it was
possible to get out of her course. So he told his uncle to run
westward, keeping out of her path, for she was the wind. The nephew
himself stayed at home to meet her, going into the ground again, and
again she dug him up and killed him. She went home contented, but the
mole brought him to life. Then he followed her immediately to the
lodge, where he found her sitting motionless. Shooting an arrow at the
witch, he killed her. Then forming a great pile of dry bark, wood, and
bear’s oil, he burned the body thereon, throwing the bones far away in
every direction. When he had finished this task he said to the small
boy, “We will go to my uncle, your father.” They went together to the
old man and lived at the second Long Lodge for a few days.

But the witch came to life, and suspecting that they were at the Long
Lodge, she went there in a terrible rage. Now the nephew, determined to
meet her alone, sent his uncle and the boy away. He himself kept out of
her path, for he had discovered her habits and her strength. He had
learned also that after a certain time her force was spent, so that she
became weak and could not go fast. He kept swerving to one side,
therefore, until she turned into a whirlwind, and even afterward. When
all her strength was spent and she had not found him the witch turned
to go home. She had to walk, for she could no longer go through the
air. Then, following her, the nephew killed her with his arrows.
Thereupon he called his uncle and cousin. They burned her body to ashes
and taking all the larger bones to the second Long Lodge they there
pounded them into powder. This powder the nephew divided into three
portions, each one of which he put in one of three skin bags, which he
tied tight. One bag he gave to his uncle, another he gave to his
cousin, and the third he put into his own pouch, saying: “I will keep
it here. She shall never come to life again. When we are in a storm we
must always keep apart, so that the force that is in these powders can
not unite.”

Then the three went to the first Long Lodge, where there was a large
supply of every kind of dried meat, and they lived together, prosperous
and happy.





37. A RACCOON STORY

An uncle and a nephew lived together in a lodge in the forest. The
nephew was a fine hunter. One day when the nephew was off in the woods
hunting for game, a handsome woman, bringing a basket of bread, came to
the lodge and said to the old man, the uncle, “My father and mother
have sent me here to marry your nephew.” “Is it true that they sent
you?” asked the uncle. “Yes,” said the young woman. “It is well,” said
the old uncle. Lowering the basket, the girl set it before the old
uncle. In it was the customary marriage bread. When the nephew came
home, the old uncle said, “You are married now; here is your wife,”
showing him the young woman. “It is well,” replied the nephew, and he
and the young woman became man and wife.

Every day the nephew went out hunting, always returning with a heavy
load of game.

One day while out hunting he came to a tree in the top of which was a
large hole. In this he found a litter of raccoons. Climbing the tree,
he threw one raccoon after another to the ground. All at once he heard
a woman’s voice under the tree, saying, “Come down! come down! you are
tired.” With that, she ran off through the forest. When he reached
home, he told what had happened. His wife laughed at his perplexity,
but said nothing.

Not long afterward, on a hunting trip, while packing up his game and
making ready to start home, a woman came up behind him, and taking him
by the arm, led him to a neighboring log. They sat down on it,
whereupon drawing his head on her lap, she began to look for vermin. He
was soon asleep from her orenda (magic power). Putting him into a
basket, which she threw on her back, the woman went to the rocks in the
middle of a lake. Then she took him out, and awakening him, asked, “Do
you know this place?” Looking around, he replied, “Yes. This is the
place where my uncle and I used to fish,” and giving a sudden spring
into the water, he became a bass and escaped in a flash.

On reaching home, he told his wife what had happened to him. She
laughed, but said nothing. He was so frightened at what had taken place
that he remained at home for several days. At last the feeling of fear
wore away and he started off to hunt.

As he was packing up his game to return home, a woman’s voice said,
“Stop! Wait a while, for you must be tired.” They sat down on a log,
and she, drawing his head on her lap, began looking for vermin. The man
was soon asleep. Putting him into a basket, the woman carried him off
to a great ledge of rocks, where there was only a small foothold.
Taking him out of the basket, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “I
will tell you soon,” said he, looking around. But at that instant the
woman disappeared. He soon saw some one farther along on the rock, and
heard him say, “I am fish hungry. I will fish a while.” Then, throwing
out his line into the water below, he began singing while he pulled up
one fish after another. At last he said: “I have enough. I shall take a
rest now and have something to eat. This is what we people eat when we
are out all night in the rocks.” Then he took a baked squash out of his
basket.

The young man said to the rock, “Stand back a little, so that I can
string my bow.” The rock stood back. Stringing his bow and saying, “Now
boast again!” he shot the fisherman. The young man soon heard a loud
noise, and looking in the direction from which it came, he saw an
enormous bat pass a little to one side of him. Taking from his pouch a
hemlock leaf, and dropping it over the rocks, he began to sing, “A tree
must grow from the hemlock leaf.” Soon a tree came in sight. Then he
talked to the tree, saying, “Come near to me and have many limbs.” As
the tree came to a level with the place on the rocks where the young
man was sitting, it stopped growing. He had seen along the narrow shelf
on the rocks many other men. He called to the nearest one, asking him
to tell all to come, so they could escape. Slowly creeping up, one
after another, they went down the hemlock tree.

When all had reached the ground, the young man, taking a strawberry
leaf out of his pocket and laying it on the ground, said, “Grow and
bear berries.” Then he began singing, “Ripen berries, ripen berries.”
The vines grew, and were filled with berries, which ripened in a short
time.[55] When they had all eaten as many berries as they wanted the
young man picked off a leaf and put it into his pouch, whereupon all
the vines and berries disappeared.

Then he said, “Let us go to our wife” (meaning the woman). After
traveling some distance the young man killed an elk. Cutting into
strings the hide they made a “papoose board,” but big enough for an
adult; then they started on. Soon they came near a lodge, where they
saw a woman pounding corn. When she noticed them coming she began to
scold and, holding up the corn pounder, was going to fight with them.
When the young man said, however, “Let the corn pounder stop right
there,” it stopped in the air, half raised. Seizing the woman, they
strapped her to the board, saying, “You must be very cold.” Then they
set the board up in front of the fire in order to broil her slowly.
Just at this time the young man’s wife came. Finding that they were
roasting the woman, she was angry and, freeing her, said, “You are now
liberated and I shall go home.” Making her way to the lake, she called
on the bloodsuckers to stretch across it so that she could walk over on
them. Each man went to his own lodge. When the young man came home his
wife was there.





38. THE SELF-SACRIFICE OF TWO DOGS FOR THEIR MASTER

In a certain village lived a man who was very fond of hunting; he had
two dogs, which were so very strong and fierce that they would attack
and kill a bear.

One day the man started off from the village to hunt. After he had
traveled for two days he pitched his camp. The next morning he began to
hunt. He was very successful for many days, killing a great deal of
game. One night as he was going to sleep his dogs began to bark
furiously. Not far away from the camp was a very large elm tree, whose
top had been broken off. Hitherto the man had thought it might be
hollow, although he had never examined it. One dog ran in the direction
of this tree. The other dog followed it, and by the sound of its
barking the man knew that it had stopped near this tree.

After a time one dog came back to the man, saying: “My brother, I
believe that we are going to die to-night; we have seen a creature such
as we have never beheld before. We think that it will come down from
the tree to attack us. I will go and watch it; but first you must mark
me with coal from the end of my mouth to my ear.” The man did as the
dog wished. Then the dog said, “Now, I will go to the tree and my
brother can come to be marked by you as I am marked.” Off he ran. The
other dog soon came and the man marked him in the same way. Taking a
torch, the man went to the tree. There on the broken top he saw a
terrible creature; its head and part of its body were protruding out of
the hollow in the trunk; it had very long teeth, enormous eyes, and
long claws. The man had never before seen anything so dreadful. He went
back to his camp. One of the dogs followed him, saying: “We two shall
be destroyed, but we will do what we can to save you. You must hurry
back to the village. Do not take a torch or a bow with you; it will
only be in your way. Put on a pair of new moccasins, and carry also a
second pair. I will lick the soles of your feet to give you speed.” The
dog licked the soles of his feet; then the man, putting on the new
moccasins, started toward home.

He had been running a good while when he heard a sound, and one of the
dogs, overtaking him, said: “Run as fast as you can! Our enemy has
started in pursuit. It does not travel on the ground, but leaps from
tree to tree. The only thing left for us to do is to get between the
trees and spring at it as it leaps past. When you come to water, stick
your feet in it, making it as muddy as you can; then drink that water.
You have noticed that since we have been your dogs we have drunk such
water; it is better for us.” The man soon got very thirsty. Coming to a
place where there was water, he stirred it up with his feet; then,
after drinking what he wanted, he went on. He had not gone far when a
dog came up to him and said, “I think there is a hole in your
moccasin.” (The man looked; there was indeed a hole in his moccasin.)
“Put on new ones.” Again the dog licked his feet and put on new
moccasins. Then the dog said, “My companion will come the next time.”
Then the dog ran back and the man rushed on.

Soon the other dog, rushing up, said to the man: “The enemy is coming
very fast, and we are afraid it will overtake and kill you. When I go
back my brother will come to aid you once more, whereupon the monster
will kill him.”

The dog disappeared. Listening, the man heard both dogs barking. As he
listened the barking of one ceased, and he knew that a dog was coming
to aid him. On coming up this dog said: “I am here merely to speak to
you and see you once more. When I go back I will attack our enemy and
do all I can to defeat it, but it will kill me.” The dog returned. Then
the hunter heard both dogs barking and then a howl; he knew by the
sounds that a terrible fight was going on. The cry of one dog died out;
this told him that that dog was killed. Now only one dog barked and
howled. The man tried to increase his speed. It was still dark. The
barking ceased, and presently the dog spoke behind him, saying: “My
brother is killed and I am left alone. You would better start the death
cry; our village is not far away and the people may hear you.” The man
began to scream out the death cry, Goʹweh, as he ran. There happened to
be a dance at the Long Lodge that night, and some people were sitting
outside. Suddenly a young man, hearing a voice of some one in distress,
gave the alarm.

Now, the dog came again to encourage the man with these words: “Do your
best; you are near home, and perhaps you will escape. I will come once
more. Then I will leap upon and draw the monster down and fight it.”
The man heard the dog when the latter got back, and knew the monster
was drawing near by the sound of the animal’s barking. Then the man ran
on as fast as possible. The dog ceased barking and coming again said:
“This is the last time I shall see you; I shall be destroyed now. If
the people hear your cries and come to meet you, you will escape; if
not, you will surely be killed.”

The dog went back; he had but a short distance to go this time. As the
man ran, screaming, he saw a torchlight ahead. The dog howled in
distress; then his howl died away and the man knew that he was dead.
Finally, seeing people coming to the rescue, he struggled on harder and
harder. When he met the people he fell in a faint; he heard the sounds
behind him as he fell, and that was all he knew.

Holding up their torches the people saw a terrible animal; its fore
legs seemed longer than the hind ones. They shot at it, whereupon it
disappeared, and they returned to the village. The animal had made a
journey during one night which it took the man two days to finish when
he was going to hunt. As soon as he could talk he told the people what
occurred from the time the dog first spoke to him. They decided to go
to his camp and bring home the meat. Not far from the village they
found the last dog torn to pieces, and farther on the other one. When
they reached the camp they saw that the strange animal had eaten most
of the meat; what remained they took home. They did not see the animal
and never knew what it was.





39. THE THREE YOUNG WOMEN, DAUGHTERS OF AWAEH YEGENDJI OR MOTHER SWAN

There was an old woman who had three daughters, all of whom were young,
good-looking, and clever.

When the eldest was 16 years of age and the youngest 12, the old woman
said: “We want some venison and bear meat. We have lived here a good
many years, and have had no meat—nothing but bread, and corn, and
beans, and I long very much for meat. And now,” said she to the eldest,
“you are old enough to be married to a man who can get us some meat.”
To the second daughter she said: “You must go with your sister; perhaps
you will have to stay all night on the way. There are an old woman and
her son living in a broad field where you must go. The young man is
handsome and a successful hunter. The old woman’s name is Big Earth.”

Both girls were willing to go, so the old woman continued: “To-morrow
we must make marriage-bread.” After shelling and pounding corn, they
made marriage-bread and some cakes, which they baked in the ashes. They
made twenty-four of these cakes, which were put into a basket. The old
woman painted the elder girl, combed her hair, and dressed her well.
Then she told her: “Carry this basket on your back. You must take no
notice of anyone you meet, and do not stop to talk with any person no
matter what is said to you. When night comes, do not stop at any lodge
but camp in the woods.”

The girls started, going along in a narrow path. They saw no person and
no lodges until the evening; when they noticed a man running on ahead
of them. He had a bow and arrows and was trying to shoot a squirrel in
a tree. On seeing the girls he stopped them, saying, “Put down your
basket and watch my arrow; see where it goes,” adding that he was
almost blind and could not follow its course. He was very pleasant, so
the elder girl put down her basket, and both sisters ran for the arrow.
When they got back the basket, which they had left on the log, was
gone. “Now,” said the younger girl, “we have disobeyed our mother. She
told us not to answer anyone who spoke to us.” They had then nothing to
do but to go home.

On reaching home they told their mother: “We met a man who begged us to
bring his arrow. We put our basket on a log and when we got back it was
gone.” The old woman did not scold much, although she was very sorry;
she said that they could not love her or they would obey her words.
Later she said to the youngest and to the second sister, “You must go
for the young man.” Then they made more marriage-bread. The mother told
the youngest: “If your sister wants to stop, make her go on. Do not
speak to or answer any man.” The sisters traveled until they met the
same old fellow. Thereupon the elder, who carried the basket, wanted to
ask how far it was to the place where Big Earth lived, but the younger
cautioned her, repeating her mother’s words. As they came up to him,
however, he was so kind and pleasant and spoke so agreeably that the
eldest asked how far it was to Big Earth’s lodge. “Oh,” he said, “she
lives in the first lodge; it is not far from here.” Running around to
the lodge, he told his wife to go to the other side of the fire with
her child, as two girls were coming and he wanted the bread they
brought, and, further, as he had informed them that Big Earth lived
there. Then he threw ashes over his wife, making her look old.

By and by the two girls came in and, as the old man was painted and
looked fine, they sat down by him—they thought he was the young man
they were seeking. In a short while they heard some one coming, who
kicked the door, saying: “Gesagwe! Gesagwe! They want you at the Long
Lodge.”

Turning to the girls, the old man said: “My name is not Gesagwe. They
always call me nicknames.” By and by the child cried out, “Oh, father!”
Whereupon the old man explained, “The child’s father died yesterday and
now he is calling for him.” After a time the runner came again, saying,
“Gesagwe, the people are waiting for you.” Again he said, “They call me
nicknames all the time.” The girls thought it was all right, and he
told them to lie down and wait for him.

But the younger sister thought something was wrong. When the old woman
lay down the girls went out. She said to her sister: “Something is
wrong. This is not the man. He is the man we met, and our mother told
us not to speak to anyone.” The elder said, “I suppose we have done
wrong.” Then, putting into the bed two slippery-elm sticks and covering
them up, they started on with their basket of marriage-bread. They
heard dancing, and as they approached the source of the sound they saw
a Long Lodge. Peeping in, they saw Gesagwe in the middle of the floor.
The singers sang to him. Then everyone, rising, threw corn into his
mouth. He had a blanket around him. They threw what they had into his
mouth. A woman and her son sat by the fire, and they, too, looked very
attractive. The younger sister said, “That is the young man we want.”

Going into the lodge, they walked up to the old woman, Big Earth, and
put down the basket. Big Earth was pleased. When the dancing was over
all the people went home. The man who was dancing went home. Seeing
what he thought were two girls in his bed, he said: “Well, I must
smoke. They have had a big council. They could not do anything. I was
there.” Taking down a piece of deer’s tallow, he chewed it. Every time
he spat it simmered on the fire. He lay down and one of the girls, he
thought, pinched him. He said, “Wait until I get ready to lie down.”

Undressing himself, he started to get into bed, whereupon he found two
rotten logs and a bed full of ants. Awfully angry, he scolded his wife
and threw the logs out of doors.

The girls lived happily with Big Earth’s son for two months. At the end
of that time he got bear meat and deer meat, which he put into very
small packages. He made two loads of the meat, one for each of his
wives. Then they all started with the meat to visit his mother-in-law.
She had been very uneasy, thinking that her daughters had been deceived
again. When she saw them coming with their husband she was pleased.
After they had lived there some time, Big Earth’s son said he was going
to take his mother-in-law to his own home. They all went to his place,
where they lived happily together.





40. HINON AND THE SENECA WARRIORS

(A TALE OF THE WARS OF THE SENECA AND THE CHEROKEE)

Once a war party of Seneca while on the warpath against the Cherokee
became very hungry. Seeing a bear, they chased it into its den, one of
the party following it. When he had gone some distance into the den he
could no longer see the bear, but he saw instead a fire burning briskly
and three men sitting around it. The eldest asked the Seneca warrior
why he had tried to shoot one of his men whom he had sent to entice him
into the den. He continued, “I want to send word to the eldest man at
your camp to tell him that his friend is here and wants some tobacco,
and that tomorrow as many of his warriors as wish may come to see me
here.” So the warrior went back to the camp of his comrades and
reported what he had heard.

The next day, accompanied by five of his companions, each bearing a
pouch of native tobacco, he returned to the den of the bears. When they
gave the tobacco to the old man, he was very glad, and said to them: “I
am thankful to you for this present of tobacco. I shall enjoy it a long
time, for it will last me many days.” While in the den one of the
warriors remarked, “Oh! I am very tired and sleepy.” Overhearing this
remark, the old man said to him, “Lie down, then.”

When the others also had laid themselves down the old man arose, and
going over to the spot where the first warrior lay, rubbed his body
from his feet to his head. Then setting down a vessel which he held in
one hand he proceeded to dismember this warrior’s body joint by joint
until he had taken him to pieces. Placing each piece in a mortar, with
a pestle he pounded the bones to a jelly, which he poured into a bowl.
Then he took the bowl and the other vessel into another part of the
den, where he left them. Returning and sitting down, he began to smoke.

After a while he called out: “My nephew, come out now. You have been
there long enough.” When the young warrior came out, he appeared as
light, fresh, and lithe as a boy. Then another of the Seneca warriors
said, “Can you do this for me, too?” The old man answered, “Yes, if you
wish me to do so.”

Then the warrior laid himself down, and the old man went through the
same process as he had with the other warrior. After he had carried the
two vessels into the remote part of the den, the old man, returning,
began to smoke. Shortly he called out, “Oh, my nephew, you have now
slept long enough!” At once the warrior arose and came forth so fresh
and lithe that he felt no weight in his body. Thereupon another Seneca
warrior asked the old man to treat him in the same manner. The latter
man consented and, after going through the same process as that which
renewed the others, this warrior, too, was made young and as light as a
feather, and consequently was very happy.

Then a fourth warrior asked the old man to transform him likewise, but
the old man refused, saying: “I have now done enough. I will tell you
why I have taken the trouble to do this to four of your people. There
is a large opening extending from one end of the world to the other. In
this opening is a great rock, and in this rock is a man possessed of
enormous horns. We have tried to kill him, but can not do so. Now, I
want two of you to try to crush this rock and so kill him; but first
you must go out and try your strength in orenda” (magic power). So,
going out, they shot at a rock, which crumbled to pieces when they hit
it. Then they shot at an enormous tree; this, too, they brought down
when they hit it, leaving nothing but a stump. “Now,” said the old man,
“you may go to the opening and see what you can do with that enchanted
rock. Your companions may remain here; they will not die, for we never
die here. I always help my grandchildren. I cover your trail whenever
you need to conceal it. It is I who cause it to rain.”

The two transfigured warriors went to the opening, as directed, and
seeing the great enchanted rock, they shot at it; then, returning to
the old man, they told him what they had done. He quickly asked them,
“Did you use all your orenda?” They replied, “No. We could have struck
the rock a harder blow”; whereupon the old man said, “Go back there and
employ all your magical strength.” Returning to the opening where the
great rock stood, the two warriors shot it with all their orenda. After
waiting for some time, they heard a person coming toward them. Soon
they saw that it was a man carrying the head of an enormous horned
snake securely strapped to his back. This man was the old man who had
transformed them. Returning to the den, the two warriors said, “Now our
work is done; the great horned snake is dead.” Then they went back to
their homes.





41. HODADEÑON AND YENYENTʻHWUS [56]

There was a little boy, Hodadeñon, who lived with his elder sister,
Yenyentʻhwus, in a bark lodge.

When the sister went out to plant, she would fasten the door of the
lodge so that nothing might harm her brother. She did not allow him to
go out alone. To amuse him she got a raccoon’s foot, and also brought
him a bow and some arrows. In playing he tossed up the raccoon’s foot,
telling the arrows to strike it, and the arrows always hit the foot
before it fell to the ground.

One day while Yenyentʻhwus was at home, a voice was heard in the upper
part of the lodge, saying, “Mush, brother! Mush, brother!” Hodadeñon
asked, “How is this? I thought we were alone in the lodge?” The sister
said, “It is our poor brother; he is only just alive.” “Well, my
sister, make him some mush,” said the little boy.

Uncovering a place under her couch, the sister took out a very small
pot and a little fragment of a chestnut. Putting the least bit of meal
scraped from the chestnut into the pot with water, she boiled it. While
doing this she stirred the meal and tapped the pot, which increased in
size until it became as large as any pot. When the mush was cooked the
sister took it off the fire and put it all into a bowl, saying to
Hodadeñon, “Go up the ladder and feed your brother.” Climbing the
ladder, he found a man lying in the upper room or attic. The little
fellow said, “I have brought you mush, my brother.” The brother, whose
name was Hadjisgwas,[57] took two or three mouthfuls of the mush and it
was all eaten. Then, after exhaling his breath two or three times and
rubbing his arms and legs, he began to sing.

Hodadeñon heard the singing and the beating of time overhead. A little
later they heard Hadjisgwas call out, “Tobacco!” and the little boy
said, “My sister, our brother wants to smoke.” “Oh!” said she, “Our
poor brother! he is barely alive; he lives on chestnut meal and
tobacco.” Going aside, she got a big pipe, into which she put tobacco.
Lighting it with a coal of fire, she gave it to the little boy, saying,
“Take this up to your brother.” Hodadeñon went, with the words, “My
brother, I have come with a pipe for you.” “Thank you,” said
Hadjisgwas, and with one puff he so filled the room with smoke that he
nearly smothered the boy, who had to hurry down to escape. Soon they
who were below heard a sound as though Hadjisgwas blew through the
pipestem and rapped out the ashes from the pipe. After rubbing his arms
and legs, he began to sing. They thought his voice was stronger. Then
Yenyentʻhwus went out planting, having first fastened the door so as to
keep in her little brother.

When his sister had gone, Hodadeñon thought he would like to make some
chestnut mush for his brother in the loft and to sing and dance for
him. Finding the little pot under his sister’s couch, he took from it
the piece of chestnut, every bit of which he scraped into the kettle.
As it boiled he tapped the pot, which grew as large as any vessel. When
the meal was cooked he poured it out—a great bark bowl full of chestnut
mush. This he took up to the loft, saying, “My brother, I have made you
another bowl of mush.” “Thank you, brother,” said Hadjisgwas, who ate
the mush and, after rubbing himself, began to sing. He was stronger
now, so he could sing a regular song. After Hodadeñon had come down and
put away the kettle, he thought, “My brother must have a smoke.”
Therefore he cut up all the tobacco there was and put it into the pipe,
which he carried to the loft, saying, “My brother, I have brought you a
pipe.” His brother said, “Thank you.” “After you have smoked, I wish
you would sing while I dance,” said Hodadeñon.

Hadjisgwas sent out such a puff of smoke that the little boy had to
hurry down the ladder to escape it. He had not been down long before
his sister came in. He said to her, “Oh, my sister, I have made our
brother some pudding.” “How did you make it?” she asked. “I cut up all
the chestnut and boiled it,” he replied. “Oh, now he will die on your
account,” she said. “After he ate the mush,” said Hodadeñon, “I gave
him a smoke.” “How did you do that?” asked Yenyentʻhwus. “I shaved up
the piece of tobacco, put it into the pipe, and gave it to him,” said
he. “Now we shall surely lose our brother on your account,” said
Yenyentʻhwus; “you have done great mischief.” “Well, my sister, where
are the chestnuts? I will go and get more of them.”

“Those chestnuts,” she said, “grow at the eastern end of the world; and
on this side of them, where the tobacco grows, are many wizards. Before
you come to the lodge of the wizards is a river, over which trees are
thrown to walk upon. Just beyond the river are two great rattlesnakes,
one on each side of the path, which attack every one who goes that way.
If you pass them safely, you will come to a great rocky mountain, so
steep that no mere man can climb it. There is but one pass through that
mountain, and just beyond the pass stand two Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, each
one half as tall as a tree. If you should succeed in passing these,
going farther you would come upon two men at the edge of an opening or
clearing, who give the alarm the moment they see anyone, whereupon the
wizards run out to attack whomsoever they find approaching. If you
should make your way past these men and reach a knoll from which the
lodge of the wizards can be seen, you would find there a woman walking
back and forth on a platform in front of the lodge, who begins to sing
as soon as she sees a stranger; straightaway the wizards, rushing out,
kill him who is approaching.”

The next day when Yenyentʻhwus went to plant she fastened the door,
shutting in Hodadeñon. While she was gone, hearing some living thing
outside, he tried to get out to shoot it. Then he heard a noise on the
lodge roof and, looking up, he saw some kind of creature—he did not
know what—with its eyes fixed on him. Then he said, “You are
Odyaqgweonion,[58] anyhow,” thinking to himself, “I will shoot at the
game.” Drawing his bow, he said to the arrow, “I wish you to go
straight to the game.” The arrow struck the creature, killing it;
thereupon he rushed to bring it in. Not being able to open the door, he
dug a hole in the earth close to the door, through which he got out.
Bringing in the game, he put it into the corn mortar and covered it.
When Yenyentʻhwus, his sister, came, he said, “My sister, I have killed
game.” “Well, where is it?” she asked. “Here in the corn mortar,”
answered Hodadeñon. Running thither, he brought the game to his sister.
“Oh! that is a chickadee,” said she. Having dressed and cooked the
bird, Yenyentʻhwus began to eat it. Hodadeñon stood there watching her
eat, and asked, “Is it good?” “Yes,” she replied. After looking on a
while longer, he asked, “Are you not going to give me some?” “No,” she
replied, “this is the first game you have killed, and you must not eat
of it; it would not be right.”59

The next morning the boy said to his sister, “You will have to tie a
belt around me now; I am going out.” She had to do what he asked, for
she could not help doing it. Putting the belt on him and preparing him
for the day, she said, “You must not go north nor far away; stay near
the lodge.”

Yenyentʻhwus then went to her work in the field. Soon the boy, seeing a
bird on a tree, said, “You must be the bird they call Gwenhdaen
nisedosyoden,” [60] whereupon he killed it with his arrow. Carrying in
the game, he put it into the corn mortar. When his sister came he said,
“I have some game, sister,” showing her the bird. “Oh!” said she, “that
is the Gwenhdaen nisedosyoden.” She dressed, cooked, and ate the bird,
but did not give him a bite.

The next morning, getting up early and making a fire, he called his
sister to get breakfast, so that he might go hunting in good time.
After breakfast he said, “My sister, put on my belt and get me ready.”
She girded him and made him ready for the day. Both went out, she to
her planting and he to his hunting. After he had been out a while,
seeing a bird, he said, “I do not know you, but I think you are
Djeqgowa.” [61] He hit the bird with his arrow, killing it, and brought
it home; putting it into the corn mortar, he covered it. When his
sister came he said, “My sister, I have game; here it is.” “Thank you,”
said she; “that is what we call a pigeon.” After dressing the bird she
cut it into two parts, one of which she put away and the other cut into
pieces, saying that she was going to make dumplings. She pounded corn
meal and, mixing the meat with it, made dumplings, which both of them
ate.

The next morning before daylight Hodadeñon, having made a good fire,
called up his sister to cook. After they had eaten she warned him not
to go north nor far away. She then went out to plant while he went
hunting.

He went farther than before, and seeing a new kind of bird running
along, said, “You look pretty well; you must be what they call
Dyoyoqgwahacyon.” [62] He drew his bow and hit the bird with his arrow.
It ran a while, and he called, “Hold on; do not break my best arrow.”
The bird stopped and died.

He had all he could do to carry it home. He put it in the corn mortar.
When his sister saw it she said, “This is a partridge.”

She dressed the bird, took half and hung it up on a stick; the other
half she cooked for herself and brother.

The next morning Hodadeñon was up early. His sister put on his belt for
him, and both went out. She told him to stay near the lodge. Then she
went to plant and he to hunt. He went farther than he had gone the day
before. He saw a creature coming toward him; after watching it, he
said, “I think it is you they call Shanoons­dehon.” [63] Looking again,
he said, “I think you are the one they call Shadjinoqgyot.”64 The third
time he said, “I think it is you they call Osoont.”65 At that moment
the creature, seeing him, turned to run, but on Hodadeñon calling out,
“Stop!” it stopped right there. Drawing his bow, he shot it. As the
animal struggled he called, “Look out! do not break my best arrow.”
Whereupon it stopped and died. Hodadeñon tried to carry the carcass,
but could not lift it. Running to the place where his sister was
planting, he said, “My sister, I have shot big game. I can not carry
it.” She went with him to the game; when she saw it, she said, “That is
what we call Osoont” (i.e., a turkey). She carried home the turkey, and
after dressing it put half away and cooked the other half.

The next morning Yenyentʻhwus put the belt on Hodadeñon. She warned him
against going north, or far from the lodge. On going a few steps
farther than the day before he found tracks, all pointing in the same
direction; thereupon he said: “My sister never told me that people
lived here and that there was a path.” Putting his feet in the tracks,
he found they fitted exactly. Just before him in the trail he saw a
game animal coming. He said to himself: “This must be what they call
Spotted Face, what they call Dyoyoqgwahacyon, or Striped Tail.” Drawing
his bow, he pierced the creature with an arrow. As it went staggering
along he called out: “Here! do not break my arrow; that is my best
arrow.” Running up to it, he pulled out the arrow. Finding he was not
able to carry the game animal, he had to go for his sister. When she
came she said, “That is called Djoeaga.” [66] After thanking her
brother, she seized the raccoon by one leg and, throwing it over her
shoulder, went toward home. She told her brother that she was going to
make corn bread to eat with this kind of meat. When they reached home
they cooked part of the raccoon and made corn bread. While the meat was
cooking she skimmed off the oil, telling her brother that she had
wanted oil for a long time. This oil she rubbed into her hair.

The brother and sister had more meat from this Djoeaga than they could
eat, and some was left. The next morning, after breakfast, they went
out, the sister to plant and the brother to hunt. At parting she warned
him, as she had done every day before. Hodadeñon went this time a few
steps farther than before. When he saw game coming toward him, he said:
“You are the one they call Hustoyowanen.” [67] Then, looking again, he
said: “I think that you are the one they call Dodjenendogeni,”68 and as
he looked, the animal, seeing him, turned to run. He called out to it:
“Stop!” As it did so, drawing his bow, Hodadeñon pierced it with an
arrow. The animal ran off out of sight, whereupon Hodadeñon screamed:
“Stop! Stop! You are breaking my arrow!” But the game animal was not to
be seen. Still the boy cried: “Stop! Stop! That is my best arrow.
Stop!” Then he thought: “I have lost my arrow, but I will follow a
little farther. If I can not catch the game animal, I shall go for my
sister, who will find it.”

Going on a short distance, he found the game animal lying dead. He ran
for his sister, who came, and thanking him, said: “This time you have
brought me Onogengowa.” [69] She brought a strap braided out of hemp
bark, so as to carry the meat home on her shoulders. Having skinned and
cut up the deer, she divided it into pieces. Hodadeñon wanted to carry
a part, so his sister, cutting off the feet, tied them together, and
gave them to him. She carried half the meat home at one time and then
went back for the other half.

The next day Hodadeñon went a little farther than before. On seeing a
game animal walking along, he said to it, “You must be what they call
Dasidowanes.” [70] The game animal, seeing him, jumped, but he said,
“Keep still.” It stopped, whereupon, drawing his bow, he shot an arrow
into the animal, which rushed through the woods and out of sight.
Hodadeñon cried, “Look out! that is my best arrow.” Following, he found
the animal dead, with the arrow point sticking out of its body. He said
to it, “You are Dasidowanes”; then he ran for his sister. When she
came, she said, “This is Ganiagwaihe.”71 She skinned the bear and cut
off the feet. She gave her brother the fore feet to carry, while she
herself took half the meat home, and then went for the rest. They had a
good supper that night, and the sister got more hair oil.

The next day they went out again, as usual, Hodadeñon to hunt and
Yenyentʻhwus to plant. The brother went to the spot where he had killed
the bear, but could see no game. Then he traveled in a circle, but
could see nothing. As he looked toward the north it seemed very
pleasant. There was an opening, or clearing, in front of him, and he
thought he would go into it, hoping that he would find game there. In
the middle of the clearing was a lodge. On peeping through a crack in
the wall he saw a crowd of naked men of the Odjineowa [72] people,
dancing. Very soon one of these men said, “Some one is looking at us,”
and then another said, “Let us kill him.”

Hodadeñon ran back to the woods, the men chasing him to the edge of the
opening, where they turned back. Hodadeñon went a short distance toward
home; then, taking a long stick of wood from a pile which his sister
had made, he carried it to the edge of the opening, where he stuck it
into the ground, saying, “When the men in that lodge run after me with
their clubs, do you fight against them to help me.” Then he brought
another stick, which he put down by the side of the first, with the
same words. He kept on in this way until he had a great many sticks
standing in the ground.

Then, running to the lodge, he looked in again. The Odjineowa men,
seeing him, said, “Let us be sure to kill him this time,” and rushed
out with their clubs. The boy escaped, however, to the woods, and when
the naked men came to the edge of the woods the sticks of Hodadeñon
became people and fought, killing all the men. Thereupon Hodadeñon
came, and after dragging the men one after another into their lodge, he
set fire to it, burning them all up.

Having taken the sticks back to his sister’s woodpile, Hodadeñon went
on until he came to the tall stump of a broken tree on which stood a
man, who called out “Ogongaqgeni hiwaden, My eyes have outmatched
yours, my nephew,” but the boy thought, “He does not see me,” so he
passed by. The uncle did not see him. When the boy walked up, the uncle
said: “You have come to me. I am an Hodiadatgon, a great wizard. What
would you do if it should rain spears upon you?” “Oh,” said the boy, “I
think my sister and I would be very glad, for we have no spears to fish
with now.” Then he ran home with all his speed. When near the lodge he
saw his sister go into it, whereupon he ran around it, saying, “Let our
lodge be stone,” and straightway it was stone. Just then he heard a
terrible roar, and a great rain of spears came down; some broke on the
roof, others fell on the ground. When the shower of spears was over,
his sister said, “You have gone toward the north.” “Yes, but I shall
not go again,” replied the boy.

After a while he went out to play. While playing he thought, “I will go
to my uncle and be the first to say, ‘Ogongaqgeni, My eyes outmatch
yours.’” So he went on until he came as near his uncle as he could
without being seen. Then he called a mole and, entering his body, he
traveled underground up to the roots of the stump on which his uncle
was standing. Coming out, he cried, “Ogongaqgeni hawknosen, What would
you say if a fire should come and burn up that stump and the woods and
all else there is about here?” “Oh, nephew, that is too much,” answered
the uncle. “I did not say that is too much,” replied Hodadeñon, “when
you sent a rain of darts on my sister and me.” At that moment thick
smoke was seen coming, and soon the woods were in a blaze on every
side. The fire spread to the spot where Hodadeñon’s uncle was. He fell
off the stump, and, his head bursting, an owl came out of it and flew
away.

Hodadeñon thought, “Now, I will go farther.” He had not traveled far
through the woods before he came to another clearing, in which there
was a lodge. Peeping through a crack, he saw within an old man with
both eyes closed. All at once he called, “Come in, nephew! come in!”
When the boy went in the old man said. “I always play a game of dice
with people who come here. If I win, I shall have your head; if you
win, you shall have mine.” The old man brought out six night owls’ eyes
(hihi ogasʻhoon) for dice, saying, “If they all turn up the same color,
the throw will count five; if not, it will count one.” The uncle wanted
the boy to play first, but he refused; the uncle insisted, but the boy
would not. At last the old man agreed. Putting the six eyes into a bowl
of wood, he shook it, throwing them up; they went out through the
smoke-hole into the air. When they returned, they counted but one.
“Now,” said the nephew, “take your dice out of the bowl. I have dice of
my own.” The uncle did not wish to take out his dice, but the boy
insisted, so he had to do so. Then Hodadeñon put in his dice, which
were woodcocks’ eyes, and threw them up. They went high in the air and
came down, calling out, “I think she is not setting, Nondjoqgwen.” [73]
The boy said, “Let them all come one color,” but the uncle said, “No,
let them come in different colors.” All came alike in color, so the old
man lost. “Now, nephew,” said he, “let me have one smoke more.” “Oh,
no!” said Hodadeñon, “I can not do that.” Thereupon he cut off the old
man’s head and went on farther.

“This is good sport,” said Hodadeñon, “I shall find another uncle,
perhaps.” He traveled through the woods for a while until he came to a
third opening. Far ahead in the center of it was a great rock, on which
sat a Dagwanoenyent. Near the opposite side of the opening was a lodge.
As Hodadeñon went up to the rock, the Dagwanoenyent called out, “Oh!
you are my nephew. I have been wishing for a long time that you would
come to see me; now we will play hide and seek.” Hodadeñon was to hide
first. Dagwanoenyent faced the other way, and at that moment Hodadeñon,
making himself into a flea (dewaqsentwus), jumped into the long bushy
hair of Dagwanoenyent, where he hid. Then he called out, “You can not
find me, uncle; you can not find me.” Dagwanoenyent looked all
around—up in the air, in the trees, everywhere. At last, noticing a
weed with a knot on its stem, he said, “Nephew, you are in that knot;”
but the nephew was not there. Looking around a second time, he saw a
knot on one of the trees. “You are in the knot on that tree, nephew.”
“I am not,” answered Hodadeñon. When Dagwanoenyent saw that he had not
found the boy he was terribly frightened. “There is danger,” said he,
flying far away from the rock. Rising above the clouds, he sat on them.
Then Hodadeñon called out from the long shaggy hair, “You can not see
me, uncle; you can not see me.” “Oh!” said the uncle to himself, “I
have come just by accident on the place where he is.” Then, flying off
to an island in the sea, the old man stood there. Again Hodadeñon
called out, “You can not see me, uncle; you can not see me.” He could
not indeed see the boy, so he flew back to his place in the opening in
the forest. Once more Hodadeñon cried, “You can not see me, uncle.”
Dagwanoenyent replied: “I have lost the game, but I did not bet my
head. Now, you may have control of these three witches,” pointing to
three women who were pounding corn outside the lodge at the edge of the
clearing. The women, who were man-eaters, were very angry when they
heard the words of Dagwanoenyent, their servant, and ran to strike him
with their clubs. They had the clubs raised to give the blow, when
Hodadeñon willed their death, and they dropped lifeless. The boy and
his uncle cut their heads off and burned their lodge. Now Dagwanoenyent
and Hodadeñon became friends, and the uncle said, “Nephew, if ever you
get into trouble, all you have to do is to think of me, and I will come
and help you.”

The boy thought, “I have had sport enough, and shall now go to my
sister.” After he had come in and sat down he began to laugh. His
sister asked, “Why do you laugh?” “Oh, I laugh about what I have seen,”
he said. “I have put an end to my uncle on the stump and my uncle who
played dice; I have beaten my uncle Dagwanoenyent and frightened him
terribly; and I have killed the three witches and cut off their heads
and burned their lodge. This is why I laugh.” “Now,” said the sister,
“I thank you, my brother, for many people have been deceived and killed
by these persons.”

That night he said to his sister, “Make me parched corn meal and two
dumplings with bear’s fat in them. Tomorrow I am going to get the
chestnuts.” She did all that he wished. Setting out the next morning,
he kept on his way until he came to the river over which the tree was
thrown. When halfway across on the tree, two rattlesnakes began to
rattle. Thereupon, going back, he caught two Tsohoqgwais.[74] Returning
by way of the tree again, when he came to the snakes, he gave a
chipmunk to each, saying, “You are free now. I shall kill you unless
you leave this place.” The snakes ran away.

Hodadeñon went on until he came to the opening in the forest, at the
farther end of which was the mountain wall. When he came to the wall he
found the pass. As he was coming out on the other side he heard all at
once hoⁿ hoⁿ hoⁿ hoⁿ, and saw the two Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, half as tall
as the highest tree. “Keep still! Keep still!” said Hodadeñon: “I have
brought you dumplings. You like dumplings.” So saying, he gave each
one. Then he said: “You are free now. You need not guard this place any
longer.” Thereupon they ran away.

Hodadeñon went on until he saw two Djoasha.[75] Then, going into the
woods, he dug up wild beans, which he brought as near as he could to
the herons, calling out, “Pur! Pur! Stop! Stop! Here are beans for you
to eat.” So saying, he set them free, with the words, “Go from here and
be free,” and they left the place.

Hodadeñon went on until he came to the woman’s skin walking along on a
platform. Turning back, he peeled bark from a slippery-elm tree. Marked
off into small pieces, he made it turn to wampum. Then he called a mole
and, getting into it, said, “Carry me to the platform yonder.” The mole
took him under the ground to the platform, whereupon he put his head
out and gave the woman wampum, saying, “Keep quiet!” Leaving the mole,
he went to a tree where there were great piles of chestnuts. Here he
took up a nut and, splitting it, put one-half into his bag and hurried
back. He had almost reached the woods when the woman on watch cried, “I
have seen some one!” One of the three sisters, running out, looked at
the woman, who changed her words, calling, “I have lied, Ogenowent.”
The three sisters were very angry and had a mind to kill the watch.
When the latter called again, “I have seen some one,” then the mother
said, “Do your best, my daughters; do your best. It must be Hodadeñon;
kill him and finish his family.”

The three sisters saw Hodadeñon far off in the distance. The eldest
sister ran ahead. As she raised her club to strike, Hodadeñon
disappeared into the ground and the woman, striking her kneepan with
the club, fell and could go no farther. The next moment Hodadeñon was
up, walking along again slowly. The second sister came up enraged, but
as she raised her club to strike he disappeared into the ground. She,
too, striking her kneepan, fell. The youngest sister tried, but with
the same result, and then the old woman. All four were disabled, while
Hodadeñon went back to his sister unharmed. He gave Yenyentʻhwus the
half chestnut, saying, “Make plenty of mush for our brother, as much as
he wants, and give it to him often.”

One day when Hodadeñon was playing near the lodge, he cried out
suddenly and fell to the ground screaming. His sister ran to him,
asking, “What is the matter? Where are you hurt?” “Nowhere,” he
answered. “Why do you cry then?” she asked. “I heard my brother
Hotgoendaqsais [76] sing a song and call on my name; he says I am his
brother,” said he. “That is true,” said Yenyentʻhwus; “and he is in the
east, at the place where the sun comes up. He is tied to a stake there
and people burn him with firebrands and torment him to make him cry,
for his tears are wampum, and when they fall the people run to pick
them up.” “Well, where does tobacco grow?” asked Hodadeñon. “On the
other side of the world, where Deagahgweoses77 lives. This man stole
our tobacco from us and carried it off. No one can conquer him, for he
is a great wizard, i.e., Hotgongowa.”

That night Hodadeñon told his sister to pound parched corn and make
meal for him. In the morning he got ready for the road. Yenyentʻhwus
put the food in a bundle on her brother’s back. It was so heavy that at
noon he had only reached the edge of the clearing where their lodge
was. Sitting down there, he ate his lunch. Yenyentʻhwus, who was
watching him all the time, said, “Poor brother, I think he will come
back soon.” She looked again, but he was gone.

In the evening Hodadeñon looked for a hollow tree in which to spend the
night. Having found one, he crawled in, and was lying there at his ease
when in the early part of the night he heard a man coming up. When he
reached the tree, the man called out, “Hodadeñon, are you here?” “I
am,” answered Hodadeñon. “Well,” asked the stranger, “what would you do
if one of the Ganiagwaihe should come to eat you up?” “Oh, I should
have fun with him,” said Hodadeñon.

The other went away and soon a very large Ganiagwaihe came. Pointing
his arrow at it, Hodadeñon shot the bear in the neck. Then away ran the
bear. The boy said, “I will go to sleep now, for there is no use in
being troubled by such creatures.” The next morning when Hodadeñon came
out he found that the trees had been torn up by the roots all along the
track of the bear. At last coming to the place where the bear lay dead
he thought, “I shall have nothing to do with such an ugly creature,”
and drawing out his arrow, he left the bear’s carcass lying there.

The next evening he found another hollow tree, into which he crawled,
prepared to sleep. But early in the night he heard some one come up to
the tree and say: “Hodadeñon, you are now here. What would you do if a
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa should come to kill you?” “Oh! I should have sport
with him,” replied Hodadeñon. “It is well,” the other returned, going
away.

Very soon a Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, a very large one, came up to the tree.
At once Hodadeñon, drawing his bow, shot it with his magic arrow; then,
retiring into the hollow tree again, he went to sleep. In the morning
he saw a trail along which the trees were broken down and torn up by
the roots. Following this trail he soon came to a point where he found
the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa lying dead. This being had a face of most
terrifying aspect. Hodadeñon, remarking to himself, “I will not have
anything to do with a creature of so malign aspect,” drew out his arrow
from the body and went on his way.

During that day Hodadeñon came to a great lake on the farther side of
which was a village. He searched until he found an oak puffball, which
he placed at the water’s edge. Entering this ball, he caused the wind
to blow it across the lake to the village on the opposite shore.
Hodadeñon went through this village without stopping until he came to
the last lodge on the side farthest from the lake shore, in which lived
an old widow and her grandson. Addressing the grandson, Hodadeñon said,
“Well, little boy, may I remain with you to-night?” The boy answered,
“I do not know. I will speak to my grandmother.” Running into the
lodge, the boy told his grandmother what the strange man had asked him.
The grandmother, whose name was Yeqsinye,[78] directed the little boy
to tell the visitor how poor and needy they themselves were. “Tell him
that I have nothing to give him to eat except scraps of food, for we
are, indeed, unfortunate people.” Going to Hodadeñon, the little
grandson repeated to him what his grandmother had said. “Oh!” replied
Hodadeñon, “all I want is a place in which to stay. I do not want
food.” “Well,” said the little boy, “I will tell my grandmother what
you have just told me.” Answering the little boy further, the old woman
said, “Let him do as he pleases; he knows, now, our circumstances and
what he must endure while with us.” Having received this message from
the little boy, Hodadeñon decided to stay there.

The next morning Hodadeñon said to the old woman’s grandson, “Let us go
to hunt game.” Agreeing to the proposition, the little boy made
suitable preparations to accompany Hodadeñon. After going a long
distance into the woods they found a large hollow tree frequented by a
bear. Hodadeñon tapped the tree, saying to the occupant, “Thou who
dwellest in this tree, come forth.” At once the bear came out,
whereupon Hodadeñon shot it with an arrow, and the bear fell to the
ground, dead. Together the two carried home the carcass of the bear.
When they threw it on the ground in front of the door it made a great
noise, causing the old woman to call out in fear, “What is that?” But
when she learned what it was she was overjoyed. Having carefully
dressed the bear, they cooked enough meat to make a good meal for all.
As they gathered around the steaming bark bowl of meat and broth a
young girl came in. The old woman asked her to eat with them, and she
willingly accepted the invitation. The boys ate together and the girl
and the old woman by themselves, as was the custom. When they had eaten
their meal the strange girl asked for a piece of the meat to take home,
and the old woman gave her a generous portion for her mother. On
receiving it, the mother said, “Do you now give them corn bread and get
some of the meat in exchange.” The girl did as her mother requested,
receiving two good-sized pieces of meat for the corn bread. Feeling
that others might like to have meat in exchange for bread, Hodadeñon
said, “Let them have the meat for the corn bread, for corn bread is
what we want now.”

Toward evening a man came to the doorway, and kicking aside the door
flap, said: “I notify you to come to the Long Lodge, where the man
sheds wampum instead of tears from his eyes. If you can pick up wampum
after it has fallen to the ground, it is yours. If you can gather more
than other people, it is your good fortune.” The name of the herald was
Hadyuswus.[79] He then hurried on to the other lodges.

Toward evening of the next day Hodadeñon, with the old woman and her
grandson, went to the Long Lodge, where Hotgoendaqsais, tied to a post,
was being tormented with firebrands. Before going into the assembly
hall the boys gathered a bundle of dry reeds for the purpose of
lighting the pipes of those who desired to smoke. Hodadeñon then said
to his young companion, “You go to one of the fires in the Long Lodge
and I will go to the other.” Passing into the assembly hall they found
that there were already many people inside. When Hotgoendaqsais saw
Hodadeñon he smiled as he seemed to recall him to his mind. One of the
old women saw this and said: “The bound man smiled when these boys came
into the room. It would seem that one of them is Hodadeñon.” After the
old woman spoke Hotgoendaqsais turned his face away. At this time one
of the chief men present said, “It is well that these boys have come in
to bring coals for our pipes.” He said this because all the men who
were smoking continually called the boys to bring them fire, and the
boys carried the torches to all.

In the Long Lodge were two women who had two firebrands, and it was
they who took the lead in torturing the man. First one of these two
women would burn Hotgoendaqsais on one side from one of the fires, and
then the other would burn him on the other side from the other fire;
and each time a brand touched the victim he would cry out, and
thereupon wampum fell in showers from his eyes instead of tears. Then
all the people would rush forward to gather as much of the wampum as
they could; one and all struggled and fought for it. When all had
enough for that day they were dismissed by the chief, and then the
chief herald would say, “Tomorrow you must all come and we shall have a
much better time.”

The boy friends went home together, and on their way Hodadeñon said to
his companion, “The young man whom they are torturing is my brother.
Tomorrow I shall destroy the place and all the people who are in it.”

The next day, as he had done before, the herald Hadyuswus came with the
invitation to the lodgehold (household) to be present in the torture
chamber that evening; then he hurried away. Thereupon Hodadeñon told
his boy friend to caution his grandmother with these words: “Do you go
to the back part of the village to warn all our relations not to go to
the Long Lodge this evening, for my good brother is going to destroy
all the maneaters and their home this very night.” So, going forth, the
old woman informed all her relations to remain at home that night, for
her grandson was going to destroy all the maneaters and their home. In
the evening Hodadeñon said to his little brother, “Do not go into the
Long Lodge. I shall go in alone. You must remain outside.”

When Hodadeñon entered the torture chamber he heard the people saying
that the two torturing brands would not burn, surmising that they were
not dry enough. But the wizards knew well why they would not burn—they
themselves were being overmatched by superior orenda (magic power).
Finally the chief said: “We might as well take a rest, and in the
meantime the firebrands will get dry and burn again. So let us lie
down.” Hodadeñon then brought deep sleep on all who were inside the
chamber of death. When they were all fast asleep, quickly unbinding his
brother from the post where he had been tied, he carried him out to his
new brother—the old widow’s grandson; then, closing the door of the
Long Lodge, he fastened it securely. Thereupon he ran around the lodge,
saying aloud, “I want this Long Lodge to become flint, so strong that
the greatest wizard can not escape from it, and then I want it to
become red-hot at once.”

Instantly the Long Lodge became flint. When it was red-hot the wizards
ran around on the inside in an attempt to escape, but they could not.
One said, “I shall go out of the smoke hole,” while another shouted, “I
shall get out through the ground,” but not one was able to escape from
his doom. After a while the roof fell in upon the devoted wizards,
whose heads burst with the intense heat; from out the chief’s head
there flew a horned owl; from the heads of others, owls of various
kinds; and from those of still others, a red fox, a gray fox, and a
nighthawk.

After the annihilation of the wizards Hodadeñon took his brother,
Hotgoendaqsais, to the old widow’s lodge. The old woman was very glad
and said: “He is my own grandson. I came for him years ago, but I was
myself captured by the wizards and I have had to remain here in
captivity.”

The next morning Hodadeñon said to his grandmother, “Tell all the
prisoners to come here, lest evil befall the innocent.” When they had
all come to the lodge of the old woman, Hodadeñon said, “We will now go
through the village and kill all the children of the wizards and anyone
else who is left of the maneaters, for some of them may not have been
present in the Long Lodge last night.” So, going forth they killed all
the relations of the maneaters and burned their lodges.

After that they went outside of the village, where they found great
piles of bones which once belonged to persons whom the wizards had
killed. These they collected near a great hickory tree. When all had
been gathered together, Hodadeñon pushed against the tree, crying out
to the bones, “Rise, my friends, or this tree will fall on you!”
Instantly from the heap of bones living men sprang up. In the confusion
of the moment sufficient care had not been taken to put together the
bones belonging to the same persons, hence one had an arm too short,
another a leg; but Hodadeñon went around among them stretching and
arranging these defective limbs. Then he said to their possessors: “I
have now brought you to life again. You must remain in one place for
two days while I go to get meat for you.”

So, selecting a comfortable spot, they patiently waited. Hodadeñon went
out to hunt and killed a great quantity of game. He sent men to bring
it into the camp. These were gone all day, but they brought in an
abundance of meat. When all had returned, Hodadeñon said: “Now, my
brother is tired. Stay here and rest. I must go away for a short time,
for I have much work to do.”

Thereupon Hodadeñon started away. As he hurried along he heard the
sound, “Dum, dum, dum!” This, he knew, was caused by the man whose name
was Deagahgweoses, in making tobacco, which he pounded with a mallet.
When he arrived at the lodge he found the old man sitting inside
hammering tobacco and singing, He yondyengonni goyengwayen gens,
signifying “Wherever one makes tobacco, one possesses tobacco
customarily.” And when the tobacco rolls were ready he would tie them
with bark cords. Addressing him, Hodadeñon said several times, “Well,
uncle, I have come to your lodge,” but the old man gave him no
recognition. Then Hodadeñon struck the old man a blow on the head with
a small mallet which was lying near, saying at the same time, “I have
come to visit you, uncle.” But even then Deagahgweoses paid no
attention to the visitor. Again Hodadeñon struck him a blow, saying,
“Uncle, I have come to visit you.” Then the old man exclaimed, “I do
think that the mice have thrown down the stone bowl,” but he kept on at
work pounding his tobacco. So Hodadeñon struck him still another severe
blow, whereupon the old man raised his upper lids, which hung down over
his face to his chin. Carefully tying them back with bark cords, he
scraped out the filth from his eyes with a clamshell, saying, “I think
that some one has come into the lodge.” Then, looking around and seeing
Hodadeñon, he asked him, “For what do you come here? What do you want?”
Hodadeñon replied, “I have come for tobacco.” The old man refused
tobacco to his visitor, saying, “You will get no tobacco here.” Then
starting up, exclaiming, “I will kill you!” he pursued Hodadeñon with a
large club out of doors and around the lodge. Hodadeñon outran him and
was soon far ahead of him. Finally, turning and facing the old man, he
shot two arrows into his body. Thus died Deagahgweoses.

Then Hodadeñon cast into the air toward the west a large quantity of
tobacco, saying as he did so, “Go ye to the lodge of my sister,
Yenyentʻhwus.” Far off in the west Yenyentʻhwus picked up the rolls of
tobacco which fell on her doorstep, with the words, “I thank you,
brother; I am so thankful to you, brother.” When Hodadeñon had sent
home all the tobacco he burned up the lodge of Deagahgweoses. Then he
went back to the place where he had left his newly recovered brother
and the other men whom he had brought to life. Having arrived there, he
told the men to go home if they so wished. Those who remembered whence
they had come started, but those who did not know said, “You must take
us with you.”

The next morning they set out for home. After journeying for some time,
Hodadeñon, halting the company, said to them, “You have with you two of
my uncles, who can show you the rest of the way, for I must go on by
myself.” It was his desire to go on alone and thus to reach home first.
When he arrived at the lodge of his sister, he told her that he had
brought to life all their relatives who had been captives, and that he
had also saved their brother from the tortures of the wizards. He
informed her that these were coming with others who were not relatives.
“Now,” said he, “we must make preparations to receive them and to
welcome them to our place.”

Hodadeñon thought that he would make a number of commodious lodges of
equal size and of like appointments; so he marked out certain spaces
with his feet, walking sidewise, each area being as large as the lodge
he desired to stand therein. Then he wished for the lodge with suitable
provisions and whatever else was needed. As soon as he wished it, the
lodge came into being with everything in it as he desired. In this
peculiar way he made a long row of lodges. He made his own lodge also
in the same way, but he caused it to be larger than any of the others.
When he had prepared everything he went to meet the people who were
coming. Having joined them, he brought them to the place he had made
ready, where he gave each one his own home. Hodadeñon gave each of his
relations a couch in his own lodge; but there were not people enough to
occupy the place, so Hodadeñon said, “All who belong here have not yet
come home.” Here he referred to his father, mother, and sister, who had
been killed at the chestnut trees, and it was his intention to go after
them; but he could not mention this lest he should put those who had
killed them on their guard. They would have heard his words and so
would have learned exactly what were his intentions.

After being home about a year Hodadeñon began to hear again at frequent
intervals the peculiar sound, “Dum, dum, dum!” He thought how strange
it was to hear this sound. Then he remembered about the agreement made
by Yeqsinye Honwande [80] concerning the use of human flesh for food.
He decided to learn this, saying: “I shall go and see whether he keeps
his word; see what he is doing.”

So he started, and as he went on he heard this same sound from time to
time. Directing his course toward the spot whence came the sound, at
last he reached the edge of a village. Entering the first lodge he
encountered, he met nobody there. He then went to a second lodge, and
that, too, was empty. Thus he entered every lodge until he came to the
center of the village; there was no one in any of them. He stood
looking on every hand, quite discouraged. At last, seeing smoke arising
from the opposite side of the village, he directed his way toward it.
On reaching it he entered the lodge, where he saw an old man on a
couch. Raising himself and throwing off the skin mantles which covered
him, the old man said to Hodadeñon: “You must take my life at once, for
you have caused all my pain and misery.” Hodadeñon replied: “It is not
I who have done this. It may be my companion, who looks exactly like
me. I am here to see whether it is he who is making all this trouble.”
The old man said: “It is time for him to come now; and on this account
I made my niece hide in that room yonder. We are now the only persons
left in this place.” Hodadeñon, going to the room indicated, said to
the young woman in there: “I have come to see how that man keeps the
agreement he made with me. If he has taken to eating human flesh, he
must kill me before he eats more, and to aid me you must do just what I
tell you to do. So help me all you can. I shall fight with him for 10
days. We shall begin here, and shall continue fighting westward. At the
end of 10 days we shall return, fighting as we come. At that time there
will be nothing left of us except our heads. You must kill your dog and
try out its fat, and when the tenth day comes you must have it ready in
a vessel, boiling hot. But you must not mistake me for him, for if you
do I shall be lost and you will die.”

At this moment he heard the old man cry out. Running to him at once, he
found that the man whom he called friend, the old widow’s grandson, had
already taken flesh from the legs and thighs of the old man. There he
stood with his flint knife, ready to cut off more flesh, saying, “I do
not know where to take off the next piece of flesh,” when Hodadeñon
came into the room. The latter at once declared, “My friend, you agreed
when we parted last that if you would eat human flesh you would first
kill the person before eating him, and you have not kept your word.”
[81] The other man defiantly replied, “Let us go out and fight to
decide who shall rule.” At once they went out, and they began to fight,
going westward as they struggled, and soon disappeared in the woods.
The young woman heard their cries and groans for several days. Killing
the dog, she tried out its fat, and when the 10 days had passed and she
heard them coming back toward the lodge she heated the fat and had it
ready.

As they came out of the woods into the opening there was nothing left
of them but the skeletons and the skulls—frightful to look at as they
rushed at each other and then fell back exhausted. When they closed
again the skeletons were gone; nothing remained except the skulls,
naked and bloody. After the encounter one of the skulls, rolling up to
the young woman, said, “Now is the time to do what I told you.” Then
the other skull, rolling up immediately, said the same thing; but she
kept her eyes on the second skull, on which she poured hot dog fat.
“Now you have killed me,” said the other skull. She paid no heed to
this charge, but, taking up the skull on which she had poured dog fat,
she carried it into the lodge. In a short time Hodadeñon had regained
his flesh and he was again in good health. To the young woman he said,
“I thank you for what you have done for me, for you have faithfully
performed what I asked and have thus saved my life.”

The old man, recognizing an obligation to him, said to Hodadeñon: “I
have made up my mind to say that since you have delivered us from a
horrible death you should have my niece for a wife if she suits you.
What is your pleasure in the matter?” Without hesitation Hodadeñon
replied: “It is well. I accept your niece as a wife, but I must cure
you first.” So, spitting on his hands to endue them with the healing
power of his orenda (magic power), he rubbed the body of the old man
where the flesh had been cut away, and immediately it was made whole
and well.

“Now,” said Hodadeñon to his two companions, “I want your assistance in
what I am about to do.” Then he led them to the edge of the forest,
where lay a great quantity of human bones scattered around on the
ground. These they proceeded to gather together in some kind of order
near a large hickory tree. When they had collected all the bones,
Hodadeñon pushed against the tree, shouting, “Oh, you dry bones!
Behold, the great hickory is about to fall on those who sleep here.
Arise, friends.” At that moment the bones arose as living men, and
Hodadeñon said to them: “Be ye alive now, and go back to your several
homes. There is now nothing to trouble you.” So each man went his way.

Hodadeñon took the old man’s niece for a wife, and they started for
home. But after going some distance Hodadeñon said, “I have one more
thing to do. I must go after the chestnuts, so you go on and I will
overtake you.”

So starting off, he changed his course and continued his journey until
he came to the ridge of a hill, near which was a woman on watch, whose
task required her to walk back and forth on a kind of raised platform.
Before going up to her and revealing himself Hodadeñon got slippery-elm
bark, which he turned into wampum. Then hailing a mole, he said to it,
“Take me to that woman on the platform, but do not let her see us; so
pass beneath the surface of the ground and emerge under the platform.”
The mole, obeying, took Hodadeñon, who had reduced his size by magic,
into its body and, going underneath the surface, did as it was ordered.
It emerged very near the place where the woman was passing to and fro.
Coming out of the body of the mole, Hodadeñon said to her, “Friend, I
give you this wampum as a reward to you not to give the usual alarm on
my account.” She accepted the wampum.

Then Hodadeñon called on the moles to go into the lodge of the four
women to discover their hearts, and he accompanied them in the search.
It so chanced that he was able to discover the hearts fastened to a
string under a couch on which slept the elder of the four women.
Seizing them at once he fled out of the lodge. At that moment the woman
on watch gave the alarm, shouting, “Hodadeñon has come! Ho, there!” The
mother of the witches screamed to her daughters: “Hurry after him my
children! Kill him! for he is the last of the family.” The eldest
daughter outfooted the others and, as she was overtaking Hodadeñon, he
bruised one of the hearts on the string and she fell dead. When the
second daughter came up, he bruised another heart, and she also fell
dead; and a like fate befell the youngest daughter. Now the old mother
alone was left of the brood of witches. She hurried up to him,
whereupon he bruised the fourth heart, and she, too, fell lifeless.
When the four were dead, Hodadeñon ground their hearts to powder; then
dragging the bodies to the lodge, he burned lodge, bodies, and powdered
hearts.

Now, the woman watch, who was walking to and fro on the platform
continually, was the own sister of Hodadeñon. At this time she was a
mere pouch of human skin for her bones and flesh were wanting. Near
this platform was a large heap of bones of dead persons. Hodadeñon
carried these bones to the foot of a very large hickory tree, and upon
the pile he placed the skin of his sister. He then pushed against the
tree shouting, “Ho! friends and sister, arise, for the tree is about to
fall on you now.” Instantly all leaped up alive, among them his sister.

Then Hodadeñon went to the chestnut trees and taking a nut, he threw it
to his other sister in the west, telling the rest of the nuts to
follow. They did so, and as they entered the end of the lodge his
sister Yenyentʻhwus collected and stored them away.

Hodadeñon now went home with his parents and sister and friends. When
they had all taken their places it was seen that one of their number
was missing, that there was still a vacant place.

The next morning they found that they were living in a chestnut grove,
for the trees were standing all around the lodge.

Later two men came to get some chestnuts for a person who was in danger
of death. Replying to their request Hodadeñon said: “It is well. I will
give you a chestnut, but you must be very careful not to lose it. Give
me your arrow and I will hide the chestnut in the arrow. Be very
careful of a man whom you will meet not far from this place. He will
say to you, ‘Stop, nephew!’ and then he will come toward you. At that
moment you must say, ‘Let us see who can shoot the farther,’ and before
he can come near you, do you shoot away your arrows as far as you can,
and you will thus save the chestnut. If you lose this one I will not
give any more.”

The two men went their way. Soon they saw a man who said to them, “Oh,
nephews! I have waited long to see you.” Thereupon he started toward
them, but they at once said, “Let us see who can shoot the farther.”
Rushing forward the stranger tried to grasp their arrows, and nearly
succeeded in doing so. On failing in this attempt, he was very angry,
and said, “You are not my nephews at all. Go your way at once.”
Willingly they hurried away from him, and after finding their arrows,
made their way home.

The next day Hodadeñon said: “There is still one more labor for me to
perform. There is yet one empty seat in our lodge. I shall go west this
time. Now I go.” He had not gone very far on his journey before he saw
an opening, or clearing, in the forest ahead of him. When he came out
of the forest into this clearing, he saw a large lake before him, the
opposite shore of which he could not see. Between him and this lake was
a lodge from which smoke was issuing. Walking up to this and pushing
aside the doorflap, he entered; within he found an old man mending
moccasins.

Raising his head, the old man said: “Well, nephew, I have been looking
for you a long time. I knew that you would come. I am ready to go home.
I am from the same place from which you come. The first thing for us to
do now will be to eat together.” The old man had a pot of corn and
beans with plenty of bear’s meat for seasoning. After they had eaten,
the old man said, “Now is our time. We will now go hunting on the
little island.”

Going to a canoe, they got aboard of it. The old man, whose name was
Shagowenotha Onononda Sowek,[82] began to paddle the canoe, but he
finally called the Onononda Sowek to come and do so. At once small
white ducks with black heads came and paddled the canoe over to the
island. During all this time the old man sang. When they landed the old
man said, “Let us land.”

Then Shagowenotha said to his companion, “Now you go to the lower end
and I will go to the upper end of this island. Then we shall meet in
the middle of the island, and shall see how much game each of us will
have.” Hodadeñon started for the lower end of the island, but in a
short time he heard the song of the old man. Turning around, he saw him
sailing back to the mainland. Hodadeñon called to him, but received no
reply. The old man, however, called out to the creatures in the lake,
“If the man on the island tries to swim, eat him at once,” and great
hoarse voices out of the water answered, “We will.”

While standing and watching the canoe going over the lake, Hodadeñon
heard a voice near him, saying, “Oh, my nephew! come to me.” Hodadeñon
went toward the spot whence came the sound of the voice; when he drew
near it, he found nothing but a pile of bones covered with moss. The
bones asked, “Do you think, nephew, that you are going to die?” “I do,”
answered Hodadeñon. The bones, answering, said: “There is a maneater, a
cannibal, coming to-night to kill you, but do me a favor, and I will
tell you how to save yourself. Go to that great tree and bring me my
pouch, and let me smoke, and I will explain all to you.” Going after
the pouch, as directed, Hodadeñon brought it to his uncle; then cutting
up tobacco, he filled the pipe and lighted it for his uncle. When the
latter began to use the pipe, smoke issued from all the orifices in his
skull—from the eyeless sockets, the nostrils, the ear openings, and the
sutures. When the uncle had finished he asked Hodadeñon to take the
pouch back to the place whence he had brought it, whereupon Hodadeñon
returned it to the pile of bones. Then the voice from the bones said:
“You must go now to cut red willows for material for making manikins
and bows and arrows. Run from here to various places on the island; put
the manikins in crotches high up in the trees far from one another.
Give each manikin a bow and arrow, and when you place each one, say to
it, ‘Shoot the dog when it comes.’ When you have put up a number of
these come back to me. Then you must go out with manikins a second
time; and when you have set these up you must return to me; and you
must go out a third time with manikins. When putting up these you must
instruct them to shoot the dogs; after doing this, you must return to
me. From here you must go to the end of the island, where you must step
into the water and walk along in it until you come to an overhanging
cliff, which is opposite the landing place. There they can not find
you.”

Hodadeñon did as his uncle, the bones, advised him to do. When the
manikins were all completed and placed in their places he went to the
overhanging bank and there hid himself.

At evening came the Ongwe Ias [83] in a canoe; he landed on the island.
He was accompanied by three dogs, which he urged at once to find the
game, Hodadeñon, who now heard the hue and cry of the pursuit. Starting
from the bones, they went to the tree where the pouch was hidden and
thence returned. Then they went on farther until they came to the tree
on which was placed the first manikin. The Ongwe Ias followed his dogs
closely, singing as he ran, “There are no dogs like mine; there are no
dogs like mine.” Suddenly the dogs stopped, and the Ongwe Ias saw a boy
in the tree pointing an arrow at one of them. At once shooting an arrow
at the supposed boy, he brought him down. As the dogs sprang forward to
seize the falling manikin, the Ongwe Ias shouted at them, “Do not eat
the body! Do not eat the body!” But when he was able to see what he had
killed, he found that the dogs were tearing nothing but red willow
twigs. Then he was very angry and, calling off his dogs, he urged them
to follow the tracks elsewhere.

It was not long before the dogs found another tree on which there was a
manikin with drawn bow and arrow. When Ongwe Ias saw it, he exclaimed,
“Oh! he will kill one of my dogs;” thereupon he shot an arrow, which
brought down the manikin. The dogs, rushing at the falling body, seized
it, but the Ongwe Ias shouted at them, “Do not eat the flesh! Do not
eat the flesh!” as he hurried forward to take it from the dogs. When he
saw that they were throwing only bits of red willow from their mouths
he was indeed very angry; but he set the dogs on the trail again.

They ran on with Ongwe Ias following them closely. After a while he
heard them growling fiercely and found that they had stopped at a pile
of bones. Seizing his club, Ongwe Ias pounded the bones, saying, “I
have eaten your flesh long ago and still you try to deceive me.” Then,
calling his dogs, he set them on the trail made by Hodadeñon when he
went to put up the second lot of manikins. The dogs ran around with
Ongwe Ias closely following them and singing, “There are no dogs like
mine; there are no dogs like mine.” It was not long before they came to
a manikin in the crotch of a tree. Seeing the drawn bow and arrow Ongwe
Ias said, “Oh, he will kill one of my dogs.” At that instant the
manikin shot an arrow and one of the dogs dropped dead. Then Ongwe Ias
shot an arrow into the manikin, which fell to the ground. He shouted at
the dogs, “Do not eat the flesh! Do not eat the flesh!” Thereupon they
let the body go, but he found that it was made merely of bits of red
willow.

Starting again on the trail, the dogs ran around for a long time in
every direction over the island. Finally Ongwe Ias heard the two
surviving dogs barking fiercely; they were at the bones again. Coming
up, he shouted: “Why do you deceive me? Long ago I ate your flesh. Why
do you trouble me now?” and, seizing his club, he pounded the bones
savagely.

A third time he set out with his two dogs on a trail. The dogs followed
this until they came to a tree in which was a manikin. This figure shot
one of the dogs, killing it. Then Ongwe Ias shot the manikin, which
fell to the ground a mass of rotten wood.

At this time day began to dawn. The Ongwe Ias said to himself, “I shall
go home now. When it is night again I shall return and I shall be sure
of the game.” So bringing his dead dogs to life and taking them into
his canoe he sailed away.

Hodadeñon in his hiding place heard the chasing during the entire
night, the barking of the dogs and the shouting of the Ongwe Ias; also
the sounds made by the club striking his uncle, the bones. When
daylight had come and all was quiet Hodadeñon, emerging from his hiding
place, returned to his uncle, who welcomed him with the words: “Well,
my nephew, you are alive yet. So will you now go to bring my pouch to
me, and let me have a smoke, and I will tell you then what to do next.”
Hodadeñon quickly fetched the pouch and filled the pipe with tobacco
and, lighting it, he placed it in the mouth of his uncle, who smoked
with great pleasure, letting the smoke come out of every suture in his
skull and through its eye sockets and nose and ear openings. The uncle
said to his nephew, “I thank you for this smoke. Now take the pouch
back, and when you return we will talk over our troubles.” Hodadeñon
carefully concealed the pouch, and when he returned to his uncle he was
ready to hear what he must do next.

The uncle then said to him, “Now go to the place where the canoe of
Ongwe Ias usually makes a landing; there dig a hole in the shore and
bury yourself in the sand, leaving only the tip of your nose out. When
Shagowenotha lands and hurries away to the opposite side of the island,
you must get up quickly and board the canoe and have the ducks paddle
you back to the mainland. So, nephew, take courage and you will win.”

While Hodadeñon was covering himself he heard Shagowenotha singing to
the ducks as they paddled him over the water. Soon he heard the canoe
ground on the sandy shore and a voice saying, “I shall now go to the
place where my nephew has spilled his blood.” Paying strict attention
to the advice of his uncle, the bones, Hodadeñon knew exactly what to
do next. As soon as Shagowenotha was out of sight Hodadeñon arose
quickly, and, calling the ducks, he pushed the canoe back into the
water; then he began to sing, “Now we paddle, my ducks; now we paddle,
my ducks.” The ducks paddled so swiftly that the canoe fairly flew over
the water. The canoe was far out on the lake when Ongwe Ias saw it. At
once he rushed to the beach and called out, “Let me get aboard! Let me
get aboard!”

Hodadeñon heard but paid no attention to this entreaty; on the
contrary, turning to the monsters dwelling in the depths of the lake,
he said, “If Shagowenotha should try to swim after me, do you devour
him.” Then from the water came a confusion of voices saying hoarsely,
“It shall be done; it shall be done.”

Shagowenotha ran up and down the shore, but he could not make his
escape. When night came he climbed a tall tree. With the coming of
thick darkness the Ongwe Ias came with his three dogs—he had restored
to life the two that had been killed by the manikins—and he began at
once to chase around with them to find traces of Hodadeñon, for he
thought that he was still on the island. At last the dogs led him to
the tree in which Shagowenotha had sought shelter. The dogs barked
furiously at Shagowenotha in the tree. When Ongwe Ias came up
Shagowenotha cried out, “Oh, do not shoot me! I am Shagowenotha.” Ongwe
Ias tauntingly replied, “You may call yourself Shagowenotha, but you
can not fool me,” and let fly an arrow at the Shagowenotha, who tumbled
to the ground dead. Then Ongwe Ias carried off the body and cast it
into the canoe, after which he paddled away.

The next morning Hodadeñon said, “Now I shall go to the lodge of Ongwe
Ias.” Pushing the canoe out from the shore, he began to sing for the
ducks, which came and paddled the canoe until almost evening, when
Hodadeñon saw woods on the shore and a lodge standing near the water.
Bringing the canoe to the beach, he hid it under the water; then he
said to the ducks, “You may go your way until I call for you.” A woman
came out of the lodge carrying two pieces of bark, and called to
Hodadeñon to remain in the water, where he had sunk the canoe. Going to
him, she placed a piece of bark at the water’s edge, telling Hodadeñon
to step on it; then putting down the next piece of bark, she asked him
to step on that. Then she put the first piece before the second, and
then the second before the first, and Hodadeñon kept stepping on bark
until at last he reached the lodge without leaving a single track on
the ground. When they were in the lodge Hodadeñon said to the woman: “I
have come after you. I am your brother. What will you do?” She replied,
“I will go with you, but you must remain here until midday to-morrow.”
Under her couch was a smaller one, in which she put her brother; then
replacing her own over it, she sat on the top.

Soon the yelping of the dogs told of the arrival of Ongwe Ias, and his
footsteps were heard. When the first dog came in, with his mouth open,
the woman threw a bone into it, and afterward hit him on the head. The
Ongwe Ias at once shouted at her, “Oh, you have killed my dog.” In
reply she asked, “Why do they run at me as they do? I have done nothing
to them.” Calling them off, he said, “I have had bad luck to-day. I
have found nothing but a small cub.” Thereupon he prepared his game,
which he cooked with pounded corn. When he had finished eating it he
said, “My food was very tender and good, and now I shall take a smoke.”
Soon he added, “It seems to me, my niece, that you have two breaths.”
She answered sharply: “That is too much to say. You might as well kill
me. You should not talk that way.”

The next morning Ongwe Ias said: “I shall not go hunting on that island
again. I shall go to the other side of the country.” Then he went away,
much to the relief of his prisoners.

After he had been gone some time the woman said, “He must be at his
destination by this time, so you may come out.” Hodadeñon came out from
under the couch and went with the woman to the lake. There he raised
the canoe; getting aboard, the two paddled away as quickly as possible.
When they had reached the middle of the lake they suddenly heard Ongwe
Ias shouting to them, “You can not escape from me! You can not escape
from me!” Running into the lodge, he seized a hook and line, which he
hurled at Hodadeñon, at the same time saying, “Catch the canoe!” At
once the hook did so and Ongwe Ias was pulling the canoe swiftly back
to shore. Suddenly the woman saw that the forest on the shore seemed to
be coming nearer and nearer, and then she saw the hook and line and
Ongwe Ias at the other end of the line. She screamed to Hodadeñon to
break the hook. This he quickly did and they were again free; thereupon
they speedily paddled back to the middle of the lake. Then Ongwe Ias,
in a great rage, screaming, “You shall not escape from me,” started to
run along the bottom of the lake toward his intended victims; but at
the moment he was at the bottom Hodadeñon said, “Let there be ice all
over the lake so thick that nothing can break through it, and let our
canoe be on the top of the ice.”

When Ongwe Ias thought that he was under the canoe he sprang upward
toward the surface with all his might, striking the ice with such force
that it cracked all over the lake. The force of the blow crushed the
head of Ongwe Ias, so that he died.

At once Hodadeñon willed that the ice melt away as rapidly as it had
formed. When the ice was gone he and his sister paddled to the shore.
On landing, they traveled on homeward. When they reached home they
entered the lodge by the western doorway; then going around by the way
of the south to the eastern side, Hodadeñon took his sister to the last
couch, which was at the northwestern corner, where he seated her. The
family was now complete and happy.





42. THE UNCLE AND HIS NEPHEW

An uncle and his nephew lived together in a bark lodge in the woods.
They had no neighbors.

The uncle went every day to hunt and to dig wild potatoes. During the
day and evening the boy sat by the fire and parched corn to eat. Though
the uncle brought home plenty of good potatoes, he gave his nephew only
small, poor ones to eat.

The nephew wondered why they were always alone, so he asked his uncle
whether there were other people living in that region. In reply the
uncle said: “Far off in the west there are people powerful in sorcery,
who took all our tribe captive except us two. This is the reason we are
alone and have no neighbors.”

Then the boy wondered why his uncle gave him such small, poor potatoes
to eat. He saw his uncle put large ones into the pot, but in the
morning only small ones were left. So one night the nephew made a hole
in the skin cover under which he slept, to watch his uncle. Toward
midnight he saw his uncle get up and strike a light, and then going to
an old couch in the corner of the lodge, in which no one seemingly
slept, raise the top and call out a young man, who was beautiful to
look upon, strong, and active. Both the uncle and the strange young man
sat down by the fire. The potatoes, covered with moss, were simmering
over the flames. The uncle uncovered them, picked out the best for his
nephew, and brought him also meat and other food. After they had eaten
heartily, the uncle sang and kept time for the young man with a turtle
rattle while the latter danced. The little boy looked intently all the
time at the young man, saying to himself, “I suppose that is my
brother; now we will have some fun.” After the young man had finished
dancing the uncle put him under the couch again and, banking the fire,
lay down on his own couch.

The next morning, as soon as the uncle had gone to hunt and to dig
potatoes, the little boy went to the couch, and raising the corner of
the cover, said, “Come out! come out here! brother, to me.” “Oh, no!”
said the young man, “I can not go out in the daytime; those women off
there in the west, the Wadiʻoniondies, would hear me.” “Oh, never mind;
they will not hear you,” said the boy. “Oh, yes; they will hear me, and
the moment I come out they will carry me off. They do not know now that
I am here, but the moment I make a noise they will hear it and will
come for me.” The little follow teased and begged so hard, however,
that his brother came out at last. After eating together, one danced
and then the other, until at last the young man heard the women calling
in the distance, “Ween, Ween.” Instantly the elder brother, jumping
under the couch, covered himself.

All this time the little boy kept shaking the rattle and dancing with
all his might. Soon two women appeared from the west, sailing in a
canoe through the air. “Oh! where is he?” cried they. “Your brother!
where is he?” said one of the women. “I have only an uncle, who is old.
He is now off hunting,” said the boy. “There is somebody here with you
in the lodge,” said one of the women. “Oh, no!” said the boy, “I am
alone.” “Oh! you little rogue, you lie,” said the woman. “If I should
lie, that is my business,” answered the child. “Well, we will let you
off this time, but you shall suffer if you lie again to us.”

In the evening when the old uncle came home, he inquired what he had
been doing. “Have you found a brother?” he asked. “I have no brother,
have I?” asked the little boy. “Was not there anyone here to-day?”
queried the uncle. “No,” said the lad. “Well, what did those women come
for? I heard them,” said the uncle. “There was no one here,” said the
child. The uncle said no more.

The next morning, when going off to hunt, the uncle said, “You would
better go out of doors to play, instead of turning everything upside
down in the lodge; go out of doors to play.” His uncle had scarcely
disappeared when the boy ran to his brother, begging him to come out,
until at last he did so. Again they amused themselves; but in the midst
of the dancing the elder brother heard two of the women coming. “Now,”
said he, “I must go; there is no use to hide or to deny that I am here.
I must go.” Presently the two women arrived in their canoe, which,
grazing the top of the lodge, came to the ground. The elder brother got
into the canoe, and away they went to the west.

When the uncle came home at night he was bowed down with grief, for he
knew what had happened. He sat down, crying bitterly. “Oh! do not cry
so, uncle,” said his little nephew; “do not cry; I will go and bring
him back.” Running out quickly, he gathered a lot of red-willow twigs,
from which he scraped the bark. On throwing this into the fire
straightway a thick column of smoke rose and shot off toward the west.
Jumping into the smoke, the boy was borne away after his brother. He
overtook the canoe when it was about halfway to its destination in the
west. The youth in the canoe knew that his little brother was following
to rescue him. One of the women was sitting in the bow of the canoe
paddling, while the other sat in the stern steering. The young man
turned to look at his little brother, whereupon one of the women in the
canoe struck him on the side of the head with the paddle, crying out:
“Sit still! do not look around.” As she struck him he turned his head
slightly, so as to look again; he saw that his brother, on noticing the
blow, sprang forward and jumped into the canoe, shouting: “Do not
strike my brother.” Then he cried: “Let this boat turn around and take
my brother home.” Instantly the canoe, turning around in spite of all
that the women could do, sailed back faster than it had come.

As they were nearing the uncle’s lodge the women begged the little boy
to let his brother go with them, saying: “We will give you whatever you
wish, only let him go.” He thought of what he might ask in payment for
letting his brother go again. Then the young woman inquired: “Is there
anything we might give to induce you to let him go?” He said: “Yes; if
each of you will give me her sexual organ for a moccasin, I will let
him go.” On their consenting, he cut out with his knife what he wanted
and put the moccasins on his feet; they fitted well. Immediately he was
at home.

In answer to his old uncle’s inquiry he said: “I brought my brother
home, but let him go again; the women gave me these beautiful moccasins
to get him back. I can do everything with them.” After a few days the
little boy had such power because of his moccasins that he told his
uncle how the women were tormenting his brother, and that he was
resolved to rescue him. Bringing a lot of red-willow twigs, he scraped
off the bark, which he threw on the fire. Then jumping into the rising
smoke, he shot off toward the west, where he came down at the edge of a
clearing in a great wood. Just opposite, at the other end, was a Long
Lodge, and at the right hand, at the edge of the wood, was a small
lodge, in which a grandmother lived with three grandchildren, a boy and
two girls.

After thinking a while, he said, “I will go over to the little lodge.”
Going there he met a boy of his own age and size, just like himself in
every way; half of his hair (the crown) was black and half (the sides)
red. “Oh! how do you do?” said the strange little boy. “Who are you?
You must be my brother?” The boys looked at each other, and seeing that
they were just about the same size they became brothers. “Now, you will
come and live here with me, little boy,” said the lad; “I have two
sisters and a grandmother; my grandmother has gone out.”

When the old woman came home the little boy said, “I have a brother
here; he is going to live with us.” “How could he live with us, we are
so poor?” said the grandmother. “I think he can; he is poor himself and
will be satisfied with what you have to give him,” replied the lad. At
last she consented to let him stay. The other boy, drawing near the old
woman, asked: “Are you going to the chief’s lodge? Have you heard what
is going on there?” “Oh, yes!” said the old woman; “the chief’s two
daughters brought a man from the east, from that great wampum people;
they hung him up last night and made him cry. His tears are wampum.
Tonight they will do the same thing.” “Can we not go over there?” asked
the boy. “I suppose so,” said his grandmother; “I will get some
wampum.”

When evening came the old woman, her grandchildren, and the little boy
went to the Long Lodge. The people had already assembled, and the man
was hanging from a post. The two sisters were sitting on couches, one
on each side. The boy said to his friend, “Now we will get some dry
rushes to light the pipes of the chiefs and of the people standing
around, if they will let us in.”

When the old woman came to the Long Lodge she asked whether she might
not have a chance to get some wampum. They asked the chief, who said,
“Yes; she is a good woman. Let her have a chance, too.” “My little
grandson and his friend,” said the old woman, “will come in and carry
lights to those who want to smoke.” “Oh, yes,” said the chief, “let the
little boys come.”

As they went into the lodge the young man who was tied to the post
smiled when he saw his brother. All who saw him wondered what the man
was smiling at. Presently the chief gave orders to apply the
firebrands. Thereupon they burned him on one side and then on the
other; he cried bitterly, and as the tears fell they turned into wampum
beads, falling in a shower. All the people ran to collect the wampum,
and the old grandmother got some too. After the man had cried a while
they rested and smoked.[84] When the order was given to begin the
torture a second time, the little brother gave one moccasin to his
friend and kept the other himself. As they were about to begin the
burning he said to the boy, “Now stick your foot into the fire.” When
he did so, one of the sisters screamed, as though in the agony of
death, and never stopped until the boy took out his foot. All the
people wondered what was the matter, but she would not tell.

Again, as they were going to apply the fire to the man, the little
nephew put his foot into the fire and the other sister screamed in
terrible pain. After they had gotten some wampum and rested, the boy
said, “Let them all sleep soundly.” His grandmother and the little boy
went outside with his friend, and the grandmother said, too, “Let them
all sleep soundly.” When all were asleep the lad cut down his brother,
whom he took outside; then, walking around the lodge, he said, “Let
this lodge be turned into flint and let it become red-hot.” At once
this came to pass and all within the lodge were burned up. “Now,” said
the boy, “I think you would better come home with me, grandmother; you
would be a good wife for my uncle.”

All went to the uncle’s lodge, where they found him crying for his lost
nephew. He had been tormented by foxes, who had knocked at the door,
saying, “We have come, uncle.” After the nephews and the rest of the
company had come into the old uncle’s lodge, a fox who did not know of
the new arrivals knocked at the door, saying, “Uncle, I have come.”
“Let him in,” said the boy, while all hid themselves. On coming in the
fox ran toward the fire to get ashes to throw into the old man’s face,
but the boy caught him. Saying, “Oh, you rascal! I will fix you now,”
he tied together the fox’s forelegs with a bark rope and hung him up;
thereupon the tears came out of his eyes, his face and—[Here the story
ends abruptly.]





43. HINON SAVES A WOMAN FROM SUICIDE

In a certain village a young man and a young woman were married. Soon
after their marriage they set out on a hunting expedition. After
traveling some distance they came to a dense wood, where they stopped
and built a brush lodge. Every morning the young man, leaving his wife
at the lodge, always with the warning not to sleep during the day, went
out in pursuit of game.

One afternoon, coming back earlier than usual, the young man found her
asleep. He saw a great rattlesnake among the skins on which she lay.
While trying to pull the snake away, it disappeared into her body
through her pudendum. When she awoke the young man, without saying
anything of what had occurred, proposed that they should go back to the
village, as he was tired of hunting. On reaching home, he told his wife
to go her way and he would go his.

Not long after this she married another man. On the following morning
her new husband was found dead. She soon married still another man, who
was also found dead on the morning after the marriage. Her people then
resolved to find out from the first husband why he had put her away.
After much persuasion he told them why, saying, “While hunting I often
asked her never to sleep in the daytime, but one afternoon on returning
to my camp I found her asleep; there was also a rattlesnake in the bed,
which, when I tried to drive it away, disappeared into her body.”

The mother of the young woman told her what they had heard from the
first husband. She was so ashamed and troubled that she determined to
kill herself by going over Niagara Falls. Getting into her canoe a mile
or so above the Falls, she pushed out into the middle of the river. The
mother followed her, but too late to stop her daughter. As the canoe
neared the Falls the latter, lying down and covering her face with her
mantle, disappeared over the brink. But Hinon, who dwells under the
Falls, taking the young woman from the water, carried her to his home,
where he prepared medicine which he gave to her; then, looking at her,
he raised her by the shoulders and let her down on her feet. The second
time he did this a dead snake dropped out of her person on the ground.
Hinon said, “I am glad to see this snake. Now I shall have something to
eat.” Roasting the snake on the hot coals of his hearth he ate it.

The young woman lived with Hinon for some time. As she could not eat
his food, he often brought ears of corn, saying, “Here is some corn
from your mother’s field.” Then he would bring a roasted squash with
the words, “I brought this from your mother’s coals,” having taken it
from her fireside.

They lived in this way until the woman was far advanced in pregnancy.
Then Hinon said to some of his companions, “It is now time to deliver
this woman to her mother. You must take her only to her mother’s
field.” So, taking her to the field, they left her. Soon she heard some
one crying, and then she saw her mother. The mother was frightened, but
she stopped crying and called out, “Are you in your natural life?” The
young woman assured her that she was, and together they went to the
mother’s lodge. Not long after her arrival there the young woman gave
birth to a boy.

When the boy was large enough to run around they often heard Hinon
coming, and then it would rain very hard. The boy would go out into the
storm and he would be gone some time, but when he came back he would be
perfectly dry. At last he said, “The next time my father comes I shall
go away with him, and not return.” So he went and he was never seen
again; but he is always with his father, and it is he who thunders in
the sharp voice of a young man.





44. THE CRAWFISH AND THE RACCOON

The chief of the Crawfish settlement one day told his people that he
was going about to inspect things and to see if the Ongwe Ias was
around.

Starting out, he went to every lodge; he found that every one was in
and well. On his way home, as he was walking along the edge of the
water he found what he judged to be the body of Ongwe Ias. “Oh! this is
good luck,” said he; “I will go and tell all the people to come to see
Ongwe Ias lying here dead.” So he invited all to turn out and see their
enemy, whom he supposed was dead.

The whole multitude came and saw the Ongwe Ias lying on the ground with
his face black and covered with flies. One of them went up and pinched
his lips hard, but he did not move. Then saying, “We will sing a song
of rejoicing,” they formed in a circle around the Ongwe Ias to dance.
While they were dancing and singing, all at once their enemy, the Ongwe
Ias, springing up, ate the whole tribe except two or three who escaped.
The Ongwe Ias knew the fondness of the Crawfish for dead meat of any
kind, so his ruse was successful in providing him with a meal.





45. THE RACE BETWEEN THE TURTLE AND THE BEAR

There was once an old man going along slowly but surely by himself.
After traveling some distance he met another man, who asked him, “Where
are you going?” “Oh, I am going east to see the people,” the old man
replied. “You will never get there; it is so far away, and you are too
fat for the road,” answered the stranger. Thereupon they parted
company.

Soon the old man met another person, a slender young man, who asked,
“Where are you going?” “I am going to the east to see how people live
in that region,” answered the old man. “You can not get there; you are
too fat, and so you can not travel so far,” said the young man. “How do
you keep so fat?” “Well, when I come to a village and find people lying
around, I bore a hole in each one I like and suck the fat out; that is
the way to get fat,” said the old man. “I must try this plan. I am so
lean that I must try to get fat,” said the other.

Each went his own road. Soon the thin man came to an opening, or
clearing, in the forest, where he found an animal lying asleep at the
edge of the woods. Crawling up to it carefully he tried to make a hole
in its body near the tail, in order to suck out the fat. But the
animal, springing up, hit him a great blow with his heels and ran off.
“I shall pay that old man the next time I meet him,” said the slim man.

Going on farther he met the fat old fellow again. “How do you get so
fat?” asked the slim man. “Oh, I do it by eating fish,” said the old
man; “I put my tail through a hole in the ice, and when a fish bites I
pull him out and eat him. That is how I get fat.” “I will try that
plan,” said the slim young man. He went on until he came to where there
was a good place to fish. Making a hole in the ice, he stuck his tail
through and waited until it was frozen in; then he pulled until his
tail came off.

The young man went on his way and was magically changed into another
kind of person through losing his tail. He traveled around until the
next summer, when again he met the old man. “Where are you going?” he
asked of the latter. “I am going east,” said the old man. “You will
never get there; you are so fat you can not travel fast enough. You
would better run a race with me.” “Very well,” said the fat man; “you
may run on land but I will run on water. We will run to-morrow.”

The fat man collected a great number of his people, whom he posted in
the river all along the course to the starting place, telling each one
to stick up his head when the land runner had come almost up to him. As
was customary in the contests of great sorcerers, the wager in this
race was the head of the loser.

The racers started. The slim young man ran with all his might, but
every little while the fat man, as he thought, stuck his head out of
the water in advance of him. When he returned to the starting place the
fat man was there before him. “You have won the race,” said the young
man. “Of course I have,” said the fat man, and seizing the young fellow
by the neck he led him to a stone where he cut off his head.

Then the fat man’s friends, all coming out of the water, went to the
starting place. When they looked at the dead land runner they said:
“Oh, what a fool! Oh, what a fool!”

Now, the old man, the water runner, was a mud turtle. The land runner
was a bear, but he had been a fox until he lost his tail in the ice.
Bears are all stub-tailed since the fox lost his tail in the ice.





46. THE WOMAN WHO BECAME A MANEATER THROUGH THE ORENDA OF HER
HUSBAND’S DOGS

There was once a man who, in company with his wife and little daughter,
went hunting in a distant region. Having arrived at his destination,
the man built a brush lodge in the woods. Every day he went in pursuit
of game.

The man had three dogs, who were his brothers, and of whom he was fond.
He shared his food with them and felt bad if they were ill-used. When
he left them at home he always told his wife to feed them well and to
take good care of them, but in spite of this she abused the dogs; no
matter how long he was away, she would give them nothing to eat. At
last, the smallest of the three dogs told the man how badly they were
treated, saying, “Our sister-in-law never gives us anything to eat;
whatever she cooks, she herself eats; if you will watch her, you will
see how it is.” When her husband was around the woman was kind to the
dogs in order to deceive him. The little dog, however, told him all
that happened in the lodge while he was away hunting.

Now, the little dog was fond of good things; so one night he said to
his brothers, “I will get some food without asking, if only you will
help me.” He had noticed that the woman kept food for herself, which
she hid under the skins on which she slept, and had seen her hide there
a skin bag of roasted corn. He said further to his brothers, “You are
large and strong and can get it while she is asleep.” “No,” said the
large dog; “we are heavy and awkward, and we would only awaken her; but
you are light and small, and so can lie down by her without being
noticed.” “Very well; I will try,” was the little dog’s answer to this.

So at midnight, when all were sound asleep, the little dog, making his
way to the bag of roasted corn hidden under the woman’s head, pulled it
carefully until he got it out. The large dogs had drawn the door flap
aside for him, and all three, well pleased, ran off toward the spring,
where they could obtain water to wash down the roasted corn. The little
dog said to one of his brothers, “You can carry the bag now.” In taking
it he tore it open, when they found it was merely a pouch of roots,
bark, and leaves instead of a bag of corn; so they had got into trouble
for nothing. Then the large dog said, “The safest way for us is to
carry this bag back, and you who got it must return it.” So, taking it
back, the little dog placed it with the torn side down, near the
woman’s head. The next morning when the woman shook the skins she found
the pouch torn and laid the blame on the mice.

A few days after this the little dog said to the man, “We are going to
punish our sister-in-law for the bad treatment she gives us.” The man
decided that he would say nothing, and that they might punish her if
they wished. The next morning he said to his dogs, “You must stay at
home, for I shall be away all night.” After he had gone the woman began
cooking, and the little dog watched all her movements. When she took
the meat down his mouth watered for a piece of it. The dogs sat around
watching her as she cut it up, but she did not give them even a
mouthful. It so chanced that she cut her finger badly and was not able
to stanch the bleeding. In attempting to do so she even thrust the
finger into her mouth and began sucking it. She found that she liked
the taste of her own blood, and later even the meat she was cooking did
not taste so good. So she sucked all the blood out of that finger; then
she cut another finger and sucked that, for she had forgotten all about
the cooking. Next she cut one arm and sucked it, then the other; then
one leg and then the other. Finally, when she had sucked all the blood
out of her body, she cut off her flesh, piece after piece, and ate it.
The dogs sat around watching her, and her little girl also was looking
on. After she had eaten all her own flesh she seized her daughter and,
though the child cried and begged for mercy, the unnatural mother,
paying no heed to her pleadings, killed her and ate her.

Then the woman ran off in the direction her husband had taken. Suddenly
the hunter heard something behind him. Turning, he saw the little dog,
who said to him: “I have come to tell you that your wife has become a
man-eater; she has eaten the flesh off her own body and has eaten your
child, and is now on your trail. We must run for our lives. We will go
to the settlement and you must tell the people to leave the place and
run, for one is following us who will devour them all. Those who
believe you will escape, but those who do not will die. We must run
with all speed, for she is following us fast.”

Now, it was through the orenda of the dogs and their influence that the
woman had become a man-eater.

When they reached the settlement, the man told the people of their
danger. Some escaped, but the woman quickly ate all who remained. Again
she followed on her husband’s trail. The little dog told the man when
the woman reached the settlement, and soon after said, “Now do your
best, for she is coming with greater speed than before; we are near a
large river.” The fugitives reached the river and the man, making a
small raft, quickly got on it with his dogs. He was in the middle of
the stream when the woman reached the bank and called out, “Your flesh
is mine. I am going to eat it.” Thereupon she made a great leap with
the intention of landing on the raft, but missing it, she was drowned.
After the fugitives had crossed the river and had given thanks for
their escape, the little dog said, “We shall soon come to a village,
and you must do my bidding.”

When they came to an opening or clearing in the forest they saw near by
a wretched-looking lodge, and the little dog said, “We are going there;
a couple of poor old people live in that lodge.” On entering, the
hunter asked the old man of the lodge whether he could stay with him
for a short time. The old man answered: “It is difficult to grant your
request. We have as much as we can do to live ourselves.” “It is true,”
said the man, “you are very poor; so are we. I am not in search of a
good home. I am looking for people in my own circumstances.” “Very
well,” said the old man, “you can stay with us, but the chief of the
place knows already that you have come; he has great magic power and I
am afraid that he will take your life.”

Some time passed. Every night the old man would spend a long time in
relating the history of the chief and the people. As the visiting man
was a good hunter, he brought in much game and soon the old man’s lodge
was full of meat. After a while the old man said, “We have decided to
adopt you, and you shall be one of our children.”

The chief knew that there was a stranger in the place, and the old man
said: “He will be here in two days; he is coming to see who is with us.
He will tell you that he is your uncle, and will challenge you to a
foot race. You must ask for two days’ time for preparation.” “Very
well,” said the man, and as usual he started off to hunt. His dog
seemed to know where all the bears were. When he had killed as many as
he wanted he went home. The old man said, “The chief has been here, and
he challenges you to a foot race.”

When the time came for the race, the old man and his wife and
granddaughter started for the race course. The man had said to him, “I
will come as soon as I can make my preparations.” The second dog
volunteered to take the man’s place in the race, but the little one
said, “You stay at home and I will do the hunting”; and to the man he
said, “Take off your garments and let me have them.” When the dog had
put on the garments, he looked just like the man. The other dog said to
the man, “We will go off hunting while he is doing the running.” The
hunter and the dog were very happy, for they knew that their little
brother would win the race.

When the people had assembled on the race course and the old man saw
his supposed son coming, he said, “See how well our son is prepared for
the race.” They saw no difference whatever between the person before
them and their adopted son. There were many people present, for the
village seemed to be very large. Meanwhile the hunter who had accepted
the challenge was off in the woods. One of the dogs said to him, “They
are now ready to start. They have started.” Though far off in the
woods, the dogs seemed to see everything. All at once they called out:
“Owe! Owe! Our brother has won the race. Did we not tell you that he
would never be outrun? Now we may as well go home.” So they started
homeward. They had been at the lodge but a short time when the runner
came in, and, taking off the garments of the hunter, who then put them
on again, the three dogs laid down by the fire.

It is said that during the race the chief, seeing that he was
outstripped, threw a horn after the dog-man, which stuck into his foot.
While the dog-man was trying to pull out the horn, the chief passed
him, calling, “What are you doing there? Get up!” By the time the
dog-man had drawn the horn out of his foot, his enemy was near the
goal. But, springing up, he threw the horn at his enemy; it stuck into
the chief’s foot, causing him to fall to the ground. Then the dog-man
ran ahead, calling out, “Why do you not get up? You can not sit there
and beat me.” But before the chief could pull out the horn, the dog-man
had passed the goal.

When the old man came home he said to his son, “I thank you for
outrunning your enemy; there has never been anyone to outrun him; all
have been beaten. Since the wager was heads, you can take his life
whenever you wish.” Then he asked the man whether he had done his best.
“No,” said he, “I used about half my strength.” “Very well,” said the
old man; “he has another game to propose; he will never stop proposing
trials of strength, skill, or speed until he has taken your life. To be
beaten this time makes him very angry; in two days he will challenge
you to play ball with him.” “All right,” replied the man, “I am ready
to meet him.”

In two days they saw the chief coming, and as he entered the lodge, he
said: “I am sick for a game of ball, and I challenge you to play a game
against me; you won in one game, so now try another. I will wager all I
have, and if you win, you shall be chief in my place.” The man replied:
“I also am sick from lack of amusement and I accept your challenge. I
have never met the man who could beat me in a game of ball. But give me
time. You have come unexpectedly, and I must make a ball club.” “Very
well,” said the chief, going away.

The bent ball club the hunter hung up to season, and the old man made
strings; the next day they netted the club. They were ready just in
time to go to the ball ground. The time appointed for the game was at
midday, and the old man and woman said, “We shall now start.” “Very
well; I shall come soon,” said the adopted son. Then the little dog
said, “Let it be our eldest brother who shall take part in this game.”
So the man removed his garments, and the dog put them on; there he
stood, looking just like the man. The little dog said, “We shall surely
win the game.” The hunter and the other dogs went to the woods to hunt,
while the dog-man went to the ball ground.

The chief was on the spot watching impatiently for the man. At last he
saw him coming, with his long hair tied back; he carried his club well
and looked splendid. The old man, supposing it was his son, said: “Now,
you must use all your strength and must not be beaten.” The dog-man saw
that his antagonist was walking around in the crowd, with a very proud
and haughty manner. The dog-man seemed very mild and without strength
enough for the game.

Seeing that it was time to begin, the people fell back and gave room to
the players. When the word was given the players came forward, and the
chief said: “I will take my place on this side.” “No; you shall not,”
said the other; “you gave the challenge, and I will choose my place.”
The chief had to yield, the dog-man choosing the side the chief wanted.
They then began to play. “Now,” said the little dog to the hunter in
the woods, “our brother has begun the game, which will be a very close
contest.” Soon he said: “The chief’s ball has missed the goal; they
play well; our brother has caught and sent the ball back. Oh! now he
has won an inning. They will play one more inning.” All at once he
called out: “They have begun again. It is a very close game. Our
brother is having all he can do. We may be beaten, however.” Then he
called out: “Owe! Owe! Our brother has won the game. You are chief, and
all the old chief has is ours.”

As the dog-man had won two straight games, he caught the chief by the
hair and cut his head off. Many of the people thanked him. They said
that the old chief had never spared them; that when he had been the
loser he had always given the people up to slaughter and saved his own
life. The winner seemed to have won many friends among those who
witnessed the game. The little dog said: “Now we shall go home.” They
had been there but a short time when the ball player came in; giving
back the man’s garments, he immediately became a dog again.

When the old people came into the lodge they thanked their son, saying:
“You have done more than anyone else was ever able to do before. You
are the chief now.” As they praised their son they did not know that it
was a dog that had done the work.

The next morning the little dog said: “Let us go to live in the chief’s
lodge.” So the hunter, with the old man and his family, moved into the
new lodge. All the old chief’s things had been left in their places, as
they were part of the wager. Now, as the dogs were so full of orenda,
he became a great chief and had much power and influence among the
people.

[The narrator of the foregoing story said: “It is true that whenever a
person loves a dog he derives great power from it. Dogs still know all
we say, only they are not at liberty to speak. If you do not love a
dog, he has power to injure you by his orenda.”]





47. GANYADJIGOWA [85]

There was a man named Ganyadjigowa who lived in a lodge on a bay
opening into a lake. One morning he went out in a bark canoe to fish,
but catching no fish he came home and put the canoe away. Soon after
this he said, “Well, I must go somewhere,” so he walked along the shore
of the lake until he came to its outlet, where he saw a lodge, which he
entered. Finding no one at home and seeing plenty of meat, he ate what
he wanted, and was starting off with a supply when he saw somebody with
a big load of meat coming up from the lake. This was an old man named
Twentgowa. They met and greeted each other, Ganyadjigowa saying, “I
came to visit you; I have been in your lodge.” “Well, come back with
me,” said Twentgowa.[86] “No, I must go on,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Come
again,” said Twentgowa.

Ganyadjigowa did not go back, because he had stolen some of the meat.
He swam across the outlet of the lake, and, keeping along the bank, he
soon saw another lodge. Peeping into it he saw a large family—two old
people and their children; these were Hongak people. After standing a
while he thought, “I will go in,” and he did so. The inmates greeted
him with, “Where do you come from?” “From the other side of the lake,”
answered Ganyadjigowa. “What do you come for?” they asked him. “Oh! to
look around; it is so pleasant to-day,” Ganyadjigowa replied. “How far
will you go?” he was asked. “Around the lake,” he answered.

The two men became good friends. Then Hongak [87] said, “I must go with
you, my friend.” “Very well,” said Ganyadjigowa, and they started along
the shore. At midday they came to the mouth of a river and Ganyadjigowa
asked, “How can we cross the river?” “Let us swim,” said Hongak; “I
suppose you know how to swim.” “Very well, indeed,” said Ganyadjigowa.
So they swam across the river and then walked on till they saw a rock,
then many rocks. As they went along the path grew narrower and
narrower. Hongak was ahead. Ganyadjigowa picked up a stone, and tying a
bark string around it hung it on Hongak’s back, so that he could not
walk, for he kept slipping back. Ganyadjigowa said to him, “Go on! I am
in a hurry. I want to get home before dark.” “Let me go, then,” said
Hongak; “do not pull me back.” “I am not pulling you back,” replied
Ganyadjigowa; “I will go ahead if you like. Wait and I will pass you.”

When Ganyadjigowa got ahead, he said, “Now, come on!” Hongak could not
go, for he was unable to walk. Ganyadjigowa went on, leaving him
behind. The path grew narrower and narrower until he came to a place
where there was not room to walk, and he thought, “How am I to get by
these rocks?” The name of this place was Heiosdenoon (“the rocks go to
the water”).

Here Ganyadjigowa resolved to go back, but there was not room to turn
around. Then he said, “I must go backward.” After a few steps in this
way, he fell into the water and went under. When he thought he was past
the rocks he came out of the water and walked on again. The sun was
near the horizon and he thought, “When shall I get home?” It was soon
dark. Finding a hollow tree, he crawled into it.

Not long after this Ganyadjigowa heard footsteps in the leaves outside.
The sound stopped at the tree. Ganyadjigowa kept very still. A voice
said, “Well, you are sleeping in here?” “Yes; I am,” replied
Ganyadjigowa. “I want you to come out and talk with me,” was the
challenge. Ganyadjigowa crawled out. There stood Hongak, the man he had
left behind. “Well,” Hongak asked, “do you know who I am?” “Why are you
angry? I thought you wanted to stay. I urged you to come but you would
not,” said Ganyadjigowa. Hongak said: “No. You did something to make me
stop. Look at my back.” The feathers were all off where the stone had
been secured.

Now Hongak began to fight with Ganyadjigowa, who soon ran away, for he
did not want to fight. Speedily overtaking him, Hongak began to fight
again. Ganyadjigowa now grew angry. They fought till dark the next day.
“Let us rest,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Well, you stay here; I will be back
to-morrow,” said Hongak. As soon as Hongak was out of sight
Ganyadjigowa ran away. Coming to a river he decided to try to swim, but
the water ran too swiftly. He was carried downstream into rough water,
where he could not help himself. In the water was a stone against which
he was driven; he thought, “Now I am going to die.” He was on the stone
all night.

Hongak came back in the morning and, not finding his enemy, tracked him
to the water. Then, saying, “I will catch him,” he went into the water
and tried to swim. But the water ran so fast that it carried him down
to the stone where Ganyadjigowa was. Hongak said, “I am going to die
this time.” Ganyadjigowa heard someone talking, and he knew who it was.
Now he tried to get away. After struggling a long time he freed himself
and came to shore. Hongak became filled with water and died. Then his
body floated to shore, whereupon Ganyadjigowa said: “Oh! there is my
friend. Did he think he could kill me? I have more orenda than he had.”
Traveling on, Ganyadjigowa soon got home.

One night he dreamed he was on the way to the west. Coming to a large
opening and looking around, he saw a Ganiagwaihe approaching from the
southeast. He thought, “I am going to die. That bear will eat me.” It
came nearer and nearer. He went back and farther back. Soon from the
northwest came a Djainosgowa.[88] Ganyadjigowa continued going backward
as fast as he could. At last the two animals met and began to fight. He
stood and watched them, wondering which would overcome his antagonist.
As they fought they drew near him. He began to go backward again until
he fell into a hole in the ground, with the two animals on him. Then he
screamed: “Hurry up! Help me! I am going to die under these terrible
creatures.” Awaking, he found himself alone with his skin blankets
wrapped around him; he had rolled off his couch to the floor. He said,
“What a bad dream I have had!”

Falling asleep again, again he dreamed of the same creatures, but
thought they were in the woods and belonged to him. He made them stand
near each other, and, laying a stick across them, he sat on it. Then he
told the animals to go westward; they did so, whereupon he said, “Oh,
this is fun.” They reached the end of the earth very quickly. Then he
jumped off, saying, “Stay here until I come back.” He went south till
he found a lodge; going in, he saw a fine-looking old man. “I have come
to see you; I am traveling around the earth,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Where
do you come from?” asked the old man. “I came from the Great Lake,”
replied Ganyadjigowa. “What do you travel for?” queried the old man.
“Oh, just to see how the earth is and what people are living on it,”
said Ganyadjigowa. “What is your name?” asked the old man. “My name is
Ganyadjigowa,” was the young man’s reply. “What is yours?” “My name is
Djothowandon.[89] My master lives not far away. You must see him before
you visit me,” was the old man’s reply.

Going in the direction pointed out, Ganyadjigowa came to a lodge
standing on a big rock. He stood by the rock, thinking, “How am I going
to get up there?” Then he saw a narrow ledge running around and around;
following this, he came to the lodge. On looking about he saw an old
man sitting by the fire. They greeted each other, the old man saying,
“Why did you come here?” “Just to see all the world,” said
Ganyadjigowa. “Where do you come from?” said the old man. “I came from
the Great Lake,” said Ganyadjigowa. “What is your name?” continued the
occupant of the lodge. “Ganyadjigowa,” the young man declared. “What is
yours?” Ganyadjigowa asked in turn. “I am called Dagwanoenyent,” said
the old man. Then Ganyadjigowa said, “Will you let me visit you?” “Oh,
yes! you can stay with me as long as you like,” said the old man. “I
will stay several days,” said the visitor.

One morning Dagwanoenyent asked, “Would you like to go down to see my
servant?” “Yes; I should like to go,” said Ganyadjigowa. They soon came
to Djothowandon’s lodge, when Dagwanoenyent said, “This is my servant’s
lodge. Let us go in.” On going in Dagwanoenyent said, “My servant is
not at home. I believe he has gone to the southern end of the world.”
Dagwanoenyent said, “A very cross people live there. My servant is
trying to make them peaceful.” “Now you would better go home. Something
will come and chase you if you are down here at midday,” said the old
man. “Very well,” said Ganyadjigowa, starting after his animals.

Soon, on seeing Dahdahwat [90] approaching, Ganyadjigowa tried to hide,
but he could find no place of concealment. Dahdahwat chased him, and,
seizing him, threw him down and began to bite him. Ganyadjigowa could
not get away. He tried so hard that the sweat came out like rain. Then
he awoke. He was all wet and the sun was pouring in on him. He felt sad
and worried about his dreams. About noon, becoming hungry, he said, “I
must take my canoe and try to catch some fish.” He went far out into
the lake, keeping a sharp lookout for fish. Seeing one, he jumped
overboard after it, but could not find it. On seeing another he dived
again—once more, no fish. He looked down again. Yes; there it was. He
looked and looked. Then he found that there was a fish on the right
side of his canoe, the shadow of which was visible down in the water.
He caught the fish, and after eating it started to go home, but he was
far out in the lake and did not know which way he had come. He made way
very fast, however, in the right direction, as he thought, and reached
the shore, but saw no lodge.

Leaving his canoe, he walked toward home, as he supposed. He walked all
day until night. Then he saw a hut in the woods. Going near it, he
stood and listened. There was a man talking in the hut, who said: “This
is the way to get great magic power. I know all about what to do to get
great magic power, and I can show anyone who comes here. I know the
whole world and I can give magic power to whomsoever wants it. I wish
Ganyadjigowa would come. I could show him how strong magically I am. He
thinks he is the strongest man under the Blue Sky.” Ganyadjigowa
thought, “Why does he say this? Does he know that I am the strongest? I
have been all over the world” (he had only dreamed that he had been).
He still listened. Gaasyendietʻha [91] (for this was the name of the
old man) continued: “I am the greatest runner and the greatest flyer in
the world. I can make light go through the world. I have greater
strength magically than anyone else. For several years the Duck people
tried to chase me. I killed them all. I am the man appointed many, many
years ago to be chief of all the people under the Blue Sky.”
Ganyadjigowa said: “I would kill that man if he followed me. He must be
crazy. He talks to himself all the time.”

Then Ganyadjigowa, entering the lodge, said, “You are talking about me,
are you not?” “Oh, no,” replied the strange man. “Well, I will go. I
thought you were talking about me,” repeated Ganyadjigowa.

Going outside the hut, Ganyadjigowa picked up two stones and striking
them together, said, “I would do that way with that man if he came
after me.” Gaasyendietʻha, coming out of the hut, asked, “What are you
saying?” “Oh, I was saying this is the best friend I have,” declared
Ganyadjigowa. “What did you say about the stone?” asked Gaasyendietʻha.
“I said when my friend traveled he had to carry these stones, and if he
went into the water he had to throw them away,” declared Ganyadjigowa.

Half believing what was told him, Gaasyendietʻha went back into the
lodge. Ganyadjigowa laughed and laughed, thinking, “Oh, what a fool he
is! He believes what I say.” Then he went into the hut again.
Gaasyendietʻha said, “Why do you come here? Why do you not go home?”
“Oh, I want to visit you until to-morrow morning,” said Ganyadjigowa.
“No, I do not want such a man as you are around,” declared
Gaasyendietʻha. “I will not trouble you. I will not chase you,” said
Ganyadjigowa. “Go on home! I do not like you. You are too mean,”
Gaasyendietʻha declared. Ganyadjigowa answered, “Oh, no! I am not.”
Gaasyendietʻha said, “Well, stay then; but you must not talk to me.”
“Very well,” said Ganyadjigowa.

Night came. Sitting down by the fire with his pipe, Gaasyendietʻha put
coals into it and began to puff clouds of smoke. Ganyadjigowa said,
“How do you get tobacco?” Turning around, Gaasyendietʻha looked at him.
“Do not speak to me,” commanded Gaasyendietʻha. Soon Ganyadjigowa
asked, “Does it taste good?” Gaasyendietʻha did not answer, but kept on
smoking. Soon afterward Ganyadjigowa spoke again, saying, “How
strangely the smoke is rolling around the room.” Gaasyendietʻha said,
angrily, “Go out of this hut! I tell you I do not want you here.” “But
you said I might stay until morning,” pleaded Ganyadjigowa. “I will be
quiet now; do not put me out.” “Very well,” said Gaasyendietʻha, and
smoked on.

Ganyadjigowa laughed. After a while he said: “I want to ask you a
question. What is the world made of?” Gaasyendietʻha turned around,
feeling cross, but he did not answer. Then Ganyadjigowa continued, “Do
you believe people who say a man lives up in the Blue Sky?”
Gaasyendietʻha looked at him but did not answer and kept on smoking.
Then Ganyadjigowa said, “Do you believe this world stands on the
Turtle’s back?” Gaasyendietʻha, now angry, said, “Did I not tell you
not to talk to me?” Ganyadjigowa said, “Yes; I am going to be quiet
now.” Gaasyendietʻha kept on smoking. Then Ganyadjigowa said, “Do you
believe Hawenniyo [92] made the things of the world?” There was no
answer. Ganyadjigowa spoke again, saying, “Well, do you believe the old
folks who say that Dagwanoenyent is still alive?” Gaasyendietʻha said
nothing; he merely turned and looked at him, then he turned back, still
smoking. Ganyadjigowa said once more, “Do you believe the old folks who
say that wind goes everywhere?” Gaasyendietʻha sprang up, saying, “I
will throw you out. I told you not to talk to me.” Ganyadjigowa said,
“I am going to be quiet now; do not throw me out.” Believing him,
Gaasyendietʻha sat down. But after a while Ganyadjigowa began once
more, “Well, do you believe the old people who say that Hinon makes
rain?” He received no answer. Soon again he asked, “Do you believe the
old folks who say that trouble comes to those who do not answer? Do you
believe the old people who say that Hanisheonon93 is alive?” Picking up
a club, Gaasyendietʻha began to strike Ganyadjigowa, who begged off
with promises to be quiet. “No! get out! I do not want you here,” said
Gaasyendietʻha. Ganyadjigowa begged hard. Gaasyendietʻha became cool
and quiet again. Ganyadjigowa, laughing, said, “Whenever I say anything
people get cool.” In the middle of the night Ganyadjigowa spoke again.
While Gaasyendietʻha was still sitting by the fire smoking, he asked,
“Do you believe old folks who say that water runs day and night?”
Gaasyendietʻha did not answer. After a while Ganyadjigowa said, “Do you
believe that trees grow?” Gaasyendietʻha stood up; he was very mad.
Ganyadjigowa said, “Oh, do not be mad. I merely want to know things.”
Gaasyendietʻha asked, “Do you believe Hawenniyo is alive?” “No,”
replied Ganyadjigowa. “I do,” said Gaasyendietʻha. “Do you not believe
he made the woods?” Gaasyendietʻha asked. “No; Hawenniyo does not make
anything because he is not alive,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “Do you not
believe the wind goes everywhere?” asked Gaasyendietʻha. “He goes only
just outside of my person,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Oh! what a fool you
are; the wind blows all over the world,” said Gaasyendietʻha.
Ganyadjigowa said, “Oh, no; it goes merely around this lake.”
Gaasyendietʻha said, “You can go way off there to that high mountain
(pointing toward the east). You can not stand there.” “Oh, yes, I can,”
said Ganyadjigowa. “Do you not believe water runs all the time?”
Gaasyendietʻha persisted in questioning. “Oh, no,” said Ganyadjigowa;
“when it is night, water stops.” Gaasyendietʻha said, “Well, what do
you believe?”

Now, Ganyadjigowa began seemingly to believe just as Gaasyendietʻha
did. Then Ganyadjigowa inquired, “Do you believe trouble will come if I
tell you something, and you do not mind me?” “How can you make trouble
for me? You have to die before I do,” declared Gaasyendietʻha. “I do
not want to make trouble for you. Other things will do that,” said
Ganyadjigowa. Gaasyendietʻha replied, “Go to sleep. I do not want to
talk all night.” Gaasyendietʻha still sat by the fire smoking. Soon
Ganyadjigowa said, “Do you know anything when you are asleep?” No
answer. Again he asked, “What would you do if Wind should come here?”
Flashing up, Gaasyendietʻha said, “Now go! I do not like you.”
Ganyadjigowa began to beg, but Gaasyendietʻha, seizing him by the hair,
pushed him outside. “Oh! let me go in. I will stop talking now,”
pleaded Ganyadjigowa. Gaasyendietʻha would not listen. “Go away! or I
will kill you,” he said. Ganyadjigowa started off. Then he thought:
“That man did me ill. I wish I had magic power to blow down his lodge”;
but he kept on. Gaasyendietʻha began to follow. Ganyadjigowa heard
somebody coming. Looking back and seeing Gaasyendietʻha, he went into a
hollow tree. Gaasyendietʻha knew where Ganyadjigowa was, but to fool
him he went back a short distance and hid himself. Thereupon
Ganyadjigowa said: “That is the kind of man I am. He did not see me.”
So he started on. Gaasyendietʻha followed again, and seeing
Ganyadjigowa, said, “Now I have you, and I am going to kill you.” “Oh,
no! I do not want to make trouble for you,” replied Ganyadjigowa. “Yes,
you do!”—and they began to dispute. Gaasyendietʻha said: “I will ask
you a question. How can you make Wind blow down my lodge?” Ganyadjigowa
answered, “Oh! I do not know how.” “Well, why did you ask the question,
‘What will you do if a heavy wind blows away your lodge?’” inquired
Gaasyendietʻha. “I did not say that,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “What did
you say?” demanded Gaasyendietʻha. “I said there was a wind around the
lake,” was Ganyadjigowa’s reply.

“Do you believe that the earth can go down into the water?” asked
Gaasyendietʻha. “No; the earth is always on top of the water,” said
Ganyadjigowa. “Do you believe the earth is on the Turtle’s back?”
inquired Gaasyendietʻha. “No; the Turtle is not strong enough to keep
it up,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “How is it kept up?” came the question.
“Oh! the earth is very thick; nobody knows how thick,” asserted
Ganyadjigowa. “I believe the Turtle is strong enough to keep the earth
up, and when he gets tired the earth will sink down,” Gaasyendietʻha
said. “Why, that is just what I believe,” Ganyadjigowa said. “No; it is
different. You do not believe as I do,” declared Gaasyendietʻha. “Well,
do you know what I believe?” asked Gaasyendietʻha. “The old folks used
to say that you believed the earth never goes into the water,” was
Ganyadjigowa’s rejoinder. Gaasyendietʻha asked, “Well, do you believe
that I can kill you?” “Yes, yes!” said Ganyadjigowa, while he kept
backing away. Gaasyendietʻha threatened, “I will kill you now.” “What
have I done that you should kill me?” demanded Ganyadjigowa. “You told
me that I believe the earth is very thick,” said Gaasyendietʻha,
turning to go home. Ganyadjigowa kept on laughing, and said, “That is
the kind of a man I am.” Now, Gaasyendietʻha, on hearing this, came
back quickly, and shaking him, threw him on the ground, whereupon he
cried out: “Oh, my friend! do not kill me. I am always on your side.”
“No; I will not stop until I kill you,” said Gaasyendietʻha. Then he
thought: “Why do I kill this man? Soon Hanisheonon will come around and
punish me for it,” so he let Ganyadjigowa go. Ganyadjigowa, laughing,
said, “That is the kind of a man I am.”

Now Gaasyendietʻha grew very angry, and caught him by the neck, saying,
“Go far away west.” Going through the air, Ganyadjigowa fell just where
the sun sets. As he fell he said: “Oh! what fun to be in the air. Now,
where is that man? He does not believe anything.” Gaasyendietʻha heard
him, and, flying through the air, came to the spot where he was and
asked, “What were you saying?” “Oh! I was saying what a nice place this
is,” replied Ganyadjigowa.

Gaasyendietʻha now caused Ganyadjigowa to become Sʻhodieonskon. Then
Ganyadjigowa traveled north, saying, “I must go and see where my friend
lives.” Seeing a great rock on which stood a lodge, he thought, “This
must be the place I dreamed of.” He went to a hut near by. A man sat
there, who greeted him with, “Where do you come from?” “I come from the
Great Lake,” said Ganyadjigowa. Then the man asked, “Why did you come
here?” “Oh! I was lonely at home,” answered Ganyadjigowa. “Very well;
what is your name?” he was asked. “Ganyadjigowa,” he replied. “What is
your name?” demanded Ganyadjigowa. “Djothowandon,” was the answer. “Can
I visit you?” he was asked. “No; you must go to my master first,” said
Djothowandon. “Where does he live?” inquired Ganyadjigowa. “You will
see his lodge on a great rock not far from here,” was the old man’s
answer.

On reaching the rock Ganyadjigowa saw the lodge that stood on it.
Looking in he saw an old man sitting by the fire; he thought to
himself, “This is the same man who threw me off west.” The man turned,
and, looking at Ganyadjigowa, said, “Well, who are you?” “I am
Ganyadjigowa,” replied the visitor. “What is your name?” asked
Ganyadjigowa. “I am Dagwanoenyent,” replied the man. “Will you let me
stay with you a few days?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “Oh, yes! you may stay
as long as you like. I am always glad to have somebody with me. I am
lonely sometimes,” said the old man.

One morning Dagwanoenyent said, “Do you not want to go to see my
servant?” “Oh, yes!” said Ganyadjigowa. They went to Djothowandon’s.
Dagwanoenyent, looking around, said: “My servant is not at home. I
think he has gone to the southern end of the earth. A very churlish
people live there. He is going to try to make them good and quiet. If
they do not obey him, I must go to eat them all.” “How far is it from
here?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “Oh! you would not get there in fifty
winters,” declared Dagwanoenyent. “If that is true,” retorted
Ganyadjigowa, “it will be a hundred winters before your servant will
come back.” “Oh, no!” said Dagwanoenyent; “my servant travels very
fast. He will be in a place as soon as he thinks of it.” “I do not
believe that,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Get out of here!” said
Dagwanoenyent; “some people are coming this morning who will bewitch
you if you are around here.”

Ganyadjigowa started off. Soon he saw Dahdahwat coming. When Dahdahwat
came near he was going to strike Ganyadjigowa, but the latter said, “Do
not kill me. I am not strong enough in orenda to fight you.” Dahdahwat
chased him and kept biting him until he was dead. Then said Dahdahwat,
“I have killed Sʻhodieonskon,[94] who has great power magically. I will
go home now.” While on the way he saw a man coming toward him. When
they met Dahdahwat greeted him with, “Where are you going?” “Oh! I am
going to see the man who was killed this morning,” said the stranger.
“Well, what is your name?” said Dahdahwat. “My name is Djoñiaik,”
replied the stranger. “What are you going to do when you get there?”
asked Dahdahwat. “Oh, nothing!” and they passed on. When Djoñiaik came
to the spot where Ganyadjigowa lay and saw how Dahdahwat had bitten
him, he dug many kinds of roots, and, making a powder of them, began to
doctor Ganyadjigowa; he rubbed the powder over his body, and soon
Ganyadjigowa was alive again. Ganyadjigowa said: “That is the kind of
man I am. Where is the Dahdahwat?” Djoñiaik answered: “Do not say that.
He must be near by.” Ganyadjigowa would not stop, but kept scolding and
scolding, getting more angry all the time. Djoñiaik went off.

“Now, I must go to my friend, Dagwanoenyent,” said Ganyadjigowa. When
he got to his friend’s lodge Dagwanoenyent laughed, saying, “A man came
here to notify me that I should go to see the spot where you lay dead.”
“Oh, pshaw!” said Ganyadjigowa; “I shall never die. Have you never
heard the old folks say that if Sʻhodieonskon died he would soon come
to life again?” “Yes,” said Dagwanoenyent, “I have heard so. Is that
why you came to life?” “Yes,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “Well,” said the
old man, “I want you to go where the churlish people live. My servant
has come, and he says they will never be quiet. I have heard old men
say that Sʻhodieonskon can make churlish people quiet.” “All right, I
will go,” answered the young man. When he came down from the rock on
which Dagwanoenyent’s lodge was built, Sʻhodieonskon, taking hold of
the rock, tried to turn it over. Dagwanoenyent, feeling his lodge move,
declared, “This must be my friend who disturbs me.” Ganyadjigowa kept
at work, and at last over went the rock, breaking the lodge to pieces.
The old man, who was wounded on the head, cried, “Oh! my dear friend; I
must kill him now”; and, getting up, he tried to run after him, but his
head was so dizzy that he soon fell. Ganyadjigowa came around the rock,
and seeing the old man with blood flowing from his head, began to
laugh, saying: “What does he think? Does he not know that I am stronger
magically than he is?” Having rolled the rock over on Dagwanoenyent, he
went on.

When he came to the place where the churlish people lived, he stood
near the earth lodge in which they all dwelt, thinking, “I will roll
this lodge over.” Taking hold of the end, he lifted it up. The people
ran out, and, seeing a man standing there holding up the end of their
lodge, they began to bite him. Then Ganyadjigowa ran with all his speed
to get outside of the crowd. The people pursued him, but he escaped.
“That is the kind of a man I am,” Sʻhodieonskon exclaimed.

He walked westward until night, when he came to a cliff. Descending a
short distance on one side, he saw a hole in the cliff wall. “Somebody
seems to be living here,” thought he; “I will go in and see.” Inside he
found a large room in which sat an old man; then another room, and
another, until he saw seven. “Well,” asked Ganyadjigowa, “what are you
folk doing in the cliff?” “Why do you want to know?” they demanded.
“Oh! I go around the world to make all quiet and happy,” said the young
man. “We do not believe you, and we do not want you here,” they
continued. These were all brothers—seven Sigweont. “Do you believe that
Hanisheonon is alive?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “Oh, no!” they said. “What
do you believe?” the young man inquired. “We believe that Hanisheonon
is Hayadagwennio.” [95] Then Ganyadjigowa said, “Well, do you believe
that the earth is thin and stands on a Turtle?” “No; the earth is
thick,” they declared. “Do you believe that Hanisheonon made the
earth?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “No; we believe that Hayadagwennio made the
world,” they replied. “Did you ever hear of anyone living covered up in
the earth?” the young man asked. “No,” was the response. “Now we will
tell you that we are the fathers of Hanisheonon,” said Sigweont.96
These old men would not believe Ganyadjigowa, who, becoming
discouraged, said, “I am going away.”

While turning around Ganyadjigowa saw a lodge in the woods. Disdis [97]
lived here. Hearing a thumping noise from within, Ganyadjigowa, looking
through a crack, saw an old man who had a thin piece of wood into which
he was pounding something. Then he would put the wooden object into his
face. “Well, I have never seen such a man as that. He is making a
mask,” thought Ganyadjigowa. “I will take the roof off his lodge and
afterward make it rain.” Getting into the lodge he threw off the roof.
The old man did not know the roof was off. Then going into the spring
near by, Ganyadjigowa shook his wings so that the water flew high and
came back just to the spot where the old man’s lodge was. “My lodge is
getting old,” said the old man; “the rain comes into it. I must go to
sit where it is dry;” but he could find no dry place. “Well, what is
the reason of this?” thought he. Then he left his work, saying, “I will
go to find somebody to make a new cover for my lodge.” He heard a noise
at the spring and saw somebody standing in the water. Going to the
spring, he asked, “Well, what are you doing?” “Oh! I am trying to
fish,” replied Ganyadjigowa; “when I get the water away it will be
easy.” “Get out!” said the old man; “that is my spring. If you do not
go I will kill you.” “Oh! I am not afraid of you. You are too old. You
are not strong magically now,” was the young man’s answer. “Well, I can
kill you quickly,” retorted the old man. “No; you are too old,”
Ganyadjigowa declared. “Say, old man, I want to ask you a question. Do
you believe Hanisheonon is alive?” “Oh, no! I am Hanisheonon myself,”
said the old man. “Oh, no! you are not. Do you believe the earth is
resting on the back of a Turtle?” inquired Ganyadjigowa. “No; I am
holding up this earth myself,” said Disdis. “Do you believe water
always runs?” demanded the young man. “That is not true; when it gets
to the lake it stops,” said the old man. “If that is what water does,
the lake would be more than full,” asserted the young man. “Oh! the
water goes into the ground again and comes out in the springs,” replied
the old man. “Oh!” said Ganyadjigowa, “I told you the water was always
going.” The old man held his head down. Ganyadjigowa asked again, “If
mud goes into swamps will it stay there?” “No; I do not think so,” said
the old man. Then Ganyadjigowa said: “I will give you another question:
Do you believe what the old folk say—that they went all over the
world?” “Oh, no!” answered the old man; “I do not think so.” “Well, I
must go away,” said Ganyadjigowa; “I do not think I can do anything
with you.”

After traveling a long while, one morning Ganyadjigowa came to a lodge.
Looking in, he saw an old man, Ganenaitha,[98] sitting by the fire.
Soon the old man said: “It seems to me that my nephew is around here.
Yes, I think my nephew is around here somewhere. Well, my nephew, come
in. Why do you stay outside? I suppose you have come to visit me. Come
in.” “Well,” answered Ganyadjigowa, “this is the first time I have
found my uncle. I will go in, for my uncle wants me to do so.” Entering
the lodge, he asked. “Well, uncle, what do you want?” “Oh! I just want
to see you to have a very amusing game which I always play when anyone
comes to visit me. We wager our necks. I have splendid canoes made of
white flint with which to race on the waters.” “Very well,” said
Ganyadjigowa, “that is what I used to play with.” The old man started
to get the canoes, and bringing them all out, said, “Now, take your
choice.” Looking carefully and seeing a poor old canoe, Ganyadjigowa
said, “This will do for me.” “Oh, pshaw!” answered the old man; “that
is the worst one I have; you ought to take something better. That canoe
can not help you. It will tip over when you sail it.” This was,
however, the boat possessed of the greatest power, which the old man
wanted to use himself. “Well,” said the old man, “let us go there.” Now
the lake was a little way inland. When at the edge of the lake, they
put the boats on the water, the old man saying, Hau onen. The two
canoes started. Ganyadjigowa’s canoe having the greater magic power,
the old man was left behind. When Ganyadjigowa got to the other end of
the lake he said, “Where is my uncle,” and sat waiting. After a great
while he saw the old man coming, away behind. When the latter came up,
he said, “Let us rest until to-morrow.” After a while Ganyadjigowa
pretended to go to sleep. The old man looking at him, said, “He is
asleep now;” so getting into Ganyadjigowa’s boat, he said to it, “I
want you to go where the sun goes down.” Ganyadjigowa heard all. The
boat rushed off through the air. Ganyadjigowa, getting up, looked at
his uncle’s boat. “What a mean boat my uncle has,” he said, then
exclaiming, “I want you to go where my uncle has gone.” Thereupon with
a white flint stone he struck the bow of the boat. The canoe, becoming
alive, went very fast, faster than his uncle in the old boat. While
flying Ganyadjigowa commenced his song, “Now we are in the race of my
uncle—Onen daon­diyentadon nhaknosen.”

In a little while he saw a small speck ahead. As he drew nearer, the
speck became larger and larger. At last they arrived at the place where
the sun goes down, and the old man reaching there first, Ganyadjigowa
said: “You cheated me. I am going to cut your head off.” The old man
answered: “Oh! I have not cheated you. I tried to wake you, but I could
not, so I let it go.” “Why did you come so far? You live way back at
the other end of the earth,” declared the young man. “Oh, that is
nothing; I came to see how the sun goes down,” was the reply. “No; I
think you tried to get away from me,” said Ganyadjigowa. “No; I was
going back soon,” retorted the old man. “Well, let us go,” said
Ganyadjigowa. “Very well,” said the old man. Soon they went back,
whereupon Ganenaitha said: “Now go to sleep. I want you to stay until
morning.” But Ganyadjigowa did not sleep, but watched the old man until
morning. Then he said, “Now, let us start. Wait until I say ‘Go.’”
Having gotten into their canoes, the old man said “Go!” They both went
very fast—the new boat faster than the other. Getting back to the
starting place first, Ganyadjigowa looked back—away off was a speck;
this was the old man returning. When he came in the latter asked, “Do
you know what this lake is called?” “No,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Its name
is Ganyodaigowane, ‘Great Lake.’” Taking out a basswood knife,
Ganyadjigowa thereupon cut off the old man’s head.

Then Ganyadjigowa went northwestward in his own boat until he came to
the edge of some rocks, where he saw a lodge. Soon a man came out and
greeted him. “Well, what are you living around here for?” asked
Ganyadjigowa. “Oh! so I can see down the valley where people live. When
they kill game I go and steal some of it,” came the reply. “I will give
you a name,” said Ganyadjigowa; “I will call you Gaga.” [99] “Very
well. I like that. I can steal better now,” replied the man.

As Ganyadjigowa walked along the edge of the rock he saw a great
hemlock forest. While standing among the trees he heard some one saying
Hihi. “Well, who is Hihi?” [100] he wondered. Soon he saw someone in a
tree. “Oh! what an evil-looking man you are,” said Ganyadjigowa; “shall
I give you a good name?” “What can you call me? My name is good
enough,” said the man. “I will call you Hihi.” Hihi laughed, for he was
glad he had a name. Ganyadjigowa came to a brook with rocky banks, and,
going down to the water, he saw an ugly-looking old man, who said: “I
am glad you are here. I am very hungry, so I will eat you.” “Oh! I am
not good eating. I taste very insipid. Do not kill me,” replied
Ganyadjigowa. “Why do you come here, then?” he demanded. Ganyadjigowa
answered, “What would you do if the rocks should fall upon you?” “Oh! I
should be glad. I have wanted for a long time to be covered up,” was
the rejoinder. “Do you believe that Hanisheonon is alive?” asked
Ganyadjigowa. “Yes,” he responded. Ganyadjigowa’s next question was,
“Do you believe the earth rests on the Turtle’s back?” “Yes; I am
standing on the Turtle,” the man answered. “I did not ask you where you
were standing,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Well, then, what did you ask me?”
said the man. “Nothing. I tell you that Hanisheonon was killed last
night,” said Ganyadjigowa. The man began to cry. He cried louder and
louder until many of his people, hearing him, came and asked, “Did that
man make you cry?” “Oh! I heard that Hanisheonon was dead,” he replied.
Now all began to cry. Ganyadjigowa said: “Why do you cry? You are free
now. I should be glad.” “Well, I am not glad,” said the man. “I will
give you a name,” said Ganyadjigowa; “I will call you Genonsgwa (“Stone
Giant”).”

Ganyadjigowa started off, after saying to Genonsgwa and to his people,
“I should be glad if you caught me.” The Genonsgwa, who were angry,
followed him. They ran hard but they could not catch him. Ganyadjigowa
began to fly, going up, up, up, until he reached the clouds. There he
saw people. “Well, who are living here? I never before heard that
people were living here,” he mused. Soon a man came near him who wore
beautiful, downy clothes. He greeted Ganyadjigowa with, “Where are you
from?” “From below,” was the answer. “How did you come?” was the next
question. “Through the air,” was the response. “I suppose you bring
news?” “No; I came for amusement,” said Ganyadjigowa. “What is your
name?” he was asked. “Ganyadjigowa,” he replied. “I will give you a
name.” “Very well,” said the man. “I will call you Sʻhadahgeah. This
place where you live is strange,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “Yes; I can
see all over the world,” came the answer. “Well, how can I see?” said
Ganyadjigowa. “Look right straight down,” the man said. Ganyadjigowa,
looking straight down, saw all over the world. It did not seem far
down. Ganyadjigowa asked, “Do you know the man who lives by the side of
the lake down there? He is a very mean man.” “You must not do anything
to that man,” responded Sʻhadahgeah;[101] “he has great orenda (magic
power). He is chief of all gods. We are afraid of him. You must go now.
The Wind is coming. It will kill you if you stay here.”

Thereupon Ganyadjigowa went straight down. Then looking around, he saw
somebody coming out of the ground. Going to the spot, he said: “What
are you doing? Why do you live in the ground?” “Oh! I have always lived
there. You need not bother me,” came the reply. “I will not bother
you,” said Ganyadjigowa; “I came merely to ask you a question: Is
Hanisheonon alive?” “No; Hanisheonon is, I think, not alive. I believe
Hanisheonon is magically a great power,” said the man. “Well, do you
know where Hanisheonon lives?” inquired Ganyadjigowa. “Yes,” was the
reply. “Where is the place?” continued Ganyadjigowa. “Right in the
ground. That is why I live in the ground,” said the man. “Well, do you
think you have the same power as Hanisheonon?” he was asked. “Oh, no!”
he replied. “Can you kill the people?” again queried Ganyadjigowa. He
answered, “Yes.” “Have you a name?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “I do not want
a name,” he said. “Well, I will give you a name anyhow. I will call you
Onoqgontgowa,” [102] said the young man. The man hung down his head;
then, raising it again, he said, “Can you call me another name?” “No;
that is the name that suits you best. You are bad-looking,” said
Ganyadjigowa. The man cried (i.e., buzzed)—he was a winged
Djihonsdonqgwen.103 “Well,” said Onoqgontgowa, “when they talk about
me, they shall say Onoqgontgowa.”

Traveling on, Ganyadjigowa came to the lodge of Gaasyendietʻha, in
which he saw an old man asleep. Ganyadjigowa went in. The old man,
waking up, began to sing, “Now he has come.” Ganyadjigowa thought, “Why
does he sing about me?” Gaasyendietʻha said to himself: “Oh! I have the
backache. Why have I got it? Where is my friend, Ganyadjigowa? I would
like to see him—he is such a strange fellow.” Ganyadjigowa looked
around the room, and seeing a mallet, began to hit the old man on the
head with it. The latter said, “I believe mosquitoes are biting my
head,” whereupon Ganyadjigowa hit him again. “Well, it seems to me I
hear Ganyadjigowa talking,” said the man. He turned over—sure enough
there was Ganyadjigowa. The old man said: “What are you doing to my
head? Why did you hit me? Do you suppose I will let you pound me?” “Oh,
no! I did not strike you. I will call you my grandfather, and we will
be good friends,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Very well; sit at the other end
of the fire and be quiet,” replied Gaasyendietʻha. Ganyadjigowa sat
down. After a while he asked, “Do you know who planted the trees?”
“Yes; the man in the blue sky,” was the reply. “Oh, no! I planted them
all,” said Ganyadjigowa. The men talked along as they had done the
first time at Gaasyendietʻha’s house. At length Ganyadjigowa asked,
“What can kill you?” “Oh! a flag stalk that grows in swamps. If you
strike me with that it will kill me,” answered the old man.
Ganyadjigowa went out to hunt for the flag and found a stalk. When he
came back, the old man was eating wild cranberries. Ganyadjigowa hit
him with the flag, which he thought went into his body, for the old
man’s face was all red from the cranberries. Turning, Gaasyendietʻha
asked: “Why do you strike me? You hurt me.” Ganyadjigowa, laughing,
said, “The old man’s mouth is all bloody.” Thereupon he ran away
because he thought the old man was going to die.

Soon Ganyadjigowa saw a lodge in the side of a high rock. He stood
before it, thinking, “How can I throw that lodge down?” Soon the man
living there came down and they greeted each other. Ganyadjigowa asked,
“Why do you live in the rock? Will it not fall?” “No,” the man replied.
“What would you do if a hard rain should come? Can you live on the
level land?” was Ganyadjigowa’s next query. “No; I always live on the
rocks. When I talk everybody hears me,” said the old man. “Go up and
let me hear you talk,” commanded Ganyadjigowa. Going up, the man said,
Wiahah. Ganyadjigowa replied: “That will do. Come down. I am traveling
and giving names. I will give you one, so whosoever speaks of you
hereafter will call you Gwiyee.[104] Now I want you to be quiet and not
chase the people.” This is why Gwiyee never chases others.

Ganyadjigowa now went home. He was proud and said: “I killed the old
man who was called so powerful magically. I must go to-morrow to see
him.” The next morning he went to Gaasyendietʻha’s lodge, where he
heard singing. “What kind of man is he? I thought I killed him,” mused
Ganyadjigowa. The song ran, “I shall kill Ganyadjigowa as soon as I see
him.” In a little while the old man, ceasing his song, began to talk.
“Now I will go to see Ganyadjigowa and kill him.” Thereupon
Ganyadjigowa said, “My grandfather means to kill me, but I will burn
his lodge,” and piling up a great quantity of brush, he set the lodge
on fire. The blaze mounted very high. Gaasyendietʻha said: “I believe
the lodge is burning. I think Ganyadjigowa is doing this.” He was very
angry, and sprang through the fire. The first thing Ganyadjigowa knew
there was the old man, who asked, “Why did you make this fire?” “Oh! I
did not make it. I came to blow it out,” he answered. Gaasyendietʻha
continued, “Who made it?” “I do not know. I have just come,” said
Ganyadjigowa. They kept on talking, but the old man did not believe
Ganyadjigowa and pounded him to death. Thereupon Gaasyendietʻha
whooped: “That is the kind of a man I am. I am the most powerful man
under the blue sky because I have the most powerful orenda.” The people
all over the world, hearing his outcry, exclaimed, “Ganyadjigowa is
dead!”





48. HADENTʻHENI AND HANIGONGENDATʻHA [105]

In old times two young men living in a village were great friends, and
on this account everybody disliked and shunned them. They could find no
lodge in which to live, hence they said to each other: “Since everyone
dislikes us, the sooner we get out of this place the better.” So at
last they went toward the south.

On the way, whenever night overtook them they looked around for some
place where dry leaves had fallen, so that there they might rest
comfortably. All they had to eat at first was evergreens and lichens.
Having made bows and arrows, they killed small birds. The young men
were at this time about 20 years old. After they got out of the thick
woods they came to marshy ground, but they still kept on. Occasionally
one would say to the other, “I am afraid we shall never get through
this rough place,” but his companion would encourage him, and on they
would go.

One day about noon they came to a large hemlock tree. “Climb up and
look around,” said one; “see if there are any people in sight.” The
limbs of the tree came almost to the ground, hence he climbed it
easily. From the top he saw a beautiful trail leading from the tree
through the air. He called to his companion, “Throw down your bow and
arrows and come up to see what a splendid trail I have found.” The
latter went up, and looking at the trail, said, “Let us try it and see
where it leads.” They looked in every direction but saw no woods in any
direction. It had been necessary that in whatever they undertook to do
they should be of one mind. As they were now of one mind, they started
off. The trail proceeding from the tree seemed as solid as if on the
earth, and it extended as far away as they could see.

The young men traveled on without knowing that they were going up until
they had reached another world, which seemed very pleasant. The leader
said, however: “Do not stop. Let us go on and see where the trail will
take us.” On the road there was plenty of game, but they gave no heed
to it. After a while they came to a bark lodge out of which smoke was
rising. One of the young men said, “It is customary for travelers to
call at a lodge on the road and find who is living there; let us look
in here.” The elder went in first. The lodge was of bark with a piece
of bark suspended for a door. Pulling this aside, they saw an old man
sitting within, who saluted them with: “I know the trouble you have had
to undergo and how people disliked you; it is I who have called you.
You shall stay with me a short time. You have come from the lower
world. When there, you often spoke of the higher world, and I
influenced you to follow the trail that leads up here. Now, come into
my lodge and make a short stay, for I have promised to go elsewhere. As
soon as you are gone, I shall go.” The young men went into the lodge.
The speaker, who seemed about middle-aged, continued: “You people down
there often speak of an Elder Brother in the sky. I am he who makes
light for you. I am Kaahkwa, the Sun. Hawenniyo commands me, saying
that I must give you light. This is my resting place, but I can stay
here only a short time. Whenever you come this way, you must stop. I am
always here at midday.” Thereupon he started toward the west, saying,
“I go under the earth and come out in the east, and when you reach the
next lodge you must stop.”

They parted, and the two men soon came to the second lodge. One said to
the other, “We must call at this lodge, as the Sun told us to do.” The
lodge looked exactly like the other. Entering, the young men saw an old
woman, to whom they said, “How do you do, grandmother?” “I am thankful
that you have come,” said she; “it was your brother who sent you here.
It is now time for you to eat. You have been long without food.” In one
part of the room they saw a bark bowl containing boiled squash, which
was evidently just out of the pot. They sat down, and the old woman
gave each of them half a squash and a quarter of a loaf of corn bread,
saying, “This will be enough for both.” “No,” answered one of the young
men; “there is not more here than I can eat.” The old woman replied:
“It is enough; when you return, stop and I will give you more. It is I
whom people down below call the Moon.” When they entered her lodge, she
was sewing skins. She continued: “It is the order of Hawenniyo that I
make light for people on the earth, so that they can see at night. It
is only at certain times that you see me completely. I tell you now
that you must be on your guard, for the path before you is full of
danger and difficulties. You must be brave and must never look at
anything not in your path, for your enemy is outside of it; never heed
anything you see or hear, for if you do, you are lost. You will soon
pass this dangerous path, but remember my advice.”

As the young men traveled on they saw all kinds of fruit and game. The
first would call out,[106] “Stop! come and eat; this is very good.” But
keeping in mind the old woman’s words, they paid no heed. Each fruit
had a phrase of its own, with which it begged the young men to come and
eat it. After they had passed this place, they said, “Perhaps we are
out of trouble now; we shall soon come to the lodge where the old woman
told us to stop.”

After passing the first place they came to another. The first fruit was
full of witchcraft or enchantment; if they had eaten of it, they would
have become bewitched. At the second place, however, after eating plums
and huckleberries they felt refreshed. The old woman had told them that
animals were numerous along their path, but they passed these without
harm.

After a while they saw another lodge in the distance, whereupon one of
the young men said: “We are now in the place where we shall meet the
greatest difficulty. We have no idea of our own except to follow the
advice given; since we have set out to come and are here, we must
endure what we meet.” They talked in this way until they came to the
lodge. Finding a man who called himself their uncle, they saluted him.
He said: “I am glad that your brother has sent you. You are going to a
large assembly, but you can not join it unless I transform you.” [107]
One of the young men responded: “How so? We are men. Why should we be
transformed? We have come here in our proper forms. Why should we
change?” “You have come here as you are, but it is my duty to prepare
you to enter the assembly of this upper world,” replied the man.

The other young man, looking steadfastly at his uncle, was not
frightened nor discouraged. The old man, going to another part of the
lodge, brought a long strip of bark, which he laid out lengthwise,
saying, “The first that came shall be transformed first.” Thereupon he
called him to come and lie on the bark. When the latter had done so,
the man asked, “Are you ready?” “Yes,” was the young man’s reply. At
that moment the uncle blew through his hand on the young man’s head,
separating the bones and flesh, which fell in two heaps. The other
nephew, who stood looking on, saw that the uncle separated the parts of
every bone, and after wiping them, put them aside, cleaned; and he
thought, “My luck is hard. I am alone here; my friend is gone. That
must have been very painful.” After every bone had been wiped and put
in place, the old man said to the one yet unchanged, “Now, be ready.”
Then he blew through his hands on the head of the skeleton with force
sufficient to send the skeleton a long distance. Thereupon the skeleton
again became a man, ready for the assembly. This was the way in which
each man had to be purified.

The second nephew, not wishing to be treated in that manner, did not go
forward willingly. But when the uncle was ready he gave the word, when
it seemed that the nephew could not hold back. Lying on the bark, he
was treated as his friend had been, while the latter in turn looked on.
Because he was not so willing to submit, the body of the second youth
was more difficult to clean. The old man washed and wiped each bone.
The flesh remained in a heap by itself. The uncle took more uncleanness
from this nephew than from the first. After he had finished the
cleaning, he put the bones in place again, and saying, “Take care,”
blew on the skull with such force that the skeleton was shot off a long
distance, becoming a beautiful young man. The uncle said: “Sit down.
You are now transformed. Now let us go outdoors and I will try you.”

Going outside the lodge, the three stood in the clearing. At that time
a deer was feeding on the grass, and the uncle told one of the young
men to catch it, while to the deer he called out, “Be on your guard; my
nephew is going to kill you.” The deer sprang off, but had made only a
few bounds when the young man seized it. Seeing how he caught the deer,
and knowing that if he could catch a deer he was fit for any race, the
uncle said, “You are now ready to join the people of this world.” Then
he told the second nephew to catch the deer, at the same time calling
to the deer, “Look out! if you are caught, you will lose your life.”
The deer sprang off, but the young man, soon overtaking it, brought the
animal to the old man, who said: “You also are ready. You can now go to
this great assembly and see what you can do.”

They started but had not gone far when they saw a man approaching. They
saw him go down into a little hollow ahead and come up, walking very
fast. As they met he said to them: “You have come, brothers, and the
object of your mission shall be accomplished. Your Elder Brother wished
you to come, so now you shall go with me to this great assembly. He who
has charge of it is the same person who made the lower world, from
which you have come. As you can not well go alone, I have been sent to
conduct you.” They went at what seemed to the young men incredible
speed. Soon they could hear a noise as of a great many voices, which
increased continually. The man said: “It is the sound of mirth from the
assembly.” When they drew near there seemed to be a large settlement.
The man said: “Your sister has her lodge off at one end of the
settlement, and your brothers are there, too; but you can not go into
their lodge. You have not died [108] yet, so you must pass through the
same change as they have done in order to enter their dwellings.” As
they went along they felt a great desire to go in but knew they would
not be admitted. They inhaled the odor of every flower on their path.
After a while their guide pointed to a Long Lodge, saying: “That is the
lodge of Hawenniyo,109 who made the world below and who allowed you to
come here. We will sit on the threshold, and afterward we will go in.”
The Long Lodge, which was built with very low walls, was hung inside
with boughs, which gave out a delightful odor. As the air moved a
perfume came from the flowers and herbs within. On entering they saw a
great many people who had come to praise Hawenniyo and to have part in
the Green Corn dance. These people never noticed that two beings of
human flesh and form were present, because the young men had been
purified. A man came out of the assembly and proclaimed from a high
place what things were to be done. The guide said: “This is the one
whom you call Hawenniyo.” The young men looked on with great wonder to
see so many dancing together. During an interval in the dance the guide
said: “You understand, probably, why you have been allowed to visit
this place. It is here that those who are good in the other world come
when they die. Now, I will go back with you. When you reach home you
shall tell your people what you have seen since I first met you.”110
The guide then turned back, and the young men went on alone.

The youths traveled very swiftly, calling at each place at which they
had stopped when coming, but only to return thanks, as they were now on
the way home. On reaching the Sun’s lodge, the Sun said: “You are going
home now. It is I who caused you to come hither. You have been
traveling 10 days. What we call one day here is a year in the other
world. Ten years ago you started from your home below.” When they got
back to the lower world they were 30 years old. The 10 years seemed no
longer than the interval between going in the morning and coming in the
evening. The Sun took them as far as the hemlock tree from which the
trail began, where they found their bows and arrows sticking in the
ground, covered with moss. As the Sun took them in his hand he wiped
off the moss, and immediately they were as new as if just made. He said
that the people of the place where these travelers lived had moved
away, adding: “I will direct you to them.” In those times a mile was as
far as a man could see, and it was 12 “looks” from the hemlock tree to
the site of the settlement. When they came to the end of 12 “looks” the
Sun said, “This is where you started.” Here clearings and little
hillocks where corn had grown were still to be seen where formerly
grass was growing everywhere. The Sun said: “You will find your people
12 ‘looks’ farther on; when you come to the first lodge you must ask
the old man whether he had heard years ago of two boys who were lost,
and learn the number of years from that time until the settlement
moved. If he gives you no information, go to the next lodge, where you
will find an old woman; ask her the same questions. Now we must part.”

The Sun turned back and the boys went forward. After a time they came
to a clearing, in which they saw a village. As the Sun had commanded,
they entered the first lodge. They called the old man sitting there
grandfather and talked with him about many things. At last one asked,
“Do you remember that in times past two young men went from your
village and were lost?” The old man held his head down for a long time
as if thinking; finally, raising it, he said: “For what reason you ask
me this question I do not know, but two young men did disappear. It was
said that they were lost, but it was never known in what way.” “How
long ago did this happen?” the young men asked. “At the time they were
lost the settlement was forsaken; it is 10 years ago,” said the old
man. The old chief told the young men that they must not stay any
longer in that place because their grandchildren might suffer the same
kind of loss. The old man continued, “There is a woman in the next
lodge who can tell you more than I can.” The young men went there. “How
do you do, grandmother? We have come on a visit,” said one of them.
Their first question was, “Why did the people leave the old village?”
“Two young men did not die, but they disappeared,” replied the old
woman; “the country was blamed for it; the people thought it must be
inhabited by some evil thing, which took off their children.” The young
men listened, thinking they could perform what had been given them to
do. Then they said, “We are the two whom you lost then, and now we have
returned.” “How far did you go, and where?” asked the old woman. “It is
against our orders to tell you alone, but let an assembly be called,
and we will tell there all that we have seen. Let the people know this,
and that there will be dancing; then they will be sure to come. There
was nothing but mirth where we went.” The old woman said: “It is the
duty of the man who lives in that lodge yonder to notify the people of
such gatherings. I will go and tell him.” “Very well,” replied the
young men; “the account of our journey is very important, for none of
our people will ever see what we have seen and return to tell the
tale.” [111] Thereupon the woman told the old man that two men had
entered their village with important news, and that a meeting of the
people must be called. The old man started out, and on coming to a
certain spot he called, Goʹwe! Goʹwe! and continued to call thus until
he reached the end of the village.

Soon all the people assembled, whereupon the chief went to the two
strangers. Entering the old woman’s lodge, he said, “Let the work be
done.” As they came to the place of the gathering, the people looked
upon the young men, who seemed to them a different kind of people. They
did not recognize them. The chief said: “These men are here with
messages. Whence they have come no one knows, for we are not aware of
any people living in the world but ourselves” (this was true, for they
did not know that other people existed, and therefore were surprised).
The chief having sat down, one of the men rising, said, “Listen all.”
(He was the one first transformed, had been first in all things,
afterward, and so was now first to speak.) After thanking the people
for assembling, he said: “I wish to ask you a question. Did you, while
living in the old village, lose two young men?” Then he sat down. An
old woman, rising, replied: “I will answer that question. Two young
men, despised and shunned by all, disappeared and have not been seen
since,” and she took her seat. Then the old man whom they had visited
rose, but he could not say much. The young man last transformed,
standing up, said: “We are the two who disappeared. No one cared for
us; we felt grieved and we departed. We have been to the other world,
and also in the southern world, and we have now returned. A guide came
with us to our starting place. It was through your wickedness that you
left your old homes. You are like animals of the forest; when their
young are old enough they are left to themselves. As soon as we were
large enough, we were left alone and desolate. The birds build homes
for their children but soon leave them; you will see that whenever the
young bird meets the mother it will flutter its wings, but the mother
passes it by. We, like the young bird, were happy to meet you, but you
did not want to see us. At the time we went away we were young, but we
are now men. What is your opinion of what has happened? Will it be
customary hereafter to desert homeless children?” (It appeared that the
two wanted to be received into the gens.) His companion, having
listened to his speech, said: “Let this be the starting point. Whenever
a poor family are rearing children and the parents die, never forsake
them.” The men then told all their adventures to the great assembly;
that they had visited the Long Lodge and had seen Hawenniyo; that they
had been directed to describe to their friends in the lower world all
that they had seen. Then they told the people that they must learn the
dances which Hawenniyo wishes his children to know, namely, the Green
Corn dances. One young man was to sing the songs he had heard in the
upper world, while the other was to teach the people how to dance to
the songs. The second one to be transformed became Hadentʻheni, the
Speaker, and the first, Hanigongendatʻha,[112] he who was to explain
the meaning of everything touching Hawenniyo. The transformed said
further, “Let it be that whatever was done in the upper world shall be
done down here.” So they danced, and the people adopted the rules laid
down for them at this time. Thus their religion was formed and the
people grew prosperous.

After a time the two young men said, “Let us continue our journey.”
Going on, they found many villages, and spoke to their people. This is
why the people are religious today. These men were good, doing right in
all things that the people might follow their example. At length they
said: “We have finished our work, for we have been over the entire
land. We have spoken righteousness and justice to all the tribes.”

After returning to their birthplace they said: “Let us go
southward—south of the hemlock tree. All the people north of it have
been visited.” On the journey they said, “Our food must be game.” They
built a fire after deciding to camp and to go out to hunt. Then they
hunted in many places. On one of these expeditions the speaker saw
among the trees a strange being dodging around somewhat like a man. As
he approached, the stranger stopped, saying, “I am glad to see you,
grandson; let us sit down. (The stranger was very youthful in looks,
though he thus indicated himself as grandfather.) I have been sent to
tell you that you and the other people are in great danger. This is all
I am permitted to tell you; but come!—we will visit an old man, who
will answer all questions.” The speaker, arising, followed the
stranger, for he was curious to know whether there were really people
so near. On coming to a cliff, the stranger said, “We live down there.”
Looking closely, the man saw an almost invisible trail, which they
followed to the bottom of the ravine, where they came to an opening in
the rocks. When about to enter, the stranger said, “Leave your bows and
arrows as you do when you go into other lodges.” They went through the
first opening, then through a second. In the second room they found
sitting an old man and woman, to whom the stranger said, “I have
brought your grandson.” The old man answered: “We have met several
times, but you have never been able to know it. I wish now to caution
you, for you and your people are in great danger. The danger comes from
your companion, who has gone far into the forest. The Ganiagwaihegowa
is on his trail, and is coming to devour you. You are in my lodge now,
so I may tell you to defend yourselves. Tomorrow at noon the enemy will
be at your camp. He is filled with powerful orenda (magic power), and
we shall have to suffer on your account. If you do not act as I tell
you, we shall all die. We have tried many times to destroy this
Ganiagwaihegowa, but he is so filled with magic power that we can not
kill him. My advice is this: ‘Go home and make some basswood manikins;
your friend has returned to camp and will help you. When the manikins
are finished, put them at the door in front of your brush lodge, each
holding a bow and arrows. When Ganiagwaihegowa approaches you will know
the creature by his roar. Be ready with your bows and arrows; you must
have trees felled in the path in front of the manikins.
Ganiagwaihegowa’s life is assailable only in the soles of his feet.
When he comes near, he will be raving with anger. As he raises his foot
in crossing the log piles, you will see a white spot in the sole; there
is his heart. Strike it, if you can, for there only will a shot take
effect.’”

Going back to camp, the man cut down a basswood tree, from which, with
the aid of his friend, he made two manikins, obeying the old man in
everything. They sat in their brush lodge until noon the next day. Then
they heard Ganiagwaihegowa roaring far off in the ravine, whereupon
they grew weak. Gadjiqsa [113] had told them to keep on the leeward of
Ganiagwaihegowa so that he might not scent them. They were frightened
but said: “We can not run away; we can not escape, as the only chance
we have for our lives is to kill the bear. If he overcomes us, he will
scent the way to our village and kill everybody.” As the bear came in
sight, he looked frightful. Whenever he came to a tree, he would jump
at it, tearing it to pieces. The smaller trees fell merely at his
touch. Every time Ganiagwaihegowa roared the men, losing their
strength, were ready to drop to the ground. When, however, he passed
their hiding place on his way toward the manikins, in a terrible rage,
and raised his feet in crossing the logs, one of the men shot at the
white spot, and as he was going over the second log, the other man shot
him through the other foot. The pain made Ganiagwaihegowa rage
fearfully. He bit the manikins through the body; then, turning, he went
through the lodge, tearing it to fragments, but a little farther on he
fell dead. Coming out from their hiding place, the men cut off his hind
legs. Gadjiqsa had said that if they failed to do this, Ganiagwaihegowa
would come to life again. As they cut off the feet, they saw that the
whole body was quivering. The ribs were not like those in other animals
but formed one solid bone. After skinning the bear, the men cut his
hind quarters into pieces, which they burned to ashes together with all
the bones, for the old man Gadjiqsa had said, “If even one particle of
bone is left, Ganiagwaihegowa will come to life again.” He had said
also, “The hide must be smoked thoroughly over a fire, otherwise it
will retain life and become Ganiagwaihegowa himself again.” The youths
did exactly as they had been told.

After this adventure the young men continued to hunt. While one of them
was out he met a man, who said to him, “Come with me.” Going with him,
he found that the stranger was one of the Gadjiqsa people. The old man
who had told him how to kill the great bear had said: “You have saved
all the people; after killing you the bear would have killed us and
would have gone to your village and destroyed everybody. Hawenniyo has
given us power to aid men; it is my wish that you and your people
should prosper. If this bear had destroyed you, he would have destroyed
all the people in the world. If I had not told you, we should all be
dead now. It is for you to thank us, as well as for us to thank you.”
He added: “But there is another enemy to conquer. When you leave your
present camp you will go on until you come to a river. There you will
camp again, but be on your guard as you travel.”

The young men soon set out again. When they reached the river they put
up a little lodge. As one was building a fire the other went to look
for game. The man making the fire could hear someone talking very loud,
as though making a speech. Going in the direction of the sound, when he
came near he saw the speaker in a valley below the hill. He looked
cautiously, so as not to be seen by those below. There were many
people. In the center on an elevated place stood the speaker, who said:
“Tomorrow we start on the trail leading to the place from which the two
men have come. At the journey’s end we shall have a great feast.” The
man on the hill listening understood that these people were Stone Coats
[114] and that they were going to his village to eat all the
inhabitants; he drew back, frightened at the great number of them.
Scattering the brands of the fire, he put it out. When his friend, on
coming back, asked why he had no fire he said: “Do not talk so loud.
There are many people down under the hill; they are Stone Coats, who
intend to destroy us. We must get out of their way.” Peeping over the
hills, the hunter was so frightened that he said, “We must hurry home,”
whereupon, making a start, they went as far as they could that night.
Soon they heard the sound of the approach of the Stone Coats—the noise
was like thunder. It was evident that they traveled faster than the two
men, for when they camped that night the men were but a short distance
ahead of them. The chief of the Stone Coats said, “Tomorrow we must be
at the village.” One of the men said, “Run with all speed and tell the
people what is coming.” The other, hastening to the village, said, “The
Stone Coats are coming and you shall surely die, but do not die without
a struggle.” Returning, he reached his comrade that day, so fast could
he run. The comrade said, “I shall stay near the Stone Coats, stopping
when they stop. They have but one more halting place, and at each place
they hunt.” That night the Stone Coats’ chief said, “No one must go
far; if he does and is away, he will lose his share of the feast.” The
two men were listening and heard what the chief said. They could devise
no way of saving themselves or their people. The people in the
settlement, bewildered with fright, ran from place to place, not
knowing what to do. The Stone Coats were near the village, when the
chief said, “Let us halt and rest a little.”

The two friends sat on the bank of the river, on the leeward side so
that they could not be scented. All at once they saw a man with a
smiling face. When he came up, he said: “I will help you; I will save
your people. I will conquer the Stone Coats, for Hawenniyo has sent me
to aid you. I will go alone and fight for your people.” Telling the
people who were running for their lives not to be afraid if they heard
a frightful noise, with a smiling face he went down the bank into the
valley where the Stone Coat army had halted to rest. Soon a terrible
noise was heard, as of a desperate battle, and the two men, who had
been commanded not to move, but to sit and listen, could see steam
rising above the hill from the sweat of the Stone Coats.[115] Then the
sounds came only at intervals and were not so loud, and finally they
ceased altogether. The watchers saw the stranger with the smiling face
coming up the hill. He said: “I am thankful that I have destroyed them.
The Stone Coats are all dead, and the people now alive will live in
peace. I am appointed by Hawenniyo to open the way and the paths to his
people on earth. Wherever there is sorcery among your people, I am
always sent against it. We are sure to kill all we pursue. If a witch
crawls into a tree, we shoot the tree until it opens and the witchcraft
comes out. It is I whom you always hear called Lightning or Hinon,”
i.e., Thunder.

He left them, whereupon the two men went to the place where the Stone
Coat army had been. Only piles of stone remained. The stones found all
over the earth are remains of this battle and the killing of the Stone
Coats. Thus, it was through the two transformed young men that our
forefathers were saved from death and enabled to live to a great age.
They foretold what was to be as it is today, and at the present time we
hold to the teaching of these men, who had their religion from the
upper world.





49. DAGWANOENYENT

Once some men in a village were preparing to go on a hunting
expedition. Now, in the old times, as far as can be traced back to the
forefathers, some men had luck and others had not.

Now, in the village in which these men lived was a young man who was
somewhat foolish—not strong in mind—as people thought. Knowing that the
men were getting ready, he went to one and another asking leave to go
with them, but no one would let him go, for they considered him
foolish, and hence unlucky.

After all had left, a young woman, who took pity on him, went to him
and said, “Let us be married and go hunting.” They got married and went
to hunt, camping in the woods. The man could not kill any big game;
only squirrels and such creatures. He made traps to catch deer, which
he placed around so that the deer might get their feet into them. One
morning when he went to look at his traps he heard some one crying like
a woman. The sound came nearer and nearer. At last he saw a woman
coming with two little boys. She was crying, and as they came up she
said: “Help me! for we are going to die. One of my little boys stole a
feather, which he pulled to pieces. Now we are going to die for that
feather. I want you to kill that hawk on the tree over there, and when
the person whose feather my little boy took comes, throw the hawk at
him, saying, ‘This is your feather.’”

The man killed the hawk, and had no sooner done so than he heard a
terrible roar and noise, and the trees fell, and a man came and stood
on one of them. This man had terrible eyes and long hair; that was all
there was to him—just a great head without a body.[116] The young man
flung the hawk at him with the enjoined remark. Catching it, the latter
said, “Thank you,” and was satisfied. This woman was a panther and the
children were her cubs, but she seemed to the man to be of the human
kind. She said that she lived among the rocks and that Dagwanoenyent
lived near her, being her neighbor. Once while he was away from home
her little boy went into his place, and getting his feathers, spoiled
them. When Dagwanoenyent came home he was very angry and chased them.
Then the panther told the man that she knew he was poor and that no man
would hunt with him, adding, “Now, I will help you, and you will get
more game than any of them. I do this because you helped me.” After
that he killed more game than any other hunter in the woods.





50. THE SHAMAN AND HIS NEPHEW

In times past a noted shaman and his nephew dwelt together in a lodge
in the forest.

One day, when the nephew had grown to manhood, the uncle said to him:
“Now, my nephew, you must go to the lodge of the chief, who has two
daughters whom you shall marry. When you go you must wear those things
endowed with orenda (magic power) which I wore when I was a young man.”
The shaman here referred to a panther-skin robe, a pouch of spotted
fawn skin, and a pipe decorated with a manikin. Among other things the
uncle brought out these, bidding his nephew: “Now, test your ability to
use them. See what you can do with them.” First the nephew placed in
the bowl of the pipe red-willow bark which had been dried for the
purpose. Then he took out the manikin, which at once ran to the fire
and, bringing an ember, put it into the pipe. Now the nephew began to
smoke, and as he smoked he expectorated wampum, first on one side and
then on the other. The uncle said to him: “That will do very well. Now
you must don the feather headdress that I wore when I was a young man.”
On the top of this headdress was a duck which, when the headdress was
not worn, drooped its head, seeming not to be alive, but which, as soon
as the headdress was put on, held up its head and became alive. After
the nephew had put on the headdress the uncle said to him, “Now you
must tell the duck to speak.” Addressing it, the nephew said, “Oh, my
duck, speak!” and at once the duck called out in a loud voice.
Thereupon the uncle said: “Nephew, the two young women are thinking of
you at all times, for they feel that they will prosper if you marry and
live with them. When you are at their father’s lodge you must go on a
hunting trip and must take one of the young women with you. When you
are out in the woods the woman must lie down and must not see anything.
She must lie with her head carefully covered. Then you shall sing, and
all the wild animals will come around to listen to your singing. You
may kill only such as you desire.” “But,” he added, “the young woman
must not look at them; if she does, something evil will happen.” [117]

The nephew, wearing his uncle’s garments and feather headdress, started
for the chief’s lodge. It was night when he drew near the village in
which lived the chief, and thinking it would not look well for him to
arrive at the lodge after dark, he decided to camp for the night in the
forest. For this purpose he chose a fallen tree, near which he kindled
a fire. Early in the night a man came to the fire, saying: “My nephew,
I am traveling. I am going to the village near here, but it being now
late, I think I will stop with you at your fire. In the morning we can
go on together. So I will remain on this side of the fire, opposite
you, and I will relate stories of what has happened to me during my
life to pass the time away.” The young man unwarily agreed to this
proposition of the stranger. Then the man who called himself uncle
began to tell stories, and the young man would respond at times. But at
last, growing sleepy, the latter stopped making responses, whereupon
the self-styled uncle remarked, “Nephew, I think that you are asleep.”
The young man did not make reply. Then the stranger stirred the fire,
and blowing sparks from it on the young man, called out, “Nephew, I
think that sparks of fire are falling on you.” But as the young man did
not move, the uncle saw that he was fast asleep. Going over to the side
of the young man the stranger shook him, saying, “You are asleep and
sparks of fire are falling on your clothes; so you would better remove
them so that they will be safe.” This awakened the young man, who arose
and undressed himself, and laying his garments in a safe place,
carefully covered them with hemlock boughs. The stranger had an old
skin robe with the fur all worn off, which he told the young man to use
as a covering for the night; this he did. Returning to his side of the
fire, the self-styled uncle began again to tell stories, to which the
young man responded for a while, after which he again became silent.
Knowing that the young man was asleep, the stranger went to the place
where he had concealed his garments and, after removing his own, put
them on, leaving his own soiled things in their stead. The stranger
knew where the young man was going, and knew also the orenda (magic
power) of the garments and pouch belonging to the latter, so he had
determined to secure them for his own use. In the morning when the
young man awoke he discovered that he was alone, that his garments and
pouch were gone, and that in their stead remained the well-worn and
soiled things of the wily old stranger who had visited him the night
before. Naturally, he was sad and deeply humiliated, but he determined
to don the shabby garments of the stranger and to finish his journey to
the lodge of the chief.

When the old man was dressed in the garments and headdress of the young
man, he looked well, so when the sisters saw him coming, they said, “At
last, our man is coming to us.” But on looking more closely at him, the
younger sister, becoming suspicious, decided that he was not the man
they had expected. Hence, when he entered the lodge, leaving the side
of her sister, she went over to the other side of the fire. The man
took his seat beside her elder sister, who said to her: “Why do you
leave me now? You have been wishing that he would come, and now that he
has come, you leave and go to the other side of the fire.” The younger
sister, however, remained firm in her conviction that he was not the
right man. The chief notified the people to go to the lodge of public
assembly to meet his new son-in-law and to see him smoke. In response
to this invitation all the people assembled. The man arrayed himself in
the stolen garments for the purpose of convincing the people and the
chief that he was possessed of great orenda; but for him the times were
out of joint and ill-omened. A beautiful piece of buckskin was spread
on each side of him to receive the expected wampum. But the duck that
surmounted the stolen headdress appeared to be lifeless, for its head
hung limp. Drawing the pipe out of the pouch and filling it with dried
red-willow bark, the man told the manikin to bring an ember to light
the pipe. The manikin, however, did not move. He spoke to it a second
time, but it did not move. Then he said to the people, “My manikin is
shy because of the great concourse of people.” Reaching out, the man
took an ember which he placed in the hand of the manikin, but without
result; finally he himself put it into the pipe. Then he began to
smoke, but he spat no wampum, and merely soiled the piece of buckskin.

After the people had left the assembly lodge and returned to their
homes, the chief’s younger daughter went out to gather wood. While
walking leisurely along looking for fuel, she saw smoke arising in the
distance. When she reached the spot, she found there what was
apparently an old man, who was fast asleep with his head drooping
against a log. Spittle was flowing from his mouth, which, when it fell
on the ground, became wampum. Astonished, the younger daughter ran home
to tell her father what she had seen. He at once sent her back to bring
the strange man to the lodge. Carefully gathering the wampum, she
informed the man that her father had sent for him, and that he must
therefore accompany her to the lodge.

Soon after the elder sister and her husband reached home from the
assembly lodge, they seated themselves on one side of the fire. In a
few moments the younger daughter and the man, old in appearance,
entered the lodge and took seats on the opposite side of the fire. Then
the husband of the elder daughter said to his wife, “Your sister should
be ashamed of herself for having that old man.” Thus all spent the
night together. The next morning the husband of the elder daughter went
to hunt. In the evening he returned with a dead bloodsucker rolled up
in leaves, which he told his wife to cook. Slicing it into small bits,
she did so, and prepared some burnt cornmeal to go with it. Her husband
told her to take the fat from the top of the kettle and pour it on the
meal. This she did, and then passed some of the meal to her sister; but
as the latter was taking it, the elder sister drew it back, with the
remark, “I would willingly give it to you, but I do not like the looks
of your man.”

In the morning of the next day the husband of the younger daughter said
to the other man: “I should like to change garments with you. I shall
wear them only part of the time, and you part of the time. Hereafter
you shall be called by my name.” The other person agreed to the
proposition. As soon as the change was made, the husband of the younger
daughter became a fine-looking man. He told his wife to have her father
assemble the people in the lodge of assembly, for he was going to
smoke. All the people gathered at their accustomed place of meeting.
The floor was swept clean, for there was no buckskin to put down, as
the other husband had soiled such pieces as were available, which were
still hanging up to dry. The husband of the younger daughter sat down,
with his wife on his left side and with his pouch leaning against the
seat. As he threw back his head, his pouch came to life and held up its
head, and he said, “Speak, my duck!” At once the duck came to life,
and, holding up its head, began to sound its usual note. Then, taking
his pipe from his pouch and filling it with dried red-willow bark, he
sent the manikin to bring him an ember for a light. The manikin brought
the ember, and after the pipe was lighted, the young man smoked. While
doing so, he spat first on one side and then on the other; the spittle
at once turned into beautiful dark wampum, which rolled all over the
floor. The people scrambled after it, picking up as much as they could.

When the husband of the elder daughter, who had gone on a hunt,
returned, the young man said to him, “I shall keep the garments, for
tomorrow I shall take my wife and go to hunt.” So in the morning he
went into the woods. After reaching his destination in the forest, he
said to his wife, “I will show you something.” Having found her a fine
place for a shelter, he bade her lie down and cover her head, and
refrain from looking out at what was going on; for if she did so,
something evil would certainly befall him. Obeying her husband, she
covered her head. Then he sang, “Now, all you wild beasts, come here to
this place.” In obedience to his song they all came—bear, elk, and
deer—jumping, hurrying, and rushing on. All the young man had to do in
order to kill them was to point his magical finger at any one he
desired to secure, whereupon it fell dead. Then he sang another song,
“Now, all you wild beasts, go to your homes”—all vanished as quickly as
they had come. When they had gone, he said to his wife, “Now you may
arise and uncover your head.” On getting up and looking around she saw
on every side all kinds of game lying dead. Her husband said to her,
“Now, let us go home. You may tell the people that they may have as
much meat as they desire.”

On their return home the younger daughter informed the people of her
husband’s invitation to take all the meat they required. So many people
went to the place of the hunt, where after skinning and cutting up the
game which the young man had killed, they carried it home. Seeing every
man in the village carrying meat and venison, the elder daughter asked
her sister, “How does your husband kill so much game?” Her sister
answered, “Your husband stole his garments, but now he has recovered
them, and you see what he can do with their aid.” The elder sister
replied, “I will turn my husband away and marry yours.” So when her
husband returned she charged him, saying: “You stole this young man’s
garments. Are you not ashamed of your conduct?” Then, taking a pestle
used for pounding corn, she drove him out of the lodge.

When the people had eaten the meat the young man again went to hunt.
The elder sister said, “I must go with him,” but the younger sister
answered: “You are too careless; you would not obey him. You are too
foolish. You took the other man when I knew that he was not the right
one. So you should not go.” But when the young man was ready to start
she cried like a child to be permitted to go; and finally her younger
sister said, “Go, if you will obey him in everything.” Although he did
not accept her as his wife, she followed him into the forest. He chose
the place of their lodge. When it was ready he told her to lie down and
cover her head, and not to look out until he should call her. Then he
began to sing, “Now, all you wild beasts, come here to this place.”
With a terrifying sound they came from all directions, leaping and
gamboling as they rushed onward. The young man sang all the time. But
the woman, becoming afraid of being trampled to death, peeped out to
see what was going on. As she did so one of the larger animals, running
up to the young man, said Ho, ho, ho! and then carried him off on its
back. Frightened, the sister-in-law leaped up and ran home. When she
arrived there her younger sister said, “Where is my husband?” “The
animals carried him off,” came the answer. Thereupon the younger sister
replied: “I told you that you are too foolish to go to such a place,
and I did not want you to accompany him. Now see what you have done.”

Distracted with grief, the young wife hastened to the place where her
husband was wont to hunt. There she could see the tracks around and
could also hear her husband’s voice far in the distance singing, “I am
deceived by my sister-in-law.” Knowing just what she must do, she
called the white deer to come to her aid. Obeying her pleading, the
white deer [118] in a moment was at her side. Addressing it, she said,
“I wish to borrow your coat at once.” The white deer answered, “If you
will place my body in a safe place and take good care of me, I will
gladly lend it to you.” The young wife consenting willingly to the
conditions, the white deer lent her its coat. Thereupon she placed the
deer’s body in a safe place, covering it carefully so that it could not
be found. Quickly putting on the coat, she became at once a beautiful
white deer; then she ran swiftly after the animals, passing first the
hedgehog, a slow runner; then one after another. As she passed each
would call out, Hai, hai, hai! It would seem that they were becoming
tired. They thought that she was a deer, and that she would help them.
Her husband was carried first by one, then by another animal. It was
while he was on the bear’s back that she overtook him. Leaving the
bear, the young husband leaped on the back of the white deer, whereupon
off she ran ahead of all the other animals. Making a large circuit, she
returned to the place where she had left the body of the white deer.
There she became herself again, and giving back the deer its coat, all
returned home in good condition and lived happily.





51. THE HORNED SNAKE AND THE YOUNG WOMAN

A woman living near Cayuga Lake had been asked many times by young men
to marry her, but she would never consent. The knowledge that she was
good-looking made her very proud and haughty.

During the warm weather the family slept out of doors. One night,
however, the young woman remained inside the lodge. As was customary in
those days, a skin mantle was hung up for a door. In the night the
young woman, awaking, saw some one looking through the doorway, whose
face glistened and whose eyes shone. The face disappeared and a man
walked into the lodge; coming to the bed, he sat down at the side of
the young woman and began to talk. His conversation was very enticing,
and she could not help listening to him, but she did not answer.
Thinking she was asleep, the strange man, shaking her, asked, “Are you
asleep?” She did not answer. After putting sticks on the fire to make a
light, he again asked, “Are you asleep?” She could not longer resist,
and drawing the mantle down from her face, said, “No.” She saw that he
was very handsome and that even his raiment glistened. He spoke of
taking her for his wife, promising to give her all he had, and saying,
“You will find plenty of fine things in my lodge and you shall have
them all.” While he talked she was fast becoming of his mind, and at
last she consented to be his wife. One man after another had failed to
win her, but this stranger was so engaging that she was willing to go
to him. When he left her, he said, “I will come for you in two days.”

The next morning the young woman’s family wondered why they did not see
her, for she was usually the first to be up. Her mother said, “I wonder
what the matter is.” Going to the lodge, she found her asleep. She
shook her but could not arouse her. Her people came to see her from
time to time, but still she slept. At last, on looking in, they saw her
sitting with her head down, as though in deep thought. They wondered
what her trouble was—had she had evil dreams? Finally she got up, but
seemed sad, not as cheerful as usual. They saw that something serious
was on her mind.

As the time approached for the husband to come, the young woman
thought, “I will put on my best clothes that I may look as nearly as
possible like him.” When the time came he appeared before her, saying,
“I have come for you.” Arising, she followed him without hesitation.
Pointing to a hill, he said, “I live on the other side of that hill.”
On the way the young woman thought that she might be possessed of
something evil and almost resolved to go back. The man seemed to know
her thoughts, for looking at her he said, “You are mine, and we are on
our way home.” So she continued to put her feet in his footprints. At
last he said, as if in answer to her thoughts: “You have become my
wife; you can not help yourself. My home is near.” They descended the
wall of a precipice until they reached a large opening in the rocks.
She was glad at any rate to be so near the lodge. Stopping again, she
took council with herself and almost resolved to go back, but an inward
feeling that she must keep on prevailed.

As they entered the hole in the rocks, which led into what seemed to
her to be a lodge, she saw many fine things which she thought would be
a comfort to her. In one corner was a beautiful skin couch; her husband
said to her, “This is your couch.” She was well pleased with her new
home.

Some time passed. She did not discover that the man was different from
other men. As soon as the sun rose every day, he went away.

One day he told her that he was going a long distance, whereupon she
thought: “Now he will be gone a good while. I will look around and see
where I am.” On going out she found that she did not know where the
place was, nor in what direction they had come. She went on and on,
more for amusement than anything else, thinking perhaps that she should
find the way out, and that then she could reach home. At last she
decided to go back into the lodge. She had not gone far when she heard
some noise behind her, at which she was greatly frightened. “You need
not be frightened,” said a man; “I was looking for you. Stand still, my
grandchild, and do not be afraid of me; I am sent to tell you of your
danger; you must do my bidding, for I pity you. Your husband is a great
horned snake. I am going to kill him and destroy his lodge. You must go
up in that high place yonder; sit down and watch. Nothing will happen
to you. When you see your husband, keep your eyes on him and learn to
know what he is.” On going up into the place indicated and looking
around, she could see no clouds in the sky—all was bright and clear.
Suddenly, however, she saw beyond the place a large body of water
rising, and soon it was as high as the hole in the rocks which led to
her home. Then she saw approaching the rocks a great horned snake with
glistening face. She was frightened when she looked on this creature
and knew it was her husband. Just as its head was inside the rocks, she
heard a terrible thunder clap; lightning struck the rocks and they were
all blown to bits. Then the water subsided. After a while the old man
came, saying: “Your husband is killed. There are three of us. We know
that you are under evil influences now, but we will try to save you.
You can go home, but you must be purified first.” While he was talking
the other two came. The old man told her to take off her clothes. She
knew that she had to do as he had requested. Taking up a small vessel,
he gave her to drink a portion of what it contained, and then rubbed
the rest of the contents on her back about the loins. In a short time
three large snakes passed from her reproductive organs, whereupon the
old man remarked, “You are now saved from the evil orenda with which
you have been afflicted.” To purify her further he gave her a beverage
which caused vomiting. The matter which she threw up consisted of
worms, ants, maggots, and all kinds of foul creeping things. While
living with her husband her mind had been so much under his spell that
she had believed that the food which he gave her was good and
wholesome. The three men, now satisfied, said to her: “You are at last
thoroughly purified and freed from the evil power of your husband and
his people; so you can return to your home, which is seven days’
journey from here” (when she made the journey with her husband it
seemed to her but a short distance). Then the old man said to her: “I
am he whom your people call Hinon. You must marry one of your own
people, one who is older than you are, for the younger ones are filled
with witchcraft; and you must tell your friends all that has happened
to you, for if you do not do so, you will undergo the same misfortunes
again.” Thereupon they took her home; while on the way it seemed to her
that they were flying through the air.

The morning after returning home her people found her lying in the
lodge. Her family were all delighted that she had returned to them
safe. When they had found she was missing they had searched for her
everywhere, but had never been able to find even a trace of her. She
related to them her adventures, telling them how she had become the
wife of a great horned snake, and how she had been rescued from it by
Hinon, their grandfather.

When her grandfather, Hinon, had left her at the lodge doorway he had
given her a basket, telling her to fill it with native Indian tobacco,
saying, “For with this plant we cleanse ourselves.” He told her further
that from time to time she should leave a small quantity of the tobacco
in the woods, which he would get as a grateful offering to him.





52. THE MAN PURSUED BY HIS SISTER-IN-LAW

Two brothers lived together in the forest. Every day the elder went out
to hunt, but he never brought home game or flesh of any description.
The younger brother noticed, however, that his brother’s back bore
bloody stains just as if he had been carrying freshly killed game; so
he decided to watch him, that he might see what he did with the game he
killed.

One day while the younger brother was watching he found that, when
returning with game, a woman approached from a side path and took from
the elder brother the game, which she carried away. So the next day the
younger brother started off in the direction the strange woman had
taken. He soon came to a lodge, and on entering he found a young woman,
who smiled and began talking to him.

In the afternoon he started for home; but after he had gone some
distance he saw that he was returning to the lodge which he had just
left, and was greatly disturbed about himself. Thereupon he went in an
opposite direction. While he was walking along, his elder brother,
coming up behind him, said, “My brother, it is strange that you do not
know that there is a fishhook caught in your neck.” Having removed the
fishhook and fastened it to a near-by bush, the elder brother said to
his younger brother: “Your only safe course now is to escape from this
place as quickly as possible. I will aid you to escape.” Then the elder
brother, causing the younger to become small, after opening one of his
arrows introduced him into it, and after securing him there, told him,
“When the arrow strikes the ground, quickly get out of this arrow and
then run for your life.” Then he shot the arrow off into the air.

When the young woman drew on the fishhook she found that she could not
pull it to her; following along the line, she found that the hook was
fastened to a bush. This caused her to get very angry, and she said,
“Young man, you can not escape from me; this world is too small for
that.” Thence she quickly went to the young man’s lodge but he was not
there, so she tracked him to her own lodge and back again to the bush.
There she found the trail of the arrow, which she followed to the spot
where it fell. On finding there the tracks of the young man, she
pursued his trail with great speed. As she approached the young man he
heard her footsteps and, pulling off his moccasins, he told them to run
ahead to the end of the country;[119] further, he transformed himself
into a stump right where he stood. The pursuing woman soon came up to
the stump. Halting there, she looked up and said, “Why, this looks like
a man”; but, as the tracks of the young man apparently passed on,
exclaiming “Why do I waste time here?” she ran on. When she reached the
end of the country, behold! there stood the young man’s moccasins. Then
she hurried back to the place where she had seen the stump, but it was
no longer there. Finding, however, fresh tracks made by the young man,
she followed them. Soon the young man heard her approaching again,
whereupon he cast a stone behind him, with the remark, “Let a high rock
extend from one end of the country to the other.” As soon as he had
spoken the words the great ridge of rock was there.

When the young woman came to the rock she could go neither through it
nor over it. Finally she said, “I have never heard of this high rock;
surely it can not extend across the country. I will go around it.” So
she ran to the end of the country without success; then she ran to the
other end of the country, but with no greater success in getting around
the ridge of rocks. Coming back to the spot whence she had started, she
stepped back a short distance and then, rushing forward, she butted her
head against the solid rock to break it down; but she fell back
seemingly dead. After a long time she recovered consciousness and,
looking around her, Lo!—the rock ridge had disappeared; only a small
stone lay there. “Oh! he is exerting his magic power,” she exclaimed,
and again she hurried on after him.

When the youth once more heard her footsteps and knew that she was fast
gaining on him he took a pigeon’s feather out of his pouch, and casting
it down back of him commanded, “Let there be a pigeon roost across the
country and let there be so many pigeons in it that their droppings
shall be so deep and high that nothing can get through them.” Soon the
young woman came to the roost and started to go through it, but could
not do so; then she drew back, saying, “I never heard that a pigeon
roost could extend across the world. I shall go around it.” Thereupon
she followed the roost, first to one end of the world, then to the
other, but was not able to go around it. Returning to the spot whence
she had started she attempted to break through the mass of droppings by
butting her head against it, but she fell back seemingly dead. After a
long time she regained consciousness, and on opening her eyes found a
small feather lying on the ground. The roost had disappeared. She was
now very angry and took up the pursuit with great speed.

In his flight the young man came to a lake where he saw people bathing
and playing in the water. Stopping there he said, “Let one of those men
become just like me and let me become an old stump.” Presently the
young woman came up to the stump, but hearing the laughter of the
bathers she saw on looking at them that the man farthest out in the
lake was the one she was following. Seeing her standing there the
people called to her, “Come! help us catch this man who outswims us.”
Quickly springing into the water, after a long chase she caught him,
but the moment she had done so he took his own form, whereupon she knew
that she had been deceived again. Going back to the shore she found
that the stump had gone.

Again she followed the tracks of the young man. Just as he heard her
approaching, a man stood before him who asked, “What is the trouble?”
The young man replied, “A woman is pursuing me.” The stranger answered,
“I will try to aid you.” Stooping down, he added: “Get on my back. I
will throw you on a hillside. You must run along the hill until you are
forced to descend.” The young man stepped on the back of the man
Nosgwais,[120] who stretched his legs to an enormous length, throwing
the young man off to a great distance on a side hill. The young woman
came to the trail, where she found the ground soft and resilient. As
she tried to advance it would fly up, throwing her backward. On looking
around she found that she was standing on a toad’s back. She made great
circles in search of the tracks of the young man. At last she reached
the hill. When the young man reached the hill he ran along its top for
a considerable time until he slipped and fell. Being unable to help
himself, he slid down the hill with great rapidity, so fast that he did
not realize anything until he struck a lodge, a voice within which
said, “I think there must be something in our trap.”

A young woman came out and, seeing the young man, lifted him up and
took him into the lodge. “What is the trouble?” asked an old woman. He
replied: “A woman is following me. I have long been trying to escape
from her.” “Keep out of sight and I will help you,” said the old woman.
Then the old woman, filling a kettle with bear’s oil, set it over the
fire. Soon it began to boil, whereupon she said, “Let this young man’s
face be looking up from the bottom of this kettle.” At that moment they
heard a noise outside of the lodge door, which opened. In came the
young woman, who asked, “Where is the man I am following?” The old
woman said, “He ran into the kettle.” Looking into the kettle and
seeing the face of the man, she exclaimed, “I knew I should conquer you
at last;” and plunged into the boiling oil in order to seize him. But
the boiling oil killed her. Then the old woman called the young man,
saying, “The woman who was pursuing you is dead.” The daughter said to
her mother, “I will have this man for my husband.”

In the course of time twin boys were born to the young people. When
they were large enough to run around, their father said to them, “You
must now go after your uncle.” After traveling a very long distance
they reached a lodge, in which they found a man. One of the boys said,
“Uncle, we have come for you.” The old man, after making ready,
accompanied them. When they arrived at the home of the boys, the
younger brother greeted his elder brother with, “I am glad we are able
to see each other again.” Then one of the boys said, “Grandmother, we
want you to marry this man, our uncle.” She replied, “So it shall be.”
So they were married and all lived happily together.





53. THE STORY OF BLOODY HAND

According to tradition several tribes of the Iroquois claim the honor
of having produced a great man, whose name was Bloody Hand, and whose
fame as a hunter was not less than his reputation as a bold and
resolute war captain.

Now, Bloody Hand had great love for the birds of the air and the
animals on the earth that eat flesh. He greatly respected them and paid
them marked attention. When he had killed a deer while out hunting he
would skin it and cut the meat into small pieces; then he would call
Gaqga [121] to come to eat the flesh. When he killed another animal, he
would dress it in like manner and call Nonhgwatgwa122 and his people to
come to eat the flesh which he had given them. Sometimes he would carry
home a portion of the game he had killed, but generally he gave it all
to the various birds and animals whose chief food is flesh.

According to a Seneca legend a number of Seneca warriors went on a
warlike expedition against a tribe which was hostile to them, and it so
happened that Bloody Hand was one of this warlike band. In an encounter
with the enemy he and a number of others were killed and their remains
were left on the ground. The body of Bloody Hand lay in the forest
stark naked; the enemy, having scalped him, had borne away the scalp as
a great trophy.

The birds of the air, having seen Bloody Hand killed and mutilated,
held a council at which they bemoaned the death of their human friend.
Finally one of the assembly said: “Let us try to bring him back to
life. But before we can begin to resuscitate his body we must recover
his scalp, which hangs before the door of the chief of the enemy who
killed him. Let us send for it.” The assembly after agreeing to what
had been proposed with regard to the preparations necessary to bring
their friend back to life, first sent the Black Hawk to secure the
scalp. Having arrived at the place where hung the scalp, Black Hawk was
able by means of his sharp and powerful bill to break easily the cords
that held the scalp; thus securing it, he bore it in triumph to the
council of the birds. Then one among them said, “Let us first try our
medicine to see whether it has retained its virtue or not. We must try
first to bring to life that dead tree which lies there on the ground.”
Thereupon they proceeded to prepare their medicine. To make it, each
representative placed in the pot a piece of his own flesh. (These
representatives were, of course, birds of the elder time, not such as
live now.[123]) In experimenting with their medicine they caused a
stalk of corn to grow out of the ground without sowing seed. In this
stalk there was blood. After noting the efficacy of the medicine they
broke the stalk, and after obtaining blood from it, caused it to
disappear. With this medicine is compounded the seed of the squash.

When the medicine was made they held a sanctifying council, in which
part of the assembly sat on one side of the tree, and the other part on
the opposite side. The wolves and the snakes attended, also other
animals and birds of great orenda (magic power). The birds sang and the
rattlesnakes rattled; all present made music, every one in his own way.

Above the clouds and mists of the sky dwells a bird who is the chief of
all the birds. His name is Sʻhadahgeah. This assembly of bird and
animal sorcerers chose the chief of the crows to notify him of all that
was taking place. This is the reason, according to the tradition, the
crow today sings the note “caw, caw.” The eagle is another chief who is
under this great bird that dwells above the clouds and mists of the
firmament.

When the leaders of this assembly saw that the trees and plants were
coming to life and putting forth green leaves and waxen buds,[124] the
presiding chief said to his associates: “This is enough. We have sung
enough. Out medicine will now act, and we must select someone to put it
into the man’s body.” For this purpose they chose the chickadee. This
canny bird first drank the medicine; then going by way of the man’s
mouth into his stomach, it emitted the medicine. While this was taking
place the others were engaged in rubbing the body of the dead man with
the medicine. When his body was well anointed they all sat down and
began to sing. For two days and two nights they did not cease from
singing, until they perceived that the body was becoming warm again.
After his resuscitation125 the man reported that he felt suddenly as
though he had just been aroused from a sound sleep; he heard the
singing of the birds and the various sounds made by the beasts around
him, and finally came to life again. Remaining silent, he merely
listened to the singing of the songs of orenda that arose on all sides.
He listened because he could understand the words that were used in
these chants of the sorcerers. As soon as his body began to show signs
of motion the birds and the beasts drew back a little, but continued to
sing and chant.

When the chief of the assembly saw that the man had fully recovered his
life, he said to him: “We bestow this medicine on you and your people.
Your people shall have it for their healing. If it so happens that one
of them is injured by a fall, by a blow, or by an arrow shot, he must
have recourse to this medicine. You must make use of it at once. You
must also from time to time strengthen and renew this medicine by
giving a feast in its honor.[126] When you make use of it you must burn
tobacco in our behalf and turn your thoughts toward us. As long as you
shall have this medicine, you shall assemble at intervals at appointed
feasts to strengthen it, and for this purpose you shall burn tobacco of
the old kind. While doing this you shall say, among the other things:
‘Let all the birds and the beasts on the earth and above the earth
share this fragrant smell of the tobacco.’ As long as people live and
are born this ceremony must be maintained to fix the use of this
medicine.” Thus, after the birds and beasts had brought the man to
life, they taught him how to make use of the medicine and how to sing
the songs that put it in action. Then they dismissed him, telling him
to go to his home, where he must inform his people, through their
appointed authorities, what he had learned for their benefit and
welfare. Thereupon the man went to his home.

The men who had seen him scalped and killed had related the story to
their people, who believed him dead. So, when they saw him return
alive, they quickly gathered around him, asking, “How has it come to
pass that you have returned alive?” Then the man gave them, in detail,
an account of how he had been killed, and how the birds and the
animals, in return for the kindness which he had shown them at all
times, had concocted the medicine which had brought him back to life.
Then, selecting a small number of wise men of great experience, he
taught them how to use this medicine and confided its preservation to
their custody. He strictly enjoined them not to make light of the songs
which belonged to it; should they so far forget themselves as to do so,
they would suffer great misfortune, for the songs possessed great
orenda, which would become active against them. He told them, further,
that no one should sing the songs unless he had some of this powerful
medicine (which is called nigahnegahah, “small dose”). This medicine is
still held in great repute among the Iroquois. (See Medical Note, p.
491.)





54. THE SEVEN STARS OF THE DIPPER

Long ago six men went out hunting many days’ journey from home. For a
long time they found no game. One of their number said that he was sick
(in fact he was very lazy), so they had to make a litter of two poles
and a skin, by means of which four men carried him. Each man had his
own load to bear besides. The sixth member of the party came behind,
carrying the kettle.

At last, when they were getting very hungry, they came on the track of
a bear, whereupon they dropped their sick companion and their burdens,
each running on as fast as he could after the bear. At first the track
was so old that they thought merely, “We shall overtake the bear at
some future time anyway.” Later they said, “The track can not be more
than three days old,” and as it grew fresher and fresher each day, they
finally said, “Tomorrow, it seems, we shall overtake the bear.” Now,
the man whom they had carried so long was not tired, and when they
dropped him, knowing that he was to be left behind, he ran on after
them. As he was fresher than they were, he soon passed them, and
overtaking the bear, he killed it.

His companions never noticed in their hurry that they were going upward
all the time. Many persons saw them in the air, always rising as they
ran. When they overtook the bear they had reached the heavens, where
they have remained to this day, and where they can be seen any starlit
night near the Polar Star.

The man who carried the kettle is seen in the bend of the Great Dipper,
the middle star of the handle, while the only small star near any other
of the Dipper stars is the kettle. The bear may be seen as a star at
the lower outside corner.

Every autumn when the first frost comes there may be seen on the leaves
of the oak tree blood and drops of oil—not water, but oil—the oil and
blood of the bear. On seeing this the Indians say, “The lazy man has
killed the bear.”





55. THE STORY OF THE TWO BROTHERS

Two brothers living by themselves in the forest believed that they were
the only persons in the world. They were greatly devoted to each other.
The younger did the thinking and the planning for both, for whatever he
said the elder brother did.

One day the younger brother exclaimed, “Go yonder and kill that turkey,
for I want its feathers.” “I will,” answered the elder. So going to the
point indicated, the elder killed the turkey and brought its carcass to
his brother, asking, “What do you want to do with its feathers?” “I
want to wear them, because it will be a pleasure to know that I have
them on my head,” declared the younger brother, plucking two feathers
from the body of the turkey, for he required no more for his purpose.
Then he ordered his brother to fasten these in a socket attached to a
chin band, so that they would turn with the wind when worn on the head.
Having done this, the elder brother placed the socket so fastened on
his brother’s head. This gave the younger brother a distinguished
aspect.

Every night before retiring the younger brother would remove the chin
band with the socket containing the two plumes and hang it on the side
of the lodge. When daylight came the first thing he did was to fasten
on his head the chin band with the socket with its latchet of buckskin
thongs, exclaiming, “I take pleasure in these feathers, for I am going
to have a festival in their honor.”

One day the younger brother went into the forest adjoining the lodge.
His brother, watching from a distance, saw him go back to a fallen
tree. In a short time the elder brother heard singing and the sound of
dancing, whereupon he said, “I verily believe that my younger brother
is crazy,” for he had never seen such things done before. When the
younger brother returned to the lodge his brother asked him bluntly:
“What were you doing? Were you not dancing behind the tree? Why do you
go so far away from the lodge? You should have your dance right here in
this lodge. Why should you go off alone?” “You do not know the tune I
sing, and so I must sing alone,” was the answer. The elder brother
replied, “I should learn the tune, too, so that I could take part in
the singing of the song.” “No,” declared the younger brother, “I know
the tune, and if you want to take part with me, you may dance.” The
elder brother rejoined: “No; it is not right that I should dance while
I have no feathers in my headgear.” Answering, the brother said: “You
may change places with me if you wish. Then you shall hunt the smaller
game. I kill birds, and it is from them that I learn the songs. The
animals which you hunt and kill do not sing; but, perhaps, I could not
kill the large game because I am so small, and it may be that you could
not kill the birds because you are so large.” “Well,” replied the
elder, “you may have it all to yourself, and I will merely watch you
sing and dance.”

So the elder brother continued to hunt large game, and at times he
would hear the singing and the dancing as he came near their home. When
the younger brother would hear him approaching he would pretend to be
doing something quite different from dancing and singing. This conduct
caused the elder brother to wonder and to fear that something peculiar
was about to happen to both of them. Often he would say to his brother:
“Why did you stop hunting? You do not go to hunt any more.” The younger
brother answered: “I listen to the singing of the birds and so learn
their songs; this is why I do not shoot them.” “It is well,” rejoined
the elder brother, who continued to hunt such game as he required. But
one day his younger brother said to him, “My feathers are nearly worn
out, and I want you to kill another turkey for me.” So the elder
brother killed the largest turkey he could find, and then said to his
brother, “Skin this turkey instead of plucking its feathers.” He did as
requested, and the elder brother having made a pouch of the skin, asked
his brother, “Do you like this robe?” “I like it very much, and I am
thankful to you, brother,” was the answer. As the skin of the turkey
began to dry, the younger brother, getting into the pouch, would walk
around looking just like a turkey, and he seemed to enjoy greatly this
new form of dress. When he walked into the lodge, he would come out of
the skin, which he would hang up among his belongings. The elder one
said to him: “Brother, you must not go far from the lodge; it will not
be safe for you to do so.” “No,” said the younger brother, “I will stay
at home and take care of our things.” Matters continued thus for some
time.

One day the younger brother said: “You must stay at home, not going to
hunt today. Instead, you must learn to sing my songs. What I do now
shall be the practice of our people hereafter, if we ever have any
people or kindred; hence you must learn these songs.” So he made a rule
that people of his tribe should wear feathers as insignia. The elder
meditated on this matter, wondering how the younger brother could have
such prophetic thoughts. “Now,” said the youth to his brother, “I am
going to sing, and you must listen and must learn what I sing.” So he
sang a war song. His elder brother asked him, “What kind of a song is
that?” The youth replied: “It is a war song.”

From the time that the youth had commenced to study the singing of the
birds he had begun to grow wise and had become experienced in the ways
of the world (i.e., of the world of daimons). He kept saying, “These
are songs which the people shall sing, and they, too, shall wear
feathers on their heads.” The people had never heard anyone else sing,
but the youth had studied out the matter from hearing the birds sing.
He declared to his brother the dangers connected with singing the
songs, saying, “You must be very careful about singing this song; if
you are not, it will bring you senseless to the ground.” Then he added:
“I am singing praises, for I have learned to sing from the birds. I
give thanks as I have heard them given in my hunting expeditions. I
dance to my own songs because I hear the birds sing, and I see them
dance. You and I must do the same, for it will rouse a feeling of joy
in our hearts.” Thus, the youth was the wiser of the two brothers.

Once when they were out hunting the younger brother saw a large bird
sitting over them on a large tree. When the bird began to sing the
elder brother knew that his brother must have learned a song from this
bird, for he recognized a song which had been taught to him. “You are
wise,” said he to the youth, “and now I shall believe that a higher
magic power directs the birds to teach us songs which possess powerful
orenda (magic power).” Thereupon he began to sing a song of his own,
which was different from that of his brother. “Do you think that I can
dance to your song?” asked the youth. “I shall try, at any rate.”
Instead of singing it, the elder said, “I will tell you the words of
the song, namely: ‘I am glad to see the day dawn. I am thankful for the
beautiful sunbeams.’” “I know what that song is,” said the youth; “it
is different from mine, and it has not so much joy in it; whenever we
are sad we will draw our words from it; we will sing it and gain
courage and strength thereby.”

Then the youth said, “You would better go to your hunting, and I will
go to mine.” As the elder brother was starting off, the youth leaped
into his turkey-skin pouch, saying, “Brother, let me go with you.” “I
go so far away,” he replied, “that it would tire you out, so I do not
think you should go.” But as the youth insisted on going, finally the
elder said, “I will let you go part of the way, but I can not let you
go all the way, for that would be too much for you to undertake.” So
they started, the youth dressed in the turkey-skin garb following his
brother far into the forest, whereupon the elder said, “I think this is
as far from home as you should go; now you would better return
thither.” So the youth, prancing around like a turkey, went home. The
elder brother had noticed that lately the youth never removed his
turkey-skin robe, wearing it even at night. Not liking to have the
little fellow wear this robe all the time, he asked him to take it off
when retiring for the night. But the youth replied, “You made it for
me, and I like to wear it constantly.” He always gave this same answer.
As he dearly loved his younger brother, the elder did not order him to
take it off.

The youth played just as turkeys play, and when he saw wild turkeys he
would imitate the noises made by them; he was learning all the habits
of the turkey, and no longer wore feathers on his head; his voice began
to change and it did not sound to his brother as it formerly had. The
elder brother wondered about and worried over this conduct of the
youth. At last he commanded the younger one to remove his turkey-skin
robe. He replied, “I can not take it off, so you will have to take it
off of me.” On trying to do this, the elder brother found he could not
remove the robe, which had grown to the little fellow’s body, so he let
it alone.

The brothers always ate together when encamped in the same lodge. One
day the brother with the turkey-skin robe declared, “I will now go with
you, but you must be strictly on your guard, for something strange is
about to happen.” The youth was very wise; his counsel and advice
seemed superior to the opinions of any other man and beyond the
comprehension of his elder brother. Once when the elder brother,
returning, failed to find his brother at home he went to bed. But in
the morning he heard his brother on the roof of the lodge making the
noises which turkeys make at the break of day, whereupon he was
convinced that the youth had really turned into a turkey. This
conviction made him feel very strange. Soon he heard his brother jump
to the ground and come into the lodge. On entering he exclaimed:
“Brother! brother! a woman is coming. I think she desires to see you,
but you must be exceedingly cautious, for something may happen to us.
By all means you must not accompany her if she asks you to do so; but
if you do go I shall follow you.” That day when the woman came she saw
in front of the lodge what she took to be a turkey, and eyed it
carefully. Thereupon the youth acted as much as possible like a turkey
in order to deceive her the more completely. On entering the lodge the
woman found the elder brother, whom she had come to take away, and said
to him, “I have come purposely to have you accompany me home.” In
replying, he said, “I shall ask my brother, to learn what he will think
about this matter.” Going out, he consulted with his younger brother,
who had in appearance become a turkey, saying, “That woman has come.
What is to be done?” The answer came: “Have I not told you that she
would come? She is a great sorceress whose purpose is to destroy us.
You must tell her that you are not ready to go today, but that you and
your brother will go tomorrow. I foresee that if we go something evil
will happen to us if we are not very cautious.” Going into the lodge,
the elder brother said to the woman, “We will start as soon as we can
get ready.” She did not once suspect that what she had taken for a
turkey was the other brother. The brother with the turkey-skin robe
decided to remain in the lodge that night, lest something evil might
befall his elder brother; so he placed himself on a convenient perch,
the woman thinking he was a tame turkey. The next morning neither of
the brothers thought of eating anything. The elder said, “I think that
I shall have to accompany this woman,” to which the Turkey Brother
replied: “It is very wrong of you to go. She is a great sorceress, and
we can not overcome her orenda.”

The woman had come from the west, where the two brothers had never
been. When the Turkey Brother saw the woman and his brother leave the
lodge together, he followed them for some time, noting that they went
westward. He said to himself, “I do not see why you agreed to go.” The
Turkey Brother was now alone. Toward evening he felt very lonely, and
he spent an anxious night. In the morning he mused with a heavy heart,
saying, “My poor brother! The woman has taken him away; and if anything
happens to him, I shall dream of it.” After the lapse of some time he
said, “Well, I must go after my brother.” Traveling westward, the
Turkey Brother came to an opening in the forest in which stood a lodge,
whereupon he said, “This must be the place.” The old woman of the lodge
said: “There is a turkey outside. Perhaps it has come to stay with us;
it is very tame.” The elder brother now knew that his Turkey Brother
had come after him, and going out of the lodge, he met him. The
sorceress took a fancy to the Turkey Brother and did not think of
killing him. Toward night one of the women sought to place the Turkey
Brother by himself for the night, but he perched on an open gable end
of a lodge in order to be able to see and hear what was taking place on
the inside. After the two women had gone a short distance from the
lodge, the Turkey Brother said: “Brother, how can you endure the abuse
which these women heap upon you? They never give you a mouthful to eat,
for they intend to kill you. I have come to tell you this, for I have
discovered what they are going to do. I am going home now, but I will
take you away from them.” So saying, he started eastward. As his
captive brother watched him, he remarked, “It is fortunate that he can
go where he likes.”

On the way homeward the Turkey Brother became so anxious about his
brother that be grew enraged at the woman. When he reached home he
thought of some scheme by which he might be able to cast off his
turkey-skin robe, for he had definitely decided in his own mind that he
had worn the disguise long enough. But how to get rid of it was the
question, for it had grown to him. At last, however, he was able to
free himself from the garment. Hanging it up, he put his plumed
chin-band on his head. While eating his meal he kept thinking of his
brother. Finally, he exclaimed, “Now is the time!” and being in his
human form, he called on his tutelary, the Moose, for aid. The words of
appeal had scarcely left his mouth before the Moose stood before him,
awaiting his pleasure. He said to the Moose: “You must go westward to
the place where live the old woman and her daughters, who hold my
brother captive. This is the time of day that he goes out of the lodge.
I want you to save him—you can do so by carrying him in this way
(jumping on the Moose’s back)—and when you have him on your back, you
must run with all your speed, being careful not to let my brother fall
off. You must also take off your plumes (meaning his horns), put mine
in their place; yours are too heavy for running swiftly.” Thereupon the
Moose said, “Let us try it,” and after running with the little fellow
on his back and completing a large circle, the Moose returned to the
starting point. Then the Moose held down its head and the little
fellow, taking off the horns, placed in their stead his own plumed
chin-band, saying: “When you return I will put back your plumes. Now,
my brother has come out of the lodge and is looking for a place in
which to die, for he has determined not to die in the lodge of the old
woman. So go!” With a bound the Moose was off in the direction of the
lodge, and the little fellow remarked to himself, “The Moose will soon
be back with my brother.” Before very long he heard a noise outside his
lodge, and looking out, saw his brother hanging on the neck of the
Moose, so weak that he could scarcely get him off. The little fellow
pulled him by the feet until he dropped to the ground. Although he
landed on his feet, he could not stand, but the younger brother managed
to get him into the lodge. Coming out, he gave back to the Moose his
horns, receiving in return his own plumes; thereupon he dismissed the
Moose. Then he chided his brother, saying: “I told you not to go with
that woman, but you would not listen to me. Now you have suffered a
great punishment, but I am glad that you are back home. Your journey
has caused me great trouble. We are now free from the woman and can now
live happily together.”





56. SʻHODIEONSKON [127] (THE TRICKSTER)

Sʻhodieonskon went on a journey to distant places in visits of
adventure. In the first place he came to he found a large number of
lodges. Here he told the people that in his village everyone was ill of
a certain disease; that the same disease would come to them, too; and
that his people had discovered but one cure for it—all persons who were
married slept with other men’s wives and other women’s husbands, and
this saved them. Believing this, the people did as he had told them.

Then Sʻhodieonskon started off in another direction. When he came in
sight of the second village he began to call out according to the
custom of runners, Goʹweh! goʹweh! so the people knew that news of some
kind was coming. As they gathered around him after his arrival, he told
them that a plague was upon the place from which he had come, and that
if they wished to prevent or cure this plague they must cut holes in
the bark walls of their lodges and close these by putting their
buttocks into them, and that all the families must do this. Going home,
the people defecated into their lodges through these holes in the
walls, whereupon Sʻhodieonskon mocked them for being fools, and thrust
his walking-stick through the holes as he went, jeering at them, from
lodge to lodge, before his departure.

In the next adventure he met a crowd of men; this time he wore long
hair reaching to the ground. All looked at his hair, wondering how he
got it. When they asked him, he said that he had climbed a tree and,
after tying his hair to a limb, jumped off. In this way the hair became
stretched as much as he wanted. Further, they could do likewise if they
wished. After Sʻhodieonskon had gone his way one of the men, saying, “I
am going to make my hair long,” climbed a tree and, having tied his
hair to a limb, jumped down. His scalp was torn off, and, falling to
the ground, he was killed. The other people, enraged, said, “That man
is Sʻhodieonskon; we must overtake and kill him.” Running after him,
they soon came in sight of a creek, in which they saw a man spearing
fish. Every little while, raising his foot, he would pull off a fish,
for he had sharpened his leg and was using it for a spear. They watched
him take several fish from his leg. When they reached the bank he came
up out of the water. They were astonished at the number of fish he had
caught and asked him how he had taken so many. “You can all see,” he
replied, “I have sharpened my leg and use it for a spear; when I get
all the fish I want I spit on my leg, and it becomes as well as
before.” Then he showed them how he did it. He put the fish he had
speared on a string. Then the men wanted to spear fish, so they asked
him, “Can not you sharpen our legs, so that we may spear fish?” After
he had sharpened their legs, entering the water, they went to work,
while he disappeared. Presently they began to feel sore and had caught
nothing. So they all came up, and sitting on the bank, they spat on
their legs and rubbed them, but this treatment was of no efficacy in
healing their wounds. Meanwhile Sʻhodieonskon was far out of sight on
his way to a new village.

When Sʻhodieonskon drew near to the third village he called out,
Goʹweh! goʹweh! The people gathered around him, asking what had
happened. He told them that in the place whence he had come the young
men were killing all the old ones, who could be saved only if the women
would give themselves to the young men; so the women did so, and
nothing happened to the old men.

Sʻhodieonskon then hurried to another place. When he arrived there, all
asked what the matter was in his place. “Another sickness,” he said,
but he had the medicine to cure it. This medicine was bear’s oil, which
he carried in a bark bowl (it was his urine). He sold it to the
villagers to be drunk with their food. When warm it crackled like salt.
Although they knew it was not oil, they drank it. As he left the
village he said that he had never seen such stuff eaten before, and
ridiculed them.

Continuing his journey, Sʻhodieonskon met a man, and they sat down by
the trail. He offered the man a cake which corresponded to the oil he
had just sold, but the man refused to eat it and went his way.

Sʻhodieonskon, not to be baffled, called up a couple of bears. When
they came to him he said: “I want you to carry me. I will rest one foot
on one of you and the other foot on the other. We will go in this
direction, running around until we meet a man. I will tell this man
that I will give you to him to mount, and when he places one foot on
each of you his feet will become fastened to your backs, whereupon you
must go in opposite directions, tearing him apart.” Having agreed to do
this, they soon ran around ahead of the man, to whom Sʻhodieonskon
said, “I have ridden these bears so long that I am tired of them; if
you would like, I will give them to you.” They seemed so tame and were
so fine-looking that the man gladly took them and jumped on their
backs, whereupon his feet grew fast to them in a moment. After running
together a little way the bears ran in different directions. The man,
badly injured and half dead, finally became free from the bears. He
said to himself, “Well, I have found Sʻhodieonskon.”

Sʻhodieonskon, having journeyed farther, met a party of young women.
Stopping them, he said: “It is not best for you to continue on that
road—it is dangerous, for when you meet a man dressed in hemlock boughs
you must not be afraid, but must do everything he wants you to do, so
as to keep on friendly terms with him.” Going on through the woods, the
women soon saw something moving in front of them, which they noticed
was covered with hemlock boughs. They were frightened, but after a
while one of them, saying “I will not be afraid,” went straight up to
him and talked with him some time behind a tree. Then she came back,
telling the others to go, that there was nothing to be afraid of. So
they went, one by one, and after all had been there he went away. One
of the women whistled out his name and called him, but he had gone
after fooling them all. Sʻhodieonskon and the man in the hemlock boughs
were one.

Sʻhodieonskon went on again, soon coming to an opening where there was
a number of bark lodges. Going into the lodges he said, “There is a man
coming to destroy all the people, and to escape him they must cover all
the smoke-holes, for he has a long spear which he thrusts into them to
spear the people.” Then he invented a name for the man. All went to
work covering the smoke-holes of their lodges. The chief of the village
had two beautiful wives. Sʻhodieonskon coveted them and did not tell
the chief the story of the man with the spear. When all the other
lodges were covered and full of smoke, Sʻhodieonskon ran over the
roofs, frightening everybody almost to death; not daring to go out, all
remained half stifled in the smoke. At last Sʻhodieonskon, climbing the
roof of the chief’s lodge, speared him to death and took his wives and
all he had.

In due time the funeral of the chief was held, and all came to bury
him. Sʻhodieonskon, appearing among the mourners, cried, saying: “I am
sorry for the chief; he was a friend of mine, and now he is dead and
gone. I am so sad. I do not wish to live. You must bury me with him.”
So they put Sʻhodieonskon in the ground beside the chief. The next day
some boys who were out at play heard a man calling for help, his voice
seeming to come from the graveyard, whereupon they went to the spot.
The voice seeming to come out of the grave, they ran and told the
people. The people agreed to dig him up. When they had done so
Sʻhodieonskon, standing on the ground, said: “There is a very important
thing to be done. I came back because the chief had two wives; they
mourn for their husband, and I feel sorry for them. I am sent back to
marry the two widows.” After talking over the affair the people said it
was a great thing that a man should be sent back from the other world
to marry the widows of their chief, so they consented to the
arrangement, and Sʻhodieonskon, having married them, settled down.





57. THE CANNIBAL UNCLE, HIS NEPHEW, AND THE NEPHEW’S INVISIBLE BROTHER

An uncle and his nephew dwelt together in a forest, subsisting by
hunting. They lived in a lodge which had a partition through the middle
and a door at each end. Neither one ever entered the part occupied by
the other, all communication between them being held by means of
conversation carried on through the partition. Each went in and out of
his own part of the lodge whenever he liked, but never dared to cross
the threshold of the other’s room.

After a time the nephew, a handsome young man, discovered his uncle’s
true nature—he was a man-eater, an Ongwe Ias.

One day a woman came to the nephew’s room. The next morning at dawn the
uncle exclaimed, “My nephew has two ways of breathing.” The young man,
speaking to himself, said: “My uncle is mistaken. I am only talking to
myself.” “Oh!” said the old man, “My nephew can not deceive me. There
are two in his room, and I am glad that some wild game has come to
visit him.”

The old man then said that he was going out to hunt. When the uncle had
gone the young man said to his wife: “My uncle knows that you are here,
and now you must heed my words, or he will kill and eat you. Three
other women have been here before you. He killed and devoured them all,
for they disregarded my warnings. Now, before I go, I will bring water
and wood and everything else you want, so you will not need to go out.
I will also get a vessel for your use. If you go out you are lost; my
uncle will surely kill you. As soon as I leave the lodge, he will come
back, for he knows you are here.” After he left the door, the young man
turned back and again warned his wife not to disobey him.

The moment the husband was out of sight in the woods the uncle came to
the door. Having the power of commanding things to be done which he did
not see, the uncle said, “Let it be necessary for the woman to go out.”
When he saw that she did not come out he said, “Let the water with
which she is cooking boil away.” The water boiled away, but as she had
plenty more she did not go out. Seeing this, the uncle became terribly
angry, and said, “I will get her out in one way or another.” Now the
old uncle was a man-eater, and the nephew had discovered that instead
of hunting beasts and birds he hunted human beings, and that every man
or woman he met, he killed, and having brought home the body on his
shoulders, he cooked and ate the flesh. The nephew hunted game, for the
uncle had always made him find his own food.

This day, as the young man was returning, he saw smoke rising from his
end of the lodge, whereupon he thought, “All is well; my uncle has not
been able to kill my wife.” When he entered he thanked her for her
obedience. In the evening about dusk they heard the old man come in and
knew that he had brought nothing. He called out: “What luck has my
nephew had to-day?” “I have had good luck,” replied the nephew. The
uncle said, “I found nothing.” Now he muttered to himself about his
nephew, blaming him for hiding his uncle’s game in his part of the
lodge, and saying that he would have his own. He heard the two
breathing and could not be deceived. Determined to have something to
eat, the old man pounded bones into small pieces and putting them into
a large kettle which he filled with water, he made soup. The husband
and wife on the other side of the partition did not talk.

The nephew decided to leave the place. As he had been thinking of doing
so for some time, he had his plans well laid. Unobserved by his uncle
he had walked in circles around the lodge, going farther and farther
each day. When he had made paths three days’ journey in circuit he told
his wife what he intended to do. That night the uncle said: “I am going
to be absent two or three days. I can find no game in all this country
about here.” “Well,” said the nephew, “hunters go where they can find
something to kill and are often gone many days. I, too, am going
farther. Game is getting scarce in our neighborhood.”

The young man, being possessed of orenda (magic power), had caused a
lodge to be built in a place distant six days’ journey. He told his
wife that he had an invisible brother in that lodge, to whom he would
send her; that this brother was then under the lodge, and that no
stranger had ever seen him. Hitherto this invisible brother had always
accompanied him, but in the future would assist her. Taking an arrow
from his quiver he removed the head. Then, after shaking his wife until
she was only a couple of inches long, he put her into the arrow and
replaced the point, saying, “In three days I will follow you.” Then
sending the arrow toward the east, at the same instant he heard the
calling of the Gwenhgwenhonh [128] (the feathers on the arrow were
taken from this bird), and all the way the arrow sang with the voice of
the Gwenhgwenhonh. He could see the trail of the arrow as it went
through the air.

The nephew remained in his part of the lodge, waiting, and in three
days the old man appeared without game. When he came in, talking with
himself, he said: “What luck has my nephew had?” “Very good. I have
plenty to eat,” answered the nephew. The old man continued: “I found
nothing; this hunting ground is barren, and my eyes see no more game.
But though I have no fresh food, I have plenty of bones here in this
pile, which I shall break up and have a soup.” Then the young man heard
his uncle breaking up the bones; there was a terrible racket and
crushing. At last the young man said, “My uncle makes too much noise.”
“My nephew would not find fault if he were in my place. I am trying to
get something to eat,” came the retort, and the old man, paying no heed
to what his nephew said, kept hard at work. The next morning at
daybreak he said, “I am going to hunt, and I shall be away for three
days.” “I am glad,” thought the nephew; he was very angry with his
uncle and ready to fight.

Taking the trail he had made, the nephew followed it for three days
before he made a straight line for his new lodge. Glancing up, he saw
the arrow’s trail,[129] which looked like a rainbow in the sky. He took
a long leap, and as he leaped he ran up in the air, far over the woods
and on a level which still kept him in the air. As he was going along,
he looked back to see whether he could discover his own trail. The
trail of the arrow, which was in the form of a rainbow, seemed to roll
up and dissolve in a mist as he passed along, ending in the dooryard,
where he had told his wife the arrow would strike. Entering the lodge,
there he found his wife.

One day the invisible brother saw an arrow come into the dooryard;
striking the ground, it burst asunder and a woman came out. She went
into the lodge, where she saw her bother-in-law, who said: “I knew you
were coming. I am glad you obeyed your husband, for your obedience has
enabled you to accomplish this great journey.” He continued: “You have
never seen me before; no one but my brother has ever seen me, and he
only two or three times. I know what will come to us from the wrath of
our uncle; he will pursue us and if possible will destroy you.” The
husband was six days making the journey to the lodge where his brother
was, which was situated near a lake.

When uncle got home and was talking to his nephew in the other room he
received no answer; at this he grew very angry. Making up his mind that
his nephew was not at home, he went out to look for his trail in order
to learn which way he had gone. Finally, on striking the trail, he
found it was some time since he had left; the footprints looked about
as old as his own made three days before. Going back to the lodge he
muttered: “I will follow him tomorrow; the world is so small that he
can not escape me. I will follow him everywhere.” Now, the invisible
brother, though a great way off, heard the uncle talking to himself,
heard his threats: “My daughter-in-law will never get out of my reach.
I will go to the outskirts of the world very quickly. I do not see why
he takes her away, thinking she can escape; he will never succeed, for
I will have her flesh.” The invisible brother told his brother what the
uncle said.

The next morning the uncle set out. After following the trail until
night he determined to go home, trying again the next day. Looking up,
he saw his lodge was near. He had been going round and round. At this
he was angry, and said, “Tomorrow I will get on the trail again.” As
soon as it was daylight he started. As he went on he found the trail
was almost extinct, but he continued to follow it. He kept on until
midday, when he found that he had not made much progress. He was near
his lodge again. “Be it so,” he said; “let my nephew be possessed of
the sorcery of all the animals, I will have his wife’s flesh for all
that.” The uncle followed the trail three days more until at last he
reached the end, whereupon he cried out exultingly, “My
daughter-in-law’s flesh is mine.” Looking up in the air, he discovered
his nephew’s trail. While the trail of the arrow was lost, the
footprints of the nephew remained on the clouds.[130]

After the old man had traveled one day, the nephew said to his wife:
“Now, we must go; our uncle is on our trail, and he is determined to
have your life. Therefore be cautious. Do exactly as I bid you.” As the
uncle followed on the ground the trail that he saw in the air, he
muttered to himself. The invisible brother heard him. All started for
the beach, the woman taking the lead, and the husband stepping in her
footprints. As they looked across the lake they could see smoke. The
husband said, “We will go yonder to that lodge and stop there for the
night.” As they were going along the beach he halted, and, taking a
clamshell from his bosom, threw it toward the other side of the lake.
At once the banks came so close together that the woman could step
over. After they had crossed, on looking back they could scarcely see
the other shore. The nephew had crossed to a new lodge in order to
delay his uncle, thinking that when the old man came to the water he
would be long in crossing and would lose the trail. Telling his wife to
say nothing, the young man left her, to hunt.

Soon the uncle appeared on the opposite bank, running back and forth
searching everywhere. Feeling sure that they had crossed, he called
out, “Daughter-in-law! daughter-in-law! how did you cross the lake?” As
he labored up and down the woman stood watching him from the other
bank. Taking pity on the weary old man, though knowing he wished to
devour her, she said in her mind (she did not speak), “Why does he not
throw the shell?” [131] As she thought this, he heard distinctly what
she said in her mind. So he stooped, and picking up a shell, threw it.
The banks came together, and when she looked to see where he was, she
was terrified to find him at her heels. Catching her by the hair, he
said: “I knew that I should eat you.132 My nephew had no right to keep
the game from me. He took my game and held it as his wife.” With one
blow the old man cut her head off. She had been left alone, as her
husband was hunting, and the invisible brother was not near to warn
her, so she was lost.

The lake had now expanded to its proper width. Taking off her raiment,
the old man threw it into his nephew’s lodge, saying, “Be you a
helpmate to my nephew.” He then cut the body open, finding that it
contained twins. He hid the children with the head and breast of the
mother in a hollow tree, and gave thanks that his nephew had preserved
the game so long, for he would have a second meal at another time.
After washing the bloodstains from the body in the lake he put the body
on his back and then threw the shell. When the banks closed together,
he stepped over, and as he looked back, he saw the lake spread out
again.

On coming home soon after, the nephew expected to see smoke rising from
his lodge, but saw none. “There! my word has come true; she has
forgotten my warning.” Looking around, he saw his uncle’s tracks,
whereupon he said, “Such is my luck. I can not help it.” Then he began
to cook his meal. Shortly he discovered his wife’s clothing. Having
become accustomed to his uncle’s behavior, he was not much astonished,
nor did he feel very badly because his uncle had now killed his fourth
wife. While cooking supper he had to go for water. As he stooped down
to get it, he heard a voice say, “Your uncle has killed me. Your uncle
has killed me, has killed me.” On looking toward the willows out of
which the voice came, he saw them bespattered with his wife’s blood,
whereupon he knew that she had been murdered. He had two proofs now—his
uncle’s tracks and the speaking blood. Becoming disheartened, he
decided never to go back to his uncle’s lodge. He continued hunting
with two dogs, and being successful, took pleasure in doing this. On
returning to camp one day he discovered tracks around his fire—two
little trails. For some time he paid no attention to these, though he
found them whenever he came home. They looked like children’s tracks,
but he could not believe they were such, thinking that perhaps some
little animal had gotten into the lodge. At last, looking at his store
of meat, he saw that one of the pieces was gone from the row; he
thought some animal must have taken it. Things continued in this way
until finally the meat was carried away at such a rate that he resolved
to find out what was going on at home. The next day still more meat was
taken. He found that the stolen piece had struck the ground, and having
been dragged out of doors, had been drawn along. He followed the trail
until he came to a big hollow log, at the opening in which the trail
disappeared. While sure that some animal lived in the tree, he made no
further discovery.

The next day the nephew started off to hunt, but after going a short
distance into the woods, he stopped to watch his lodge. Looking down
from a hill near by, he saw two little children run into the lodge.
Thereupon, hurrying back, he continued his watch. He soon saw them come
out, dragging a piece of meat. (They used to go to where the meat was
hanging, and climbing up as best they could, throw it to the ground.)
They had all they could drag, for two pieces were tied together. Going
straight to the farther end of the log, they disappeared, dragging the
meat after them. He thought, “Tomorrow I will catch them.” He had
learned that they could talk, for as they pulled the meat along, he
heard one say, “Hurry up; father will soon come.”

The next morning, after going a short distance, he hid himself and
waited. The time seemed long. At last the children came from the log,
and entering the lodge, closed the door. Then the father ran up and
went in himself, fastening the door after him. The moment the children
saw him, they began to cry. “Why do you cry,” he asked, “I am your
father. Do not cry.” At this they stopped crying. Then he said, “You
will stay here with me.” As he had overheard them calling him father,
he asked, “How do you know that I am your father?” As he questioned
them, sitting by the fire, he on one side and the two children together
on the other, one of them, who was slightly larger than the other,
said: “Your uncle came over here and killed our mother, cutting off her
head and her breasts. Then he threw her intestines into a hollow log.
We were among the intestines, and as the breasts were there, we drew
milk from them and so were able to live. Her head is there with us now.
As the boy answered readily, the father asked him what they did with
the meat they took from the lodge. “We come,” said the boy, “to get the
meat to feed our mother.” The father said, “You must now live with me.”
He then made little ball clubs and a ball for them to play with in the
dooryard; he was so kind that they were willing to stay.

Whenever their father went hunting they would go and feed their mother.
Once when the father came home, one of the boys said to him, “Our
mother is very hungry, for we have not fed her today.” The father
replied: “Feed her; give her all she will take. I have no objection. As
you know, we always have plenty of meat, so you may take as much as you
please to feed your mother.” He was very kind to the children, because
he loved them, and to keep them from running away, he let them do as
they liked with what was in the lodge. He soon discovered, however,
that his stock of meat was disappearing very fast, faster than he could
bring in more. This continued until he began to feel discouraged and
frightened. The boy said to his father when the latter returned one
day, “My mother eats all the time,” telling how much she ate, and asked
his father to go and see her. The father went to the tree with the
boys, and on looking in, saw two great eyes in a skull from which the
teeth were projecting and the flesh had disappeared, and the bones of
which were somewhat bruised.

The boys asked, “Now, father, what do you think?” “I am afraid,” he
answered, “that after she has eaten all our meat she will eat us.”

“Let us go to some other part of the world, so she will have to travel
far to overtake us,” said one of the boys; “we can not feed her any
longer, for she never gets enough now, and we are tired.” The man saw
that, do what they might, she would not be satisfied. The boys said,
“We will go away first if you like.” The father answered: “You may go.
Your mother has become a man-eater. You may escape.” The next morning
the boys started westward with the dogs. The father said he would not
go just then, but that he would follow. He had to go in another
direction and therefore would go southward first. When the children
were a short distance from the lodge the dogs looked at them, and
thinking how hard it was for them to trudge along, the larger dog said
to the larger boy, “Come! get on my back;” and the smaller dog said to
the smaller boy, “Come! get on my back.” Both mounting the dogs, away
they went. The dogs ran so swiftly that the hair of the boys’ heads
streamed backward, and they enjoyed the ride so much that the woods
were full of their laughter. After they had gone a long distance, for
the dogs went like the wind, they saw traces of human beings. There
were places where the trees had been cut down. The dogs said, “Now you
would better slip off and go on foot to the settlement.” The boys were
unwilling to go, but the dogs were determined, and shaking themselves,
as if they had just been in water, the children tumbled off. Telling
the children again to go on to the settlement, the dogs went back to
their master. He had told them that he would leave in two days, for
then the Head would come out of the tree and go into the lodge; then
climbing up to the place where the meat was kept, the Head would eat it
all.

The boys had told their father that by going southward he would find
uncles who might help him escape, for they were just such powerful men
as his old uncle was. When the dogs got back to their master they said
that he must make every effort he could to escape; that they would
remain until the last piece of meat was gone, but that he must go at
once. The lives of all were in danger, for when the meat was all eaten
the Head would fly in the direction of her people, although they (the
dogs) would stay and detain the Head as long as possible. “In three
days all the meat will be devoured: flee for your life; go south toward
your other uncles, for she will follow you,” the dogs said.

The man did as the dogs advised, starting off southward and going with
great speed, for he was a good runner. Two days after he had left home
one of the dogs overtook him and said: “The meat is all gone and she is
now trying to find the trail of her children. She can follow it as far
as they walked, but no farther, for we took them on our backs at a
certain distance from the lodge and carried them far away. They are now
in the west. Be on your guard. She will soon strike your trail and
pursue you. Follow me! The Head is very angry.” As the dog looked back
he said: “The Head has started and is coming. We have never seen so
great witchcraft as she has, although we have seen much, but this we
are not able to comprehend. As you have always said, there is no one
living who can outrun you; now use all your strength.”

When the Head started, the dogs left behind did all they could to delay
her, biting her whenever she turned to pursue them, and dodging into
the ground. As the Head went on again they would spring at her; and
when she turned on them they would again escape into the ground. Her
track could be seen plainly, for the bark was all bitten from the
trees, where the dogs kept her back and prevented her from flying
ahead.

All at once, one of the little boys, far off in the west, said to his
brother, “Our father is to be pitied; our mother has turned into some
strange being and is pursuing him.” Soon a second dog came up to the
man, saying, “Your wife has changed into a Flying Head and is possessed
of such power that we do not know how to detain her any longer. My
brother dog and I are doing all we can, but you must hurry; you must
keep straight ahead. Go always toward the south.” The man ran with all
his might. Seeing a lodge at a distance he ran up to it, and entering,
said to an old man sitting there: “Uncle, help me! Something is after
me that is going to take my life. Help me!” “All right. Although I do
not know what it is, I will help you all I can; but hurry on to the
next lodge; there you will find your aunts,” replied the old man. The
man had got about halfway between the two lodges when he heard a
terrible noise. Looking back, he saw that the Flying Head had reached
his uncle’s lodge, and that they were fighting with all their strength.
There was a terrible struggle about the lodge. Soon he saw that his
uncle was killed, and that a great black cloud rose up into the sky
from the spot.[133] The uncle had told his nephew that after the Head
had killed him a dark cloud would go up to the very heavens. At that
moment the dog came up again, saying, “Your uncle is killed; he was
never beaten before in his life.” When she had killed his uncle the
Head rushed after the husband, for she had eaten every bit of the
uncle’s flesh in a moment. “Hurry!” said the dog; “we are sure to die;
we have but two places of refuge left, it is through your uncle who
killed her that she has become a witch.”

As the man ran on, nearly exhausted, he saw a lodge, and running into
it, he called to his aunts, “Help me! Help me! Something is after me to
take my life.” “Poor man,” said his aunts, “hurry on; we will do what
we can to delay the Head. Go to the next lodge, where your mothers
live; if we can not detain her, perhaps they will be able to help you.”
He was not out of sight when he heard his aunts call to their children
to have courage, and then he heard a great tumult. When the Head flew
into the lodge, it bit at everything with which it came in contact,
tearing it to pieces. The women attacked the Head with clubs, and there
came to his ears the sound of the blows of the clubs on the skull. When
halfway to the other place, all was still at his aunts’ lodge.

Suddenly he heard his brother calling out, “Run! or we are lost.” The
invisible brother who urged him forward pushed him by the neck whenever
he was near, and then they seemed to run faster. They were in a great
hurry to reach the lodge, and he pushed him on until they were there.
Thereupon the man called on his mothers, saying, “Mothers, help me!
help me!” “Oh, poor son! you are in trouble; go on—we will do what we
can.” He hurried through the lodge. The Head came in as he went out,
and the dog, running around the lodge, urged him on. The brother was
invisible when they passed through the lodge. The mothers called out to
all their children, “Kill the Head if you can!” All got their most
deadly and potent weapons, and the two brothers heard the old mothers
urge their children to fight with all their strength. The dogs remained
outside the door, ready to fly at the Head when she came out. One of
the women stumbled and fell, whereupon the Head, after catching and
hurling her out, devoured her in an instant.

The old mothers now cautioned their children again to take great care
and make no missteps. Now the youngest one thought of some bear’s fat
they had in the lodge, and the idea came to her that the only way they
could kill the Head was by use of this. After the Head had eaten the
first girl and was chasing the others through the lodge the bear’s oil
began to boil.[134] As they threw the boiling oil, it singed and burned
the Head, killing it (the animated Head was merely the skull with long
projecting teeth).

All wishing to give thanks, the mothers said: “We ought to have a game
of ball. Your brother is free. It is our duty to give thanks. The ball
shall be this Head.” Picking up the Head, she carried it out, calling
in a loud voice, “Here, warriors! is a ball you can have to play with.”
Soon a great crowd of people came together with their netted clubs and
began to play. All the players were wild beasts of the woods. The man
stood near and saw the wild beasts playing ball with his wife’s head.
All tried to get the ball, and in this way they wore it out.

The dog now came up to his master and told him that his wife was dead;
and when it said “Your wife is dead,” his strength seemed to leave him;
his arms dropped down, and he was sad. The invisible brother said: “You
feel grieved; for my part I am glad. I do not see why you should be
sad; she would have devoured you if they had not killed her. Now there
is nothing to harm us. Your old uncle has gone back to his own home and
will not trouble us now that he has eaten your wife’s flesh.” He added:
“Your children are living in this direction (pointing westward); be of
good courage, and go after them. I shall return. You will continue in
one direction with your dogs until you reach the boys. You need never
fear to suffer such hardships again.” So saying, he went home, and when
the brother looked after him he had disappeared.

The man and his dogs went toward the west. The dogs had left the
children in a place near a village where an old woman lived with her
granddaughter. While the young girl was in the woods gathering fuel she
heard the sound of voices. On listening, as the wind came directly to
her, she discovered that they were human voices, and thought, “I will
ask grandmother what to do.” When she reached home with her wood she
told the old woman that she had heard children crying and asked her to
go to the woods to hear for herself. The old woman asked: “In what
direction were the voices? It is a pleasure to know that there are
children yet alive; they must be for us.” They went to the place. “Now
listen!” said the girl. “True,” said the grandmother. “Look everywhere
and find these children; they may be sent to us, as we are alone.” The
girl followed the sound, which she could hear distinctly as coming from
the ground. She kept on until she found the two children, seemingly a
year old, one slightly larger than the other. Going up to them she told
them to stop crying; that she would be their mother. As she stood there
talking her grandmother came, who pitied the children; she found that
they were clothed with skins. The grandmother said: “Now stop crying.
You shall be our children. I will be your grandmother and my
granddaughter will be your mother.” The girl added: “All we have shall
be yours. I will love you as a mother.” The boys stopped crying. Each
had his little bow and arrows and ball club. The children went home
with the women. The old woman said: “We will take care of these
children. There are many people in the village, but not a child among
them all. I lived here a long time, but have never seen a little
child.” The children soon seemed larger and sometimes would go to hunt
birds. They were never gone long at a time, and never went out of sight
of the lodge. “Grandmother,” called one of the boys one day, “come and
see what we have killed; it is all spotted and lies yonder in the
weeds.” “Where is it? Where is it?” she asked. The boys led the way,
but she could hardly keep in sight of them, as the weeds were tall. On
reaching the spot she found a fawn, a few hours old, which they had
killed. She carried it home, saying to herself: “I am thankful to have
these children; they will be great hunters in time; their game is
getting larger. First they kill birds, now a fawn.” When they did not
feel like hunting they would play out near the lodge and then go in and
sit down.

One day one of the boys said, “Our father is coming.” The other said,
“I hardly think our father is alive.” The old grandmother overhearing
this, told the boys to go out and shoot birds, for she wanted some to
roast and eat. The next day while the children were out a man came into
the lodge. The invisible brother had told him where he would find his
children, and that he must say when he came to the old woman’s lodge,
“Grandmother, I am thankful to see you,” and to the girl, “Sister, I am
very glad to see you.” As he went in he saw the old woman and saluted
her as grandmother; to the girl he said, “Sister.” One of the boys
outside said, “Our father has come.” The other replied: “I do not
believe this is he, for our father had two dogs. There are no dogs with
this man.” As the boy was bound to know, raising the doorflap slightly,
he saw his father sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face in
his hands. Noticing a red spot on his jaw, the boy said further: “Look
for yourself; see, he has a mark on his face; it is really he. Let us
go and see which way he came; we can tell his trail, and we will follow
it and see whether we can find the dogs.”

They had gone but a short distance when they found that the dogs had
gone in another direction, whereupon one of the boys said: “Let us
follow their tracks; father loves those dogs; let us find them.” In the
evening they found one dog sitting on a fallen tree. The larger boy
said: “There sits one of the dogs.” “Let us go and see if it is really
father’s dog,” said the other. On hearing the children’s voices the
dogs were as much pleased to see them as the boys were to see the dogs.
The boys now said, “Let us all go home.” The boys did not know the way,
however, so the dogs took the lead. It was late at night and very dark,
and the people at home were frightened and very anxious about the
children, not knowing where to look for them. When the boys came back,
the grandmother asked: “Why were you gone so long? Why did you frighten
us so?” “We were looking for our father’s dogs,” said they. Thereupon
they went into the lodge, the dogs following. The man was lying down,
so all went to sleep. All were now together again.

The young woman was the man’s own sister and the grandmother was his
grandmother. They all lived very happily together. And this is the
story.





58. DOONONGAES [135] AND TSODIQGWADON

Doonongaes, who lived at one end of Ganyodaes,[136] or Long Lake, had
such orenda (magic power) that no one in that region could influence or
control him. He claimed the lake and all that lived in its waters.

Doonongaes had a servant, Skahnowa,[137] who lived at the other end of
Ganyodaes, which was so long that one end of it could not be seen from
the other. Skahnowa’s work was to patrol the lake and keep off
intruders. One morning early he jumped up, saying, “I must be on my
rounds, for if I do not I shall be punished.” So he hurried along the
shore; soon he saw some one with a pole, evidently fishing. Skahnowa
approached and, seeing him eating a fish, he asked, “What are you doing
here?” “Oh! there is a great deal of fungus138 growing on the hickory
trees here,” replied the intruder. “If you are getting fungus from the
trees, why do you go to the water?” asked Skahnowa. “You see,” said the
man, who was Djidjogwen,139 “the fungus is sandy and I go to the lake
to wash it.” “Well,” said Skahnowa: “I think you have stolen something,
and you better give up one of your own people as a gift in payment140
for what you have taken. The owner of this lake will come soon and he
will settle with you. I am going on.” Djidjogwen stood on the bank and
kept thinking: “Can this be true? It is very strange if it be true that
one person owns this lake.” Going to his master, Skahnowa said: “I have
news for you. There is a man yonder at Dediosteniagon141 who is getting
fish out of the water very fast.” “I will stop him. I like to amuse
myself in this way,” said Doonongaes, who got his kettle ready at once
and, taking his club, started for the place.

Skahnowa continued his journey around the lake. When Doonongaes came in
sight of Dediosteniagon, looking around carefully, he saw a man [142]
some distance off. “Oh! that is the one,” thought he, and diving under
the water he came out right in front of Djidjogwen, who had pulled out
a great fish a moment before. “What are you doing?” asked Doonongaes.
“What business have you to meddle with my game animals?” “Oh! you are
mistaken. I am not meddling with them. I am merely eating the fungus143
that grows around here,” replied Djidjogwen. “Then how came that fish
here?” asked Doonongaes. “As I stood here a small bird flew along above
the water, and a fish, leaping up to catch the bird, perhaps, jumped
out here on the shore,” said Djidjogwen. “Oh! that is not true; I will
punish you,” snapped Doonongaes. Djidjogwen started to run. Doonongaes
followed and, striking him on the head with his club, killed him,
remarking, “That is the way I treat intruders on Ganyodaes.” He then
threw the body of the dead man over his shoulder and, after reaching
home, cooked his flesh. When the flesh was cool he ate the meat, which
he enjoyed much, and thanked Skahnowa for what he had done.

One morning Doonongaes said to his servant: “I am going on a long
journey, and I want you to be faithful in the performance of your duty.
If you find a trespasser, kill and eat him.” “Very well,” replied
Skahnowa, “it shall be done as you say.”

Doonongaes went westward, traveling day and night for a month. He
traveled till he came to a broad opening.[144] In the middle of the
opening he saw a lodge, which he could not reach without being seen.
“Very well,” thought he, “I will go underground.” He went into the
ground, and going forward until he thought he was at the right place he
came out. Peeping through a crack in the lodge wall, he heard singing,
and saw that there were two very old women inside. The words of the
song were, Onen waongiʹons ne ganio.145 “That does not sound well,”
thought Doonongaes; “I may get killed here. I will see whether I can
not steal this lodge.” So he pushed his horns under the lodge; then
lifting it on his head, he rushed away, carrying it on his horns. He
came very soon to the edge of the woods and ran into it. Finally he
heard a noise in the lodge. “Well,” said a voice, “it seems to me that
there is a terrible wind blowing.” (He went at such speed as to give
the impression of wind blowing past the lodge.) The other woman said:
“You must do all you can to stop it. Let us stand, you in one corner
and I in the other and sing our wind song.” Taking their places, they
said: “We beg you who have care of us to stop this wind. Our lodge is
so small that we are afraid it will blow away.” Then they sang Gaintho,
Gaintho.146 One of them, seeing the lodge moving, called out, “Hwu,147
our lodge is moving.” “Well,” said the other, “maybe Doonongaes has
come; he always troubles poor people; hurry up, go out and see.” So she
went out through the smoke-hole, and, looking around, saw that they
were far out in the dense woods. On taking an observation to see
whither the wind was going, she saw a long black body moving, and she
saw that their lodge was on it. Going in, she said, “As I looked down
the wind I saw a very black thing, which was so long that I could not
see the end of it.” “It is just as I said to you,” said the other
woman; “this is Doonongaes, who is making sport of us. Now, do your
best to punish him.”

These two old women, who were Gwidogwido [148] people, and sisters,
were possessed of such very powerful orenda (magic power) that it was
hard to conquer them by sorcery. Taking their clubs, therefore, they
went out of the smoke-hole. Then the elder of the two said: “Go to the
end of his tail; something is sticking out there. Strike it, and I will
try to cut its head off.” While the younger sister went to the tail,
the elder went to the neck joint. The younger sister, seeing objects
which resembled fins sticking out, began to pound these; soon she saw
that she was driving them in. “What shall I do,” thought she; “my
sister said these things would crumble to pieces.” She kept on
pounding, however, until she saw that something like milk began to come
out. She stopped striking them, whereupon the milklike fluid turned
into foam and came out stronger and stronger. At last, becoming
frightened, she ran to her sister, whom she found lying down, doing
nothing. She said, “Oh! my sister, what is the matter?” “Oh!” said the
elder, “I can not do anything; he has overpowered me by his orenda
(magic power); do the best you can.” The younger, driving their flint
knife into the neck joint, began to hammer it; finally the knife went
out of sight. Then she asked her sister, “What shall we do now?” “Our
only safety is to run away,” was the answer. The younger sister, going
down the smoke-hole, got a narrow strip of the skin of Djainosgowa.
This was the container of their magic power, or fetish. Coming back to
her sister, she said, “Now I am ready.” The elder answered: “Take hold
of one end of the skin and I will take the other. Then let us run to
the end of Doonongaes’ tail, where we will jump off and get away as
fast as we can.” It was a good while before they came to the end of the
tail. Then jumping off, they hurried along, not on the straight trail
but somewhat to one side of it.

Doonongaes, who was running all this time with great speed, said at
last, “I do not hear anyone talking.” Then his neck began to feel
tired, and he said, “This lodge wearies me,” and jerking his head, off
went the lodge, falling some distance away. On going up to it he found
it empty. “Very well. We shall soon see about this,” thought he: “No
one has ever been able to get away from me. I will put these two out of
the way.” Thereupon he ran back as fast as he could, saying, “When
could they have escaped? Oh! my neck is sore.” As he went he snuffed
the air to find the women. Halting and looking around he saw tracks
where they had jumped from his tail, for the earth was torn up. “Ha,
ha! you think you are going to escape me,” he said, starting with
lightning speed on their track. He ran until night. Toward morning he
said: “The pain in my neck is increasing. I wonder if I should better
go back. No; I can not give up this chase. I have always thought I
could allow no one to overpower me, so I will keep on.” At midday he
came to the end of the women’s trail, and could track them no farther.
Now, he thought, “What shall I do, for I am determined to put them out
of the world?”

Standing up, he became taller and taller until at last he stood on the
tip of his tail with his head high in the air. He saw a smoke far off
on one side, so he came down and shot off in that direction, reaching
the place in a few moments. Halting by the lodge, he thought: “I hear
some one inside. Very likely magically powerful people live here.” On
peeping in, he saw a very old man sitting down smoking, with his head
bowed. Doonongaes watched him for some time; at last the old man,
looking up, said: “Hwu, my nephew has come! Well, nephew come in. Why
do you stand outside?” “This is my uncle’s lodge; it seems he knows
me,” thought Doonongaes; so he went in. “Well, nephew,” said the old
man, “I am glad to see you. I have been expecting you for a long time.”
“Well, I have come. What do you want?” said Doonongaes. “Oh! you and I
will fight against each other,” replied the old man. “That suits me
exactly,” answered Doonongaes; “it is the very game I amuse myself
with.” “We will wait until noon tomorrow, when the fight will begin;
you can stay here with me until then,” said the old man. This old man
was the grandfather of the two women who were trying to escape. His
name was Gwidogwido. The next day the old man said, “Now, let us go.”
They went through the woods until they came to an opening, whereupon
the old man said, “Here is where I always fight.” Seeing the ground was
covered with bones, Doonongaes became greatly frightened and asked, “Is
there not some way to annul our pact, for I want to continue my
journey?” “No,” replied the old man, “we have agreed to it.” “What
would happen if I should refuse to play?” said Doonongaes. “Well, if
you do not want to fight, give yourself up to me, and I will do what I
like with you,” answered the old man. “If I do that I suppose you will
kill me; so we may as well fight,” replied Doonongaes.

Thereupon the fight began. Doonongaes had a basswood club, while the
old man had a mallet. As they fought they moved around the opening
until they came to the farther end, striking at each other all the
time. At the end of the clearing they began to tear up trees, which
they hurled at one another. They opened a broad road through the
forest, uprooting the trees as they fought. They advanced until they
came to another clearing, at the farther end of which they saw a
village. Doonongaes now got another basswood club, for they had thrown
away their weapons when they began to hurl trees. The old man had to
defend himself with his hands and arms until they reached the village.
There he picked up a lodge, which he threw at Doonongaes, whereupon
Doonongaes threw another lodge at the old man. Thus they continued
throwing lodges as they went along, until a great cry was raised by the
people as they saw their lodges smashed on the heads of the combatants,
and so all attacked the two men.

The people of the village were Djihonsdonqgwen [149] people, who were
great fighters. They determined to punish the two men, so with their
flint knives they killed the old man Gwidogwido, but Doonongaes ran out
of sight, shouting, “I have always said that nobody could conquer me.”
He added: “It seems to me that there is something in my neck. Can it be
that a limb fell on it, and a splinter stuck into my neck?”

Doonongaes went on until he came to a new lodge. “Perhaps,” thought he,
“another uncle of mine lives here. I will have a look.” Peeping through
a crack, he saw two little boys playing with a man’s head, and heads
all around the lodge with flesh on them. He wondered where the boys got
these for they were too small to go out to hunt. “Perhaps they will be
able to cut my head off,” thought he, running away. A few moments later
one of the boys said to the other, “Did not you think some game came to
the lodge just now?” “Yes,” replied the other. “Well, let us hurry out;
we will soon bring it back,” said the other. Taking their knives, they
ran out and around the lodge. Seeing the trail, they ran along it until
they were at Doonongaes’s heels. When he turned and saw the two boys
behind him, each with an uplifted knife ready to strike, he seized the
first boy and threw his knife away. Then he did the same with the other
boy, and putting a boy under each arm, he hurried on. As he went along,
he saw a high precipice, whereupon he said, “Perhaps I had better throw
these boys over, for they annoy me.” After throwing them over the
precipice, he walked on. Presently he heard “Tcu! Tcu! that man walking
over there falls (is about to fall).” Doonongaes turned around to see
where the voice came from, with the remark, “This sounds as though they
meant me.” He stood looking around; soon he heard some one laughing,
and saw a man high up on the cliff. “It is absurd that he should make
sport of me,” said Doonongaes; “I will punish him.” Doonongaes hurried
toward the man, who was ahead. When he came to the spot where he
thought the man was, he could not find him, and could see no one. Soon
he saw far ahead the man peep from behind a tree, then dart back and
peep out again. Doonongaes ran to the tree, and going around it, said,
“Now, I will punish you, you scoundrel”; but he found no one there. He
looked everywhere. At last he saw another tree far ahead with the man
peeping from behind it. He hurried to the place, saying as he ran after
the man around the tree, “I have caught you”; but when he got around,
he could see no one. “This is provoking,” said Doonongaes, “he is
making sport of me; I must punish him without fail.”

Doonongaes sat down under the tree to rest from the chase and closed
his eyes; in a little while he was sound asleep. The man came back and,
seeing Doonongaes asleep, said, “I thought this man said he was going
to beat me.” As he stood looking at Doonongaes he resolved to kill him.
Taking out a flint knife he cut his throat. At first foam came from the
cut but no blood; then it seemed as if Doonongaes blew a great breath,
whereupon out came the blood streaming in every direction. Then
Doonongaes died. “I did not have much trouble,” thought the murderer,
who was one of the Djoñiaik [150] people, “though he called himself
powerful”; and sitting on the tree above the body he continued to
laugh.

When Doonongaes was killed his blood ran down the precipice. The people
who lived in the ravine below said they saw it. “This looks like the
blood of our people, like the blood of our great chief.” They all
gathered at the place where the blood was coming, and one of the
tallest men said, “I will try to look over.” He stretched himself up,
but could see nothing except the bare cliff. Then another man got on
his shoulders, a third on the shoulder of the second, another and
another doing likewise until in this way they reached the top. Djoñiaik
saw men coming, and noticing that they were the same kind of people as
Doonongaes, he said, “They are so many I will run away.” So, slipping
down from the tree, he was off.

The men looked around—there lay the great chief of their people. One of
them, who became chief for the time, said: “Every one of us must do his
best (in the exercise of orenda). We will try to make him alive again.
Let two of you build a very large fire and two of you go to the end of
a lake for a thing that has been of great aid to our people—the white
pebble. Go quickly; and two more go to Doonongaes’s lodge at the end of
Ganyodaes, to get his fisher-skin pouch and bring it here; and two of
you go to the end of the earth and notify our grandfather, who lives
there. Tell him what has happened and find out what he thinks about it.
Let two go to the place where the rocks are the highest in the world,
for in that place lives a man who is master of the thing that has the
greatest power in the world. Let two get on the trail of the man who
killed our chief, Doonongaes; when they overtake him, let them kill him
if necessary, but if not let them bring him here and we will do what we
like with him.” In a short time the two appointed to make a fire had an
enormous one burning. The two sent for the white pebble reached a lake
surrounded by a hemlock forest that seemed to grow on rocks without any
earth. On looking around, the two men saw many stones of the kind for
which they were sent. Having picked up the right one, they went back
immediately, saying on their return, “We have brought what we were sent
for.” The new chief thanked them. Now all the people waited.

The two men sent to Doonongaes’s lodge reached the lake, and as they
went along the bank, one of them said: “I am getting hungry. Let us
have some fish.” “Very well, we will catch some,” replied the other.
Soon they had a number of fish, and sitting down on the bank, they
began to eat them raw. Skahnowa saw these men eating fish, so he came
near and asked: “What are you doing? You are stealing my fish.” “Oh,
no!” replied the men; “this lake does not belong to you.” “Well, to
whom does it belong?” asked Skahnowa. “It belongs to the Controlling
Power,” was the reply. “No, the man who owns this lake has ordered me
to watch it,” said Skahnowa. “What is his name?” he was asked. “His
name is Doonongaes,” he replied. “Well,” said the two men, “Doonongaes
was killed some time ago.” “Are you sure of that,” asked Skahnowa.
“Yes; we have just come from the spot where his body is,” they said.
“Where is that?” asked Skahnowa. “At Broken Land, where the laughing
man lives. You know where that is,” they said. “Oh, yes,” answered
Skahnowa; “I will go and see. If he is dead, I suppose I shall get
possession of this lake and own it myself.” “Take the trail we came
on,” said the men. Then they went their way, while Skahnowa took the
trail along which they had come.

The two men searched Doonongaes’s lodge, but for a long time they could
find nothing. At last they found in the smoke hole the pouch they
wanted. They took it out with them, and running very fast, they
overtook Skahnowa when he was almost at Broken Land. The three went on
together and in time came to the place where Doonongaes lay. Skahnowa,
looking at the remains, said, “It is true that he is dead, and yet he
thought no man could kill him, so greatly did he esteem himself.” The
two men delivered the pouch, and then sat down, waiting for the others
to come.

The two men who went to their grandfather arrived at the place they
thought was the end of the earth, whereupon one of them said: “We are
here. Now how are we to find where our grandfather lives?” The other
answered, “I wonder if this is really the place?” They went along the
edge of the water, which was only a small lake, not the end of the
earth. Keeping on, at length they went around the lake. Seeing their
own tracks ahead, they said: “The other two men have passed here. Let
us go this way.” After going around again, they said: “Two more men
have come up. Now let us hurry and overtake them.” The two had not gone
far when one of them fell down with a great cry, saying: “I can not go
any farther. There is something in my foot. You finish the journey
alone. On the way back you can stop for me.” “Very well,” said the
other. On running around the lake still again, he said, “There are six
men running; now I will do the best I can. Why! there is a man sitting
ahead on the bank. Well, I thought I would overtake those people soon.”
The man who was sitting down, on turning to see who was running up, saw
his friend. The runner said to himself, “Why, it looks like my friend
who hurt his foot.” On coming to him, he asked, “What are you doing
here?” “I am resting; my foot is nearly well now, and I will start at
once. Did you go around and come back?” he asked. “Oh, no! I was on the
trail all the time,” came the reply. They set out together. One said:
“This must be a small lake. When we come to the other end we will go on
in a straight line.”

They now watched the sun, and when it was at the other end of the lake,
they took their course from it, and then traveled a long time straight
ahead. Again they reached the limit of the land. Once more they said:
“It seems that we have come to the end of the earth. Let us look for
our grandfather’s lodge.” They saw an opening or clearing, and on the
farther side smoke arising. They found a lodge there, and on looking in
saw an old man, at which they said one to the other, “I wonder whether
that is our grandfather.” While they were looking, the old man,
straightening himself up, called out: “Come in, grandsons. Why do you
stay outside?” They looked at each other, saying, “How did he see us,
for his back is toward us?” Going around the lodge, they entered. The
old man said, “You have a message, otherwise you would not have come;
but let me get my pipe first.” [151] Taking his pipe and beginning to
smoke, he said, “Now I am ready.” “Well,” said the two men, “our people
are assembled in an important condoling council, and they said to us:
‘Go to our grandfather; tell him that our chief has fallen and that we
want to make him alive again.’” “Very well,” replied the old man, who
was one of the Ganos (Spring-frog people); “you have come on a very
important errand and I will give you something that will be of great
use to you, in fact the only thing that can bring your chief to life
again.” Going into a hole in the ground, the old man returned with a
white flint in the form of a canoe, about as long as a finger. In one
end of this white flint canoe was some black paint and in the other end
was a powder—a medicine of some mysterious kind. The old man said:
“When you go to use what I give you now, color your faces with this
paint, then paint your dead chief’s face with it also; and after that,
put this powder on the edges of the wound and wash his face with cold
water. Then blow on him and he shall come to life. When he opens his
eyes, put this powder into water and give it to him to drink.” Hurrying
off in the boat, they arrived at Broken Land without delay. They said:
“We were hindered by the lake.152 We kept going around it.” The new
chief replied, “People seldom get away from that lake, which is called
Ganigonhadontha Ganiodae152 (the delirium-making lake); it puts men out
of their minds.”

The people now waited for the next two men. Those two went ahead till
they came to an opening lengthwise in the trail. On looking around,
they could see people sitting here and there. One of the men said: “I
wonder what they are doing. Are they watching and guarding the opening?
We must pass.” They passed by unharmed and traveled till night, when
they came to a hollow tree lying on the ground. They crawled into this
and had been there only a short time when some one rapped and said,
“Well, are you here for the night?” One answered, “Yes; we are.” “What
would you do if the Ganiagwaihegowa should come?” was asked them. “Oh!
we should like it; we should play tag and have a good time,” they
replied. Soon they heard a voice saying: “Come out as quickly as you
can. I have come to help you, for this is a very dangerous spot. The
magic power (orenda) of the man you are looking for extends to this
place, and he has a great many other places under his control. You must
follow me, or you will not live through the night.” They went with the
owner of the voice, seeming to rise in the air as they journeyed. After
a while the guide said, “Stop here and see what would have happened to
you if you had stayed in the tree.” As they looked back, they saw
Ganiagwaihegowa [153] tear the tree into bits, which flew around in
every direction. Ganiagwaihegowa looked for the men, saying: “He who
notified me said that two men were here. He always disappoints me, but
if he does this once more, I will cut his head off.” Then
Ganiagwaihegowa went away. The guide said, “Ganiagwaihegowa has gone
home, and you are now safe.”

They spent the night in another hollow tree. The next morning they
hurried on and at midday came to the place where the rocks were
high—the highest rocks in the whole world—on the summit of which lived
the old man. As they stood at the foot and looked up, they said, “How
is it possible to get up where that old man lives?” but they went. They
searched until they found a ledge that seemed to ascend in a spiral;
this they began to climb, one ahead of the other. Sometimes they
slipped, almost falling off. At length the man ahead slipped on a round
stone, and over he went, striking on the rocks as he fell and going
down out of sight. “Well,” thought the other man, “my friend is dead;”
thereupon he kicked the round stone from the ledge. In falling it
struck the fallen man, who was just regaining consciousness, on the top
of his head, killing him.

The man above went on until he reached the top of the rocks. At the
lodge of the old man, whose name was Hasʻhonyot (i.e., “his back is
turned”), of the Odjieqdah [154] (Crayfish or Lobster) people, he stood
a while, thinking, “this man is at home, I suppose.” Looking down among
the rocks, he said, “See where I would fall if he were to kill me.”
Peeping into the lodge, he said: “Sure enough, he is at home; he is
looking toward me and must have been looking at me ever since I came
up. I wonder where that thing is for which I have come. I wonder
whether that is it hanging up there. How shall I manage to get inside?
Perhaps I would better turn the lodge over and let it fall among the
rocks.” He overturned the lodge—down it went over the precipice,
whereupon he thought: “What will happen when it strikes? I will go and
see. I have overturned the lodge of the most magically powerful person
in the world, and did not have much trouble in doing so.” When the man
got halfway down he slipped. The farther he fell the faster he went. At
last, slipping over the edge of the rocks, he fell till he struck on
the topmost limbs of a great hickory tree; the limbs threw him upward,
so that he landed on a ledge on the side of the precipice. Not knowing
how to get down, he said: “I must die anyhow. I may as well jump.” So
jumping off, he came down the same hickory tree, to the branches of
which he clung; then he slipped to the ground, where he found his
friend’s body with the skull crushed. “I think it was I who killed him
by kicking off that round stone,” he said; “well, I could not help it.”

The old man’s lodge stood all right on level land. He peeped into
it—there sat the old man. “This is dismal. I will burn the lodge,” said
he; so he piled up sticks until he had it covered, whereupon he set
fire to it. After the fire was well started, the old man said: “It is
getting rather hot here. I wonder what is the matter. Perhaps
Sʻhodieonskon [155] is playing tricks with me. It seems there is fire;
it feels like that. I wonder whether he is burning my lodge?” After a
while, hearing the noise of burning timbers, he was sure that there was
fire. “Very well,” said he; “if that is the case, I will call on
Hasdeaundyetʻha.”156 Then, taking native Indian tobacco out of a basket
made of corn husks, he began to burn the tobacco and to call on
Hasdeaundyetʻha, saying, “I ask you to make it rain so hard that the
rain shall put out every spark of fire around my lodge.” The moment he
finished speaking rain began to fall. It rained so hard that the man
outside had to run for safety. In a few moments the sky cleared off,
the fire was out, and no traces of rain were left.

“I wonder how things are where I set the fire,” thought the messenger.
On returning to the place he found everything quiet—no fire; all in
order. “Pshaw! what can I do?” said he; “I might take the lodge along,
as it is not very heavy.” Picking it up and putting it on top of his
head, he started for Broken Land. Traveling with great speed, he soon
came near to his destination; but before coming in sight of it, taking
the lodge off his head, he said, “I will leave it here and let the new
chief say what shall be done with it.” After setting it down, he went
to Broken Land. “You have come, but where is your companion?” asked the
chief. “He fell from the rocks and was killed,” he replied. “Did you
bring what you went for?” he was asked. “Yes,” he answered. “Where is
it?” was the next question. “Not far from here, and I want you to say
what shall be done with it.” The chief replied, “Well, let us all go
there.” Thereupon all went to the spot where Hasʻhonyot’s lodge was
left. The chief said, “You stay outside while I go into the lodge.”
When inside he looked at the old man, who sat there smoking with his
head down. The chief thought “He is a very magically powerful man; he
could kill me in a moment if he liked;” then he said, “My friend, I
have come to your lodge.” The old man kept on smoking, not seeming to
hear. The chief called again louder, when the old man said, “It seems
as though someone is talking.” Then scooping the matter out of one of
his eyes with half of a clamshell, he threw it away; then he cleaned
the other eye in the same way. Having done this, he looked up, and,
seeing the man, said: “What are you standing there for? Go out! I do
not want you in my lodge. I live on the top of these rocks so as to be
alone,” said the old man. “I came out here,” answered the other, “in a
friendly way. Come out, look around, and see where you live.” On going
out and looking around, Hasʻhonyot saw that he was in a level country
and that many people lived about him, and he wondered how he got there.
“Did I bring it,” thought he, “from where the wind blows, or not? I
wonder whether my lodge was moving when my head was moving and bumping
here and there.” “Well,” he finally said to the chief, “what do you
want?” “I came,” replied the chief, “to see whether you would lend us
that thing which has so great and wonderful magic power?” “What do you
want it for?” the old man asked. “Our chief has been overpowered and
killed. We want to bring him to life,” said the chief. “I can bring him
to life,” said Hasʻhonyot, “in a very short time.” “How shall we pay
you?” the chief asked. “Find two of your best-looking women and send
them to me. I ask no more,” he replied. “I will talk with my friends,”
answered the chief.

Thereupon the chief went out and told his people what the old man said.
They talked together a good while, saying: “The most beautiful women
are married; how can they be given away? Perhaps we should never see
them again?” At last the people said: “Let them go. If their husbands
are angry, we will settle with them.” They told the women that the old
man would have control of them thenceforth. The women said: “We all
want to have the chief come back to life. We must consent. Perhaps it
will turn out to be all right.” The chief went back to Hasʻhonyot and
said: “All is settled. The women are willing.” “Bring them here, then,”
said the old man. The women were brought to him. Now Hasʻhonyot had
five bloodsuckers as attendants, and he said to them: “Tie these women.
Do not let them go farther away than your own length.” The old man
carried these bloodsuckers under his tail. They fastened on the women
at once, but still held to Hasʻhonyot’s back. “All right now,” said
Hasʻhonyot; “your chief will be alive tomorrow, but in the meanwhile I
do not want any of your people around here.” The people dispersed, but
stayed around at a safe distance to see whether the chief would come to
life. During the night the old man went to the spot where the body of
Doonongaes lay, and as the women were tied to him, they had to
accompany him. He said, “There is no need of bringing this
terrible-looking man to life.” Nevertheless he went to work, cleaning
and washing the wound and putting upon it a certain weed pounded soft.
Then reaching down for water, he poured it on the mouth of the corpse
(there was no water near by, and the women never knew where he got it);
then he blew into Doonongaes’s mouth and talked to him (the women could
not understand what he said). Having done this, he built a small fire
and told one of the women to run to the lodge and get what was under
his couch. As she ran along the bloodsucker stretched out, but as soon
as she picked up the bark basket of tobacco and started back, the
bloodsucker began to contract. Hasʻhonyot took the tobacco and burned
it, saying, “I burn this to you, the Complete Power,[157] and ask you
to bring this man to life.” Then he sang, “Onen dondaʹwe né diiohegoⁿ
(what keeps alive is coming back here).” When he had finished singing
he sat a good while watching. Doonongaes did not come to life then. The
old man sent the woman again for tobacco, which he burned, repeating
the same words. Then he sang, Onen sagaion ne honhehgon, da onen
denshadat hehioendjade.158 When he had finished singing he blew into
the mouth of the dead man,159 who thereupon came to life. “You are well
now,” said the old man. Doonongaes did not speak. Again the old man
said, “You are well now.” Then Doonongaes answered, “I believe I am
well.” Hasʻhonyot said: “I will go home. You stay here until your
people come in the morning.” Hasʻhonyot went home, and the women went
to bed with him.

The next morning the people came to Doonongaes and found him alive.
They were very glad. “How did you bring me back to life?” he asked. “We
sent a man to Hasʻhonyot’s lodge and he brought back the lodge and the
old man, who promised to restore you to life if we would give him the
two most beautiful women of our people. Therefore we gave them to him.”
“That was not right,” said Doonongaes; “I will kill that old man.” The
people said: “Do what you like. You are alive now, and we will go
home.”

Going to the old man’s lodge, Doonongaes cried out, “Hallo, old man!
what are you going to do with these women—keep them for life?” “Of
course I will; they are mine now,” Hasʻhonyot replied. “I wish you
would let them go,” said Doonongaes; “why should you keep them?” “I got
them as pay for bringing you to life,” was the answer. “No matter; you
must give them up,” replied Doonongaes. “Oh, no,” replied Hasʻhonyot.
“You must,” said Doonongaes. “Well, then you must get out of my lodge,”
retorted the old man. “No, I will not go until you free the women,”
answered Doonongaes. Hasʻhonyot rejoined: “You must go at once; if you
do not I will kill you. I did not think you would annoy me, if I
brought you to life.” “Well, why did you bring me back to life?” asked
Doonongaes. “Go out of here,” said Hasʻhonyot. “I will not go. I want
those women,” said Doonongaes. The old man, springing up, drew his
flint knife. “Now, I say you must go,” said he. Doonongaes, drawing
back slightly, thought, “Pshaw! what a coward I am! I can play tricks
on the old man.” Going outside, he put his horns under the lodge—up it
flew in the air and then fell to the ground. (The lodge was of
stone.[160]) “Very well,” said the old man, “I will kill you.” So he
went out. “What are you doing?” he asked; “I think you are trying to
throw my lodge over. Do you want me to cut your head off again? I can
do it very easily,” he added. “All I want,” replied Doonongaes, “is
that you release the women.” “I will not release them,” declared
Hasʻhonyot. “You must,” said Doonongaes, and taking a reed, called
owl’s arrow, he hit him on the back; the blow glanced off without
hurting the old man a bit. Again Doonongaes asked, “Will you let me
have the women?” “No,” exclaimed Hasʻhonyot. “Well, I am going over
there a short distance. I will come back soon,” said Doonongaes.

Going into the lodge, Hasʻhonyot asked his attendants, the
bloodsuckers: “What shall we do? I think he intends to kill us. Do you
think he can do it?” “Yes; we think he has gone for help,” they
rejoined. Doonongaes had gone to find the Djihonsdonqgwen [161] people.
He came to the place in which they all lived, one great lodge—a mound
lodge. Peeping in, he saw a great many people walking around.
Immediately one spoke to the others, saying, “Hurry up! we have some
game here.” Straightway there were great confusion and crowding and
rushing to and fro. There seemed to be rooms all over this immense
lodge, above and below and on every side. Entering, Doonongaes said:
“Let us have peace. I came here to lead to a work which you will like;
I know you will. I have come to hire you to kill a man over there.”
They said to one another, “Let us get ready to go.” Their chief lived
on a hill near by, but they did not notify him. Doonongaes led them to
Hasʻhonyot’s lodge, saying, “I want you to kill this old man, but do
not harm the women.” A great many went into the lodge, filling it, and
there was a vast crowd outside. Some time passed, and then Doonongaes
heard the old man scream and saw him run out. When outside the crowd
around the lodge caught him. They released the women. They hurried
home, accompanied by Doonongaes, who left the Djihonsdonqgwen to fight
with the old man until they thought he was dead. When the women reached
home they said, “We are now the wives of our great chief, Doonongaes.”
“Thank you, my daughters,” said their mother; “he has saved you, and it
is right that you should live with him.” So Doonongaes went to the
lodge of the two women and did not return to Ganyodaes.

After a long time had passed both women had children, and he continued
to live with them until one day he said, “I am going to the place where
my friend, Hasʻhonyot, used to live on the high rocks.” When he reached
the foot of the rocks, he saw something lying on the ground, whereupon
he said, “He looks like some of our people.” It was the man who had
fallen over the precipice while climbing up to Hasʻhonyot’s lodge. At
last Doonongaes, having found the ledge on which the men had climbed,
reached the summit where the lodge had been; there he saw the
footprints of the man who had overturned it. On looking around, he
could see to the end of the earth,[162] in all directions. He looked
toward the west. Seeing far off a man killing people, he exclaimed,
“Pshaw, that man is a fool!” Descending the cliff, he hurried to the
place, where he found a great many people. To the man who was killing
them, he said, “What are you doing?” “Oh! I am guarding the land under
my control,” was the reply. “Yes. What is your name?” asked Doonongaes.
“My name is Tsodiqgwadon,”163 was his answer. “You and I belong to the
same people, then,” said Doonongaes; “we will therefore decide the
matter of supremacy164 in this way: Whichever one of us has the orenda
(magic power) to command the great rocks of the cliff on the south side
of this village to fall, shall own this place.” Then Doonongaes said,
“Let the rocks fall and fall this way.” He had barely spoken when the
rocks began to fall toward him. “Only half the rocks have fallen,” said
Tsodiqgwadon. “Now command them to go back to their places.” It was
done. Now it was the turn of Tsodiqgwadon. He said, “I command every
rock of the cliff to fall,” and every stone fell with a great noise,
only a mound of earth remaining where the cliff had just stood. Then
Doonongaes said: “You have won. You have more orenda than I have. You
are more magically powerful than I. I can do nothing more. Now, tell me
what I can do to satisfy you.”165 Tsodiqgwadon said, “I want you to let
women alone. Every woman living is mine.” Going home to his wives,
Doonongaes said to them, “You are not mine any longer.” “Why not,” they
asked; “have you sold us, or have you been beaten in a game in which
you wagered us?” “No; I met a man who claimed you,” he replied. “Who is
he?” they persisted. “Tsodiqgwadon!” exclaimed Doonongaes. “We do not
know him; how can we be his wives?” they asked. “Well, that is what he
said. I did all I could but he magically overpowered me. Now, I will go
to my old home, where I shall be better off,” answered Doonongaes.

Thereupon Doonongaes went to Ganyodaes and, after seeing that all was
in order, he began to cook. When he had finished he heard footsteps. A
man kicked at the door, and in came his servant, Skahnowa, who said:
“What are you doing in my lodge?” “How came this lodge to belong to
you?” asked Doonongaes. “Get out of here!” said Skahnowa; “I do not
want you.” “I wish,” said Doonongaes, “you would tell me by what right
you claim this lodge.” “My master, the former owner, was killed, and I
took possession of it after his death,” replied Skahnowa. “Ah! that is
it. Do you not know me? I have come back,” said Doonongaes. “You
Doonongaes? No; I am sure my master was killed and that his body has
decayed by this time,” said Skahnowa. “No; it is I. I have come to
life,” answered Doonongaes. For a time Skahnowa was silent; at last he
said: “We will test this matter. Go to my lodge and bring the hind
quarter of a bear.” “Very well,” replied Doonongaes, and he started,
disappearing in the water of the lake. Coming out at a distance from
the lodge, he killed a bear and, without having gone to Skahnowa’s
lodge, brought a hind quarter. Skahnowa said: “You went quickly. Did
you bring what I sent you for?” “Yes. Here it is,” replied Doonongaes.
“This is fresh. All the bear meat I had home was roasted. You are not
Doonongaes. Go out of this lodge,” said Skahnowa. Beginning to cry,
Doonongaes went out. Skahnowa then started on his round of the lake.
Doonongaes had not gone far when he said, “What a coward I am! It would
be stupid of me to give up my lodge.” He went back but did not find
Skahnowa there, so he took possession. The next day at noon Skahnowa
returned just as Doonongaes was ready to eat. “What are you here for?”
asked Skahnowa. “I told you to go away.” “Why should I give up my
lodge?” asked Doonongaes. “If you do not go away, I will beat you,”
said Skahnowa. They began to quarrel, and then, going outside, began to
fight, moving along the lake. They fought the rest of the day and all
night. The next morning Skahnowa said: “This is a hard task. It may be
that he is my master. The only thing that makes me doubt it is that he
did not do what I asked him to do. He did not go to my lodge.” Finally
he said to Doonongaes: “Let us give up fighting.” “No,” replied
Doonongaes, “let us have it out. A man has to be killed, one way or
another.” “Very well,” said Skahnowa, so they fought again in good
earnest. Being of equal magical strength, they fought day and night for
one month.[166] Then Skahnowa said: “We would better stop fighting. I
think neither of us can conquer.” “Yes,” replied Doonongaes, “it is
useless to fight longer; but I want you to promise not to order me out
of my own lodge again.” “Very well,” answered Skahnowa, “you may keep
the lodge; the owner of it was killed long ago.” Doonongaes asked: “Do
you not really know me?” “I know my master is dead,” said Skahnowa.

Doonongaes now went back to the lodge, thinking: “How can I get
possession of my lake? I must manage to control it again.” The next
night as he lay thinking, he fell asleep and had a dream, and in the
dream a man said: “I have come to say that you have been fighting with
your servant Skahnowa. We people of orenda, or magic power,[167] know
immediately what is going on. All the people of magic power are stirred
up now, and if you wish to live, you must go to Tsodiqgwadon. All these
people fear him. You must get up and go now, for these people will be
here exactly as the sun comes up in the east. Start immediately, and
try to be there before daylight.” Doonongaes was astonished at his
dream, but said, “I want to live, so I will go.” Starting about
midnight, and going to his wives, he slept with them. Then he arose
very early in the morning and journeyed on. He found Tsodiqgwadon at
the same place where he had seen him killing people. He had barely sat
down when a man, kicking aside the door flap, asked: “Have you seen
Doonongaes?” “What do you want of him?” asked Tsodiqgwadon. “We want to
have a trial of our orenda, or magical strength,” came the answer.
“Yes; I have seen him, but it was a good while ago,” said Tsodiqgwadon.
“There are fresh tracks coming here. Why do you try to hide him?” said
the stranger. “I am not trying to hide him, and do you go out of my
lodge,” replied Tsodiqgwadon. “I want to see Doonongaes,” said the
other. “Have I not said that I have not seen him? Do you understand
me?” declared Tsodiqgwadon. “Well, I did not come with any evil
intent,” said the other. “But why do you insist, when I tell you I have
not seen him?” retorted Tsodiqgwadon. “But the tracks made by him are
fresh,” was the other’s reply. “Pshaw,” said Tsodiqgwadon, “do you not
know what kind of man I am?” The visitor, who was a Dagwanoenyent,168
ran out, screaming: “Oh! do not touch me. I do not want to fight.”
“Well, if you do not, then go home,” said Tsodiqgwadon. The man then
started for home.

This man was barely out of sight when they heard a second man coming.
Kicking aside the door flap and jumping in, he inquired for Doonongaes,
saying, “I will eat him should I find him.” This was Niagwaihe.[169]
Tsodiqgwadon said, “I have not seen him.” “That is always the way with
this man,” muttered the other; “he is always hiding bad people. How
comes it otherwise that his tracks are here?” “I have not seen him.
What do you come for? I do not want you in my lodge,” declared
Tsodiqgwadon. “Why do you hide Doonongaes?” rejoined Niagwaihe. “I told
you I have not seen him,” said Tsodiqgwadon. “His fresh trail comes in
at your door,” replied the other. “Well, perhaps he came in and went
off another way,” said Tsodiqgwadon. The man went out to look; then,
coming back, he said, “No; it is as I told you; his trail comes in
here.” “Do you want to fight him?” asked Tsodiqgwadon. “No; I merely
came to see him,” was the reply. “If you do not go away I will kill
you,” said Tsodiqgwadon. “You know what sort of person I am; the best
way for you and me is to have it out.” Tsodiqgwadon then went outside,
whereupon Niagwaihe screamed: “Do not beat me. I did not come with any
ill feeling.” “Well, go home or I will fight you,” said Tsodiqgwadon.
Niagwaihe disappeared. “Now,” said Tsodiqgwadon to Doonongaes, who was
standing just behind him, “come out of your hiding place.”

They had barely sat down in the lodge when footsteps were heard again
and Djainosgowa [170] rushed into the lodge, saying, “Yes; this is the
man for whom I have come.” Seizing Doonongaes by the hair he pulled him
out of doors. Tsodiqgwadon followed them. When outside he saw
Djainosgowa walking off with Doonongaes on his shoulder. “He has taken
away my friend, who came to live with me. Never mind,” said
Tsodiqgwadon to himself, going back into the lodge and beginning to
smoke. Then he thought: “Perhaps I would better go to help him. They
may kill him.” So, following Djainosgowa’s trail, he found him sitting
down talking with Doonongaes, and asking, “How did you come to think
that you have orenda? Why did you want to kill your servant?”
Tsodiqgwadon listened. Doonongaes answered, “Let us have peace. Why
should we fight?” “No,” replied Djainosgowa; “I am going to try your
strength in orenda.” Tsodiqgwadon was there, but had made himself
invisible to them. All at once Tsodiqgwadon seized Doonongaes and,
putting him on his back, said, “Let us go home. What is the use of
being here?”

After Tsodiqgwadon had gone a few steps Djainosgowa found, on looking
around, that Doonongaes had disappeared. He searched everywhere for
him. At last he said, “Pshaw! I think Tsodiqgwadon took him away,”
whereupon he started back. When Tsodiqgwadon reached home, he said to
Doonongaes, “We will sit right down here. Djainosgowa will be back
soon.” Almost immediately Djainosgowa came in and asked, “Have you seen
Doonongaes?” “No; you jerked him out of my lodge. That is the last I
have seen of him,” declared Tsodiqgwadon. Djainosgowa said, “I believe
you are playing tricks on me. Where did you leave him?” “Why do you
accuse me? Go home! I am tired of you,” said Tsodiqgwadon. “I want to
see Doonongaes,” replied Djainosgowa. “Go out of here!” exclaimed
Tsodiqgwadon. “I will not go until I am satisfied,” persisted the
visitor. “I tell you to go. Can you not understand?” said Tsodiqgwadon,
getting up and going toward Djainosgowa, who jumped out of the lodge,
saying, “Oh! do not be angry. I did not come with any bad feelings.”
“Go home,” replied Tsodiqgwadon, “or I will beat you.” Djainosgowa had
to go, for he was conquered by superior orenda. Then Tsodiqgwadon said
to Doonongaes, “What have you done to all these people that they come
here after you?” “I had fought with Skahnowa, who had taken my lodge,”
replied Doonongaes. “We fought for one month, and because we fought so
long all the people having magic power around the world are excited;
that is all.” “Let us go to your lodge,” said Tsodiqgwadon. “I should
like to see your servant who is so powerful in orenda.”

Thereupon they went directly to the place. Skahnowa was on his daily
rounds. “Where has he gone?” asked Tsodiqgwadon. “Oh! he has gone
around the lake. He will be here soon,” said Doonongaes, who began to
cook. Just as they were sitting down to eat, they heard footsteps, and
a man sprang into the lodge, calling out, “What are you doing in here?
Go out!” “Oh! be quiet,” said Tsodiqgwadon. “Well, what right have you
in my lodge?” answered Skahnowa. “Be reasonable,” said Tsodiqgwadon.
Skahnowa dropped his head; then, raising it again, he asked: “What are
you doing? Are you on some errand of importance?” “We have come to see
what you have been doing with your master,” replied Tsodiqgwadon. “It
is a great annoyance to have people come to try the strength of
Doonongaes since your fight with him took place.” “Is that man there my
master?” asked Skahnowa. “Yes; he is,” replied Tsodiqgwadon. “How came
he to be alive again?” Skahnowa asked. “That is nothing strange among
us people of great magic power—persons who are possessed of potent
orenda. We die and become alive again;[171] that is the way it was with
Doonongaes,” said Tsodiqgwadon. “Now I understand,” said Skahnowa. “I
will not quarrel with him; he can have his own lodge. I will never
trouble him again.” Tsodiqgwadon said to Doonongaes, “Let us go.”

So they went along the lake shore and were soon at home. The ground
about was covered with tracks. Everything had been eaten; not a scrap
was left. “What are you going to do now?” asked Tsodiqgwadon. “The best
I can do,” said Doonongaes, “is to go home with you and you can give me
a couple of women to live with. Skahnowa will forget his promise and
will attack me if I stay here.” “Very well; come along and I will take
you to a woman,” Tsodiqgwadon said, so he brought him to a filthy,
ugly-looking creature of the Hanondon [172] people. “Here is a woman—I
want you to stay with her,” said Tsodiqgwadon. Doonongaes replied, “I
want another.” “Well, let us go on a little farther,” declared
Tsodiqgwadon. They soon came to a lodge in which was a woman of the
Hawiqson(t)173 people, dirty, and so badly deformed that one of her
feet was on her forehead. “Well,” said Doonongaes, “I suppose I shall
have to live with these women. You are the ruler here.”

Tsodiqgwadon left him. Night came and Doonongaes hung his head, saying:
“I think my friend Tsodiqgwadon has treated me badly. I will not stay
with these women. I will go away.” He traveled all that night and the
next day; he traveled southward 10 whole days and nights. When 10 days
had passed Tsodiqgwadon went to the place where the women, Hanondon and
Hawiqson(t), lived, saying, “I will see how my friend Doonongaes is
getting on.” He asked the women, “Is Doonongaes at home?” “No,” they
replied. “Where has he gone?” asked Tsodiqgwadon. “We do not know,”
said they, “he did not stay here; he went off the first night you left
him.” “Pshaw! let him go,” said he, and Tsodiqgwadon went home.

At the end of 10 days Doonongaes came to a large village in which all
the people wore feather headdresses. The chief of the village,
Gasaisdowanen,[174] asked Doonongaes, “What did you come here for?” “To
make a visit,” replied Doonongaes. “Who will take this man to his
lodge?” asked the chief. “He may go with me,” called out one man, so
Doonongaes lived with him. After a few days news came to the chief that
the people from the far west were going to make war on him; then a
challenge came. The chief asked his people to volunteer to fight the
western people. In two days he had 500 volunteers, among whom was
Doonongaes. They started, women going with them until the night of the
first day. The next morning when the warriors went on the women
returned to their homes. The warriors continued their journey until
they began to see signs of danger and to hear war whoops here and there
in the distance. When they stopped for the night the chief said, “Let
one man be on guard all night.” Doonongaes volunteered to do this
sentinel duty. He kept the fires burning and watched. About midnight he
heard a great war whoop and, saying to himself, “I do not want to die,”
he ran off. The western people, who were Dagwanoenyents, came to the
spot where the people were asleep and killed and scalped every one of
them. After getting away to a safe distance Doonongaes lay down and
slept. In the morning he said, “I will go and see what has happened to
my friends.” He found them all dead and scalped, whereupon he thought,
“I will go to the wives of these men and take them all.”

When Doonongaes returned to the village he called the women together,
and said, “I wish to tell you that your husbands are killed, and that I
will marry all of you.” After talking the matter over all the women
except one were finally willing to accept the proposal. Doonongaes
said, “Very well; I will settle with the unwilling one.” He stayed one
night at each woman’s lodge. When he came to the unwilling one he said,
“If you do not marry me, I will cut your head off.” “Well,” she
answered, “you will have to overpower me first.” She was a great woman;
her name was Diagoisiowanens.[175] Doonongaes continued, “I am
magically the most powerful man in the world,” referring to his orenda,
or magic power. “Well, you must try me,” said she. Thereupon he went
out, saying, “I will be ready in the afternoon,” but he never returned.

Going southward, Doonongaes traveled until evening. That night he spent
in a hollow tree. He went on for eight days. The ninth night he said,
“Diagoisiowanens thought she could overpower me, but I am too far off
now.” He was just going to sleep when he heard someone walking on the
leaves who, coming to the opening of his camp, said: “Doonongaes, are
you here? What would you do if Hononeowanen [176] should come here?”
“Oh! I should like it,” answered Doonongaes. The man went off, as it
seemed, and soon a great noise of falling trees was heard—a terrible
noise—the earth was torn up on every side. When Hononeowanen reached
the tree he said, “Come out!” Turning himself into a snake,177
Doonongaes went out. When the other one saw him, he said, “Why, you are
one of my people.” “Yes, I am the chief of our people, the most
powerful person on earth,” was the reply of Doonongaes. “I think not,”
said Hononeowanen. “Yes, I am. In the west lives a man of our kind,
pretending to be the most powerful person magically in the whole world.
I met and overpowered him (Doonongaes lied; he meant Tsodiqgwadon).
“Well,” said Hononeowanen, “that man has more orenda than I, so if you
have more orenda than he, I do not want to meddle with you, so I will
go away.” So saying, he went off. Doonongaes stood a while thinking:
“Why did Hononeowanen come over here? I suppose he forgot that I am
second in magic power among my people. Well, I will go back to my
wives, but there is no use in doing that, as Diagoisiowanens might kill
me. I will go southward.”

Doonongaes then walked two nights and days without sleep, until he came
to a great plain on the eastern side of which there was smoke arising.
Thereupon he turned himself into a man.[178] Soon he reached a village,
but he saw no one, though smoke was rising from every lodge. Entering a
lodge, he found a kettle full of meat over a good fire, but there was
no one at home. Going around the village, he waited. Just at noon he
thought, “I would better go again and see whether anyone has come
back.” He found no one. “This is very mysterious,” said he. “I will go
away—perhaps this is a place of the arts of sorcery.”

Doonongaes next went westward. In the evening he saw another “opening”
and smoke arising, as before. “If I do not find anyone here,” said he,
“I will go back to the two women whom Tsodiqgwadon gave me.” He reached
the place, where he had been but a short time when he saw coming toward
him a splendid-looking man with great feathers on his head. This was
Hostoyowanen,[179] the chief of the village. Doonongaes greeted him
with, “Do you know the village off there in the east? Where have all
the people gone?” “They are dead,” answered the man. “Niagwaihe has
eaten them all. Tomorrow, perhaps, he will come here and destroy us.”
“I should like to stay here a few days,” said Doonongaes. “Very well,”
replied the chief, “tomorrow I will show you my village.” The next day
they went all around. Doonongaes saw that the people had beautiful
things—wampum, shells, and valuable skins; there were many people and
lodges. After they had seen all the village, Hostoyowanen said: “Now,
you must not stay any longer. I do not want you to die here. Run
southward and you may be saved.” The chief went home and Doonongaes
went southward. He ran fast, and when night came he slept in a hollow
tree. The next morning he said, “I am going westward. I do not mind
what that chief said.” Toward midday he was hungry. He said: “Oh! my
neck is sore; it has been sore for a long time and feels as though
something were in it. How can I cure it?” Having found a spring, he lay
down to drink from it, but saw the reflection of someone in the water.
“Oh! that looks like my wife, Hawiqson(t). Why is her face reflected in
this water? I am far from her now. This is strange,” mused Doonongaes.
Being frightened, he did not drink but, jumping up, he ran toward the
south, forgetting which way he was going. He ran all night. Just at
daylight he fell down from weakness. “Why,” thought he, “am I getting
so heavy and weak? Is it because I am hungry?” He lay there and could
not rise; he was too hungry, for he had not eaten anything for a whole
year.180 He thought: “Well, there is no need of my standing up. I am a
snake.” Changed from a man into a great snake, he went on, saying,
“Well, I am traveling again.” At noon, coming to a village, he went
into the last lodge, in which lived an old woman and her granddaughter,
who were very poor. “I want to stay with you a few days,” said
Doonongaes. “I have nothing to eat,” answered the old woman. “I want
merely to sleep; I do not care for eating,” Doonongaes replied. “Then
you may stay,” said the old woman. The next morning, before she was out
of bed, Doonongaes asked, “Had you a family long ago?” “Yes,” she
answered, “a long time ago I was married and had a large family, but
only two are living now.” “Well,” said Doonongaes, “you must have kept
a bow and arrows.” “Look around,” said the old woman to her
granddaughter, “and see whether you can find a bow and arrows.” After
hunting for them, at last she found a bow and arrows. Doonongaes
straightened the arrows and strung the bow. Then he shot through the
smoke hole, saying to the arrow, “Go for a large bear.” Soon they heard
the sound of approaching footsteps and then of something falling in
front of the door, at which the old woman said: “I think that man
Dagadiye has come again, for he is always rushing through the village.
He does not kill, but he chases our people.” Doonongaes laughed at her
words. “Why do you laugh?” asked the old widow. “I laugh at what you
say,” replied Doonongaes. “Well, what do you think the noise was?” she
asked. “I do not know,” said Doonongaes. “Go and see.” Going to the
door, she exclaimed, “Hwu! Hwu! There is a great bear here!” The old
woman made a hole under the jaw of the bear and, putting her thumb into
the incision, she tore off the skin. Then cutting open the body, she
took out the intestines, after which she hung up the meat. Then she
began to think: “Why did this bear come? Who sent it?” Finally she
asked, “My grandson, can you tell me why this bear came?” Doonongaes
said, laughing: “Did you not see me shoot? I told the arrow to bring a
bear and the bear came.”

Doonongaes staid there all day, while the grandmother cooked. The next
morning he heard a noise. A messenger came in, saying: “I have come to
notify you that the daughter of our chief, Deyenegonsdasden,[181] is to
be married to the man who can shoot the black eagle perched on the top
of a pole that reaches to the clouds; the shooting begins at midday.”
Doonongaes said, “I can marry the chief’s daughter, for I can kill any
one of the eagles, even when flying high.” He straightened his arrows
and strung his bow as he lay by the fire. Looking through the smoke
hole, he could see the eagle on the pole.182 At midday all the people
were around the pole, when the chief said, “Now, do you begin.”
Doonongaes saw through the smoke-hole how the arrows flew. Each man
tried twice, but none of the arrows went near the target. He watched
until night, and then the chief said, “Tomorrow we will try again.” The
next morning Doonongaes said, “None of these men can kill that eagle.”
Stringing his bow, he shot an arrow through the smoke-hole, which he
saw go straight to the eagle and pierce it. The eagle fell, while the
arrow transfixing it stuck into the ground, taking root so deep that no
one was able to pull it out. Every man said, “I did it.” But the chief
replied, “Then take the arrow out.” Each tried but could not draw out
the arrow. Now Doonongaes said to the old woman’s granddaughter:183 “Go
after my arrow. Somebody may break it.” She went to the place, saying,
“A man at our lodge sent me to get his arrow.” Thereupon, taking hold
of it, she pulled it out easily.

“My daughter is married now,” said Deyenegonsdasden, so he sent two men
for Doonongaes. They found him by the fire at the widow’s lodge. When
they told him to come to the chief’s lodge, he asked, “Why does the
chief send for me?” [184] “He wants you to marry his daughter, for you
killed the black eagle on the top of the pole,” he was told, “Oh! I do
not want any more wives. I have more than 100 now,” returned
Doonongaes. They insisted, but he refused. On their return this was
told to Deyenegonsdasden, who said, “Now let 8 or 10 of you go, and if
he won’t come willingly, tie him and bring him here.” Going back, they
said, “You must come.” “I will not,” replied Doonongaes; “I am not
going there for nothing,” declared Doonongaes. “Well,” answered the
men, “it is not for nothing. The chief wants you to marry his
daughter.” “Is she good looking?” asked Doonongaes. “Oh, yes! she is
very beautiful,” the men replied. “Well,” said Doonongaes, “it would be
a shame for me to marry her; I am too nasty a man.” They tried hard to
persuade him, but he would not go. Then they tried to tie him, but he
hurled them away. Even after trying all day they could not bind him.
When night came they said, “We might as well give up and go home.” When
they went back they told the chief, “We can do nothing with him.” Then
the chief said to his daughter, “You must go to him.” As her father
told her that she must go, the girl went. She entered the old woman’s
hut, but Doonongaes paid no attention to her. After a while she said,
“I came to stay with you.” “Where do you live?” asked Doonongaes. “I
live in the center185 of the village,” the girl replied. “Who is your
father?” he asked. “The chief,” she said. “Oh! I will not marry you,”
said Doonongaes. “Are you sure you will not marry me?” asked the girl.
“Yes; I have too many wives,” he replied. “Are you married at home?
Where do you live?” she inquired. The reply was: “Sixteen186 days’
journey from here I have more than a hundred wives. Farther on I have
two more.” “Where did you come from?” she continued. “I think you know
the place,” he said; it is called Dedyosdenhon.”187 “Yes,” he replied,
“I know where that place is; it is far away, near the end of the earth.
I suppose you will not go back there. It is too far, and you will marry
me.” “No, I am not looking for a wife here. Such people as you are188
would not help me.” The beautiful girl began to cry. Doonongaes,
looking at her, asked, “What is the matter?” Whereupon she cried harder
and harder. Now Doonongaes himself began to cry. The old woman asked:
“What is the matter? Why do you cry?” No answer. Then she herself began
to cry. Her granddaughter, coming in and seeing that all were crying,
began to get lonely and to cry, too. Now all were crying, and they
cried louder and louder. Just as it became dark the chief heard the
sound of crying, and sent men to find out where it was. They went
through the whole village, but found no one crying. At last one said,
“Let us go over to the old widow’s hut.” On nearing it they heard the
sound of crying, so they returned to the chief and said, “The crying is
at the lodge of the old widow, Deienensowanens.”189 Hearing this, the
chief said: “My daughter is at that lodge. I must go over there.” When
near, he, too, heard the sound of crying, at which his heart grew weak,
and he thought to himself, “I can not go into that poor hut.” So he
remained outside, and soon he also began to cry, and he cried until he
forgot everything. When he came to his senses he was sitting at the
side of the old widow, “Broad-Shoulders.” He did not know where he was.
He was not crying, merely thinking why the others were crying. After a
while he said, “Let us all be of good cheer and stop crying.” Now the
old woman thought, “Who said that?” and, on looking up, she saw the
chief of the village, whereupon she asked, “Why are you here? I never
saw you near me before.” “I came to cheer you up,” he replied. “Very
well,” said the widow, “but tell your daughter to stop crying. I
thought it was the rule to cry, for when she got here she began to do
so.” The chief said to his daughter: “Stop crying! It is not right for
you to cry. If you do not stop, I will cut your head off.” Being
afraid, she stopped. Doonongaes cried on as before until finally the
old woman said, “My grandson, every one has stopped crying; so do not
cry.” He paid no heed. The chief tried to stop him, but he cried the
more, and continued to cry until morning. He was sitting on a block
with his elbows on his knees and his head resting on the palms of his
hands. In the morning his companions saw a great pile of wampum in
front of him. All his tears were beautiful wampum. The chief asked:
“What are those things? Are they not good for something?” “Yes,”
replied Doonongaes, “if they are strung together. If a man is sad and
cries, and a string of them is given to him, all will be well again.”
Doonongaes had now stopped crying. The chief said, “I want you to be
the chief of this place, and I will be the second, or vice, chief.”
Doonongaes sat with drooping head for a while, after which, looking up,
he said: “I do not want to be a chief. I am great enough now. I am
known everywhere. I am second in magic power in the entire world—that
is enough for me.” The chief asked, “Do you know who is first in magic
power in this world?” “I do,” he replied. “Who is he?” was the next
question. “Tsodiqgwadon, who lives at Dedyosdenhon,” he answered. “Very
well,” said the chief, “I can say no more. I will go home, taking my
daughter with me.” “Yes; go! I do not want you here,” Doonongaes added.

The chief and his daughter then returned home, whereupon Doonongaes
began to laugh. The old woman asked, “Why do you laugh?” “Oh! I am
laughing at the chief, for his daughter very much wants to get
married.” The old woman replied, “You would better stop laughing and
appoint some one to marry her instead of yourself.” “Well, grandmother,
you must go and find some poor man to marry her,” said Doonongaes.
“Very well, grandson. I will go to a ‘Shabby Man’ who lives on the
other side of the village and speak to him about it.” When she got to
the place she said to the “Shabby Man,” “I have come to have you
marry?” “Who would marry me? Nobody wants me,” said the man. “Oh, yes!
I can find you a wife, a beautiful one, too,” was her answer. The
“Shabby Man” said, “All right,” and went home with the old woman.
Doonongaes asked: “Are you the man? Do you want to marry?” “Yes. I
should like to marry, if anybody would have me,” replied the man.
Doonongaes said to the widow’s granddaughter, “Go to the chief and say
that Doonongaes will marry his daughter now.” So she told the chief
what he said. “Very well,” he answered, sending his daughter to the old
woman’s hut. Doonongaes asked her, “Do you want to marry me?” “Yes; for
you killed the eagle,” she replied. “Would it please you if I should
appoint a man to marry you?” Doonongaes added. “Yes,” was the girl’s
answer. “This is the man I appoint,” declared Doonongaes. Turning to
the “Shabby Man,” the girl said, “Come, we will go home to my father’s
lodge.” At this the man laughed for gladness.

Doonongaes spent a whole year with the old woman. One morning he said:
“Now, I am going to the southern end of the earth. I want to know how
things are there.” “Very well,” replied the grandmother. “Come in on
your way back,” she said. “I will,” said Doonongaes. He left all the
wampum with the old woman, for if he wanted any he had only to cry in
order to get it. After traveling all day and all night, in the morning
he came to a great opening in the woods. As he stood looking around the
place, he saw some dark object in the west. Looking very sharply, he
said: “What is that dark thing? Is some one watching?” He stood there a
good while. Just at midday, seeing that the object was lying down, he
thought: “What can that be? I must go there and see.” He ran thither as
swiftly as he could, and on coming to a piece of smooth ground, there
he found one of the Djainosgowa family. The one that had been standing
up was the old man who guarded the opening; he was now lying down to
sleep, for it was just midday. There were two old Djainosgowa persons
and five children. Doonongaes, frightened, ran into the woods,
thinking: “I must go home. I do not want these Djainos people to kill
me.”

So Doonongaes ran a whole month, day and night, until he reached the
lodge of Tsodiqgwadon, whom he found sitting by the fire with his head
hanging down. When he looked up and saw Doonongaes he said, “Oh, my
friend! are you alive?” “Yes; I have been traveling,” said Doonongaes.
“Why did you leave your two wives?” asked Tsodiqgwadon. “Oh! I do not
think those women good enough for me; they are too ugly,” was his
answer. “Why did you tell me you wanted them?” he was asked. “I did not
want them. I wanted good-looking women,” he said. “Well, you can not
have two beautiful women,” declared his questioner. Soon they heard a
noise, at which Tsodiqgwadon said, “Sit down behind me.” A stranger,
entering, asked, “Have you seen Doonongaes?” “I have not,” answered
Tsodiqgwadon. “Well, I have tracked him to this lodge,” came the reply.
“What of it? I have not seen him,” was the reply. “You must have hidden
him,” persisted the stranger. “No; I tell you I have not seen him.” The
stranger, who was Djainosgowa, and who had followed Doonongaes from the
great opening, now said, “I must go home.” “You would better do so,”
replied Tsodiqgwadon. As he started off, Tsodiqgwadon said to
Doonongaes: “Come out here. I want you to go to the northern end of the
earth and see how my father is getting on. He lives at the edge of the
earth. Ask him if he will not come here. Tell him we are to have a
great council at Broken Land. All the people of the world are to meet
there.” “What is your father’s name?” asked Doonongaes. Tsodiqgwadon
said, “Deanohdjes.[190] He is of the Geia191 people.”

Doonongaes immediately started on the journey. He traveled day and
night for a whole year,[192] but could not reach the northern end of
the earth. One morning he said, “I do not believe I shall ever get to
the place where Deanohdjes lives.” Sitting on a large stone he wondered
what he should do. At last he thought, “Well, I must go on; if I do not
Tsodiqgwadon may kill me, for he is greater in sorcery than I.” So he
traveled on for another whole year. Then he thought again: “How much
farther must I go? I am very far away from Hanging Rock.” (Tsodiqgwadon
was so magically powerful that he caused Doonongaes to lose his course,
and hence to go round and round without ever drawing nearer the place
to which he was sent.) One morning Doonongaes heard a voice from some
village near by. There sat Tsodiqgwadon, who turned, and, looking at
him, asked, “Well, have you come back?” “Yes,” said Doonongaes. “Have
you seen my father?” continued his questioner. “No; I could not find
his lodge,” replied Doonongaes. “Well, you have been gone a long time.
Where have you been?” said Tsodiqgwadon. To this Doonongaes rejoined:
“I thought I was on my way north, and that I was a great distance from
here, and I wanted to know how far I was from your father’s lodge.”
Tsodiqgwadon began to laugh and to make sport of him, saying, “I want
you to go straight ahead this time, not in a circle.”

Doonongaes now set out the second time. He traveled northward for 10
days and nights, when he came to a narrow opening which was so long
that he could not see the farther end. This was called
Nitgendasadieha.[193] He started to cross this opening. At night he
slept soundly on the grass. The next morning he traveled on. He was
10194 days in crossing this opening. Going on farther, he came to a
second opening, through which he saw a lodge at the farther end.
Peeping through the cracks in the wall, he saw sitting inside by the
fire with his head down, smoking, an old man. The old man, who was of
the Osigweon195 people, raising his head, said: “I smell a human being.
My nephew must have come. Well, nephew, come in. Why do you stand
outside?” Thereupon Doonongaes, thinking, “How did he know I was here?”
went in. The old man continued: “I have been wishing for a long time
that you would arrive, for I knew you were coming. Now, nephew, I have
a game which I always play when anyone visits me—it is a foot race. We
run from one end to the other of the narrow opening.” “I have nothing
to bet,” replied Doonongaes. “Oh!” replied the old man, “bet your
head.” “Very well,” said Doonongaes. “Wait a while,” said the old man;
“I will tell you when I am ready,” and he went into another room.
Doonongaes, making himself invisible, followed him. The old man had a
bark canoe there, in which was a living thing that seemed to be without
bones, being a mass of flesh about 2 feet long, in the shape of a
lizard. As the old man rubbed his hand over it, a fluid resembling milk
came out of the living object, with which the old man rubbed his hands
and his whole body. Doonongaes also rubbed himself with the juice
before going out. Then the contestants placed themselves at the end of
the opening, whereupon the old man said, “I will start just as the sun
comes to the middle of the sky.” They stood watching until the sun was
exactly in the middle of the sky. Then they started. The old man,
throwing out his arms, pushed Doonongaes far back. The latter,
springing up, however, soon overtook the old man, and catching him by
the neck, threw him back, saying, “That is what I do when I want to
win.” They ran on until the middle of the afternoon, when they reached
the other end of the opening. At sunset Doonongaes was back at the
starting place, where he staid all night. In the morning the old man
came, and Doonongaes said: “I have won. Now I will take off your head.”
“Well,” said the old man, “I will have a smoke first.”196 “Oh, no,”
said Doonongaes, cutting off the old man’s head at once.

Then Doonongaes continued his journey northward, traveling for two days
and nights. When he tired of walking he turned into a long horned
snake. Soon, seeing a great black cloud coming with rain and thunder,
he thought, “Hinon [197] wants to kill me”; hence he went down into the
earth so far that Hinon could not reach him. After staying there a good
while, he said, “I must go on”; so he changed himself into a man again
on account of his dread of Hinon. He soon came to a river, on the bank
of which he stood, wondering how he was to cross. He went along the
bank to the point where the river entered a lake. There he thought, “I
must change myself into a snake and go into the water.” After crossing
he became a man again so Hinon would not pursue him.

Doonongaes journeyed on a whole month. One morning he came to an
opening called Gendagwen(t),[198] where he saw nothing. Having passed
through this he saw a woman. He ran forward swiftly, but could not
overtake her. She went with such speed that they were the same distance
apart at night, when he thought, “I can not catch her, so I may as well
camp.” Picking up some dry sticks, he made a fire. On looking around he
saw that the woman had camped just ahead. “Oh, pshaw!” thought he, “I
will go there.” He started, but as he advanced so did she. When he came
to her fire there was no one there, so he said, “I will stay here.”
Soon he saw another fire ahead, which he knew to be the fire of the
woman whom he was following, whereupon he said: “I am ashamed to stop
here, so I will go on.” He reached the second fire, but no one was
there. Then he said, “I will go back to my own fire and stay there.”
When he reached his camping place the woman was back again at her first
fire. He followed her all the next day, always at the same distance. On
reaching an opening she went into a lodge. Following, he found her
sitting on one side of the fire, and an old man on the other side with
his head bowed. Seating himself near the woman, Doonongaes asked her,
“Do you not want to marry me?” She made no reply. He asked again, “Will
you marry me?” He asked three times, but received no reply. Then the
old man, who was a Dagwanoenyent (i.e., Cyclone), raising his head,
said to the girl: “You have brought home game. Wash my big kettle,
granddaughter, and boil some water, and I will kill the game.” At this
he began to sharpen his flint knife, whereupon Doonongaes ran out, with
the old man following him. Doonongaes mused: “What trouble comes to me:
I shall die now. This is because I tried to catch the girl.” The old
man was close upon him now, and as he lifted his knife to strike,
Doonongaes stepped aside, so the old man cut his own knee. He fell down
on account of the pain, but spitting on his hands, he rubbed the wound,
thus curing it instantly. Then springing up, he ran on. All day he
followed Doonongaes. Many times he cut himself as he did the first
time, but always healed the wound with spittle. At sunset Doonongaes
said, “What a shame! I ought to kill that man.” Turning himself into a
snake, he tore him to pieces. As he threw off the legs, he said, “I
want you to become owls,” and away they flew, owls. He made the old
man’s flesh into all kinds of birds.199

Then he said, “Now, I will go back to the girl; it may be that she will
marry me.” Reaching the lodge just at midnight, he went in and said to
the girl, “Your grandfather is dead.” “Is that true?” she asked. “Yes,
I have killed him,” said Doonongaes. “Well, what do you want?” she
demanded. “I want to live with you,” said Doonongaes. “Very well,” she
replied; “I was afraid of the old man—this is why I did not answer your
questions at first.” Doonongaes stayed with Ganos,[200] for that was
the girl’s name, a whole month. Then he said one morning, “I must
continue my journey.”

So Doonongaes set out, and after traveling northward for 16 days and
nights, he came to the edge [201] of the earth. It was very cold there.
As he looked around, he saw a lodge in which he found a very old man
with white hair reaching to the ground all around him as he sat there.
Doonongaes said, “I have come to visit you.” The old man did not hear.
Thrice Doonongaes spoke but received no answer. Then he looked for a
club. Finding one, he hit the old man on the top of the head, saying,
“Do you not hear me?” The old man never moved, but muttered, “Mice must
have fallen from above my head. No matter.” Doonongaes, thinking what
kind of man is this, struck him again. Thereupon the old man, lifting
up his hair and tying it back so that he could see, asked, “What are
you here for?” “I came to visit you,” said Doonongaes. “I do not want a
visit from you. Be off!” he commanded. Doonongaes, who was nearly
freezing to death from the extreme cold, retorted: “Be quiet! do not
get excited.” “Oh! I do not care for other people,” said the old man.
“What did you come here for?” “I came to ask a question. Do you know
where Deanohdjes lives?” asked Doonongaes. “Yes; he lives in the middle
of the ice lake over yonder,” said the old man. “Do you know whether he
is at home today?” said Doonongaes. “Oh, you could not go to him today;
it used to take me 10202 days and nights to go to his place,” said the
old man. “Is there a trail?” inquired Doonongaes. “Yes, you will find
my tracks,” said the old man, who was a white bear.

Now it grew colder and colder while Doonongaes traveled half a day
before he reached the place where Tsodiqgwadon’s father lived. He found
an open space in the ice. After standing there a while he saw a man
with great teeth rising from the water. The man said to Doonongaes,
“What do you come here for?” “Your son sent me. There is to be a great
council at Broken Land. All the people of the world will be there,”
answered Doonongaes. “What is the council for?” asked Deanohdjes. “I do
not know; your son has not told me,” replied Doonongaes. “Well, I will
start in 20 days from now,” rejoined the elder man.

Trembling with cold, Doonongaes turned back without delay. In 10 [203]
days he was at Hanging Rock. Tsodiqgwadon asked, “Have you seen my
father?” “Yes,” replied Doonongaes. “Well, what did he say?” was the
next question. “He said that he would start in 20 days,” answered
Doonongaes. “Let us go to Broken Land,” said Tsodiqgwadon. They
started, but as they had 10 days’ time and it was only one day’s
journey to Broken Land, they went southward to look around. The next
day near sunset they saw a man coming toward them. “Who is that
coming?” asked Tsodiqgwadon; “he looks like a chief. What a great
headdress he has! [He had long feathers and much wampum.] He looks like
a great man, for his face is painted red and black.” Doonongaes said,
“Let us chase him.” “What shall we do with him if we catch him?” asked
Tsodiqgwadon. “I will take hold of his head and you of his feet, and
thus we will stretch him,” answered Doonongaes. “Very well,” said
Tsodiqgwadon. When they met, Doonongaes asked the stranger, “Where are
you going?” “To the north, to see the place where White Hair lives,”
was the reply. “What would you do if I should wrestle with you?”
inquired Doonongaes. “Oh! I should like that,” he said. So they began
to wrestle. Doonongaes threw his adversary; and then, taking hold of
his head and Tsodiqgwadon of his feet, the two began to pull, and they
pulled until his legs and arms were stretched out to a great length.
Thereupon Doonongaes said, “We will call you Gaisonhe.”204

Leaving him, the two traveled on. The second morning they saw some one
ahead, an ugly-looking man who had a great deal of wampum wound around
his body. He was shooting arrows as he sat on a stone. Doonongaes and
Tsodiqgwadon looked in the direction his arrows were going and saw many
deer standing there, but they noted that his arrows never struck one of
them. Going up to the man, Doonongaes asked, “What are you doing?” “I
am trying to kill deer. I have tried all the morning, but I can not
kill one,” said he. “Such a shot as you are can never hit anything even
if he were to shoot 10 days,” said Tsodiqgwadon, adding, “I will help
you.” As the man shot, Tsodiqgwadon blew on the arrow, which went into
the ground, at which Tsodiqgwadon said, “You will never see that arrow
again.” Immediately it took root and turned to Ohohwa Ohnoh.[205]
Tsodiqgwadon changed the man into an owl, after which they went on.

Just at midday the two came to a cliff. As they stood on the edge,
looking down, Doonongaes said, “It seems as if some people live down
there.” Tsodiqgwadon replied: “I think so. Let us go down.” When they
reached the bottom, they saw that under the cliff was a plain, or
opening, with the cliff hanging over one side of it. The plain had
three points—a northern, a southern, and an eastern. At each point
there was a lodge. Doonongaes went south and Tsodiqgwadon went north.
Looking into the lodge that stood on the southern point, Doonongaes saw
an old man working at something. “What is he doing making such a
noise?” thought Doonongaes. The old man, looking up, said: “This odor
is like that of a man. How could anyone get in here, for my master
guards the entrance to the cliff?” The old man, who was of the Odjieqda
[206] people, was making a wooden bowl. He went to work again, saying,
“I will not waste time smelling.” Doonongaes heard him, and, saying “I
will make him waste his time,” he thrust his horns under the lodge,
and, lifting it into the air, threw it down so that it broke into
pieces. The old man, however, still sat on the ground in the same
place. Doonongaes laughed. The old man thought to himself, “Who is that
laughing?” and, looking up, he said: “Oh! that is Sʻhodieonskon.207
Well, I will not do anything. I will go and tell my master”; with this
remark he started toward the entrance, while Doonongaes hurried off to
the lodge at the eastern point of the opening. There he heard the sound
of pounding, and peeping into the lodge, he saw four Odjieqda women
pounding Odauhdjah208 in stone mortars. The eldest asked, “Do you not
smell the flesh of man?” “Yes,” replied the others. “Well, hurry up,
take your clubs and try to kill him,” she continued. Doonongaes ran
off, frightened. The women came out, but could see nothing but tracks.
The old woman, whose name was Deiehnies,209 said, “Never mind; he will
come back.” “That is a strange place,” thought Doonongaes; “I will go
back and see what they will do”; so saying, he returned to the lodge.
The women immediately knew of his return, and old Deiehnies said, “Make
haste, my daughter, and kill the game.” When they came out they saw a
man standing near the lodge. Then the old woman changed her mind,
saying: “Do not bother him. It must be that he wants to marry—that is
why he comes.” One of the girls added, “Yes; let him alone,” but the
eldest said, “No; let us kill him.” The two younger girls returned to
the lodge, but the eldest, running up to Doonongaes, lifted her club to
hit him; he dodged, however, with the result that she struck herself210
on the knee, whereupon she fell down crying. At this the old woman came
out, and taking hold of her by the hair, shook her, saying: “What are
you doing? If you want to kill the game, run after it.” Then the old
woman ran up to and struck at Doonongaes, likewise hitting her own knee
and falling down crying. Doonongaes now went to the lodge where the two
younger girls were and they stood up near him, for they liked him. As
old Deiehnies and the eldest girl came in, the women began to fight.
Going outside, Doonongaes watched the fight. They fought long and hard,
but had not finished when Doonongaes set fire to the lodge; before the
women knew it, the flames were so fierce that they could not escape, so
all were burned to death. Thereupon Doonongaes said to himself: “Why
did they try to kill me? They did not know what kind of a man I am.
Everyone ought to be kind when I come. I will go to find Tsodiqgwadon.”

Doonongaes now went to the lodge in the north, but he found no one. He
heard, however, a sound as of ball-playing. Following the sound he came
to an opening, where he saw his friend playing ball with two old men of
the Dagwennigonhge [211] people. It was a close game, and Doonongaes
stood watching it. Soon they ran past him, and Tsodiqgwadon called out,
“Why do you not help me? There are two against me”; so Doonongaes
joined in. The old men played well, but Doonongaes and Tsodiqgwadon
won. Then Tsodiqgwadon said, “Take the wager. Cut their heads off.”
“Very well,” replied Doonongaes, “that is what I like.” So he cut off
their heads, and throwing them into the lodge, then burned it up. The
heads burst and Dagwanoenyents212 rushed forth. Now the cliff began to
crumble, at which Doonongaes exclaimed: “Let us go quickly! This cliff
may fall and bury us under it.” Doonongaes and Tsodiqgwadon ran out as
quickly as possible and were barely outside when down came the cliff.
Doonongaes said, “The man from the first lodge ran out at this
opening.” As they stood there looking carefully around they saw a
lodge, in the doorway of which sat a man, whereupon Tsodiqgwadon said:
“That man’s name is Hahnyusdais.213 He is the master of the dwellers
under the cliff, and he kept them as prisoners.” “Let us go up and see
the fellow,” answered Doonongaes. When they went to the lodge,
Hahnyusdais asked, “What did you come here for?” “I came to ask you a
question,” retorted Doonongaes. “Well, wait until I smoke,” Hahnyusdais
replied, and taking out a stone pipe, he began to smoke. Doonongaes
continued, “I came to ask you what has become of the men you had under
the cliff which has just fallen in?” “I will go and see,” replied
Hahnyusdais. As the place was full of earth he could not look in, and
he said to Doonongaes, “Do you not belong to the Dagwennigonhge
people?” “No, I do not,” was the answer. The old man then inquired:
“Why is this place full of earth? I went in some time ago, but I can
not go in now. A man named Deagonstwihes214 came out of here a little
while ago and then went back. I suppose he was buried in there.”
Doonongaes began to laugh at what he had done, saying to Tsodiqgwadon,
“Let us chase and catch Hahnyusdais.” “What shall we do with him?”
asked Tsodiqgwadon. “Oh! stretch him,” came the reply. Thereupon they
caught him, and Doonongaes taking him by the head and Tsodiqgwadon by
the feet, they pulled in order to stretch him out. Hahnyusdais
screamed: “Oh, stop! I do not want long legs. I want to be as I am.”
But they only pulled the harder, Hahnyusdais growing longer and longer,
until Doonongaes said, “This man now belongs to our people; he will be
Haunhdji.”215

Leaving their victim, the two then went toward the east. At midday they
met the two men who had been sent to track the Laughing Man [216] after
he had killed Doonongaes. “What are you doing?” asked Doonongaes. They
replied: “We are tracking the Laughing Man, who killed our chief. We
were sent to track and to kill him. We shall never stop until we catch
him. Here are his tracks.” “Who was your chief?” said Doonongaes.
“Doonongaes,” they replied. Doonongaes, laughing, said, “Do you not
know that when Sʻhodieonskon dies he comes to life again in a short
time?” “No,” replied the men, whose names were, respectively,
Hatkwisdowanen217 and Hushewathen.218 “We do not know that. We never
heard the old people say that,” they answered. “Well, two days after I
died I came to life. It is no use to pursue the Laughing Man any
longer. You will not catch him, but he will never kill me again. You
would better go home,” added Doonongaes. The two men said, “Thank you
for our freedom; we are at liberty now to go where we please.” “I
should like to take a smoke,” said Doonongaes; “I used to have a
pouch,219 but I do not know now where it is.” “Well,” said
Hatkwisdowanen, “when you died two men were sent to your lodge to get
your pouch. I think that the chief, Hagondowanen,220 has it now.” “I
will be at his place tomorrow,” replied Doonongaes. “We are going to
have a great time at Broken Land. Will you not be there?” “It may be
that I shall, if I do not get killed. I suppose my wife is enraged
because I have been away so long,” answered Hatkwisdowanen.

Hatkwisdowanen and his friend now started for home, while Doonongaes
and Tsodiqgwadon went on eastward. At nightfall the latter came to a
lodge, within which they heard some one singing, Onen gagwégon
sawadiyon heníyon ganyoh.[221] “Why does that old woman sing so?” asked
Doonongaes. “Let us run through this hut,” he added. “Oh, pshaw!”
answered Tsodiqgwadon; “what is the use of chasing people all the
time?” “I will tell you why I like to do it,” answered Doonongaes. “All
people get angry when they see me and try to kill me, so now I am going
to kill all the people I can.” Tsodiqgwadon remained outside while
Doonongaes went into the lodge, crying out, “Now I have come back.” The
old woman, whose name was Gonyahsgweont222 and who belonged to the
Nosgwais223 people, raising her head, said, “It seems as if some game
creature was talking in my lodge.” Looking around and seeing
Doonongaes, she said: “What are you doing in here? There is no use
troubling me, for I have never chased you.” She knew he was
Sʻhodieonskon, and that he always chased and killed people. She began
to beg, but, going behind her, he held her by the shoulders when she
tried to turn around. Then catching her by the feet, he pulled her out
of the lodge. “Do not make sport of and trouble me,” cried the old
woman; “I am poor, but I have never harmed anyone.” “Why do you sing in
that way, then?” asked Doonongaes; “I thought you were the woman who
killed all kinds of game.” “I was feeling happy, that is why I sang,”
answered the old woman. At this Tsodiqgwadon said, “You would better
let that old woman alone.”

So Doonongaes left the old woman and the two went on. When they met
people they changed themselves to resemble those people. They were
magically the most powerful persons living. Tsodiqgwadon was greatly
superior to his friend in this respect, possessing the greatest orenda
in this world. All were afraid of him because he could do anything he
liked. All at once Doonongaes said: “My neck feels bad. It has been
sore for a long time.” “When did it become sore?” asked Tsodiqgwadon.
Then Doonongaes told about the two old sisters Gwidogwido, and said
that ever since he had lifted and carried away their lodge his neck had
troubled him. “You must have been bewitched by their lodge,” replied
Tsodiqgwadon; “let me feel your neck?” When Doonongaes held his head
down Tsodiqgwadon saw the end of a flint knife. He tried to pull it
out; he continued to try all night long, and just as the sun [224]
arose he drew it out. “There! I have it,” said he. “The wizards
bewitched you. There are many more wizards than you know of. I have
cured you now for life.” Taking up the knife, Doonongaes looked at it
and said, “How strong I am to carry so long a knife in my neck so many
years.”

Continuing their journey, Doonongaes and his companion soon came to a
village where no one was found, although smoke arose from every lodge’s
smoke-hole. “This must be the place I visited once before,” said
Doonongaes; “there is something very mysterious about it.” “No, there
is nothing mysterious here,” replied Tsodiqgwadon. “The place is always
kept this way. It is kept for people who are traveling around the
world, so that when they come to this village they can eat whatever
they like. It is called Yondekhonyatha Ganondayen.” [225] “Who has
arranged all this?” asked Doonongaes. “A Great Power226 in the Blue Sky
made this village, so every man could eat here,” answered Tsodiqgwadon.
“Very well, let us eat, then,” said Doonongaes. So, going into one of
the lodges, they took meat in a bowl. When they were ready to eat,
Tsodiqgwadon began to laugh. “Why do you laugh?” asked Doonongaes; “you
said this belonged to all people who are on the trail.” Tsodiqgwadon
had now become what Doonongaes was—that is, Sʻhodieonskon—and he said,
“I will go outside for a moment.” While Tsodiqgwadon went out,
Doonongaes began to eat. At that moment he felt that someone was there.
On turning around, he saw a Stone Coat227 sharpening his chert
knife—yes, he saw several sitting around, all sharpening their chert
knives. “What are you sharpening your knives for?” asked Doonongaes.
“We are going to kill you,” came the reply. “Wait until I am ready.
Give me fair play,” said Doonongaes. “All right,” was the reply, “but
you must hurry up.” He went to the woods where he found Tsodiqgwadon,
who, laughing, asked, “Did you see anything to frighten you?” “Yes; I
have a fight on my hands,” answered Doonongaes. “Well, I am going on,”
said Tsodiqgwadon; “all the help I will give you is to tell you what
kind of a weapon these people are afraid of. It is a basswood228
knife.” “Should I not make a flint club?” asked Doonongaes. “No; that
would not hurt them a bit. Make a basswood club,” came the answer.
Doonongaes made, therefore, both a basswood knife and a club, and then,
going back to the Stone Coats, he said, “I am ready.” When they saw his
basswood knife and club they were terribly frightened, and ran off as
fast as they could toward the north, chased by Doonongaes. The first
one he overtook he hit on the head with his club, whereupon the Stone
Coat crumbled down to the ground, dead, with his body and coat smashed
to pieces. Doonongaes treated the next one in a like manner and so on
until he had overtaken and killed them all—men, women, and children.
Then he said: “This is the kind of man I am. Why did Tsodiqgwadon leave
me? I can chase him, too, when I find him.” At that moment, hearing
someone behind him, he looked around only to see Tsodiqgwadon, who
asked, “What are you talking about?” Doonongaes replied, “Oh! I was
saying that you are the best friend I have in the world.”

Once more the two went on together, and the next morning they came to a
rock which was so high that they could not see the top of it.
Doonongaes now changed himself into a buck, and rubbing his horns on
the rock said, “I can kill Hinon [229] if I see him.” At that moment
Hinon came out of the rock, and standing before him, asked, “What were
you saying?” “Oh! I said that the man who lives in here is the best
friend I have,” answered Doonongaes. Tsodiqgwadon stood on one side,
laughing. Believing Doonongaes, Hinon went back into the rock.

The two friends now continued journeying toward the north. Tsodiqgwadon
said to his companion, “I want you to stop fooling everybody, for you
do not know what orenda other persons have; you may get into trouble
some time.” Toward night they came to a lodge in which many old men
lived. These were singing a war song, Ogwenion denkenoonk ganyohshon
enkhegen heyoendjadeh.[230] All sang the same song. Assuming the form
of this people, who were Gendagahadenyatha,231 Doonongaes, going into
the lodge, began singing a war song, too, but with different words. He
sang, Deaun ni daegwanoenk Onen neho agyon heonwe niswaiiyon.232
Thereupon the old men began to talk, and the chief of them said: “What
does this man sing? He is an enemy. Let us scalp him.” Springing up and
seizing their flint knives, they ran after him. Tsodiqgwadon stood
outside, laughing. Doonongaes became a snake, and when they saw this
the old people ran back, for they were too small to fight such a man.
Tsodiqgwadon said to Doonongaes, “Let them alone.” “No; I will settle
this people,” answered Doonongaes. “You would better let them alone. It
is not right to act in this way all the time,” replied Tsodiqgwadon.
“Let us go on then; there is no use in standing here if you will not
harass these people with me,” said Doonongaes.

Traveling toward the east, the two companions soon saw a large man
coming in their direction. When they met him they spoke to him, and the
man said to Doonongaes: “I have come to tell you that you are not doing
right in attacking people. You may strike your friend.” At this
Doonongaes struck Tsodiqgwadon, knocking him down. The large man
laughed, saying, “That is what I like.” Tsodiqgwadon jumped up,
whereupon the stranger said: “You must strike back,” so Tsodiqgwadon
struck Doonongaes. “Now, you must say bad words to each other and
scold,” said he. They began to scold, and threaten, and talk fiercely.
“That is enough,” said the large man. “You can go now, and whatever
people you see as you go around the world, pursue them; that is what I
like. I am always near you as you go along.” Then the large man, whose
name was Nanisheonon,[233] went off toward the west.

Tsodiqgwadon and Doonongaes now started for Broken Land. The former
said: “That is why I always tell you to stop chasing people. You see
now. We met this large man on account of your hurting people. He likes
such things. Stop your fooling and be like me. Tomorrow is the day of
our council meeting.” When they reached Broken Land Doonongaes said:
“Here is where I was killed, and I will show you where the man lived
who brought me to life, and to whose lodge I went and killed him.” “Is
that what you do to people who help you?” said Tsodiqgwadon. “That is
what I did to him because he was trying to keep our two most beautiful
women,” Doonongaes replied. “What did you do with the women?” asked
Tsodiqgwadon. “I lived with them until you told me to go with you, and
that all women belonged to you,” was the reply. “Did I tell you that?”
said Tsodiqgwadon. “Yes, you did,” retorted Doonongaes. At this
Tsodiqgwadon laughed. “What are you laughing at?” asked Doonongaes. “I
am laughing because I fooled you so when I said that to you,” rejoined
Tsodiqgwadon. “You will not be angry, then, if I go to them?” said
Doonongaes. “Oh! you can go if you like,” was the reply. “Very well, I
will go now,” declared Doonongaes. “May I visit you until tomorrow?”
asked Tsodiqgwadon. “No; I think you would better not,” was the answer.
“All right; I can stay here until the time comes for the council,” said
Tsodiqgwadon. Going to his mother-in-law’s lodge, Doonongaes asked,
“Where are your daughters?” “Oh! they have gone back to their first
husbands,” said the old woman. “Have they forgotten me?” asked
Doonongaes. “You know,” answered the old woman, “that you have been
gone a long time. They waited two years for you.” “Well, I have been
all over the world. I thought they would wait until my return,”
declared Doonongaes. “Stay here and I will go for them,” said the old
woman. She went to her elder daughter, to whom she said, “Your husband,
the great chief, has come back.” “I will go to him,” replied the woman.
Then going to her second daughter, she said, “I have come for you; your
husband has returned.” The daughter said, “My husband is here.” “Not
that one,” replied her mother; “I mean the great chief.” “I know; but I
waited a long time for him. I should be ashamed to go from this husband
now,” she added. “Oh!” said the old woman, “this man you have now is
not worth anything; he has not a bit of wampum.” “I will go, then,”
said the girl, “but do not tell my husband.” So she dressed up and made
a bundle of her things in preparation to go away. “Where are you
going?” asked her husband. “To my mother’s lodge.” “Very well,” said
he, and off she went.

When the two girls reached their mother’s lodge, after greeting
Doonongaes, they began to talk to him. One asked, “Where have you been
for so long a time?” “Oh! I have been to the northern, southern, and
western ends of this earth,” replied Doonongaes. “Do you know what
there is going to be tomorrow?” she asked. “No; what is it?” asked
Doonongaes. “They are going to have a great council,” she replied.
“What kind of council?” he inquired. “Oh! to appoint another chief.
They will take the chieftaincy away from Tsodiqgwadon and put somebody
else in your place as second chief,” was the answer. “Why so?” demanded
Doonongaes. “Because you chase all the people living in the world,” she
replied. Now Doonongaes began to feel sad; he sat there with his head
down, thinking until night. Then he made up his mind, saying, “Well, if
they do put me out I will always be Sʻhodieonskon.” The next morning he
felt better, because his mind was made up. As soon as they were through
eating, all the people went to Broken Land.

When they had assembled Doonongaes arose, saying, “I believe all are
now present.” Thereupon Tsodiqgwadon arose. He told them what the
council was for, and said to the people, “You now have to choose a head
chief and a second chief for the whole world, and every village is to
choose a chief for itself.” But Deanohdjes had not yet come. Then one
man, arising, said, “I should like to make Deanohdjes [234] head
chief.” They talked the question over; one-half were for Deanohdjes and
the other half against him. Only one man remained silent. Remarking,
“Well, I can say nothing until tomorrow,” Tsodiqgwadon then adjourned
the meeting. The next morning Deanohdjes arrived. When the council
assembled Tsodiqgwadon arose and said: “All are now present. Now, my
father, are you willing to be the head chief of the whole world?”
Deanohdjes hung his head, while the people all were silent. Then,
raising his head, he said, “I can say nothing for 10 days.” So the
council adjourned and met again in 10 days. Thereupon Deanohdjes said:
“I will tell you my mind. Put this duty on Doonongaes; make him head
chief of all the world.” Doonongaes was delighted, but Tsodiqgwadon
said, “He is too mean a man for that; he is Sʻhodieonskon.” “If he is
made head chief of the world he will change,” replied Deanohdjes. “He
who is most powerful in orenda should be head chief,” said
Tsodiqgwadon; “Doonongaes has not much power.” “Well, you have more
orenda than anyone else in the world,” said Deanohdjes, to which
Tsodiqgwadon retorted: “I do what the people wish. They said they were
going to appoint another chief, and I supposed they had found some one
who is magically more powerful than I am.” Then Tsodiqgwadon,
addressing the meeting, said, “Take the person who you think has the
greatest orenda.” Some one then said: “Let us adjourn for 10 days, for
only our own people are present now, while others who are coming should
be here. Let Haiwanenqgwi235 be sent to all the people of every kind in
the world to notify them of the council.” Accordingly he was sent, and
the council was adjourned. After going all over the world, as he
thought, he came back. “Have you been everywhere?” asked Tsodiqgwadon.
“Yes; the world is not so large that I had need of many days to visit
all its parts,” replied Haiwanenqgwi. “Have you found every known
people?” was asked him. “Yes, excepting one; I have not seen these,” he
answered. “Who are they?” asked Tsodiqgwadon. “The Dagwanoenyents,”
Haiwanenqgwi said. “Oh! did you not go to Gaha Gastende,236 where the
high rocks are in the east?” inquired Tsodiqgwadon. “No; I thought no
one lived there,” he replied. “Well, you must go there, for that is the
place where the Dagwanoenyents live,” declared Tsodiqgwadon.

Haiwanenqgwi started again. On reaching the foot of the mountain he met
some of the Dagwanoenyents, who roam all over the region of Wind Cliff,
and to them he said, “I have come to notify your people that a council
is to be held at Broken Land in 10 days from now.” The chief answered,
“You stay here until I call a meeting, so you can tell all the people,
for if I should deliver the message they might not believe me.” So
saying, he went on the mountain to a place where these people always
held their meetings; it was a smooth place without trees or grass. Soon
the people began to appear, and when all had come, there were hundreds
and hundreds of them. Haiwanenqgwi, rising, said, “I have come to
notify your people that a council will be held at Broken Land 10 days
hence and that you must all be present.” In response all said, “We will
be there at the appointed time.” Then the meeting adjourned and all
went home. When Haiwanenqgwi returned to his home Tsodiqgwadon asked
him, “Have you now notified all kinds of people?” He replied, “Yes; all
those whom I have ever seen.” Thereupon he was asked, “Have you
notified the Stone Coats?” To which he answered, “No; where do they
live?” Tsodiqgwadon told him, saying: “They live on Gahsgwaa
Tgawenot,[237] far off in the west. After you have been there go to an
island in a southerly direction therefrom called Othegwenhdah
Tgawenot;238 there you will find other people. Thence you must go in a
southeasterly direction until you come to Oosah Tgawenot.239 The people
of this island are called Gaisonhe.240 Thence go southward again and
you will come to Nitgawenosatieha,241 where the Djinonhsanon242 people
live. Just beyond Nitgawenosatieha you will find Tgawenogwen,243 where
the Onowehda244 people dwell. Be sure to notify all the people on these
islands. Then go toward the east and you will reach a large island, on
which you will find the Djisdaah people; this island is called Djisdaah
Tgawenot.245 Thence go northward and then return here as soon as
possible. Do not delay on the way.” These were the instructions of
Tsodiqgwadon. Haiwanenqgwi, answering, “Very well,” started westward.

When he came to the end of the earth at the west he remarked to
himself, “What shall I do to reach Gahsgwaa Tgawenot?” [246] Then he
quickly assumed the form of a snake, and, going into the water, swam
about half way to the island, when loud thunder and vivid lightnings
made him halt, whereupon he said, “I think that Hinon wants to kill me,
so I will change myself into a Hahnowa.” As soon as he had become a
Hahnowa, Hinon stopped his threatenings, and the sky cleared off, and
everything became as bright as ever. He reached the Gahsgwaa Tgawenot,
or Stone Island, when he again assumed the form of a man. Going on, he
met a person to whom he said, “I have come to notify your people that
we are going to have a great council at Broken Land 10 days from now.”
“Well, where is your wampum?” he was asked. “I have none,” said
Haiwanenqgwi, who asked in turn, “Where is your chief?” “Go westward,”
he was told, “and you will come to a large opening in the rocks—there
you will find our chief.” He came to this opening, and on looking in,
saw a very old man sitting there. As soon as he stopped at the edge of
the opening, the old man, looking up, said, “What do you want here?”
Haiwanenqgwi replied, “I have come to notify you that our people will
hold a great council at Broken Land, and that our head chief sends for
you to come there in 10 days from now.” “Very well, I will come with
all my people,” answered the old man.

Assuming the form of a Hahnowa, Haiwanenqgwi now went over the water
until he came to the next island, which was called Othegwenhdah
Tgawenot. Here he assumed the form of a man, and going to the chief,
whose name was Hoonkgowanen,[247] he said, “I have come to invite you
to a great council, which is to be held at Broken Land in 10 days.” The
chief replied, “Very well; we will be there on time.”

Then Haiwanenqgwi, again assuming the form of a Hahnowa, went over the
water to Oosah Tgawenot.[248] At this place he found Shayades,249 the
chief of the people who dwelt there. To him Haiwanenqgwi gave the
invitation to be at the great council at Broken Land in 10 days, and
then he went on to Nitgawenosatieha. Soon he met some men who took him
to their chief, whose name was Deanohsgwis.250 Having given him the
invitation, the chief accepted it, saying, “We will go to the council.”

Haiwanenqgwi next went to Tgawenogwen.[251] Changing himself into
Onowehda,252 he stood around for a time, but, not seeing anyone, mused
to himself: “When shall I be able to see these people? It must be that
I have missed the place.” But as he stood waiting, some of the people
appeared. He learned that they dwelt in the ground, and that their
chief’s name was Hononhengwen.253 On receiving the invitation, the
chief promised in the name of his people to go to the great council at
Broken Land.

Then Haiwanenqgwi went to Ganehdaiikhon Tgahadayen [254] Tgawenot,
where the Degatengowa255 people lived. There he saw one of the men
standing in the air, at which he wondered what he was standing there
for, concluding at last that this man must be possessed of the most
powerful orenda to be found on the island. Soon a person came to him
and conducted him to the chief, to whom he announced the invitation to
the great council at Broken Land. The name of this chief was
Henhgadji.256 The invitation was willingly accepted.

Haiwanenqgwi now went to Djisdaah Tgawenot,[257] where the Djisdaah
people lived. There he assumed the form of one of these people. Having
met a man, he said to him, “I have come to notify you of a great
council to be held in 10 days at Broken Land.” But the man told him
that he must go to the chief. “Well, take me to him, then,” he replied.
“Go straight ahead,” was the answer; “you will find the lodge yourself,
for I can not go with you.” So Haiwanenqgwi went along farther and soon
came to a lodge in which sat an old man, large and solemn in
appearance; this was the Djisdaah chief. When he drew near, the old
man, raising his head, said “Well, what news do you bring?” “I bring an
important message to you and your people,” he answered. “Oh! wait then.
Let me get some tobacco and light my pipe.”258 So saying, he took a
large bunch of oak leaves—these were his tobacco—and beginning to chew
them, he said, “Now, I am ready to listen to your message.” Thereupon
Haiwanenqgwi gave him the invitation to the great council. The chief,
whose name was Hodehondasiowanen,259 said, “We will be there at the
appointed time.”

Haiwanenqgwi then ran homeward all night, reaching Broken Land in the
morning. Once there he declared, “I have now visited all the peoples on
the earth.” But Tsodiqgwadon asked, “Have you visited Gaasyendietʻha
[260] yet?” “No, I do not know where he lives,” he replied. “You must,
however, go to him. Bring me an arrow,” said Tsodiqgwadon. The arrow
having been brought, Tsodiqgwadon split the head, and after making
Haiwanenqgwi small, placed him in the head and closed it, fastening it
securely. Then Tsodiqgwadon said to the arrow: “I want you to go to the
place where Gaasyendietʻha dwells. There you will find a Great Rock of
white chert or flint, which is red-hot; under this stone is a cavern in
which Gaasyendietʻha lives. This rock is on the edge of the Blue Sky,
where it meets the waters, just where the sun sets. Gaasyendietʻha
carries this stone with him when he travels in winter so that he can
break the ice as he goes; it is called Gaonhiahge Tgastendeh.261 There
is no earth there; only stone. I want you to go directly to the Rock in
the Blue Sky.” Then stringing the bow, he shot the arrow westward. The
arrow, now alive, went flying through the air until it came to the end
of the sky, where it saw the Rock in the Blue Sky. On coming down it
struck the hot rock. The man who lived under the rock said, “Something
has come down on my ball,” and pushing off the hot rock, he came forth.
Thereupon Haiwanenqgwi, coming out of the arrowhead, said to
Gaasyendietʻha, “Tsodiqgwadon sent me to ask you to be present at a
council to be held in nine days from now at Broken Land.” “What is the
council for?” asked the host. “To appoint a new chief for all the
people under the Blue Sky,” came the reply. “Very well,” said he, “I
will go.” Gaasyendietʻha asked, “How did you come, for I have never
known any man to be able to come up to the Rock in the Blue Sky
before?” “Oh! I came in the arrow,” answered his visitor. “Well, then,
I must send you back in the same manner,” replied Gaasyendietʻha. “All
right; I will have to return that way,” said Haiwanenqgwi. In picking
up the arrow Gaasyendietʻha found that its head was split, so seizing
Haiwanenqgwi and shaking him to reduce his size, he was finally able to
reinsert him in the arrowhead, wherein he carefully secured him. Having
done this, he cast the arrow eastward and it flew away. In a short time
it came down at the feet of Tsodiqgwadon, who had not moved from that
place since he had shot the arrow westward. When Haiwanenqgwi came
forth he was asked, “Have you notified all the people now?” He replied,
“Yes; I have, so far as I know, notified all the peoples under the Blue
Sky.” But Tsodiqgwadon declared: “No; you have not; there are a large
number yet who have not been notified of the great council. You must
now go eastward to the place where Tkwendahen Niohsiowesiohden262
lives. This place is situated on an island called Gaahgwa Tgawenot,263
which is located just where the sun rises. The chief of this place is
called Djahgwiyu.264 When you have performed your errand here you must
go northward until you find another island, which is called
Ohnonqgon(t)265 Tgawenot. The name of the chief of the people who dwell
here is called Djihtkwahen Niothwahasyohden.266 When you have finished
your errand here you must go northeastward, and you will reach an
island which is called Gainhdoya267 Tgawenot; and the name of the chief
who lives on this island is Djihtkwahen268 Haos. After you have
notified him, take a westerly course, visiting an island which is
called Hahnowa269 Tgawenot, and on which all kinds of Hahnowa people
live. The name of their chief is Honohtsagagiyit.270 After giving him
your message you must go northward to Ohneqsah271 Tgawenot, where all
kinds of Sowekshohon272 people live, the name of whose chief is
Hahnyahses,273 who is of the Awaeh274 people; and when you have
delivered your message to all these people, thence start southwestward
and return home.”

Haiwanenqgwi then set out for Sun Island. There he saw after a while
one of the Djahgwiyu [275] people coming toward him, whereupon he
thought: “What can this mean? Is the world going to burn up?” But soon
he saw that it was Tkwendahen276 Niohsiowesiohden himself, who said,
“What have you come for?” Haiwanenqgwi replied, “Oh! Tsodiqgwadon, the
chief of the world, has sent me to notify you and your people of a
council to be held at Broken Land in eight days from now.” “Very well;
we will be there,” declared Tkwendahen Niohsiowesiohden.

Then Haiwanenqgwi went to Ohnonqgon(t) Tgawenot, and after that he
reached Gainhdoya Tgawenot. When he arrived there he saw five men
fishing. For a while he stood watching them, thinking, “What beautiful
belts these men have.” When they saw him coming they threw reeds [277]
at him to bewitch him, to make him sore, and to cause him to swell up.
When the reeds pierced his body, at once he began to swell and to
suffer great pain. At last, to escape from them, he leaped into the
water, where he remained until the pain was gone, and then, coming out,
he said to these men: “Be quiet! I have not come to harm you, but I
have been sent to you to notify you that there will be a great council
at Broken Land eight days from now, and that Tsodiqgwadon wishes to
have you come.” In reply these men said, “Well, we must first go to
tell our chief before we can give you an answer.” When the chief was
told of Haiwanenqgwi’s mission he promised faithfully to be present
with his advisers.

Haiwanenqgwi went next to Hahnowa Tgawenot, where he delivered his
message, and then he retraced his steps homeward. Having arrived there,
Tsodiqgwadon asked him, “Have you now notified all the peoples of the
world?” “Yes; I have notified all,” was his reply. “No; you have
notified only half of the tribes of men. You must now go up to the Land
in the Blue Sky, called Gaonyahge [278] Diyoendjadeh, and you must go
in a southerly direction. This land is very high, and you can not get
there until orenda for that purpose is given you. The Sʻhadahgeah279
people dwell in that land, the name of whose chief is Odahnoqgwiyah280
Haos. You will tell him first, and then go westward, where you will
find seven281 men living on the clouds; these seven men are Hinon
people. The elder one and chief of these people we call Shedwaqsot.282
After you have given your message to these seven men, you must go
straight up until you reach the central part of the Blue Sky, and
directly above the Blue Sky you will find a man whose name is
Hahasdensyowanen.283 And when you have told him your message come
straight down to the ground. Directly under the door in the center of
the Blue Sky you will find an opening in the earth. In this opening you
will find an Odonseh284 man, whose name is Shagoewatha;285 notify him
also. A short distance from this opening you will see a high rock, on
which you will find the tallest of men, whose name is
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa.286 You must summon him, too. Thence go farther along
the rocks, and you will reach the dwelling place of the chief
Ganiagwaihegowa.287 You must notify him also, and then you must return
here.” Tsodiqgwadon gave Haiwanenqgwi a small piece of a substance
which resembled flesh, and which possessed great orenda. In giving it
to him, Tsodiqgwadon said, “When you desire to use this, you must chew
it,” adding further directions as to the manner of its use.

Placing this mysterious substance in his mouth, Haiwanenqgwi at once
mounted higher and higher. In a very short time he had reached the Land
in the Blue Sky. When he arrived there he looked around, and while
doing this Sʻhadahgeah saw him, and an Oqtcihgah [288] Ongwe asked him
whence he came. “Oh! I came from below,” was the answer of
Haiwanenqgwi. “How did you get up here?” was asked him. “I walked on
the air,” he answered; “and I have come to notify you that there will
be a great council at Broken Land to be held seven days from now. You
must all come.”

Thence Haiwanenqgwi went westward, passing through the air, and soon
came to a lodge situated on a cloud. Entering the lodge, he saw therein
seven men of the Hinon people, who were all smoking, so the lodge was
filled with smoke. He gave his message to the elder man, whose title
was Shedwaqsot, and who assured him that they would all go to the
council.

From that place Haiwanenqgwi went straight to the middle of the Blue
Sky, where there was a door. Passing through this, he saw an old man
sitting there, whose name was Sadjawiski;[289] he also was smoking.
Haiwanenqgwi said to him, “I came to notify you of a great council to
be held at Broken Land seven days from now.” “Very well; I will go,”
said the old man. “I have been waiting a long time for you, because I
knew that you were coming and knew what your message would be. My
brother, Shagoewatha,290 knows that you are coming to see him, too.
Wait a few moments; a man291 will pass here soon; tell him too of the
council.” Soon a man came on the run from the east; when he arrived
where the old man was he stopped. This man was Odjisdanohgwah,292 but
the people whence Haiwanenqgwi came call him Gaaqgwaah,293 for he gives
light to the world. In reply to the invitation to attend the council he
said, “It is well; I will attend,” and continued on his journey; he did
not seem to care for Haiwanenqgwi or for Sadjawiski.

Now Haiwanenqgwi came to an opening directly under the door in the Blue
Sky, far down into which he went. There he saw an old man called
Shagoewatha, to whom he said, “I have come to notify you of the great
council to be held at Broken Land in seven days from now.” The old man
replied, “It is well; I will attend it.”

Next Haiwanenqgwi went up and notified Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, who said in
reply, “I have been wishing for a long time to meet all kinds of
people, so I will surely go.” Later Niagwaihegowa [294] also promised
to be at the great council at the appointed time.

Now Haiwanenqgwi went home feeling quite happy, thinking that he had
completed his task. But when he reached home, Tsodiqgwadon asked him,
“Have you now notified everybody?” He replied, “Yes; so far as I know.”
“No; you have not. You must go to another country, situated directly
east of this, which is a great island on which are many people,”
declared Tsodiqgwadon. “It is well,” said Haiwanenqgwi (who did not
desire to go, although he could not help doing as he was commanded); “I
will rest tonight and start in the morning.” “You may do so,” added
Tsodiqgwadon.

Early the next morning Haiwanenqgwi started, walking on the ground, but
when he came to the water at the end of the earth he walked on the air
until he arrived at Tgawenosdenh,[295] where he saw many kinds of
people, whom he notified, and then returned home. On his arrival there,
Tsodiqgwadon asked him, “Are you now through with your task?” “Yes,”
replied the messenger. “No; you have not yet finished your work,”
declared his questioner. “You must go to Othowege,296 where the chief
Hathogowa297 dwells, in the far regions of the north. You will have to
travel on the air in order to go there and return in one day.”

So Haiwanenqgwi went on the air until he reached Othowege, which was a
very cold place, for the wind was blowing and the snow was falling all
the time. Hathogowa, the chief, was naked (he looked like a human
being), and there were a great number of the Otho [298] people.
Haiwanenqgwi delivered his message to all. In reply to the invitation
they said, “It is well; we will go to Broken Land.”

Haiwanenqgwi thence returned home. When he arrived there Tsodiqgwadon
said to him, “You are not yet through with your task.” “Well,” replied
the messenger, “I will wait until tomorrow, for I am so tired that I
can not start today.” So then next morning Tsodiqgwadon gave him
further instructions, saying to him: “I want you to go to
Onenonhge,[299] where Dedioshwineqdon300 lives. To get there you must
go directly to the southern end of the earth.”

The messenger started, following the course indicated. At last he found
a beautiful country, which was very warm and full of flowers, and he
saw there a large number of people who looked like Ongwe Honwe.[301] He
gave them his message. “It is well,” they said; “we will attend the
council.”

When Haiwanenqgwi reached home he declared that he was not able to go
anywhere else. Thereupon Tsodiqgwadon, laughing, said to him, “Now, my
friend, your work is done.”

When the 10 days were expired all the people from all parts of the
world came in great numbers—from the four quarters and from above and
from below—from the east and west, north and south. They gathered about
their several stations around the great council fire. At noon, when the
sun was high in the blue sky, Tsodiqgwadon arose and asked, “Are you,
the peoples of all the world, now present?” They answered him in
chorus, “We are present.” Thereupon Tsodiqgwadon said: “I will tell you
what this council is called for. A chief of all the peoples dwelling
above and below is to be chosen, and it is for you to select one.” Now
the tribes of people talked among themselves and one with another; but
Tsodiqgwadon sat still, listening to what was said. They talked until
night and then they talked all night. They remained a whole year,
talking day and night. At the end of the year they chose Gaasyendietʻha
[302] as chief of all the people of the world above and below. All
agreed to this choice, and Gaasyendietʻha himself was willing. When
this was done they had to select a second chief. Another year was
passed in talking. Tsodiqgwadon sat in the midst of the vast throng,
listening all the time. At last Hinon was chosen as the second chief.
Then Tsodiqgwadon said, “Who shall be chief of each locality?” Then
each tribe sat together, talking among themselves. The first to
complete their deliberations were the Stone Coats,303 who chose Ongwe
Hanyos,304 one of their own people. The Ongwehonwe were the next; they
chose one of their principal men, and the other peoples chose the same
chiefs as they had before. Tsodiqgwadon was chosen chief of the Snake
People only. The council then closed and all went to their homes.







LEGENDS


59. GENONSGWA [305]

Once there was a village in which it was the custom of the people to
fight a great deal, for they were very warlike. A strange boy came to
this village; he was small and perhaps 4 years old. No one knew whence
he came. He could do nothing for himself, but he wandered around the
village, staying here and there in the several lodges. First one family
then another would keep him for a little while. The people did not care
much for him, nor pay much attention to him. Finally he grew to be a
young man. There was at this time a good deal of talk among the people
about getting up a party to go on the warpath. At last 20 men were
found who were willing to go. This young man, hearing about the party,
asked permission to go, too. He asked one and then another, but all
refused his request. Thereupon he said: “I do not care. I will go
anyhow.” He was so peculiar that no one really liked him.

The 20 warriors started and he went along with them. When night came,
fires were built; there were two men at each fire, but the boy built a
fire for himself. Several days passed in this way. One night, however,
when all were asleep, the young man had a dream. A man appeared to him,
who said: “I have come to warn you that if you do not change your
course somewhat you shall all perish tomorrow at noon. Tell this to the
headman of the party and urge him to change his course.” They were then
going northward. The boy told his dream the next morning to the
headman, who scolded, saying: “I did not want this fellow; he is
nothing but a hindrance, nothing but a coward. We have come to meet an
enemy. Why should we turn back even if we know there is one in our
path?” So, after eating their morning meal, they continued northward,
paying no heed to the warning in the young man’s dream.

When the sun was near the middle of his path across the sky, the party,
which was going in Indian file, noticed that the headman stopped, then
the next one, then the next. The boy, who brought up the rear, found
that they were looking at a track, saying: “It is Ganiagwaihegowa,
which always kills the people it meets. Its magic power is so great
that the instant anyone looks at its tracks, no matter how far off,
Ganiagwaihegowa knows it, and returns to destroy that person.” As the
boy listened, he said: “I am very anxious to see this bear. I have
never seen such a thing.” The men said, “You do not want to see so
terrible a thing;” but he insisted. The chief said: “If this is really
your wish, you must not follow us. We shall turn off here and go in a
different direction, and you can go on northward; but if you meet this
bear you must run in some direction, some course different from ours.”
They tried to make him go with them, but he would not do so.

Breaking a small tree that stood near, the young man hung his bundle in
the crotch; then he went on. Soon he saw a tremendous object ahead of
him; when near it, he recognized it as a great bear, sitting on the
trail, with its back toward him. Creeping up, the young man stood
looking at it. It had no hair on its body, only a little on the end of
its tail.[306] He struck it with his arrow, whereupon the bear rushed
after the youngster, who ran away. The bear drew so near as they ran
that the youngster could feel its breath. Now he dodged from tree to
tree, then, darting off straight, he ran on swiftly, with the bear
close behind him, until he came to a stream which looked very deep.
They two could just jump over it. So the youngster sprang across, and
the bear leaped after him. Then the youngster sprang back to the other
side and the bear did the same. Thus they jumped across many times. Now
as the young man ran he felt that his strength was growing greater,
while he saw that that of the bear was failing. Seeing the bear failing
fast, the youth, making a great loop, sprang once more across the
stream, with the bear after him. Then he made a loop on the other side,
and on going across the river, he saw the bear still weakening.
Pursuing the same course once again, he passed the bear about the
middle of the stream—he going one way, and the bear the other. The bear
did not follow by sight but by scent alone. Lastly, the bear did not
cross the stream, but followed all the boy’s tracks. Now, the beast had
failed so much that the youth was just behind it as it kept tracking
him. As the bear almost failed in trying to jump across the river, it
scrambled to get a footing. Then the boy shot from the bank behind, the
arrow entering the middle of one of the animal’s forefeet.307 At this
the great bear scrambled to the bank; then reeling from tree to tree,
it staggered and fell. Rising again, the beast struggled for a time,
but at last it rolled over dead.

The young man left the bear’s carcass after he had taken three hairs
from its “whiskers” and one tooth out of its mouth. Then going back to
the spot where he had left his bundle and getting it, he followed the
trail of the twenty men. Running fast, he overtook them, whereupon he
said, “I have killed Ganiagwaihegowa, of which you were so much
afraid.” They were naturally greatly astonished, for no man had ever
been able to kill this creature, so they said: “If he has done this, he
must have great orenda. Let us go back and see.” So they turned back,
and after traveling until sunset they came to the place where the body
of Ganiagwaihegowa lay. They saw that it was of enormous size, and
said: “We will burn up the body; we will keep up the fire all night
until it is burned. Then each man shall take a little of the ashes and
a few of the bones, just enough for medicine to give him its magical
power.” After the fire had gone out, the men went to sleep; in the
latter part of the night they stirred the ashes with sticks until each
found a piece of bone. The chief said: “You must be very careful about
taking the remnants of this bear. Let each one before taking up his
bone say what gift he wants, what power he desires.” Most of the men
desired to be good hunters and brave warriors and some to be fast
runners. One man said, however, “I want to be admired by all women.”

The things the young man had chosen were good for every purpose, but he
did not let the others know that he had taken anything. The headman
said, “We will go on in the same direction; that is, toward the north.”
The men had changed their opinion of the young man; they now looked on
him with respect as a person of great magical powers. The party
traveled many days.

One night they camped and lay down to sleep. The young man dreamed
again, and his dream said: “Tomorrow at noon you will meet an enemy of
greater number than your own party, and among them will be a very large
man of great magic power; he is so much larger than the rest that you
will easily know him. You must all fight him. If your party does not
believe you, when you tell the dream to them, do not mind that, but
keep on in the same direction you are going, and at noon they will know
the truth. When you see the enemy let every man hang up his bundle; let
no one keep his bundle. Then begin to fight, and keep on until you
conquer.” In the morning the young man did not tell his dream. He
thought that it was useless to do so. They started on after eating
their morning meal. When the sun was well up in the sky, they saw a
bear get up, stretch himself, and look at them, saying, “We have now
met, and we shall get what we want.” Thereupon the bear turned and
disappeared. It was evidently one of the enemy, who had come to warn
them. The headman talked to his men, saying that the enemy was probably
near, and that they should be of good courage, and that they would
conquer the enemy. So they went on. Before very long they saw the
enemy, and the enemy saw them. A war whoop was heard; then the arrows
began to fly. The young man said: “Now let every man hang up his bundle
on the tree.” After this was done, the fight began. The young man,
remembering his dream, watched for the large man. Soon he saw him, and
noticed that he had a sort of medicine which he held up in front of his
face like a shield, a little to one side, to ward off the arrows. The
young man also saw that the man’s defense was larger [308] than the one
he himself had (it was known that the smaller it was, the more power it
possessed), and the youth felt sure of success when he became aware of
this fact. (The magic power, or orenda, was born with the boy, as it
was with all the Genonsgwas—a tiny hand to be put in the palm of his
own hand.) Just at that moment the large man of the enemy, discovering
the young man, said: “You will get what you deserve now, you Stone
Coat. I will kill you, and thus punish you (for treachery).” They
watched each other, paying no attention to the rest of the people, for
each was eager to kill the other, but they could not hit until they
came hand to hand. They began to strike with clubs and made a terrible
fight.

Finally, the young man, snatching the stranger’s club, hurled it away
and threw him down. When the enemy saw their chief man overpowered,
they began to run. The youth kept on until he had killed the big man. A
large number of the enemy were killed, but not one of the 20 men was
injured. Having piled up the dead of the enemy, they burned them. The
victors secured a great string of scalps (the big man was not a
Genonsgwa; he was merely a very large and strong man with magical
powers).

The warriors now had great respect for the young man, and when they
came home and told everything, the respect of the people increased so
that he was made a chief. The people thought of him as a Genonsgwa,
though he did not look like one; they remembered only the big man’s
words.

Now, another expedition was spoken of and many volunteered, but only 30
were taken, for that was as large a party as was required. All were
ready. The women had provisions prepared for them. Starting out, they
went toward the north, as before.

On the third night the young man, now a chief, dreamed that some one
came to him, saying: “Tomorrow night when you camp the enemy will be
camped near by, and you will discover each other. (It was not the
custom of Indians in those days to attack in the night, but always just
at daybreak.) Now be you ready, all of you, as soon as daylight is
dawning and attack the enemy. Be sure that you attack and not they.”
The next morning Stone Coat, the chief, told his dream (he knew the
warriors believed him then) word for word. That night when they camped,
they discovered the enemy not far away, also arranging a camp. During
the night few of the warriors slept, for they felt anxious, and some
were afraid of an attack, though it was not the rule to attack in the
night.

Toward day the chief told all to get ready. When light was dawning they
started. On stealing up they saw that the enemy also were making ready,
whereupon Stone Coat told his men to make a circle around the camp,
saying at the same time, “When we are almost around I will raise a
whoop; then let all give the war cry and attack.” The chief discovered
that the enemy had a warrior among them, who was a larger man than the
others, and saw that he had a shield to ward off arrows. Noticing that
it was about the same size as his own, he said to the men, “You must
fight desperately, for I do not know how we shall come out.” The
headman of the enemy shouted to him: “You are among these men; you are
a Stone Coat! I am determined to kill you.” (The big man had no name.
The chief did not hold up his shield.) As they came nearer and nearer
and finally met, the chief and the big man first used their peculiar
clubs. Then they grappled, and the chief of the 30, seizing his
antagonist, pulled out his arm,[309] which he threw away; but
immediately it flew back. The man in turned pulled off the chief’s arm,
hurling it away, but it flew back to its place and it was as it was
before. While they fought, the shouting of the enemy died away; once in
a while there was a shout and it could be known from the sound that the
people were being killed. Now the chief pulled off the man’s head and
tore off the flesh; then he kept kicking away the pieces as they came
back. It so happened that if the fragments of flesh could be kept away
until cool, their strength died, so that they could not come back.
Hence the chief continued to fight in this manner until at last he
killed the big man. When the fight was over, and the few of the enemy
remaining had run away, only 15 of the chief’s men were left, as 15 had
been killed. The survivors piled up the bodies, and this time they
threw earth over them, as so many of their own people were among the
dead. Then all started for home, where they remained a long time.

When the chief had reached the prime of life he said: “I am getting
well advanced in years and delight in warfare. I want to have one more
expedition, then I shall be satisfied.” People volunteered to go and 40
were made ready, for that number constituted as large a party as was
wanted. These started, going toward the south. (The people they fought
with came from the south.) The young man had a dream, in which a man
said: “I have come to tell you that you are to have a difficult time,
for a man will be among the enemy who is very powerful, and I am unable
to tell you whether you will conquer him or not. Tomorrow at noon you
will meet the enemy, and just before noon an owl will come on your
trail, saying, ‘Be ready; your enemy is at hand.’ Then you can get
ready to fight.” Having told his dream in the morning, they started on.
Toward noon they heard the hooting of an owl; it flew along their
trail, and alighting on a tree, said: “The enemy is near, and they have
made this expedition to fight, as you have. Then each of you will be
satisfied.” The chief said: “Get ready immediately. Hang up your
bundles. I do not know how we shall come out if the man keeps on
throwing me; if he throws me twice, run.” While they were hanging up
their bundles the war whoop was given by the advancing enemy. Now, as
the dream had foretold, the chief saw the strong man, and realized that
he was stronger than he was himself. As they were nearing each other,
the opposite side kept calling out: “We have come to destroy you. You
have destroyed all our other expeditions; now we will finish you.” The
chief and the strong man met and fought first with clubs. Then,
clinching, they struggled a long time. At last the chief was thrown;
then the strong man struggled to keep him down, but the chief, arising,
threw his enemy, who barely touched the ground before he was up again.
The next time the chief was thrown his men began to run, but turning to
look, they stood watching the two men fight. They saw their chief’s arm
pulled off, but it flew back into place; then his head was thrown off,
whereupon they saw he was weakening; so some ran home, but five
remained in hiding. The enemy began to walk around, gathering up the
pieces of the head, for they thought all the opposing party had run
away. The five who were concealed saw them gather the flesh and limbs
of the chief, for now they had killed him. Then the five heard the
voice of the enemy saying, “We will hold a council and give thanks for
conquering this man, who has destroyed so many of our people.” So
saying, they began to get ready to do this; they made a circle and the
pieces of the chief’s body were placed in the center. They were to give
thanks by singing the war song. A man rose and sang, and as he sang he
went toward the chief’s feet; when the song was ended he went to the
head, saying: “You have been conquered. We shall have peace now.” Then
he struck the pieces of the chief’s body with his club, saying, “Thus I
will punish you.” At that moment the pieces flew together, becoming the
chief again, who, springing up, killed five persons, and then, lying
down, fell apart. Each one of the enemy said: “I think this man did
wrong in wishing to punish a warrior after he was dead;[310] this is
why we have lost five of our men. We would better kill this man before
he brings us more bad luck”; thereupon they cut off his head. Then they
sang the war song again, but no one raised a club or other weapon
against any dead man while they were gathering up the corpses. Of the
chief’s men 10 of the 40 got home. They said: “The friend whom we
depended on is killed, and we would better remain at home hereafter and
only defend ourselves. If our enemies desire to fight, they must come
here to fight with us.” These people lived in peace after that.





60. THE GRANDMOTHER AND HER GRANDSON

An aged grandmother and her grandson lived by themselves in a lodge in
the forest. When the grandson had grown to be quite a large boy his
grandmother said to him: “Here are a bow and a quiver of arrows. They
were formerly used by your uncle, who was killed by a great witch. So
take the bow and the quiver of arrows and learn to use them.”

The next morning the grandmother said to her young charge: “Now, go out
and try to kill some birds. You may go as far as you like, but do not
go northward.” [311] Then she gave him a breakfast of parched corn,
which hunters were accustomed to eat, for on such a meal they would not
become hungry so soon as on any other kind of food. Starting out, the
young grandson went through the woods shooting birds. By the middle of
the day he decided to go home, feeling that his grandmother would be
delighted because he had killed so many birds for their meat. Having
returned to his home, the lad showed his grandmother the string of
birds which he had killed. She was much pleased with his success, and
dressed the birds, pounded corn for bread, and made hominy, in which
she cooked the birds. When these things were done they two ate their
evening meal.

The next morning the grandmother again gave her grandson parched corn
to eat, and when he had eaten she cautioned him once more against going
northward. By the middle of the day he had killed a larger string of
birds than on the previous day, so he went home to his grandmother. She
greeted him at the doorway with the words, “I thank you, grandson, for
your success, for we are well off now and shall have plenty to eat.”
That night, however, she talked seriously with him, cautioning him in
these words: “My grandson, you must always hunt only to the southward
from here. You must never go to the northward, for many dangers lurk
there which may cut us both off, for you and I are the only persons of
our family who are left from destruction by sorcery. So if you are
obedient and listen to my words of caution to you, we shall probably
live.”

The next morning after his usual breakfast of parched cornmeal the
grandson started off. On that day he went farther away than on any
previous days, and he saw many different kinds of game, such as he had
not seen before. While animals of a certain kind were feeding he
managed to get around in front of them, and taking good aim, he killed
one with an arrow. The rest of these animals escaped. He went up to the
dead game animal, and pulling out his arrow, cleaned it in the manner
in which he had been instructed by his grandmother. Then stripping off
bark from a neighboring tree and tying the game animal, so as to carry
it the more easily on his shoulders, he started for home. When he
reached the doorway of his home, he said to his grandmother, “I have
larger game this time.” She was delighted with what he had brought home
and thanked him for his prowess, saying, “This is what is called
Ohsoon.” [312] Having carefully dressed the game animal, the
grandmother, after reserving part of it for future use, cooked the
remainder. When it was cooked they sat down together and ate it, while
the grandmother continued praising her grandson.

The next morning she sent him off again, as she had done so many
mornings before. But he had to go a long way this day before he was
able to find any game. By the middle of the day, however, he again met
with an Ohsoon, which he killed. Having secured it to his body with a
bark sling, he started for home, remarking to himself, “Oh! how far
away the game animals have gone from home.”

As usual, the next morning he started off to hunt. But after he had
gone a short distance he began to think and wonder: “Why does
grandmother forbid my going to the north? Yet game is getting scarce in
the south?” Finally he came to the conclusion that he would then and
there disregard the injunction of his grandmother. So he changed his
course to the northward. Soon he found a large number of birds. But he
had not gone much farther before he heard some one call: “Hallo,
nephew! I have caught you.” Looking up, he saw a man sitting on a
resting place formed of the tops of several trees, which had been drawn
and tied together in a tuft or sheaf of branches. There the man sat as
if he were in a basket. “Well, my nephew,” he continued, “what would
you do if it should rain spears?” The young man replied, “Oh! we should
be very thankful for them, for we need some.” Then the young man ran
homeward as fast as he could. Having arrived there, grasping his
grandmother by the hand, he dragged her along with the remark, “Oh!
grandmother, we must run and hide.” She answered him, “Oh! my grandson,
you have been to the north, where I told you not to go.” But he pulled
her along as fast as she could go, until finally they came to a spring;
leaping into this, they went along underground until they came to a
rock. There they sat down and silently waited a long time. At last the
boy said: “I think that the storm is over. Let us go home now.” When
they reached home they found the lodge leveled to the ground. The poor
old grandmother said, “This, indeed, comes of your going to the
northward, where I told you not to go.” But the grandson coolly
remarked: “Never mind. Oh! grandmother, I will soon have a lodge here.”
Then walking around an area as large as he desired the lodge to be, he
exclaimed, “Let a lodge at once fill this space of ground.” Hardly had
his words died away before a lodge, complete in all its appointments,
stood there. Then the grandmother and her potent grandson entered it
and they two lived in it, more comfortable than they were before.

The next morning, after having eaten his breakfast of parched corn, the
youth again started off southward to hunt. But taking a circuitous
course, he finally headed toward the north, remarking to himself, “I
had some fun with my uncle yesterday, so I must go to see what he will
say this time.” Soon he saw so many birds and was so much occupied in
killing them that he had forgotten about the man in the sheaf of
tree-tops. Suddenly he was halted with the challenge, “Oh, nephew! I
have caught you. What would you do if I should send a shower of
stones?” The youth replied, “We should be much pleased, for my
grandmother often needs stones for pounding her corn for meal.” So
saying, the young man fled homeward. Having arrived there, he grasped
his grandmother by the arms and rushed her to the river, and then up
the river to the spring. The grandmother scolded him as they fled,
saying, “Oh! this is too bad, grandson; you have gone northward again.”
Then she would weep bitterly. At last, coming to the spring and
descending into it, they crept along until they came again to the rock
under which they took shelter before. There they sat until finally the
youth said, “I think the storm is now over; let us go home.” On
reaching home they found their lodge in ruins again. But the youth
encouraged his grandmother with comforting words and commanded the
erection of another lodge as he had done in the first instance.

The next morning after he had eaten his parched corn, he started out
again to hunt. Taking a southward course for a time, he soon turned
toward the north. As he went along he soliloquized, “I shall not hunt,
but I shall make it my business to catch my uncle.” After going some
distance farther, he called a mole, to which he said, when it came to
him: “I want you to take me to that tree yonder. You must go almost up
to the man who sits on it. After I shall have spoken to him, you must
bring me back to this place.” The mole at once agreed to aid him. By
shaking himself the youth reduced his size until he became as small as
a flea; then he got on the mole. The mole went to the foot of the tree
indicated, whereupon the youth called out, “Oh, uncle! I have caught
you.” The man looked all around but saw nothing. Again the youth
shouted, “What would you do if a whirlwind should come?” The man
pleaded, “Oh, nephew! do not be so hard on me as that.” The youth
replied, “Oh! I did not beg that way when you asked me about spears and
stones.” Then the mole ran back to the place where he had found the
youth, and the latter, assuming his natural size, ran home. Grasping
his grandmother’s arm, he rushed her to the spring. They both
disappeared in its waters, going to their shelter under the rock. The
grandmother kept scolding her grandson, saying, “It is too bad; you
have been at the north again.” There under the rock they sat until the
youth had calmed the whirlwind, when they came up out of the water.
They found the trees uprooted and their lodge in ruins. But the youth
soon had a lodge in the place of the other by merely commanding his
fetishes and walking around the space of ground, as he had previously
done.

The next morning, after his usual preparations, the youth started out
southward from his home. When out of sight of the lodge he suddenly
turned toward the north, with the remark: “I must see my uncle. I find
the trees are all uprooted, and it must be that my uncle is buried
under these fallen trees. So I can go to hunt in safety now.” After
keeping on his journey for some time he found a large number of
partridges, which he killed; then he started home. His grandmother was
pleased to see him return quietly with game. After laying aside his
weapons he remarked: “Well, grandmother, I have destroyed my uncle. He
is no longer on the tree.” The grandmother replied, warmly, “Well, you
need not think that he was alone in the world. He has a brother, who
lives in a lodge farther north.” The youth made no reply, but resolved
what he would do in the matter.

Early the next morning the young man ate his breakfast of parched
cornmeal, after which he started off, determined to find his other
uncle, who lived in a lodge. Reaching the place where the trees were
uprooted, he found his first uncle dead. But he kept on his course
until he came to an opening in the forest, in which he saw a lodge with
smoke rising from the smoke-hole. Somewhat pleased, the youth said,
“Well, I must go over there and take a look into that lodge, for that
must be the place where my second uncle lives.” Going directly to the
lodge and opening the door-flap, he peered in, and said to an old man
sitting inside, “Well, uncle, I have come to visit you.” The old man
calmly replied: “Come in, nephew. I have a rule which all who come here
to visit me follow; that is, that we must run a race across this field
and back again. We bet our heads on this race.” The youth answered,
“Well, if that is your rule, we will run the race at once.” So they
went out of doors. Drawing a mark across the opening, the old man said
to the youth: “We will run to that red post over there at the end of
this opening. If I can get back and across this line first I will cut
off your head; but if you return and cross it first you shall cut off
my head. So be ready.” At the line they stood side by side; then the
old man shouted, “Now, go!” They were off instantly and ran to the
post. When halfway back to the line the youth suddenly fell to the
ground, a sharpened deer’s horn having pierced his foot.[313] He sat
down to pull it out. Having pulled it out, he threw it far ahead, and
it came down right in the path of the old man, who had made
considerable headway while the boy was sitting down. Now the old man,
stepping on the horn, fell to the ground. While he was pulling out the
horn, the youth, passing him, crossed the line ahead of the uncle,
saying, “Oh, my uncle! I have won the race.” The uncle disputed this,
but when he found that it was of no use he begged for another smoke,
but the nephew refusing him, he subsided. The youth took out of his
pouch a sharp flint knife and, seizing his uncle’s hair, cut off his
head. Dragging the body into the lodge, he burned both lodge and body.
As the fire died out the old man’s head burst and out of it flew an
owl. Then the youth went home and told his grandmother what he had
done. But she replied, “You still have a third uncle, who is also a
great sorcerer.”

The next morning the youth started off again, this time to visit his
third uncle. On his way he passed the uprooted trees and then the
burned lodge. Keeping on, he saw some distance ahead a lodge standing
in a clearing in the forest. When he came to the edge of the woods, he
found that the opening was large and that the lodge stood on the
farther side of it. This, he thought, must be the lodge of his third
uncle. When he reached the lodge, he looked in it, saying to a man
sitting inside, “Well, uncle, I am here to visit you.” The man replied:
“Oh nephew! I am glad you have come. I have a game to play. Everyone
who comes here plays it with me. We bet our heads on the issue of the
game.” The youth replied, “Well, uncle, what is this game?” “We hide
right here in this room,” answered the uncle. “I will hide, and if you
do not find me before midday, you lose, and I will cut off your head;
but if you find me, you will win, and then you shall cut off my head.”
The youth replied, “It is well.” Then the uncle said: “Now you must lie
down here on the ground, and I will cover you with an elk skin. When I
am ready I will let you know.” Thereupon the youth lay down, but after
he had been carefully covered with the elk skin by his uncle, changing
himself into a woodtick, he got on his uncle’s neck. When the old man
said, “I am ready,” the woodtick called out, “I have found you, my
uncle.” The old man thought the voice came from behind, so he hid
again. Again the woodtick called out, “I have found you, my uncle.” The
old man looked everywhere, but he could not see his nephew; he saw no
one. Once more the old man hid and was discovered. Thus he kept on
until midday, as was his right. The old man, thinking all the time that
the youth was still under the elk skin, wondered how he could find him
so easily. He frequently ran outside to see by the sun how near midday
it was; then he would hurry back to hide. At last he decided to hide
outside the lodge, but the youth called out, “That will not do, uncle;
you said that we must hide in the lodge.” It now being nearly midday,
the old man was frightened, so with a long pole he pushed the sun off
toward the east. Then running in, he hid again. But the youth shouted,
“I have found you, my uncle.” Again the sun was nearly overhead, and
again the old man, running out, with the long pole pushed [314] the sun
toward the east and kept on hiding, but without success. He was
discovered each time. At last when the sun was directly at midday,
directly “at mid-sky,” the youth called out to his victim: “Oh, uncle!
I have found you. I have won the game.” Thereupon the old man begged
for one more smoke, but the youth, knowing his purpose, would not let
him have another. Instead, he proceeded to cut off his head; then he
dragged the old man’s body into the lodge, where he burned it. When the
flesh had burned from the head of the old man, the head burst open and
out flew an owl. Looking around this place, the youth saw large heaps
of bones of persons whom the old man, having deceived, had killed and
eaten.

Then the youth went home and told his grandmother what he had done. Her
only reply was: “My grandson, you still have a fourth uncle, who is
more evil and more potent in orenda than the others. I advise you not
to go near him, for I greatly fear that harm will come to you.” The
grandson said, “I shall not go, grandmother.”

The next morning, after eating his repast of parched cornmeal, he
started, directing his course southward. But when he was out of sight
of his lodge he changed his course toward the north. Making a circuit
around his home, he passed all three places where he had visited his
uncles, and finally came to a fourth opening with a lodge standing in
its center. Arriving at the lodge, he peeped into it; there he saw a
man who was still older than his other uncles. Making his presence
known, he said, “Well, uncle, I have come to visit you.” The old man
answered, saying: “It is well, my nephew. Come in and sit down. I have
a game which I play with all those who come to visit me. I play the
bone-dice game. Each has only one throw, and we bet our heads on the
result. So get ready.” The youth replied: “It is well, uncle; I will
play with you. I will go out for a moment, but will return in as short
a time as possible.” Going to the river bank, and seeing a flock of
ducks, the youth called them to come to him. When they did so, he said
to them: “I have a bet, and I want you to aid me with your magic power.
I desire six of you to lend me your right eyes [315] for a short time.
I will bring them back as soon as I make my throw.” At once six of the
ducks, removing their right eyes, gave them to the youth. On his way
back to the lodge the youth said to the eyes, “When the old man throws,
some of you drop into the bowl with your sight down, but when I play
you must all drop with your sights turned up.” When he entered the
lodge, he said to the old man, “We will play with my dice.” The old man
objected to the use of the dice belonging to the youth, but the latter
insisted on his right to use his own dice, as the person challenged.
They spread a deerskin on the ground, on which they placed a bowl. When
the youth had put his dice into the bowl, he asked his uncle to take
the first throw, but the old man was not willing to do so. After
disputing for some time, however, the old man shook the bowl, whereupon
the eyes, as ducks quacking as they flew, rose slowly to the
smoke-hole, and then fell back into the bowl as dice, some right side
up and others the wrong side up. Then the youth shook the bowl, and the
dice flew up as ducks, quacking loudly, and going out of the
smoke-hole, they disappeared in the clouds. The old man, as was the
custom, sat, saying: “Let there be no count. Let there be no count,”
while the youth cried out: “Let the count be five. Let the count be
five.” In a short time they heard the ducks coming in the distance, and
then they soon dropped into the dish as dice again, all being right
side up, at which the youth cried out, “I have won the game.” The old
man begged to be permitted to take one smoke more, but the nephew,
refusing him, proceeded to cut off the old man’s head with his flint
knife. Then placing the head and body of the old man in the lodge, he
set it on fire. When the head burst open, out flew an owl. Then the
youth took the six eyes back to the river, and calling up the ducks to
him, he moistened the eyes with spittle and replaced them in the heads
of the ducks. Thanking the ducks for the aid they had given him, he
dismissed them, and they flew far away.

The youth now went home, where he told his grandmother what he had
done. After hearing his story she said: “I am well pleased with what
you have done, my grandson. You can now hunt with freedom in all
directions, for there is now no one to harm you. You had a number of
brothers, but their uncles destroyed them without mercy.”

She sent him to hunt, as usual. Being now quite a man, he could kill
deer, bear, and other large game, but he had to go so far away to find
them that he always returned late at night. Not liking this, he thought
of a method by which this might be avoided. He went into the forest,
after telling his grandmother that he was tired of going so far to
hunt, that he would merely sing, and that the game would come to him.
In the forest he made arrows, and by the time night came he had as many
white-ash arrows as he could well carry.

The next morning, bringing out a deerskin, he caused his grandmother to
sit on it. Then, covering her head with the skin, he said to her: “Now,
you must not look out. If you do I shall leave here, never to return.”
First, placing the great bundle of arrows on the ground outside the
lodge, he began to sing: “Come to me, you elk. Come to me, you bears.
Come to me, you raccoons. Come to me, you deer.” As he stood singing,
soon there arose a great commotion in the forest, caused by the sound
of many feet running toward the singer. The animals were coming from
every direction. As they were drawn near him by his singing he began to
shoot his arrows. When he had shot away about half of his arrows, and
while the animals were near him—bears, raccoons, deer, and elk—and
while hedgehogs were climbing the lodge roof, the grandmother, becoming
frightened at the strange sounds, removing the buckskin covering from
her head, looked up through the smoke-hole to see what was the cause of
the tumult. In an instant a great white deer sprang over the other
animals, and, taking the youth on his antlers, ran off with him into
the forest.[316] All the other animals followed the man, who was
singing as they ran. Then the grandmother rushed to the doorway, and,
looking out, saw all the game killed, but she did not see her grandson
anywhere. Then she remembered his words, but it was too late.

While the great white deer was rushing through the forest a pack of
black wolves came upon its tracks, and, soon overtaking it, killed both
it and the man. The next morning the aged grandmother, in an attempt to
repair the damage done through her lapse of memory and great curiosity,
followed the tracks of the game in order to find her grandson. The game
had beaten a broad trail through the forest as they ran. In the
afternoon of the day the youth disappeared the sky and clouds in the
west appeared very red.[317] Seeing this, the grandmother exclaimed:
“This is certainly an evil sign. My grandson is surely in trouble.”
This was the very time at which the great white deer and the man were
killed. The grandmother followed the trail all that day until the
evening at about the time she had seen the red sky and clouds the day
before. Then she came on the spot where her grandson and the deer had
been killed. There she saw pieces of bloody deerskin, but not a bone,
nor a bit of his body. Then she returned home in despair, weeping all
the way.





61. HEART SQUEEZING AND THE DANCE OF NAKED PERSONS

A woman and her son lived together in a lodge situated not far from a
small settlement. The boy began his career by hunting small game, but
he soon killed such large game that everyone was astonished at his
prowess. As he grew older, he went farther and farther into the woods.
His mother, however, always warned him against going toward the
northeast, saying that an evil woman lived there.

One day while hunting the boy thought, “I do not believe there is
anyone who can overcome me magically,” whereupon he determined to go
toward the northeast. Starting thither, he soon came to an opening,
where he saw a woman who sang out, “I have caught you, my brother,” and
at that moment the boy, feeling her in his body squeezing his heart,
screamed with pain. Then the woman stopped an instant and then squeezed
his heart harder than before, causing him intense pain. Just then he
heard a woman’s voice say, “Hurry home, and as you go, sing, ‘I am
going to have a naked dance [318] and a pot.’” The young man did this,
and as he sang he felt easier. When he got home his mother said, “You
have been toward the northeast, although I told you that you would get
into trouble if you went there.” The mother immediately sent a
messenger to tell her uncle, her mother’s brother, what had happened,
and he inquired what the boy sang. The messenger told him, and he
replied, “Tell his mother to notify everyone that she is going to have
a dance of naked persons.”

All the people were notified accordingly. The old man came, and one by
one all the rest assembled. Then the old man asked whether all the
guests were there who had been invited. The woman, the youth’s mother,
after looking around, said, “Yes.” Telling the people to take off their
garments, and to dance facing the wall, the old man, seating himself in
the center of the room, began to sing. When he had finished the song,
he said, “That will do.” Thereupon the dance broke up, the people
dressing themselves and going home.

The young man felt better, but he was angry with the woman who had
tormented him; so he decided to go again and say to her, “I have caught
you,” before she had time to say it. The next morning he started off
without telling his mother where he was going. When near the opening,
halting, he called for a mole. In a short time the mole came, whereupon
the boy said, “You must carry me to the spot where the woman is, but
she must not see us.” Reducing his size until he was quite small, the
young man entered the body of the mole, which went beneath the surface
of the ground. After a while they peeped out, but the woman was still
far off. They went on again, and when they looked out a second time,
they were quite near the woman. She had large eyes, twice as large as
those of anyone else, which were red as blood, and whenever she said,
“I have caught you,” nothing had power over her.

The boy told the mole to go underground, so as to come out just beneath
her feet. The mole did so, and then the boy, exclaiming, “I have caught
you!” at that instant going into her body, squeezed her heart. She
cried out with pain, “Do not squeeze so hard.” He answered, “I did not
say, ‘Do not squeeze so hard,’ when you squeezed my heart.” Thereupon
the woman hurried home. When near home she saw that her sisters were
pounding corn for bread, and they noticed that she was crying, so one
of them said, “I told you that that young man could not be beaten; you
should not have touched him.”

One of the sisters, going to the same old man who had cured the boy,
said, “Uncle, our youngest sister is very sick; she is singing, ‘I am
going to have a dance of naked persons and a pot.’” The old man told
her to invite the people to her pot. She did so, and when they were
assembled the dance began. At the moment the old man said, “My song is
finished,” the young man squeezed the girl’s heart so hard that she
fell down dead. Coming out of her body, the young man went some
distance before he became visible. He went home and was tormented no
more. He could now hunt in any direction.





62. HOTʻHO, THE WINTER GOD [319]

One day a man while out hunting met Hotʻho and said to him, “You can
not make me freeze, no matter how cold you can make it.” Hotʻho
replied, “I can do that without much trouble.” They had a long
discussion of the matter and at last agreed that they would have that
night a trial of strength.

After reaching home the man carried in wood enough to burn all night;
then building a huge fire, he made a large kettle full of hemlock tea.
When night came he stood before the fire ready for the contest. All
night long there he stood, turning first one side and then the other to
the fire and often drinking a cup of the boiling hemlock tea. It was a
terribly cold night and continued to grow colder until near morning.
Just at the break of day Hotʻho, naked, and carrying his hatchet in a
slit in the skin above his hip, came into the lodge, and sitting down
on a pile of bark by the fire, said to the man, “You have beaten me;”
and at that moment, growing warmer, it began to thaw.

This shows that man can conquer Hotʻho, the god of cold weather.





63. SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA AND HIS THREE BROTHERS [320]

There lived in a lodge in the forest Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa and three
brothers. In their larder they had an abundance of oil, venison, and
bear’s meat. Of the brothers Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa was the eldest. Not far
from their lodge lived a brother and his sister. The brother, who was
the elder, was also a turtle.

One day the youngest brother of Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa said to his brothers,
“I am going over to the lodge where the Turtle lives.” His brothers,
knowing the motive of the visit, replied: “It is well. You may go,” for
they thought it best that he should get married. So after making
suitable preparations, he started, and soon he arrived at the lodge of
their neighbors. He found the Turtle’s sister at home. The visitor had
slung over his shoulder a pouch that contained bear’s oil. Sitting down
near Turtle’s sister, he said to her, “I want to marry you,” but she
made him no answer nor any sign of recognition. While he sat there
waiting for her reply, he would dip his finger into the pouch on his
back, afterward sucking off the oil. He patiently waited all day for
her reply, and when it was nearly night she answered, “I have decided
not to marry you.” He did not press his suit, but said, “It is well;”
then he went to his home. Having arrived there, his brothers asked him
what success he had, and he told them. They answered, “It is well.”

Then the next elder brother said, “It must be I about whom she is
thinking.” The next morning he said, “I shall now go there;” so he
started. He found the sister of Turtle at home, and sitting down beside
her, he said: “I have come for the purpose of marrying you. Will you
consent to be my wife?” Like his younger brother, he waited the entire
day for her reply. When it was nearly night she made him the same
answer as she had given his brother; he then went home. Having reached
there, his brothers asked him what success he had, and he told them.
They answered, “It is well.” Then the third brother said, “It must be I
of whom she is thinking. I shall go there tomorrow.” So the next
morning he went to the lodge of Turtle, and finding the sister at home,
he sat down beside her, saying, “I am here to know whether we can
become man and wife.” She acted toward him just as she had toward his
brothers; so he returned to his home, where he related to them how she
had answered him.

Then Turtle, her brother, said: “I think that we are now about to die.
The next man who will come is Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, the eldest of the four
brothers. You have made a great mistake. You should have accepted the
youngest brother. I would have consented had you asked me. The youngest
brother is a good man, and he possesses great orenda. But the time is
now past. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa has volunteered to come to ask you tomorrow
to be his wife.”

The next morning Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, saying to his brothers, “It has
become evident that it is I of whom she is thinking,” started to call
on her at the lodge of Turtle. Finding her at home, he said, “My wife,
I have come after you, so you must go home with me;” thereupon, seizing
her arm, he attempted to pull her along with him. Being very angry, she
bitterly resisted him. Turtle, her brother, was at one end of the fire,
concealed under the ashes. While Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa was struggling with
the young woman as he held her by the arm, she managed her defense in
such manner as to cause her captor to step on her brother, who at once
bit his toe, causing him to release her. Then Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa said,
“Brother-in-law, let go of my toe,” but Turtle still hung to it. At
that moment the visitor, taking his staff and putting his foot on the
end of the firelog, struck Turtle on the head with the staff. As he did
so, Turtle at once grew magically in size and in the strength of his
bite. As Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa struck him again Turtle increased in size as
before and his bite grew more painful. But Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa kept on
pounding him, seemingly unaware that Turtle’s size increased with his
blows. Turtle continued to grow larger and larger and continued drawing
in Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa until he had swallowed his entire body.

Two days later Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa came away, passing through Turtle’s
bowels. Thereupon Turtle said to his sister: “In 10 [321] days
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa will regain his consciousness, and then he will
pursue us. To run away is our only safety; so let us flee hence.”
Placing him in a basket, which she put on her back, Turtle’s sister
started away as fast as she could go.

After the expiration of 10 days, as Turtle had predicted,
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa regained consciousness and, looking around, saw no
one there. Then finding the young woman’s tracks, he pursued her. The
fugitives had gone a long way when Turtle said to his sister,
“Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa is fast overtaking us and is now near us.” So the
sister kept on in her flight, and as she got over a fallen tree Turtle
said to her, “Leave me here, and you continue your course.” Obeying her
brother, she hastened on her way.

Not long after her departure Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa came along. As he walked
over the fallen tree he stepped on Turtle without seeing him, whereupon
Turtle promptly bit him again. At this Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa exclaimed,
“Brother-in-law! let go of my foot; you are greatly delaying me on my
course.” But as Turtle gave no heed to what his brother-in-law had said
to him, Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa decided to kill him, and raising his foot
with Turtle hanging to it, he beat him against the fallen tree. But as
before, striking Turtle only caused him to grow in size, until he
finally became large enough to swallow his enemy again. Turtle waited
there for two days until he had excreted Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa; then he
started on his way again. While the sister was walking along she was
surprised to find her brother, Turtle, on a fallen tree. He had arrived
there ahead of her by means of his orenda.

After the expiration of 10 days Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa regained
consciousness, and arising, said to himself, “I have now been asleep a
very long time and must continue my hunt”; so saying, he started in
pursuit once more. The young woman was now growing faint and exhausted,
and her brother said to her as she carried him along in the basket:
“Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa is again overtaking us, and is now very near to us.
Once more drop me by the first fallen tree that we come to.” She obeyed
and, leaving her brother near a fallen tree, kept on her way.

When Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa came along in due time the orenda of Turtle
caused him to pass within reach of the latter, who again seized his
foot in his teeth. At this Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa said to his
brother-in-law, “You are indeed hindering me greatly in my journey, so
let go of my foot,” but Turtle paid no attention to this remonstrance.
So Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa decided again to beat him to death against the
fallen tree. So he began to do this, but Turtle only grew in size until
he was again able to swallow his brother-in-law. Turtle waited there
for two days, and then having gotten rid of Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa as
before, he went on in his flight.

At the expiration of 10 days Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, on regaining
consciousness, said to himself, “I have now been asleep a very long
time, and I must continue my hunt”; so he resumed at once pursuit of
Turtle and his sister. In time the young woman again grew faint and
exhausted, so her brother said to her as she carried him along in a
basket: “Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa is again overtaking us and is now quite near
us. Still again drop me beside the first fallen tree to which you come
on our way.” She was willing to obey him, so she did as he said, and
kept on her way. Once more, when Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa came along, Turtle,
by means of his orenda, causing his adversary to pass within reach of
his teeth, again seized him by the foot. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa thereupon
said to his brother-in-law, “You are indeed greatly hindering me from
continuing my journey in peace; so let go of my foot.” But Turtle did
not free him, holding fast to his foot. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa therefore
decided to kill him. Raising his foot with Turtle hanging to it, he
beat Turtle against the fallen tree; but as he beat him, Turtle grew so
rapidly in size that he was soon large enough to swallow him again.
Then Turtle waited there two entire days, and when he had excreted
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa he continued his journey.

At the expiration of 10 days, when Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa had again regained
consciousness, he arose, saying, “I have been sleeping now a long time
and must continue my journey”; so he once more resumed his pursuit of
Turtle and his sister. When Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa was again overtaking the
woman, and while she was running onward, she saw a light ahead, which
seemed to indicate that there might be an opening there. But she soon
learned that this was a lake; and, having arrived on its shore, she
looked over the water but could see nothing on the farther side. So she
said to herself, “It seems that I have got to die; therefore I might as
well die here.” With this remark she seated herself on a stone.

In a short time Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa reached her, and seeing her sitting
there, he exclaimed, “My wife, you are waiting for me,” and he seemed
to be very glad. He took out his pouch, from which he obtained a
quantity of tobacco; this he began to burn as an offering to the stone
on which the young woman was seated. Moreover, he addressed the stone,
saying, “I thank you, because you have been the cause that has made my
wife wait for me here.” He kept on thanking the stone as he went back
toward the forest, also burning tobacco to the other stones.

Just then a man arose out of the waters of the lake, and addressing
himself to the young woman, said, “Be quick! Come with me!” She
immediately followed him into the water. When Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa turned
toward the lake again, he saw at once that the woman was gone; all he
found were her tracks, which led into the water.

Now, the strange man and the young woman soon came to a lodge in the
depths, which they entered. The strange man had a sister, who lived in
the lodge. The young woman hung up her basket, which contained Turtle.
Whenever she ate anything she would drop pieces of food into the basket
for her brother, Turtle. Noticing this, the young man’s sister said,
“Why do you place food in there?” The young woman replied, “My brother
is in there; that is why I place food there.” Then came the question,
“Can I see him?” The newly arrived woman said: “Wait two days, and you
can see him; then he will come out as a full-fledged man. He shall be a
Turtle no longer.” This lodge was situated at the bottom of the lake.
The young woman’s brother did come out a full-grown man. Afterward he
lived with the strange man’s sister as her husband, and his sister
became the wife of the strange man who had rescued her from
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa on the shore of the lake.

[It is not known by the story-teller who this man and his sister were,
nor who the four brothers were, with the exception of one,
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa. These four brothers are Whirlwinds.—Editor.]





64. THE MOOSE WIFE

A young man living alone with his mother concluded to go into the
forest to hunt for a whole year, collecting and drying meat, and
intending at the end of that period to return to visit his mother. So
he traveled a long way into the forest to a region in which he thought
there was plenty of deer and other game. There, having built a cabin,
he began housekeeping by himself. His daily routine was to make a fire,
get breakfast, and then start off to hunt. He would stay away hunting
all day. Often when he got home at night he was so tired that he would
not take the trouble to prepare supper, but throwing himself on his
couch, he would go to sleep. He was collecting a great quantity of
cured meat.

One evening when he was returning from a long tramp he saw as he neared
his cabin smoke issuing from the smoke-hole in the roof. At this he
became greatly troubled, for he thought that the fire may have spread
and ignited his lodge. Running into the lodge as quickly as possible,
what was his surprise to find a bright fire burning in the fire-pit,
and his kettle, which had been suffered to boil, hanging on the crook
in such a way as to keep its contents hot. He wondered who had come to
cook for him, for during the time he had lived there and during his
journeys he had never found a cabin, nor had he seen a human being. He
searched all around to see whether he could find a trace of a person’s
visit. He saw that the deer he had brought home the evening before was
dressed and hung up, that a pile of wood that he had cut had been
brought in, that everything had been put in order, and that even corn
bread had been made. On the way home he had thought of going to bed the
moment he set foot in the cabin, so he was greatly rejoiced to find a
warm supper awaiting him. He sat down and ate the supper,
soliloquizing, “Surely the person who got this ready will come back,”
but no one came.

The next morning he started as usual to hunt. When he returned in the
evening he looked to see whether smoke was coming out of the smoke-hole
of his cabin. There was smoke issuing from it, and again he found
supper ready for him. On discovering a partially finished braid of
fibers of bark, he knew that a woman had been at work. He saw,
moreover, that she had also put a large number of his green deerskins
to soak, preparatory to making buckskin. Thereupon he thought how good
she was, and he resolved to see her, whomsoever she might be, even if
he had to give up hunting in order to do so.

In the morning he started off as though he were going to hunt, but went
only a short way into the woods to a place whence he could watch the
cabin. He had built no fire that morning, so that he might be able to
tell the moment smoke began to rise from the lodge. Stealthily creeping
back toward his home, he soon saw smoke rising from the cabin. As he
drew nearer, he saw what to him was a woman come out of the lodge and
take up an armful of wood. When she went into the lodge he followed her
as quickly as possible. There he found a beautiful young woman, to whom
he said: “You have been very kind to me, and I am very thankful to
you.” She said in reply, “I knew you were starving for lack of a
woman’s aid, so I came to see whether you would take me as your wife.”
He accepted her offer, for he was very happy that she was willing to
remain. She never left him after that. Every day she tanned the
deerskins and cooked for him, working hard all the time. His wife was
beautiful and he loved her dearly.

Before the end of a year a boy was born to them, and they were
perfectly happy. When the time was near to fulfill his promise to visit
his mother, she said to him: “I know you promised to visit your mother,
and the time is now here. I have everything ready for you. I have made
moccasins for you and for your mother.” He said in reply, “I wonder how
I can carry her some meat, for she lives a long way off.” “You have
only to choose the meat you want,” she replied; “I know how you can
carry it.” He decided to take some of every kind. She warned him to be
true and faithful to her while away, for many women when they saw what
a good hunter he was would ask him of his mother. She said: “You must
be true to me as I will be to you. You must never yield to temptation,
for I shall know if you do, and you will never see me again.” He
promised her everything she asked. Early the next morning she asked him
to go to the river with her; it was not far from the cabin. She knew
how he came, and that he would reach his mother’s home sooner by going
on the river. When they reached the bank, she took out of her bosom a
tiny canoe. He wondered what she was going to do with so little a
plaything. She told him to take hold of one end and to pull away from
her. On doing so, the canoe stretched out until it was a very large
one. Then they brought on their backs basketful after basketful of
meat, which they packed away in the canoe. Giving him a package, she
said: “I have made these moccasins for your mother. Here is another
package for you. I wish you to put on a pair every morning, throwing
away the old ones.”

He promised to return in the fall, and then they parted. When he
reached his mother’s lodge the news spread that a certain woman’s son
had returned after a year’s hunting, and many came to see him and the
great amount of meat he had brought. He did not tell even his mother
that he was married, and many young girls asked for him as a husband.
His mother had a beautiful girl in view for him, and continually urged
him to marry her, but he would not consent. After a while he said to
his mother: “I am going to the woods again. I have a cabin there, and
sometime you will know why I do not wish to marry.” So saying, he
started off.

When he reached the river he shook his boat as his wife had instructed
him to do, whereupon it again stretched out. Getting aboard, he started
up the river. When he neared his cabin, he saw his wife waiting for him
and his little boy running around at play and they were very happy
again. She told him she loved him better than ever, for he had
withstood temptation.

Another year passed. They had all the meat they could take care of, and
another boy had been born to them.

Again she got him ready to carry meat to his mother, just as she had
done before. She seemed, however, to feel that this time he would yield
to temptation, so she said to him: “If you marry another woman, you
will never see me again, but if you love me and your children, you will
be true to us and come back. If you are not true, I shall not be
surprised if your new wife will soon be sucking her moccasins from
hunger, for your magic power or orenda for hunting will vanish.” He
promised her everything.

As before, on reaching home his fame as a hunter brought many beautiful
girls to ask for him in marriage. Again his mother urged him to marry,
and the temptation to yield then was far greater than the first time,
but he resisted and was ready to start for his cabin, when one day a
beautiful stranger, appearing in the village, came to his mother’s
lodge. The mother urged him to marry her, as she was so lovely, and he
finally yielded.

The wife in the woods, knowing the conditions, said: “Now children, we
must be getting ready to go away. Your father does not love us and will
never come back to us.” Though the children were troubled by their
mother’s tears, still they were full of play and fun, but the poor
mother was always weeping while preparing to leave her home.

After the man had taken a second wife, the meat in his lodge began to
fall away strangely. He could almost see it disappear, though there was
a good supply when he married. In a few days but little was left. He
went hunting but could kill nothing; he went day after day, but always
had the same ill luck, for he had lost his magic power (orenda) for
hunting, as his wife had foretold. One day when he came home from
hunting, he found his new wife sucking her moccasin, for she was
famishing with hunger. He cried and sobbed, saying, “This is my
punishment; she warned me that this would happen if I was untrue to
her.” Thereupon he decided to go back to his first wife and children at
once and never to leave them again.

He set out without saying a word to the starving wife or to his anxious
mother. When he reached his cabin not a single footprint was to be
seen. He went in, but only to find it empty—wife and children were not
there, nor any meat, but their worn moccasins were hanging up. The
sight of these made him very sad. As he was nearly starved, he searched
everywhere for food. On the hearth he found three small mounds of
ashes, of different sizes, the third being very small. Sitting down, he
wondered what this could mean, for he knew that it must have been left
by his wife as a sign to him should he ever come to the cabin. At last
he made up his mind that he had three children now, and he determined
to find them even if he had to follow them to the end of the world.

He mused, “My boys are very playful, and as they followed their mother
they must have hacked the trees as they went.” Indeed, as the mother
and the boys were starting away, the boys said, “We will make some
sign, so that if our father ever thinks of us and comes back, he will
be able to follow us.” But the mother said: “No, children, you must
not; he will never come, for he has another wife, and will never think
of his children in the woods.” Nevertheless, as they went on and played
by the way, the boys hacked the trees and shot arrows in sport, so the
father was soon able to trace them. He found that after a day’s journey
they had camped for the night, for he discovered the remains of a fire,
and on a tree nearby, four pairs of worn-out moccasins. Tying these in
a bundle, he hung it on his arm.

Again he walked all day, finally coming to the remains of a fire, near
which he saw four pairs of worn moccasins hanging up as before. He was
very tired and hungry.

The next morning he traveled on and, as before, found the remains of a
fire and four pairs of worn moccasins hanging on a tree. He always took
these with him. Near noon the next day he saw smoke in the distance,
seeming to rise from a cabin, and so it proved to be. He saw also two
boys playing around, running, and shooting arrows; on seeing him they
ran to tell their mother that a man was coming. On looking out, she
recognized her husband, whereupon she told the boys to stay inside the
lodge. He had not recognized the children as his sons, but supposed
they belonged to people living in the cabin.

As he was very hungry and tired, he thought he would go in and ask for
food. The woman turned her back as he entered, but the eldest boy,
recognizing his father, ran to him and put his hand on his knee. The
father, however, not recognizing the child, gently pushed his hand
away. At this moment the mother, turning around, saw this action.
“There,” she said, “I told you to keep away from him, for he does not
love you.” Now the man, recognizing his wife, cried out, begging her to
forgive him and to receive him home again. He seemed to be sorry, and
begged so hard that she forgave him and brought him his little
daughter, born after he had gone away. Ever afterward he was true to
his Moose wife (for she was a Moose woman), and never again left his
home in the woods. He and his little family were always very happy.





65. SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA

[Modern]

A number of Indians traveling northward from their village met a
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, with whom they talked. He said, “Hawenniyo caused me
to be around to assist you.” His mouth was drawn up on one side and
down on the other. Continuing, he said: “If anyone mocks us in earnest,
we will enchant him by sorcery. You may go to work making a mask
representing a face like mine, and then you can cure by means of it the
sick who are troubled by us, the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa. In this way you may
take my place.” So the people made wooden masks, to be used as
directed. This, it is said, is the origin of the Society of False
Faces, or Maskers, so prominent among the Seneca.[322]





66. THE PORCUPINE’S GRANDSON AND THE BEAR

A widower, who had a small son, married a second time. Soon after this
event he took his wife and child into the forest to hunt. They lived
very happily until the new wife began to think that her husband loved
his child better than he did her. This troubled her beyond measure, so
that she became very uneasy, thinking of nothing else. Then she began
to study how to get rid of the boy, and at last resolved to destroy
him.

So one day while her husband was out hunting, she took the boy into the
woods to a cave, whose mouth was closed with a rock. She rolled away
the stone from in front of the opening, at the same time telling the
boy that there were bears in the cave, and that he must run in and
scare them, so that they would run out at the other end. He crept in,
and immediately the woman rolled the stone back over its mouth, and
then deserted him.

When night came the father returned from hunting, and immediately
missing his boy, asked where he was. The woman answered that he was at
play when she went to gather bark, and that when she came home she
could not find him, asserting further that she had been hunting in all
directions for him, and that she was afraid he had been carried off by
some wild beast. The father was nearly crazed by this event, and for
many days hunted for his boy, but he could find only the tracks made by
his little moccasins far into the woods—tracks which the wicked
stepmother had (artificially) made to mislead and deceive the father.

When the child found himself fastened in the cave he began to scream
and cry, and his strength was giving way and he was near fainting when
he thought he heard a voice saying: “Poor child, stop crying! I am your
grandmother. I will give you food.” This was a Mother Porcupine. Wiping
away his tears with her paw, she brought him food, which he thought was
very good, though it was only hemlock burs. She gave him some of the
food which she had saved for herself. After eating he was contented,
whereupon she said, “You are very tired, my dear little grandson; come
and lie down.” In this way she fed and cared for him a long time.

One day she said: “My stock of food is exhausted, and as it is now
spring, we should not be cold out of doors. Your stepmother has
fastened us in here. I must call on our neighbors to let us out, and
when we are out, I will leave you in their care and go in search of
food for myself.” Approaching the opening, the Porcupine called aloud
for help. Afterward the boy thought they went back into the cave, and
the Porcupine said: “My dear grandson, we must now part. I feel very
sad but it can not be avoided. I will give you this advice. They will
come and let us out, and you will go with them. You must be obedient
and do just as you are told to do, and all will be well in the end.”
Soon they heard noises with the sound of voices outside the cave, and
after a while a great crowd seemed to be collected. The imprisoned ones
heard the chief of the assembly say: “All who heard the call have
come.[323] Now we want to know who will roll the stone away?” Birds
came and pecked at it in vain; they could do nothing. Then the smaller
animals scratched at it. One after another failed. At last a wolf came
forward, saying, “I can pull the stone away; I am the man to do it.”
Pushing his long claws under it, he pulled and pulled, until at length
he exerted so much strength that his hold gave way and he fell over on
his back. Then the deer tried with his long horns to raise the stone.
All tried, every one in his own way, from the smallest to the largest
animal (for all were present that had heard the call), except the
she-bear; she sat at a short distance with her little family around
her, consisting of three young cubs. When all the rest had failed, she
said, “Well, I will try.” Walking up slowly and majestically to the
blocking stone, she examined the scratches made by the other animals
until she made up her mind how to act, and then she very quickly got
the stone away. Then peeping in, she saw a Porcupine and a human being,
whereupon she hurried away from the opening as though she was greatly
frightened. As the other animals looked in, they, too, took to their
heels until they were far enough away to make sure of escape; then they
waited to see what was to take place.

The Porcupine, coming out, told them not to be frightened. Said she,
“We are very poor, my grandson and I.” She told them further how he
came there and that her stock of food was exhausted, adding, “Many of
you are well able to care for him, so I want you to take charge of my
grandson.” All, even the birds, announced their willingness to do so.
“Now,” she continued, “I want to know what you will give him to eat,
and when I make up my mind that my grandson can live on the food that
any one of you can supply, I will give him to that one. To my faithful
friends, the birds, I give thanks; you may go, for I do not think my
grandson could live on anything you could give him.”

All had brought specimens of what they could furnish and had laid them
before the Porcupine. The wolf, coming forward, laid down what he had.
The Porcupine examined it and then asked, “What would you do in case of
danger?” “Of course we should run,” the wolf replied, thereupon running
off to show her, and then coming back. “No, my grandson can not go with
you; he could not run fast enough.” The deer came forward with the most
suitable food, but when the Porcupine asked, “What would you do in case
of danger?” the deer ran off at such speed that his horns could be
heard rattling through the woods. Last of all the old bear came
forward, saying: “You have all failed. Though I have a large family of
my own, I will take the boy and will feed him as I feed my cubs, on
blackberries, chestnuts, and fruit.” When asked what she would do in
danger, going back to her little cubs, she gave them the sign of
danger, at which they all crouched down beside a log while she lay at
their side watching. She said: “That is what I do, and thus we lie
still until I think the danger is past. I know where the berries grow
in abundance, and I will take them there. I know also where my winter
quarters will be; there my cubs will get nourishment by sucking my fat
paws.” The Porcupine then said: “You are the one to care for my
grandchild. I wish you to take good care of him. I am now going for
food.” The boy never saw the Porcupine again. The child thought the
bear took him by the hand, and that she was like a human being, and
that they were all like real people.

She led the boy and the cubs to the place where the berries and
chestnuts were abundant. They played as they went along. The young
bears became very fond of the boy. When the old mother bear was lying
asleep in the sun, and they were at play, the cubs would pull the boy’s
nails to make them long like theirs, and they tried to teach him how to
climb and run up the trees as they did. At last he was almost equal to
them in skill in these exercises, his nails having grown long and
sharp.

One day the old bear woke up and could not see the boy. At last she saw
him high up in a tree a long way off. Then she scolded her cubs and was
angry with them, and made the boy’s nails as they originally were. So
the many days of summer passed. The cubs and the boy were great friends
and they had him sleep between them and their mother.

When winter came, the old bear said, “It is time to go to our winter
quarters”; so she took them to a tall, hollow tree, into which they all
climbed, finding therein a comfortable place. Here they remained; and
the boy thought they had plenty of room. He and the cubs played
together and were very happy. The old bear slept most of the time, but
when she heard a sound she would awake instantly and would say, “You
must keep very still; there is a hunter near.” In the tree was an
opening from which she had an outlook. Soon after the warning they
would see a man coming toward the tree. Then the boy thought he saw the
mother bear, putting her paw into her pocket, draw out an object that
had two prongs. As the hunter approached she would thrust this out
through the hole, moving it to and fro until he passed; then she would
draw it in again.

All went well until one day toward spring, when the fatal moment came.
The mother bear heard a hunter approaching again and, although they all
kept very still, she said, addressing the child: “I think our time has
come; our separation is near; you can remain here, but we must go, for
we are bears, but you are a human being. They will take you out and
care for you.” Then the child and the cubs saw the hunter coming. She
put out her two-pronged bough but could do nothing; all her magic power
was gone. When the hunter came up, seeing the claw marks on the bark of
the tree, he concluded there must be bears within. The old bear knew
all was over, so she said to the eldest of her cubs, “You must go first
and the others must follow.” At this the eldest climbed up and out, and
at that instant the boy heard the twang of the bowstring and impact of
the arrow, and as he watched the little bear it seemed to throw off a
burden, which fell to the ground, while the little bear itself [324]
went straight on without stopping. Then the other little bears
followed, one and all sharing the fate of the first; each time one
emerged the boy heard the same sounds and saw the burden fall, but as
he saw the little bears still running on, he was not frightened. Then
the old bear said: “Now, I have to go. You must be good and obedient
and all will be well with you”; then she went out. He heard the same
sounds as before and saw her drop on the ground; knowing she was
killed, he began to scream. The hunter, hearing him, was astonished.
Then, remembering having heard that a child had been lost, he though it
might be the child in this tree. So he set to work to get the boy out,
and soon succeeded in doing so. He found the child naked and unable to
speak a word, having forgotten how to talk. Skinning the largest cub,
the hunter made leggings for the child from the skin. The boy was
grieved to see his companions dead and cut up, but he could not speak
to let his rescuer know how dear they were to him. The hunter took the
boy to his father, who was overjoyed to see his child again. Ever
afterward he kept the boy near himself, and in the future all was well.





67. GENONSGWA

An old woman, the eldest of her people, lived in the forest with two
grandchildren, a boy and a girl. One day while the old woman was away a
female Genonsgwa came into the lodge and picked up the younger child,
the girl. After speaking kindly to her, saying that she was a good
little thing, she swallowed her. Then she began to talk to the boy,
telling him how well he looked, and that he was wholesome, but she did
not kill him. Sitting on the bed, she told the boy that if he would get
on her back, she would take him out to find his grandmother. After
climbing on her back, he soon became frightened, whereupon he grasped
her so tightly that he became fastened to her back so that he could not
get off, though he tried hard to do so. The Genonsgwa, rising, went in
a direction different from that in which his grandmother had gone. The
boy told her of her mistake, but she said, “Oh! we shall come to the
place where she is.” The Genonsgwa went very far into the woods. The
boy began to cry for his grandmother, and cried so hard that the
Genonsgwa told him to get off her back; she did not like to hear him
cry, she said, but as she wanted to eat him, he did not get off; in
fact, he could not do so. Fortunately, the Genonsgwa could neither get
her hands around to pull him off, nor turn her head to bite him. She
could not get at him in any way. Knowing this, the boy clung to the
middle of her back, realizing that she would eat him up if he slipped
down. They traveled on thus for many days.

When the grandmother came back to her lodge and found that the boy and
the girl were not there, she became very uneasy. She searched for them
but found no trace of either. After a while, finding the tracks of the
Genonsgwa around the lodge, she guessed what the trouble was. The old
woman followed the trail of the Genonsgwa, saying that she was bound to
get her grandchildren back.

Genonsgwa tried to get the boy off by rubbing him against a hickory
tree. The boy said, “Oh! I like that. Rub harder!” At this she stopped
rubbing him against the tree and went on. The grandmother followed in
the form of a Whirlwind, whereupon Genonsgwa said to the boy, “Your
grandmother is coming as a Whirlwind, and she will strike and kill us
both.” The boy was silent. Looking for refuge, she found a hiding place
in a deep ravine, in which she dug a hole, and going in, covered
herself with the earth which slipped down from above. The two heard
Dagwanoenyent, the grandmother, coming. “Now,” Genonsgwa said, “you can
hear your grandmother coming.” The Dagwanoenyent rushed over the place
where they lay hidden. The boy shouted to his grandmother, who, hearing
him, changed her course, coming straight back to the place they were
in. She blew off the earth from the hiding place, so that Genonsgwa
became just visible above the surface. Then the grandmother asked the
boy whether he was there. He answered, “Yes.” The Genonsgwa lay still,
whispering to the boy, “Be quiet! Your grandmother will see us.” The
grandmother then called the boy by name, “Dagwanoenyentgowa,[325] get
off Genonsgwa’s back.” Having done so, he went a short distance from
the cliff. Then the old woman hurled rocks at the Genonsgwa, and after
breaking all her clothes of rock, killed her.

The old woman now went toward home with her grandson. On the path she
said: “Never allow yourself to be treated this way again. Never allow
yourself to be maltreated by anyone. You can master all those
Genonsgwashonon,[326] if you will only use your power, for you, too,
are a Dagwanoenyentgowa.” The old woman remained at home a few days
with her grandson. Meanwhile some of the Genonsgwa’s people found the
trail of the Genonsgwa woman, which they followed until they came to
the place where her stone clothes were rent, and she was killed. When
they asked of it, the spirit of the Genonsgwa told how she had been
killed and how her coat had been rent.

The headman of the Genonsgwa now resolved to muster a large company of
their people and kill the old woman, Dagwanoenyentgowa. While they were
preparing for this, the old woman found out their plans when she was
out on her journeys and said to her grandson, “We must go to get your
sister out of the belly of the Genonsgwa woman, for she is sitting
there crying for me all the time.” So they set out for home, and when
they reached the place where the Genonsgwa woman lay dead, the
grandmother, having built a small fire, began to burn tobacco on it for
her granddaughter, saying, “This is what we like; this is what we
like.” They burned perhaps half a pouch full of tobacco, meanwhile
fanning the smoke toward the Genonsgwa woman all the time, and saying:
“This is what we like. Do you come out of Genonsgwa’s belly.” There was
no sign yet of her granddaughter. She had not yet come forth. At last
the old woman said to her grandson: “We must have more help. You have a
great many relatives—uncles, aunts, and cousins. We must call them
here.” Thereupon the old woman, Dagwanoenyentgowa, called repeatedly.
They came one by one. Soon there was a great number of them. Having
broken up and removed all the clothes of the Genonsgwa, they threw them
away, leaving the dead body naked. Then the old woman, building a fire
at Genonsgwa’s head, burned tobacco on it. All the Dagwanoenyent people
walked around the fire, each throwing tobacco on it and saying, “This
is what we like.” After each one had gone around once and had thrown
tobacco into the fire once, the young girl started up in the
Genonsgwa’s belly, and panting for breath, walked out, saying, “How
long have I been here?” They gave her more tobacco smoke, which she
inhaled until she gained full strength. Then all went home, the old
woman and her two grandchildren to her own lodge, and the other
Dagwanoenyents each to his or her lodge.

After they had been home a while a Genonsgwa came to the old woman’s
lodge, who talked pleasantly, inquiring how they were. Having found out
that they were only three in number, the Genonsgwa went back home,
thinking it would be a small work to kill them all. After the Genonsgwa
went away the old woman said: “We are in trouble now. There is a great
number of these Genonsgwa people leagued against us. They are assembled
somewhere, not far away. When this struggle commences we do not know
whether we shall be able to come home here again or not.” As soon as
she had finished talking with her grandchildren, the old woman, going
out, called, “Dagwanoenyents!” The girl, not knowing what that meant,
asked her grandmother, who said: “I am calling your relations to help
us. You are a Dagwanoenyent, too.” The Dagwanoenyents came one by one.
When all had come, there were 60 besides the old woman and her two
grandchildren. Dagwanoenyentgowa now said: “Each one must have a stone
to strike with, just heavy enough to handle with ease.” When they had
gathered stones the Genonsgwa began to come, thousands upon thousands
in number. The Dagwanoenyents were frightened when they saw them, but
the old woman who led them said: “We must separate and attack them
singly. Have faith to kill each one with but one blow, and you will do
it. You must keep the stones in your hands. Be firm and retreat slowly
in different directions.” The Dagwanoenyents took her advice. Whenever
they had a chance, they struck and killed a Genonsgwa, retreating all
the time and killing the Genonsgwa for a long distance. The old woman
then told all her people to go up a high mountain toward the south,
ahead of them, fighting as they went. She continued: “When we all reach
the top, we shall go down a short distance on the other side. The
Genonsgwa will come to the top and we shall strike them. One lot of us
must strike from the east, and the other from the west side, and we
must get behind them and drive them forward into the great ravine on
the south side of the mountain, where a river runs by. There they will
all perish.” The Genonsgwa came to the mountain top, where there was a
large clear space. Looking around on every side, they saw nothing of
the Dagwanoenyents, hence they thought the Dagwanoenyents had gone for
food. They had not stood there long, however, when they heard the sound
of the wind below them on both sides of the mountain. The noise grew
louder and louder, until presently the Dagwanoenyents struck them on
both sides, and uniting in their rear, fell upon them from behind also.
So terrible were the attack and the power of the Dagwanoenyents, that
they tore all the trees out by the roots and swept the earth off the
top of the mountain, hurling the rocks and trees and Genonsgwa into the
ravine and river below. The Genonsgwa were piled upon one another like
the rocks on the banks and in the bed of the river. The Dagwanoenyents
were now dancing on the mountain top, and the old woman said: “We have
hurled the Genonsgwa down there and we would better finish them. Half
of you go along the ridge running south from this mountain east of the
river, and the other half along the western ridge, and blow all the
trees and stones and earth into the great ravine.” They did this, and
when they came together they had stripped the mountain spurs naked.
Meanwhile the river forced everything to the end of the ravine, where
it piled up the débris of fallen trees in a great dam, so that the
river became a lake on the south side of the mountain. This lake is
called Hadiqsadon genonsgwa ganyudae; that is, the grave of the
Genonsgwashonon, or Genonsgwa people.





68. HINON, HOHAWAQK [327] AND HIS GRANDMOTHER

There was a very poor little old woman, who lived in the woods. She was
so destitute that she was nothing but skin and bones. She dwelt in a
smoky little lodge and cried all the time, both day and night. Her robe
of skins was so old and dirty that one could not tell without
difficulty of what material it was made. She had seven daughters, six
of whom were carried off one after another by hostile people, while the
seventh died.

The daughter who died had been buried some time when one night the old
woman heard crying at the grave. Going to the grave with a torch, she
found there a naked baby. The child had crawled up out of the grave
through a hole in the earth. Wrapping the baby in her blanket, the old
woman took it home. She did not know, she did not even suspect, that
her daughter was with child when she died.

The little boy grew very rapidly. When he was of good size the old
woman came home one day from gathering wood but could not find him.
That night it stormed, with thunder and lightning raging. In the
morning the child returned to her. His grandmother asked, “Where have
you been, my grandson?” “Grandmother,” said he, “I have been with my
father; he took me to his home.” “Who is your father?” “Hinon is my
father; he took me home first, then we came back and were all about
here last night.” The old woman asked, “Was my daughter, your mother,
in the grave?” “Yes,” said the boy, “and Hinon used to come to see my
mother.” The old woman believed what he said.

As the boy grew he used to make a noise like that of thunder, and
whenever Hinon came to the neighborhood he would go out and thunder,
thus helping his father, for he was Hinon Hohawaqk, the son of Hinon.

Some time after this the boy asked his grandmother where his six aunts
were, and the grandmother answered: “There are an old woman and her
son, whose lodge is far away; they live by playing dice and betting.
Your aunts went one by one with a company of people, and played dice
(plum pits); being beaten, their heads were cut off. Many men and women
have gone to the same place and have lost their heads.” Hinon Hohawaqk
answered, “I will go, too, and will kill that woman and her son.” The
old woman tried to keep him home, but he would not remain with her. He
told her to make two pairs of moccasins for him. He was very ragged and
dirty, so she made the moccasins and got him the skin of a
flying-squirrel for a pouch.

Setting off toward the west, soon he came to a great opening where
there was a large bark lodge with a pole in front of it, and on the
pole a skin robe. He saw boys playing ball in the opening, and going on
a side path, he heard a great noise. After a while the people saw him,
whereupon one of them said, “I do not know where that boy comes from.”
The old people were betting and the boys were playing ball. Soon an old
man came up to Hinon Hohawaqk and gave him a club; he played so well
that the old man came again, saying, “We want you to play dice; all the
people will bet on you.” A bowl was placed on an elk skin lying under
the pole. The woman and her son were there and the other people stood
around. Hinon Hohawaqk answered, “I do not know how to play the game.”
The old man replied, “We will risk our heads on you;” so he followed
the old man. He saw a white stone bowl as smooth as glass. The old
woman was sitting there on the elk skin, ready to play, and Hinon
Hohawaqk knelt down beside the bowl. She said, “You play first.” “No,”
answered he, “you play first.” So she took out her dice, which were
round and made from plum stones, and blowing on them, cast them into
the bowl, which she shook, at the same time calling out, “Game! game!”
The dice flew up into the air, all becoming crows and cawing as they
went out of sight. After a while they came down, still cawing, and
resumed the form of plum stones as they settled in the bowl. The old
woman had three plays to make a count of seventeen. She threw three
times but got nothing. Then Hinon Hohawaqk in order to win took dice
out of his pouch of flying-squirrel skin. The old woman wanted him to
use her dice, but he would not touch them. Placing his dice in the
bowl, he shook, whereupon the dice, becoming ducks, flew upward. They
went very high, and all the people heard them as they rose; when they
touched the bowl again they were plum stones, and scored 10. Then Hinon
Hohawaqk shook the bowl again, calling, “Game! game!” while the old
woman called out, “No game!” Back came the dice, scoring another 10. He
cast the third time and scored 10 more. He had won. Then he called the
people to see him cut off the heads of the old woman and her son. “No,”
said the old woman, “you must play again. Here is my son; you must play
ball with him, and if he loses we shall both forfeit our heads.” At
this Hinon Hohawaqk asked the old man what he thought. The people,
seeing how skillful he was, said “Play!” whereupon he went to the
ball-ground, ragged and looking poor. There were but two playing, one
on each side. Hinon Hohawaqk jumped, knocking the club far out of his
opponent’s hand. Then the old woman’s son ran for his club, but before
he could get it back Hinon Hohawaqk had sent the ball through the goal
posts. This was repeated seven times and Hinon Hohawaqk won the game.
“Now,” said he to all the people, “you can have the heads of the old
woman and her son.” The two heads were cut off, and the boys played
with the old woman’s head over the whole field.

“Now,” said Hinon Hohawaqk; “I am going to bring my grandmother to this
place, and we must all come here to stay and have this long dwelling in
which to live.” All went home to their lodges, and as the Son of
Thunder went, he sang praises of himself, and his grandmother heard him
on his way. He told her what he had done, saying, “We must all go there
and live in that fine dwelling and field.” She prepared provisions and
they went. It took them a long time to reach the place. All the other
people having reached there also, they built dwellings around the
field. When all had settled down, Hinon Hohawaqk called them to the
council lodge to have a dance. After they had finished the dance, all
went to their homes. Putting away her old blanket, the grandmother
began to dress. Having put on the clothes left by the old woman who
lost her head, soon she looked like a young woman and lived happily.
After a time Hinon Hohawaqk went off with Hinon, his father, with whom
he stayed all winter.

In the spring the old woman was uneasy in her mind. She heard thunder
in the west, and soon afterward her grandson came to the lodge. She was
very glad to see him. “Where have you been?” she asked. He answered:
“At the great mountain far off in the west. I have been with my father
helping the nations and protecting men.” After that he remained with
his grandmother all summer. Once in a while he would go away when it
began to storm but would come back again when the turbulence of the
weather ceased.

He lived a long time in this way, until at last he said to his
grandmother: “I have an uncle living in the west; some witch stole him
from you. I must go to find him.” So he went to the west to search for
his uncle. He went on till he came to a lodge in which he saw a woman
sitting by a fire, with her head resting on her hands. She would not
answer when he asked where his uncle was. Soon afterward he went out,
and taking his war club from his pouch, he knocked her on the head,
killing her. When he had killed the woman he went out and walked all
around the lodge, mourning and looking for his uncle. At last he heard
the moaning of a man. He looked into the trees, for he could not see
any one on the ground, but could not find him. Soon he came to a large
slippery-elm tree, the great roots of which held down a man, his head
coming out between two roots on one side and his feet between two on
the other side, while the tree stood just on the middle of his body. He
was calling to his nephew to give him a smoke. The latter answered:
“Oh, poor uncle! how badly off you are. Oh, poor uncle! I will give you
a smoke very soon.” Then he kicked over the tree, saying, “Rise,
uncle!” at which the uncle rose, well. Taking out his pouch, Hinon
Hohawaqk gave the old man a smoke, which pleased and strengthened the
uncle very much. He told his nephew how the woman had beguiled him to
go with her, pretending that she wanted to marry him. When she had him
at her lodge, however, she ate him, putting his bones under the elm
tree. Then both the uncle and the nephew went home to the long lodge.
The old grandmother was surprised and glad to see them.

All lived happily in their home till one day when the Son of Thunder
went off in a storm. When it was over he brought home a wife. After
that, when he went away in a storm his wife was uneasy, not knowing
where he was, for her husband had brought her home on his back such a
long distance in the storm. In due time she gave birth to a son. When
the boy was large enough to run about, the old man, the uncle of the
Son of Thunder, whose bones had lain under the elm tree, began to teach
him, and soon he was able to make a noise like thunder. One day the boy
followed his mother out of the lodge. They had a small dog, and as the
boy was running after his mother, somebody seized him and rushed away;
but the dog ran after him, and, contriving to seize his feet, pulled
off his moccasins, which he carried home. This was the first indication
the woman had that her boy was gone. Hinon Hohawaqk was off with a
storm at the time, and when he came home his wife asked whether he had
taken the boy. “No,” said he. “Oh! he is lost,” cried she. “Oh, no! he
is all right,” said Hinon Hohawaqk; “he has many relations around the
world—uncles and cousins.” The boy stayed away all winter. One day when
the winter was over he came home with his father. Then Hinon Hohawaqk
said to the people of his family, “We must all move away and live with
my father.” The old woman said, “No, we can not go; it is so far and I
am so old.” “I will carry you there in a little while,” said the
grandson. Thereupon Hinon Hohawaqk began to thunder, and lightnings
flew around. The lodge was torn to pieces and blazed up in flames. All
the rocks and lodges in the opening were broken to pieces. Hinon
Hohawaqk and all of his people rose in the air. The east wind began to
blow, bearing them to lofty mountains in the west, where they found old
grandfather Hinon. All live there in the caves of the rocks to this
day.





69. HAGOWANEN AND OTʻHEGWENHDA [328]

At Hetgen Tgastende [329] lived a man named Hagowanen, who possessed
potent orenda (magic power), and who belonged to the Donyonda people.
One day he set out to hunt. In his canoe he sailed across a broad lake
in front of his lodge, and then, leaving his canoe on the other side,
he traveled five days toward the west. Then he collected wood and made
a camp.

On the first day of his hunting he killed five bears and deer, which he
brought into his camp, saying, “What bad luck I have had today!” On the
second day he killed 10 bears and 12 deer and brought them home and
skinned and roasted them to dry the meat of the 15 bears and 18 deer
which he had killed, finishing the work before daylight. The next
morning he said, “I must go after more meat.” That day he killed 24
deer and 20 bears and brought them into camp, and skinned them and
finished roasting the meat precisely at midnight. Then he said, “I
think I have enough now.” Putting all the meat into one heap, he tied
it up with bark ropes. Then he shook the package, saying, “I want you
to be small,” at which it shrank into a small package, which he hung in
his belt. In the same way be made the skins into similar bundles, which
he hung to his belt, and then set out for home.

When Hagowanen reached the lake he could not find his canoe; he looked
everywhere, but he could see nothing of it. At last, he saw on the
shore a man whose name was Handjoias.[330] When they met, this man
asked, “What have you lost?” “My canoe,” answered Hagowanen. “Well, the
man who lives on that island yonder was here yesterday, and he took
your canoe,” replied Handjoias. “Who is the man on the island?” said
Hagowanen. “He is one of the Ganyaqden331 people,” was the answer. “How
am I to get my canoe back?” inquired Hagowanen. “Give me what meat you
have, and I will get it for you,” said Handjoias. “What am I to eat if
I do that?” replied Hagowanen. “I will do better, I will bring the
canoe. Take your meat home, and roast it, keeping half and putting the
other half outside of the door of the lodge for me,” declared
Handjoias. “Very well,” answered Hagowanen. Handjoias, who himself had
taken the canoe to the island, now brought it back, saying: “That man
on the island is a very ugly fellow. He almost killed me.” Getting into
his canoe, Hagowanen sailed home; on arriving he drew up his canoe
safely on the rocks. Then he untied and threw down the bundle of meat,
which in a moment regained its natural size. The meat he piled up
inside of the lodge, and tanned the skins, but he never paid Handjoias
for bringing back the canoe.

After a time a woman of the Hongak (Wild Goose) people came to
Hagowanen’s lodge, bringing a basket of marriage bread, and saying, “My
mother has sent me to Hagowanen to ask him to take me to wife.”
Hagowanen hung his head a while thinking, and mused, “I suppose nothing
ill-starred will come of this.” Then, looking at her, he said, “It is
well; I am willing to do what your mother wants me to do.” On hearing
this reply the woman was glad. She placed the basket of nuptial corn
bread before him. In accepting it he said: “I am thankful. For many
years I have not tasted bread which was made by a woman.” So he ate
some of the bread, whereupon they became husband and wife.

At the end of the first year the Hongak woman bore a son to Hagowanen,
and so she did every year until at last they had ten sons, whom they
named in their order from the eldest to the youngest, as follows: (a)
Tgwendahenh Niononeoden;[332] (b) Hononhwaes; (c) Haniodaqses; (d)
Hagondes; (e) Dahsihdes; (f) Dahsinongwadon; (g) Daheqdes; (h)
Oeqdowanen; (i) Donoengwenhden; and (j) Otʻhegwenhda.

They lived together for some time at Hetgen Tgastende, until one
morning when Hagowanen, who was sitting on a stone outside the lodge
with drooping head, said to himself: “Well, I have many children now. I
did not think that woman would have so many. I must go home again.” So
he rose, and going aboard his canoe, sailed away across Ganyodaeowanen
(“The Big Lake”). After a while his wife, missing him, said, “Where is
my husband?” She looked out and around everywhere but could not find
him. The eldest son was then a youth and the youngest a lively little
boy.

One day the eldest said, “I am going to look for my father, and see
where he is.” The mother rejoined, “You will get lost on the way.” “Oh,
no! I will not get lost,” he replied. At this the mother continued,
“Then you may go.” So he set out, traveling northward. While going
across a rocky place he found a trail. “This looks just like my
father’s trail,” said he, following it. Soon he came to a cross-trail,
and after examining it, he said: “I wonder where this path comes from
and where it goes. Well, when I return, I shall find out.” Not far from
the cross-trail he came to a lodge, and as the trail led up to it, he
entered. Looking around, he saw an old man in the southeast corner of
the room; another in the southwest; a third, in the northwest; and a
fourth, in the northeast. All sat smoking. The youth looked for his
father, saying, “He must be here somewhere.” The first old man, raising
his head, looked at him and asked: “Well, my grandson, what are you
doing here? Come this way, if you want to see your father. I will show
him to you; he is right here.” On the youth approaching, the old man
took him by the hair, and bending his head forward over a bark bowl,
cut it off, saying: “I am glad that a young game animal has come. It
must be good eating, as it is just the right age.” So saying, he began
to quarter the body.

After the people at Hetgen Tgastende had waited for some time without
tidings of the eldest brother, Hononhwaes, the second son of the Hongak
woman, said, “I want to follow my elder brother.” “Oh, my son!” said
the mother, “do not go away; something evil has befallen your brother.”
“I must go,” said the boy; “I can not resist the desire. I must see my
brother and father.” So he began to prepare for the journey, putting on
a hunting shirt, leggings, and moccasins of buckskin, and taking his
bow and arrows. His mother cried all the time, but she could not stop
him from going. He went northward, as his brother had done, going over
the same trail, until he arrived at the cross-trail and the lodge,
where he saw the four old men smoking in the four corners of the room.
He of the northwest corner spoke, saying, “My grandson, do you want to
see your father? Come here and you shall see him.” He went forward and,
looking into a large bark bowl half full of water, he saw the faces of
his father and brother. As he was gazing on them, the old man cut off
his head also, rejoicing as before.

Nine of the Hongak brothers went, one after another, in search of their
father and brothers, and all were killed by the four old men in the
same lodge. At last the tenth and youngest, Othegwenhda, who was still
small and young, said to his mother, “I should like to follow my
brothers.” “Oh, my son!” said the mother, “you must not go. There are
four brothers, old men, living on the road, who are called Hadiiades
(Blacksnakes). They have great magic power.” “But,” said he, “I must
go. I want to see my brothers very much.” “You will never see them,”
she replied. “They are dead.” “Well, can not I kill the old men?” he
said. “Maybe you can,” she replied, “if you take my orenda (magic
power) with you.” “Well, mother,” said Otʻhegwenhda, “give me your
magic power. I want to kill these men.” “I will go and bring my magic
power, my son,” said his mother. Thereupon the Hongak woman went
westward to a rough and rocky place, where she got a small figurine of
slate rock, about half the length of her little finger, with which she
returned to her home. When she had reached home the boy was ready to
start. He had armed himself with a bow of hickory and arrows of red
willow pointed with wasp stings. “Here,” said the mother, “I will tell
you what to do. Gird on a belt and put this fetish in it.” He placed
the fetish between his buckskin belt and his body. “You are now ready,”
said the mother. “Now you can do what you like. You can change yourself
to whatever form you please.”

Otʻhegwenhda, going northward as his brothers had done, found a fresh
trail looking as if made only a few minutes before. “This must be my
father’s trail,” thought he; “perhaps I will find him somewhere.” After
a while he came to the cross-trail running east and west; he stood
thinking whence it came and whither it led. “I will see,” said he.
Going toward the east, he soon reached a wide opening in the forest,
near the end of which was a cloud of dust moving in his direction. “I
will hurry back,” thought he, “or something may happen to me.” The
moment he turned back the great dust cloud approached very quickly, and
when it touched him, from weakness he fell to the ground. Soon after
this he heard a noise, and, looking up, saw a person with long legs,
rushing on toward him. Springing to his feet, the youth climbed a tree;
and then he shot his wasp-sting pointed arrows, thus killing the
stranger in the cloud of dust. This stranger was a Djieien (Spider).

Now Otʻhegwenhda went eastward again, and another cloud of dust rushed
against him, but he got outside of it, and after the cloud had passed,
he hastened westward to the point where the trails crossed. Thence,
going northward, he soon reached the lodge where the four old brothers,
Hadiiades (Blacksnakes), sat smoking. After standing outside a while,
he found a crack in the lodge; peeping in, he saw the four old men in
the four corners, at which he soliloquized: “I wonder whether these are
the men of whom my mother spoke. I will kill them if I can, and if I
can not, I will burn the lodge.” Taking out the fetish, he placed it on
his head, whereupon it stood up, and he said, “I am going to ask you a
question; I want you to tell me what to do; I want to kill these old
men.” The fetish answered: “If you want to kill them, you must get on
that high rock and call out, ‘I, Otʻhegwenhda, am on this high rock.’
You will find very sharp flint stones up there; take a handful of these
and throw them this way, saying, ‘I want it to be hot.’ This is your
only course to succeed.” As Otʻhegwenhda put back the fetish in his
belt, he heard the old men talking. “It seems Otʻhegwenhda is about
here,” said the old man in the northwest corner to the one in the
southeast. “Oh!” replied the other, “I thought you said all that family
were killed.” Then the old man in the southwest remarked, “It was my
opinion that one was left.” “Well, I think they are all gone except the
old woman Hongak,” said the old man in the northeast. “Well,” added the
old man in the northwest, “it seems to me that Otʻhegwenhda is lurking
around here somewhere.” “If you think so, you should look for him,”
replied the old man of the southwest. “Yes, I must look to see if I can
find him,” rejoined the man of the northwest. Otʻhegwenhda, leaping on
the lodge, sat with his feet hanging through the smoke-hole. The old
man looked everywhere but could not see him.

Otʻhegwenhda with his bow and arrows now shot down through the
smoke-hole at each of the four old men, the arrows piercing their
bodies deeply, but the old men were not hurt; they did not even know
that they were hit. Leaping off the lodge and landing about forty rods
away, Otʻhegwenhda went into the rock, whence he called out, “My name
is Otʻhegwenhda.” As he stood there a while one of the old men said:
“My back is sore. It feels as though my bones were broken.” Picking up
a handful of sharp fragments of flint, Otʻhegwenhda threw them at the
lodge, saying, “I want you to be red hot and burn up these old men and
their lodge.” The flint went straight to the lodge, a few pieces flying
beyond. Those that struck the lodge set it on fire, and those that fell
beyond set the forest on fire. Everything was blazing in and around the
lodge. Then the boy threw another handful of flints, saying, “I want
you to cut these old men’s heads off,” whereupon the flints pierced
their necks, causing their heads to fall off.

Otʻhegwenhda stood on the rock, watching the fire burn until nothing
but coals remained. Suddenly he heard an explosion—a Dagwanoenyent flew
toward him, knocking him off the rock; then rising high in the air, it
went straight west. Quickly springing to his feet and looking up, the
boy saw the Dagwanoenyent going higher and higher. Soon he heard a
crash as it struck the Blue (Sky),[333] after which it came rushing
down again, soon reaching the earth. Thereupon the youth crushed its
head with a white flint.

Otʻhegwenhda now searched all through the coals with a pointed stick,
but he found nothing but fire. At the northwestern corner of the burnt
heap he found a trail leading toward the northwest, and following this,
he came to an opening in the forest where he saw a cloud of dust
rushing toward him. Swerving aside into the woods, he peeped out from
some sheltering shrubbery; presently the cloud stopped at the edge of
the woods. Then he saw a Djieien (Spider) 6 feet tall. “Oh! I thought,”
said Djieien, “somebody was on the trail. It must be my master fooling
me. I thought he was here and had found some more of the Hongak
family.” The Djieien, turning back, ran as fast as he could,
Otʻhegwenhda following closely until Djieien reached the lodge, which
was slightly sunken into the ground. When the Djieien went into the
lodge Otʻhegwenhda listened outside. Soon he heard crying within and
thought that the sound resembled that of his father’s voice, and that
his father must be in there. Then he took out the fetish, which came to
life, and stood up; he asked of it, “How am I to kill the Djieien who
lives in here?” The fetish answered: “Go to that tree just west of
here, and climbing high upon it, call out, ‘I am Otʻhegwenhda, and more
powerful than anything under the Blue (Sky). I can kill any kind of
game (ganyo) on earth.’ When you have spoken, cut a limb from the tree
and throw it with the command to split the Spider’s heart in two (the
heart was in the ground under the lodge). When Djieien is killed, you
can come down and see your father before burning the lodge.”
Otʻhegwenhda did as directed by the fetish. He cut off a limb of the
tree, and spat on it; straightway it became alive, and he cast it
toward the lodge, saying, “Split Djieien’s heart in two.” The limb went
under the lodge to the place where the heart was hidden, and the
instant its heart was split Djieien stretched out, saying, “This is the
end of me,” and died. The boy heard the words and laughed. Then he
slipped down, and entering the lodge, said: “I must go in to see my
father. I heard him cry, so he must be inside.” So saying, he went in.
There Djieien lay dead in the middle of the room. Under the couch was
someone nearly dead. On raising the couch, he found his father in a
dying condition with the flesh gone from his legs and arms.
Otʻhegwenhda exclaimed, “Oh, my father! you must go home; my mother
wishes to see you.” Hagowanen whispered (he had lost his voice), “My
son, you will die if you come in here.” “Oh, no!” answered the boy;
“there is no danger now.” Putting the fetish on his hand, he asked it,
“What shall be done with my father?” The fetish answered: “He is only a
skeleton now. Spit on your hands and rub the spittle all over him, and
flesh shall come on his bones again.” Otʻhegwenhda did this, and his
father became as well as ever, whereupon he said: “Now, I have become
Sʻhodieonskon. I have heard old people say that when Sʻhodieonskon dies
he comes to life again immediately.” The boy laughed, and Hagowanen
added, “Let us go home.” “You go, but I must find my brothers,” replied
the youth.

When Hagowanen reached home, his wife, looking at him, began to cry:
“Oh! my dear son, I wish you were here. I think I have seen something
mysterious.” Hagowanen asked, “Why do you talk so?” She cried the more,
and he added: “Why do you cry? Are you sorry that I have returned?”
“No, but you are not alive,” she said. “Oh, yes! I am,” he replied.
“No; I can not believe that you are,” and, thinking he was a ghost, she
drove him out to the rocks, where he sat down.

After his father had gone Otʻhegwenhda burned Djieien’s lodge. When
nothing but coals were left, something shot up out of them, and flying
westward, it finally alighted on the plain, becoming a Dowisdowi
(Sandpiper). “That is the way I do, and that is why I claimed, ‘I can
kill anybody,’” said the boy. Going around the edge of the clearing on
the eastern side, he found a broad trail on which he traveled for half
a day, until he came to a cross-trail leading from north to south. He
stood at the four corners made by the trails, and putting the fetish on
his hand said, “You are the one I need.” “What do you wish?” asked the
fetish. “I wish you to tell me what I am to do now.” “If you go to the
foot of that pine tree,” answered the fetish, “you shall find a bark
bowl, beyond the tree a medicine spring, on the other side of the
spring, a plant. Dig up this plant, put it into the bowl, which you
shall fill with water from the spring, and then at this spot where the
trails intersect, dig a hole, and in it put the bowl with the plant
standing in the water. This done, step aside and see what will happen.
Now, be quick!” Hurrying to the pine tree which grew in the northwest
between the northern and western trails, Otʻhegwenhda found the spring,
and farther on, the plant awéaundagon (in full bloom), with bright red
blossoms. He did as directed, putting the bowl with the plant therein
in the ground at the crossing of the trails; then stepping aside, he
watched and listened. Presently he heard a noise in the forest like
that made by a heavy wind from the north. Nearer and nearer it came,
accompanied with a great cloud of dust. Nothing could be distinguished
until the cloud stopped at the crossing. Then, in the middle of the
cloud he saw the skeleton of Djainosgowa standing near the bowl. The
skeleton, walking up to the plant, ate one of its red blossoms. Though
it had no stomach, no place to hide the blossom, it nevertheless
vanished, at which the boy wondered greatly, saying: “It is nothing but
bones. Where does the food go?” Presently, the skeleton growing sick,
jumped around until it fell to pieces—arms, legs, head, ribs, all the
bones falling apart. Now Otʻhegwenhda laughed, standing in his hiding
place. But before he had stopped laughing he heard the rushing of
another wind from the south; after it came a cloud of dust, which
stopped at the crossing, and he saw the skeleton of Tsodiqgwadon near
the bowl. This also, going straight to the plant, ate a blossom. In a
moment it began to shake all over; soon it fell to pieces, becoming a
pile of bones. Soon the sound of a third wind was heard approaching
from the east with a great cloud of dust. This came rushing on until it
stopped at the crossing. In the middle of the cloud was the skeleton of
Ganiagwaihegowa, which ate a blossom, after doing which it began to
tremble and to become disjointed until, finally, it was a mere heap of
bones, like the other three.

Taking out the fetish again, Otʻhegwenhda asked it, “Is the work all
finished now?” “Yes,” said the fetish; “all the trails are clear. Now
you can go to the end of the southern trail. Perhaps you may find your
brother there. If you do, treat him as you did your father.”
Immediately he started toward the south. When he reached the end of the
trail, he could see nothing; but he searched until at last he found a
rock with an opening in it. Entering this opening, he went down into
the ground, looking around very closely. It was dark, and he thought,
“There may be more skeletons here, but I must go on.” At last he came
to a room. There was no fire in it; only plenty of light. He saw also
another room, on entering which he found three of his brothers—the
eldest and the two next to him. The eldest called out: “Oh, my brother!
are you here? You would better run away. The skeleton will come soon.”
“Oh! I will kill it,” he said. “My brother, I do not think you can live
if you stay here,” the elder brother continued. “I have come to take
you away,” answered Otʻhegwenhda. “We can not walk,” answered the three
brothers; “the skeleton has eaten our flesh.” On looking at them, he
saw that their limbs were bare bones. After he had rubbed them with his
spittle, they were covered with flesh as before, and his brothers were
well and strong again. Thereupon he said: “I want you to start home
now. I will go to find our other brothers.”

The three brothers now went home. When their mother saw them, she began
to cry, thinking they were ghosts, and, seizing a club, she drove them
out. They found their father, who was very glad to see them, and they
sat down on the rocks with him.

Otʻhegwenhda, now returning to the crossing, went along the eastern
trail to the end. There he saw nothing and wondered whence
Ganiagwaihegowa came. At last he noticed an opening in the ground, and,
entering it, he went down. It was very dark within. “There must be a
skeleton here,” thought he, looking around. Going farther, he came to a
room in which was abundant light from rotten wood all around. Farther
on he came to a second room, in which were three of his brothers too
weak to move, all their flesh having been eaten away. Having brought
flesh to their limbs by means of his spittle, he sent them home. Their
mother, thinking that they were ghosts, cried; then she drove them out
to the rocks, where they found their father and brothers.

Otʻhegwenhda now went along the northern trail until he came to a small
opening, where he stopped a moment. At this time a whirlwind came
straight upon him, causing him to run to the shelter of a great maple
tree near by. In a short time he heard the sound of a blow on the other
side of the tree. Looking toward the spot, he saw an Onwi (Winged
Snake) lying dead, for coming in the whirlwind, it had struck the tree
and in this way had been killed. The boy now went to the edge of the
opening, where he heard the noise caused by a second great whirlwind.
“I shall die this time surely,” thought he, as he saw a multitude of
winged snakes borne by the whirlwind. Again as he stood behind a tree,
they rushed far beyond. Thereupon he ran to the other side of the
opening. Presently the whirlwind of snakes [334] came back; this time
he lay down on the roots, on the opposite side of the tree, until the
snakes rushed by and far away. Now, putting the fetish on his hand, it
stood up alive; he asked, “What am I to do with these snakes that are
chasing me?” “Oh! make a large fire across their trail,” was the reply.
Gathering boughs and sticks into a great pile, he set fire to the
western end of it, saying to the wind, “Oh, my grandfather! send a
breeze on the western end of this pile.” His grandfather heard him, and
soon there was a mighty fire. When well kindled, he said, “Let the
breeze be still.” Immediately it died out. Very soon the snakes came on
again in the whirlwind, and rushing into the fire, every one was
killed.

Now free, Otʻhegwenhda hurried along the northern trail again until he
came to a second one leading toward the northeast. Once more taking out
the fetish, he asked, “Which way shall I go?” “North,” was the answer.
So he went on. Soon he saw a trail going toward the northwest, but he
kept straight on his own trail to the end. At first he saw nothing
there, but after a long search he found an opening near a birch tree
which stood at the end of the trail. On entering, he came to a room in
which an old man sat smoking. “What can that old man be doing,” thought
he. Presently the old man straightened up, saying: “I am weak this
morning. It seems to me somebody is around here. I thought the man who
guarded the opening said the Hongak family were all dead.” Raising his
head, the old man looked, and as he looked, his eyes seemed to stand
out from his head. At length he saw the boy, to whom he said: “My
nephew, I am glad you have come to visit me. I am going to try whether
I can find what luck (or orenda) you have. So saying, he shook a rattle
made of Dagwanoenyent, saying sáwa. “No,” said Otʻhegwenhda, “I will
try your orenda or magic power.” “Oh, no! I will try first,” said the
old man, whose name was Dewaqsentʻhwûs (Flea). Thereupon they disputed
until they came to blows. Throwing down the rattle, the old man struck
the boy with one hand. Immediately the old man’s arm fell off; he
struck with the other hand, whereupon the other arm fell off. Then he
kicked at the youth with one leg, and that broke off; he kicked with
the other leg, which likewise dropped off. The old man was now merely
head and body. The arms and the legs tried to get back into their
places, but Otʻhegwenhda rushed around to push them away, and shot an
arrow through the old man. Immediately the arrow, taking root, became a
small tree. Though fastened to the earth, the old man tried to bite
Otʻhegwenhda, but the moment he did so, his head flew off. The boy
pounded the body to bits. Jumping and dancing around, he said, “Oh! my
uncle is all in pieces.” In the old man’s lodge he found a second room,
in which were the last three of his brothers, who were as weak and
wretched as were the others. These he cured in like manner and sent
home. Their mother drove them out of the lodge, whence they went and
sat down on the rocks with their father and six brothers.

After his brothers had gone home Otʻhegwenhda, taking out the fetish,
asked it, “Is there anything on the northeastern trail?” “Not much.
Still you will save some people, if you go there,” was the reply. “Is
there trouble in the northwest?” the youth asked. “Yes; but not very
much,” was the answer. Keeping on to the end of the northwestern trail,
Otʻhegwenhda found a lodge without a door, at which he thought, “How
can I get into this lodge?” Peeping through a crack, he saw within an
old woman of the Onweaunt people, who was singing, “Otʻhegwenhda is
coming, Otʻhegwenhda is coming.” “Well, she knows I am here,” thought
the boy. Presently, saying, “I will go out and play,” she went into a
small but very deep lake, called Dyunyudenodes, also
Dedyoendjongoqden,[335] going way down into the water. After a while
her tail appeared moving around in a circle on the water. As the lake
was very small she was near the shore. The boy saw on the tail two
small objects like fins, which in rubbing against each other made
music. After the old woman had played a while, she started to come out.
Seeing the boy, she said, “My grandson, do not kill me; I never killed
any of your people.” “If you give me something, I won’t kill you,”
answered the boy. “Well, I will give you one of these points on my
tail;” and taking off one, she said, “Keep this; it is good to find out
your luck with.” “What shall I do when I want to use it?” asked the
youth. “Put it under your head when you go to sleep; you will have a
dream, and the dream will tell you what you want to know,” she replied.

Now the boy went home with the old woman. On entering her lodge and
looking around, he saw an opening in the ground; going through this, he
found a great many people almost dead. To these he said, “My friends, I
have come to help you, so you may live a little longer.” Having spat on
his hands, he rubbed each one of them, whereupon all were well
straightway, and went out into the open air. He asked all where they
came from and told them what direction to take to go home. One said, “I
came from Hetgen Tgastende.” There were ten with him; they were
Donyonda people. “Go toward the southwest for five days,” the youth
told him. Another said, “We came from Gawenogowanenne.” “Go westward
five days’ journey,” he ordered. Twenty followed him; they were Teqdoon
people. A third person said, “We came from Dyoenhdanódes;” these were
Díhdih people.[336] “Go toward the northeast,” he directed them. A
fourth person said, “We live in Dyonondadenyon;337 our chief’s name is
Honigonowanen.” These were Djoqgweani338 people. Otʻhegwenhda said: “I
must go to pay you a visit. You have twenty days’ journey before you.”

All went home. When they were gone, Otʻhegwenhda went back to the old
woman, whom he asked, “Why did you shut up these people?” “I did not
shut them up,” she replied. “Well, they were in your lodge,” he
continued. “Yes, but my husband, who is a man-eater, did it,” she
responded. “Does he live here? What is his name?” he asked. “He lives
on another trail,” she replied; “his name is Dewaqsentʻhwûs (the
Weeper, or Flea).” The boy, laughing, asked, “Was that old man your
husband? Oh! I killed him some time ago.” “Are you sure?” “Yes,” he
said. “Well, then I am glad. I never liked him. Your people are safe
now, for you killed the man who always hunted them.” The boy said, “I
will let you live this time, but I will kill you if you ever chase my
people.”

Otʻhegwenhda now went on the northeastern trail until he came to a
lodge in which he heard singing in a very low voice: “The youngest son
of Hongak is going all over the world. We wish he would come to visit
us.” Then the song ceased, and a woman’s voice said, “I feel worse this
morning.” “Let us go out and play and feel well,” answered the man’s
voice. Coming out, with the boy following them, they went to some white
flints as large as a lodge. Picking up one of these stones, the woman
threw it into the air. It fell on her head but did not hurt her a bit.
Then she threw it to the man who, having caught it, threw it back. Thus
they played some time until the woman said, “Let us go home.” “Very
well,” answered the man. Otʻhegwenhda hurried on before them. After
they had entered the lodge, the man said: “It seems as though some one
were here. I will go and look outside.” On going out and finding the
boy, he said, “My grandson, what are you doing here?” The youth
replied, “I have come just to visit you.” “Come inside then,” was the
response. “Otʻhegwenhda has come,” said the man to his wife, who
turned, saying: “My grandson, I am glad you have come. We have been
waiting for a long time to see you. Now we will tell you why we wish
you to be powerful. We know that you have killed the man-eater,
Dewaqsentʻhwûs, and the skeletons of Tsodiqgwadon and Ganiagwaihegowa.
There are many people under our lodge and we want you to free them.” At
one corner of the room was an opening through which the boy passed into
a second very large room, in which he found a multitude of people
without flesh and almost dead. He rubbed them with spittle, thus curing
them, after which he brought them out. “Now,” said he, “you are all
free and need have no further fear, for the evil people are all dead.”
He then asked all where they came from. One party, the Djoñiaik people,
said they came from Diogegas he Tgawenonde (Hickory Point). “You go
southward fifty days,” he told them; and they went. The second party,
the Gaisgense people, said they came from Gendowane (Great Meadow).
“You go toward the southeast,” he told them. A third party, the Djagwiu
people, said they came from Gahadowane (Great Forest). “You go toward
the southeast,” he told them. A fourth party, the Ogenhwan people, said
they came from Diodonhwendjíagon (Broken Land). A fifth party, the
Gwaqgwa people, said they came from Hehdon dyóondaien (Juneberry Tree
Grove). “Go directly westward a day and a half,” was the command. A
sixth party, the Guro [339] people, said that they came from
Nitgendasédyea (Beyond the Narrow Opening). “You travel toward the
south five days’ journey,” he said. Three were left who did not
remember at first where they came from. Then they said, “We think that
the old people called the place we came from Steep Opening.” “Then you
go northeastward,” said the youth. Otʻhegwenhda was left there alone.
The man and woman who had been guarding the people just liberated now
thanked him; they, too, were then free from Dewaqsentʻhwûs, the
man-eater, who, being master of the skeletons, had forced them all to
work for him in capturing and confining people for him to eat. “Now,”
said Otʻhegwenhda, “let all the trails disappear. Trails are not to be
made across the world to deceive people.” Thereupon the trails all
vanished.

Then the youth went to his own lodge, where he found his father and his
nine brothers, sitting on a great flat stone. “Oh!” said the youth,
“why do you not go inside where my mother is?” Hagowanen answered,
“Your mother drove us out.” Otʻhegwenhda, going into the lodge, asked:
“Mother, what have you done? Are you not glad that I brought my father
and brothers back?” “Did you find and bring them home?” asked his
mother. “Yes, I did,” he replied. Then the woman was sorry. She invited
them in, and they came into the lodge and all were happy. After he had
been home a while Otʻhegwenhda said to his family: “I must visit my
friends, the Djoqgweani in Dionondadenion. It is not far from here,” he
said. They had to let him go and do what he liked, for he possessed the
most potent orenda.

Otʻhegwenhda soon came to a lake called Onyudetdji (Rough Lake).
Putting on the water a piece of slate, he said, “I want you to take me
across.” Sitting upon the slate, it carried him quickly over the water
to the other side, where he left it, saying: “Wait here until I return.
Then I shall need your help again.” Soon reaching Dionondadenion, a
beautiful country, he inquired until he found the chief’s lodge. When
he entered he saw an old man, to whom he said: “I have come to see
you.” The old man was silent. The youth spoke again, but received no
answer. “Why do you not speak?” thought he. A third time he spoke,
whereupon the old man replied, “Why do you not hurry and eat up all my
people?” “I have never killed any of your people. I have saved many of
them from Dewaqsentʻhwûs, and I thought you would be glad,” said the
youth. “Well, there is a man around here eating up all my people. He
looks like you, though he is an old man.” “I came to help you,” said
Otʻhegwenhda, “and I will kill this man.” “Well, he is coming now,”
said Honigoneowanen. Presently a man kicked the door open and came in,
saying, “I have come to see you a few moments.” His mouth was smeared
with fresh blood. Otʻhegwenhda, standing up, said: “I have come to
fight with you. You will have to conquer me before you kill these
people.” “Very well,” said the man-eater, whose name was
Djiniondaqses;[340] “come out.” Thereupon they went out, and they
fought until night; then until dawn. Next morning Otʻhegwenhda was
nothing but bones, while the man-eater, too, had lost all his flesh.
The two skeletons fought all that day, and when night came, their
bodies were broken up, nothing being left but the two skulls. The
skulls fought all night, and when daylight came the skull of
Djiniondaqses was crushed to pieces. The skull of Otʻhegwenhda was
sound, and it kept on rolling over the ground where he had fought. As
it rolled around, the bones of his body began to reattach themselves to
it, and soon the skeleton was complete. Then the skeleton rolled in the
blood and flesh where he had fought, and straightway the flesh and
blood grew to it, until at last Otʻhegwenhda stood up sound and well as
ever.

When Otʻhegwenhda went into the chief’s lodge, Honigoneowanen said: “I
am very glad and thank you. I will now give you my daughter, and when
you are old enough, you shall marry her.” Otʻhegwenhda took the chief’s
daughter to Hetgen Tgastende and they lived there.





70. OKTEONDON AND HAIEÑTʻHWUS [341] (THE PLANTERS)

Okteondon was a youth who lived with his maternal uncle, Haieñtʻhwus,
in an arborlike lodge in the forest. From his earliest babyhood
Okteondon lay carefully hidden from the eyes of the people, having been
for this purpose securely fastened under the roots of a large tree,
around which his uncle had erected his lodge.[341a] Okteondon had now
reached the age of puberty.

One day while Haieñtʻhwus was in the neighboring field planting corn,
he heard his nephew singing in a loud voice: “Now, I am rising. Now, I
am rising.” Dropping his planting-stick and shouting, “No, my nephew,
you are not ready yet; you are in too great a hurry,” Haieñtʻhwus ran
home, where he found that Okteondon had raised his head by partially
uprooting and overturning the sheltering tree. Haieñtʻhwus therefore
pushed him back into his place, admonishing him, “I will tell you when
it is time for you to arise.”

The next day Haieñtʻhwus again went out to plant corn. He had hardly
reached the field when he heard once more his nephew begin to sing and
to strive to arise. Haieñtʻhwus at once started for the lodge, running
with so much haste that he lost on the way all his seed corn from his
seeding basket. When he reached home he found the tree half uprooted
and leaning far over to one side. So he pushed his nephew back into his
place, but he was unable to reset the tree as firmly or as nearly
upright as it was before.

On the third day Haieñtʻhwus again went out to finish his corn
planting, but the moment that he began to drop the grains of corn he
heard still again the singing of his nephew. So Haieñtʻhwus without
delay rushed back to the lodge, but while running he heard an awful
crash and crackling of limbs, from which he knew that the tree had
fallen. When he reached the lodge he found Okteondon sitting on the
ground. Haieñtʻhwus did not return to the field to complete his corn
planting, but remained in his home to look after his nephew and to make
the necessary preparations for the coming marriage of the young man.

Early the next morning they heard sounds outside the lodge, and shortly
afterward a woman and a beautiful younger woman, who were
Wadiʻoniondies, entered the lodge. One of the women, addressing
Okteondon, said, “I have come purposely to take you home with me.” “It
is well. I consent,” answered the youth, who started at once to cross
the lodge to accompany her and her companion. But Haieñtʻhwus stopped
him with the remark: “You must not go yet. You have friends who are
coming to escort you, and must wait for them.” Then “The Planter”
hastened to prepare some food to eat, and for this purpose placed a
large kettle of hominy over the fire. About the time that the hominy
was ready three young men came into the lodge, who were invited by
Haieñtʻhwus to eat. When Okteondon, the young men, and Haieñtʻhwus had
eaten the boiled hominy, the old man began to pack some garments in a
small bundle. When he had finished his parcel, he said to his nephew,
“When any one of your friends is in need of things such as these you
will find them in this parcel.”

Then Okteondon, after putting on his snowshoes, instructed his friends,
saying: “You must follow me, and in doing so you must step in my
tracks;” then he started. The three young men in stepping in his tracks
found that it was like walking on solid ground, although the earth was
covered deep with snow. Toward evening they came to a place where they
saw smoke floating like clouds among the trees. When they drew near to
an opening they saw a number of fires, around which were four young
women. Thereupon Okteondon, addressing his companions, said: “We will
stop here and kindle our fires near these women.” When their fires were
burning briskly Okteondon, going up to the four young women, who had
kettles of hominy boiling over their fires, overturned the kettles and
scattered the fires with his feet. This greatly angered the women
except the last, who was the youngest. After doing this Okteondon
returned to his friends, and remarking that he was going out to hunt
for fresh meat, started off into the forest. He had not gone far when
he came to a tree on which he saw marks made by the claws of a bear.
Walking up to the tree he exclaimed: “Thou who art in this tree, come
forth.” In a moment a bear came forth, which he killed; after dressing
it he brought the meat to the camp. Then he said, “I am going to fetch
my uncle’s kettle,” and passing around a big tree standing near the
camp, he returned with a large kettle. In this kettle they placed the
meat to cook over their fire. When the meat was cooked they sat down
and ate it. After they were through eating Okteondon said: “Let us now
go to our wives. I wish you to follow my advice, too. Take none of this
meat to your wives, for if you do we shall have bad luck. Some
misfortune will befall us.” When they reached the camp of the young
women they found that the latter had hominy cooked and were cooling it.
They sat with their backs turned toward the men. The youngest sister,
whom Okteondon claimed as his wife, asked him to come over and eat with
her. The others said nothing. Okteondon ate, but the other men did not.
That night they slept with the women. Hotʻhoh,[342] one of the three
men who accompanied Okteondon, was naked. He had a hole slit through
the skin of his hip, in which he carried his war club. He chose the
eldest of the Wadiʻoniondies342a sisters, and Okteondon the youngest.
The women kept their canoe near the four fires, and when they undressed
they placed their outdoor garments in the canoe. The next morning the
men returned to their fires. One of the men, however, had lost his
leggings and his moccasins, for the woman with whom he had slept had
robbed him of them. The sisters warmed up the cold hominy for their
breakfast, and after eating it went aboard their canoes and sailed away
through the air, leaving a trail343 therein.

In the camp of the men Okteondon opened his pouch and, taking therefrom
a pair of leggings and a pair of moccasins, he gave them to the man who
had been robbed of his own. When the men had prepared and eaten their
breakfast, and had made the necessary provision for their journey, they
started off, following the trail of the canoe of the women, which was
plainly visible in the air. Toward evening they again saw smoke in the
distance ahead. When yet some distance from it Okteondon said: “We will
encamp here.” Again going over to the camp of the women, he walked
through their fires and upset the kettles of hominy. Then returning to
his own camp, he went out to hunt, in order to get meat for the supper
of his friends. But he had to go a long distance before finding any
game, for the woman who stole the foolish man’s leggings had stretched
them out over the country, her very long arms describing an imaginary
circle with them, at the same time telling the game animals included
therein to go outside of this circle. So Okteondon had to do likewise
before he could find a bear. Finally he killed one, the carcass of
which he brought into camp. When he returned to camp he upbraided his
three companions with the words: “You have been the cause of my being
tired by your folly. You know that I forbade you taking anything to the
women, even a small portion of meat. But you failed to obey my advice,
and I have now experienced some of the effects.” Procuring a kettle in
the same way as he had done before, Okteondon then proceeded to cook
the bear’s flesh. When it was done he and his companions ate their
evening meal. After they were through eating they went over to the camp
of the women, where they found them sitting each with a bark dish of
hot hominy on her knees, which she was cooling. They sat with their
faces turned toward home and with their backs toward the camp of the
men. The youngest of the sisters asked Okteondon to eat with her.
Later, separating into pairs, they all went to bed together. As the
night passed Okteondon grew angrier and angrier, and so he lay awake.
At last, when he thought that all were asleep, he said, addressing a
tall tree standing near the canoe which contained the clothes of the
women: “I want you, Tree, to bend down to me.” Thereupon the tree bent
down to him and Okteondon placed the canoe among its topmost branches.
Then he said, “Now I want you to stand upright again,” and the Tree
again resumed its erect position. He immediately added, “I desire you,
Tree, to be covered with ice,” and it soon so happened. Okteondon did
this because he was angered by the action of the women in driving the
game away, thus causing him to go so far to hunt to find the bear he
had killed, and in having stolen the leggings and moccasins of one of
his companions.

Early the next morning Okteondon and his companions returned to their
camp fires. When the women arose they could not find the canoe in which
their outdoor garments were kept. So they had to run around from place
to place naked, trying in vain to find them. At last they discovered
the canoe in the top of the tree; whereupon the eldest of the sisters
said, “I will try to get it down.” Moistening both her hands and feet
with saliva, which she rubbed thoroughly into them, the nails on her
fingers and toes presently grew long and powerful, resembling the claws
of a bear. Then the woman began to climb the tree. She succeeded in
getting halfway up the icy trunk when, losing her grip, she slid down,
her powerful nails tearing the ice as she slipped, until she struck the
ground in a sitting posture. She made several attempts to reach the
canoe but each time failed. All the sisters talked together over the
situation, finally deciding that no one but Okteondon had played them
this mean trick. When they asked him about it, he replied, “I put your
canoe on the tree top because you insulted me and so made me angry.”
The women all promised that they would not do such things again if he
would get the canoe for them. So, relenting, Okteondon asked the Tree
to bend down a second time. As the top reached the ground, Okteondon
took the canoe therefrom, which he gave back to the women. They were
then able to dress themselves. After doing so, they took their food out
of the canoe, and, having cooked and eaten their morning meal, they
continued their journey homeward in the canoe. Shortly the four men
followed them, keeping the trail all day.

Toward evening the men noticed before them smoke in the distance. When
they drew near it they saw that it arose from the middle of a great
lake covered with smooth ice. The four sisters were encamped in the
middle of this lake, and Okteondon told his friends that he would make
ready to camp on the ice, too. Gathering a handful of dry leaves and
hemlock boughs, he said to his companions: “Be cautious and follow my
steps. Be sure that each of you step exactly in my tracks.” When near
the camp of the women Okteondon remarked, “We will camp here.” Laying
down his handful of wood, it at once increased in size, becoming a
great pile, whereupon he said, “I want a fire to be here”; and there
was there immediately a fire. Then he scattered the handful of hemlock
boughs on one side of the fire, saying, “In this place shall be our
lodge and beds,” and straightway there was a lodge, and within were
beds for every one present.

Now, the home of the sisters was on the shore of this lake, but they
had camped in the middle of its waters in order to see how the four men
would act and to ascertain what orenda they had.

Early in the night the women came to the camp of the men but did not
sleep with them, returning to their own camp instead. In the morning
the women went to their home on the shore of the lake. When they
arrived there their mother asked them, “What husband has the most
orenda?” They answered unanimously, “Okteondon.” When the men awoke in
the morning they saw the shore of the lake lined with great crowds of
people, who were expecting the return of the women with their husbands.
When ready to start, Okteondon said to the three men, “We will now go
to the women, but you must be very cautious and must not look up at the
people.” Then the four men started from their camp on the ice for the
shore. When they had gone but a short distance, three of them heard a
voice singing, Gwăʼʹ wăʼonĕñioñʹdĭʼ, which means, “Lo! It is raining
bones.” These words were heard a second time, sounding nearer; then
suddenly the men heard a swift rushing sound, and a mass of dry bones
swept rustling past them on the ice.[344] Okteondon steadied his
remaining friends with the curt remark, “One of us has looked up.” At
that moment all the people on the shore suddenly disappeared, with the
exception of the old woman [Kahenchitahonk], a noted witch, the mother
of the girls who were bringing home their husbands. She walked back and
forth along the shore, singing: “Okteondon is my son-in-law. Okteondon
is my son-in-law.” When Okteondon and his two remaining companions
reached the shore, the old woman, after inviting the men to follow her,
started for her home. Having arrived there, she said, “I am going to
see whether my daughters have prepared something to eat; so you wait
here until I return.” Now the lodge of the old woman was built of ice.
So while she was away, Okteondon, taking a small bundle of sticks,
said, “Let these burn!” Straightway the pile of sticks became large and
took fire, burning so briskly as to give out great heat. Then Okteondon
said to the two men: “The old woman will bring food for us to eat, but
you two must not eat it. I alone will eat it, for it will not hurt me.”
So saying, he made a hole through the ice into which he thrust a reed.
In a short time the old woman returned, saying: “Son-in-law, I have
brought you a small quantity of something to eat. It is the custom, you
know, to eat only a little after a long journey.” Taking the bark bowl,
Okteondon ate all the food, which ran through the reed into the ground.
This food was hominy (snow) and bloodsuckers (clouds). In a short time
the old woman returned with another bowl, saying: “I have brought more
for you to eat. This is hominy cooked with maple sugar” (it was wild
flint that floats on water). Now the lodge of the old woman was
becoming full of holes from the heat of the fire, whereupon she
exclaimed, “Whuʼ! My son-in-law has spoiled my lodge. Let us go to the
lodge of my daughter.” Going thither, they found something good to eat
(i.e., food which was not the product of the arts of sorcery).

In the night when all had retired the wife of Okteondon told him in
confidence: “My mother will try to kill you (by testing your orenda).
She does not care much about the other two men, for she knows just what
powers of orenda they have, and that she can take their lives whenever
she wishes to do so.” So toward evening of the next day the old woman,
Kahenchitahonk, said: “Whuʼ! I think that it is going to be terribly
cold tonight. I will get some large logs to make a fire to warm my back
during the night.” So bringing great logs into the lodge from the
woods, she made a hot fire. The wife of Okteondon said to her husband:
“My mother will say tonight, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law must go to
hunt to kill the Sʻhadahgeah, and that he must return to this lodge
before the door-flap, which he swings shut behind him in going out,
stops swinging, because if these things are not performed something
direful will happen.’” There were then only two men besides Okteondon
in the lodge, for the third companion of Okteondon, Hoisʻheqtoni,[345]
had been turned into bones on the lake by the collapsing of the power
of his orenda. In the middle of the night the old woman,
Kahenchitahonk, began to groan horribly and to writhe and toss in her
sleep. Finally she rolled out of her bed into the fire with such force
that she scattered the firebrands and coals about the lodge. Quickly
rising from his bed, Okteondon struck his mother-in-law on the head
with the corn-pounder, to awaken her, calling out, “Well,
mother-in-law, what are you doing, and what is your trouble?” Thereupon
the old woman, sitting up, said: “Oh! I have just had a dream. I
dreamed that you, my son-in-law, must kill Sʻhadahgeah346 tomorrow and
bring his body in here, before the door-flap, which you will swing shut
behind you in going out, stops swinging, because if these things are
not performed something direful will happen.” “Oh, mother-in-law! Go to
sleep now; we will attend to this matter in the morning,” answered
Okteondon. So Kahenchitahonk lay down again and slept.

The next morning Okteondon was ready to perform his task. Taking hairs
from his wife’s head, he tied them end to end, making a cord long
enough for his purpose; then tying one end of this cord to the
door-flap, he gave the other end of it to his wife, bidding her to pull
the door-flap to and fro, so as to keep it swinging, until he came back
from shooting Sʻhadahgeah. Okteondon then started out to hunt for his
victim, but he had not gone far from the lodge before he saw
Sʻhadahgeah perched on a cloud. He let fly one of his arrows, which
kept its course until it struck the bird. When Sʻhadahgeah fell to the
ground Okteondon picked it up and carried it back to the lodge.

Now when the old witch saw that the door-flap did not stop swinging,
she was very angry. She pushed it to, but unknown to her the daughter
kept it swinging to and fro. At this time Okteondon, striding in, threw
the bird on the ground, saying, “There! you have him for your ‘eat-all’
feast (gaqsahon).” “Oh, son-in-law!” said the old woman; “you must give
me one of the wings for a fan; my old one is now worn out.” “Oh no!”
said Okteondon; “you can not have it,” and he threw the bird on the
fire to remove its feathers. Then Hotʻhoh, Okteondon’s friend, placed a
kettle of water over the fire. When the feathers were burned off
Sʻhadahgeah, Okteondon, after cutting up its body, put all the pieces
into the kettle. When it was cooked, he took out the flesh and skimmed
off every drop of fat from the soup. “Now,” said the old woman, “you
must invite all the men of distinction in the village.” “I will invite
whom I please,” said Okteondon, “and do just as I like.” Going out of
doors, he shouted, “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to an ‘eat-all’
(gaqsahon) feast.” Soon they began to come one after another. When all
were present, Okteondon said: “I have invited you to a feast in which
everything must be consumed. You must eat the meat, drink the soup,
chew the bones and swallow them.” So they began to eat, and soon they
had devoured everything, leaving not a drop of grease or fat, nor a bit
of bone; then the Dagwanoenyents laughed, feeling good when they had
finished their task. They boisterously exclaimed, “It made a fine meal;
it was her late husband’s flesh.”

Kahenchitahonk, the great witch, notorious and cruel, was now
ferociously angry. Seizing the wooden pestle, or corn-pounder, she
struck the Dagwanoenyents with it, whereupon they fled at once from the
lodge, some going out of the smoke-hole, some through the doorway, and
others in their great haste making large rents in the walls of the
lodge, through which they escaped. When she had driven them all out of
the lodge, she said: “I think the coming night will be very cold; so I
must fetch wood for the fire.” Bringing much wood, she then made a
great fire, saying, “Now, I will be able to warm my back”; then she
went to sleep with her back to the fire. The wife of Okteondon said to
him: “My mother will dream again tonight and will exclaim, ‘I dreamed
that my son-in-law killed the White Beaver and brought it here before
the door-flap, which he will fling back in going out, stopped swinging,
and that if he does not return before the door-flap stops swinging,
something direful will happen to us.’” Late in the night all over the
lodge they heard the old woman groaning, and rolling and tossing about;
finally she fell into the fire, scattering the coals around the lodge.
Jumping up and seizing the corn-pounder, Okteondon struck the old woman
on the head to awaken her, saying to her, “You must be dreaming about
me, mother-in-law?” “Oh, yes! I am dreaming about you,” she muttered in
reply. “You dream about no one else, I think,” said Okteondon. “Well,”
she said, “I do dream about you, for I fear something may happen, but
you are powerful through your orenda (magic power). I will tell you
what the dream said to me; it said that my son-in-law must kill the
White Beaver, and that if the door-flap which he flings back in going
out stops swinging before he returns with the dead Beaver, something
direful will happen.” “Oh, mother-in-law! go back to sleep; that is a
small matter, nothing,” said Okteondon.

Early in the morning Okteondon fastened the string made from his wife’s
hair to the door-flap, as he had done in the former ordeal, and bade
his wife thereby keep it swinging to and fro while he was gone, as she
had done before. Then he went out, flinging the door-flap back as he
passed through. Then, running to a knoll on which stood a butternut
tree, and taking a nut from it, he hurried to a neighboring lake, where
he cast the nut into the water, shouting a challenge, “You who live in
this lake come forth.” At once the water, rising, rushed toward him,
following him until it reached the knoll, where it stopped. Okteondon
saw the White Beaver looking out over the water, and, taking an arrow
from his quiver and drawing his bow, shot the White Beaver, killing it.
Seizing its body, he hurried home with it. When he reached the doorway
he found the old woman trying to hold the flap to prevent it from
swinging to and fro and uttering words charged with her orenda to
accomplish her purpose. When Okteondon threw White Beaver into the
lodge the old woman said: “Oh, son-in-law! you are to make me a pouch
of the skin of White Beaver.” “Oh, no! I will do what I like with it,”
he replied, casting it on the fire to singe off the hair. Putting a
kettle over the fire, Hotʻhoh soon had water boiling. Then the body of
White Beaver having been cut up, the pieces were placed in the kettle
to cook. Thereupon Okteondon’s mother-in-law said to him: “Oh,
son-in-law! I want you to invite all the men of importance of this
place to the feast.” Okteondon answered: “Oh, no! I will invite only
such persons as I choose.” When the flesh of White Beaver was cooked
Okteondon removed the pieces from the kettle to cool; then he went out
of the lodge, calling aloud: “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to come
to a feast of ‘eat-all’ (gaqsahon).” Soon they came crowding into the
lodge, as they had at the first feast, and Okteondon said: “You must
eat up everything to the very last bit. Here are the meat, the soup,
and the bones; you must eat all and even lick the bowls.” So they began
to eat; they ate the meat, drank the oily broth, and the crunching of
bones could be heard as they devoured them. Lastly they licked the bark
bowls. When they had finished their task they were satisfied and began
to laugh: “Hi, hi, hi! That was good meat, the old woman’s brother.”
The old woman was very angry and, taking up the corn-pounder, attacked
them, driving them from the lodge.

After the feast was over, the wife of Okteondon told him that the next
trial was one among all others the most severe and exacting. She said
to him: “My mother will say tonight, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law was
killed and skinned, and that I made a pouch of his skin.’ I do hope you
can survive this ordeal.” In reply Okteondon said, “When she kills and
skins me and places my flesh in a bark bowl, you must set the bowl on
the top of the lodge.” Toward evening Kahenchitahonk, the old witch,
muttered, “The sky is clear, so we shall have a very cold night, and I
must get logs to make a big fire.” At night she made a great fire in
the lodge, and after all had retired she began to moan and toss in her
sleep; finally she rolled into the fire, scattering the firebrands
around the room. Quickly rising and seizing the corn-pounder, Okteondon
struck her on the head, saying: “Oh, mother-in-law! What is the matter?
What are you doing? What are you dreaming about?” She replied, “I
dreamed that I killed you and made a pouch of your skin.” Okteondon
replied, “Oh! go to sleep now; we will see to that in the morning.” So
the next morning Okteondon said, “Now, mother-in-law, I am ready.”
Thereupon the great witch laid on the ground a piece of bark
sufficiently large for the purpose, telling Okteondon to lie down upon
it. When he did so, she knocked him on the head with a club, killing
him. Then she carefully flayed him,[347] removing the skin with the
hands and feet attached to it. Afterward she placed all the flesh in a
large bark bowl. As soon as the wife of Okteondon saw her put the last
piece into the bowl, she placed the bowl on the top of the lodge. Then
the old woman next cheerfully sewed up the skin in the form of a pouch,
which she distended by blowing into it. This done, she hung it over the
flames, poking the fire to make it blaze. As the pouch swayed to and
fro over the fire, the old woman gleefully began to sing, “Oh! what a
nice pouch have I; no one living has such a pouch.” Every time she
poked the fire the pouch swayed more quickly to and fro, until at last
it began to sing, “Oh! were the wind only out of me.” The old woman
kept on stirring the fire while the pouch swayed to and fro faster and
faster. “Oh, what a beautiful pouch have I,” said she; “it even sings.”
After a while the pouch made a noise, and with a bhu! went flying up
through the smoke-hole. As it flew out, the old woman cried, “Oh! I
have lost my pouch; it has run away from me.” She hurried to the
doorway, and in going out she met her son-in-law coming in alive and
well.

It was now Okteondon’s turn. That night he had a dream, groaning and
rolling around until his mother-in-law, arising, struck him on the head
with the corn-pounder, saying: “Wake up! What is the matter? Are you
dreaming?” “Oh! I had a dream,” said he. “Well, what was it?” said the
old woman. “I dreamed,” he told her, “that I must hunt and kill the
great Ganiagwaihe and give a feast. I will invite all the people in the
village.” The next morning Okteondon killed the Ganiagwaihe, and having
brought it into the lodge, singed it and cut it up while Hotʻhoh set a
kettle of water over the fire. When the flesh of Ganiagwaihe was
cooked, Okteondon said to his mother-in-law, “Go and invite all to
come.” So going out, she invited all those personages whom she herself
liked. While she was gone, Okteondon said to his wife and his two
friends who had accompanied him from his uncle’s home, “You must get
out of this lodge at once”; so they fled from it. Then all the newly
invited guests entered—the old woman, her other two daughters, and the
people of the place. Addressing them, Okteondon said: “Here is the
flesh, the fat, and the bones. Eat all up clean; I leave all to you.”
One of the chiefs said to the people, “We have now all eaten.” Passing
out of the lodge, Okteondon ran around it, singing, “Let this lodge
become stone and the ground under it stone, so that the greatest witch
can not get out of it, and then let it become red-hot.” So while the
people were inside the lodge eating and drinking and saying, “Hoho!
this is a grand feast,” the building began to grow hotter and hotter,
until finally it became red-hot. Some one on the inside exclaimed so
loud that he was heard without, “Let us get out of here as fast as we
can; something is wrong!” They tried to do so, but they could not get
out. One leaped up to the spot where the smoke-hole had been, but those
outside heard him knock his head against the solid stone roof and fall
back. Soon another said, “I will go out through the ground.” After a
while the sound of the voices and the screaming inside began to die
away, and all was quiet. Then the lodge of stone burst, falling to
pieces, and the heads of the people inside burst, one after another,
and out of them sprang screech owls, horned owls, common owls, and gray
and red foxes, which rushed away, out of sight. The people invited to
the feast were all Oñʹgweʻ hĕñʹneks goñʹneks-kho.[348] The sisters
sailing in the canoe deceived men all over the country, luring them to
this village to be devoured by the inhabitants. All except the wife of
Okteondon were thus burned up with the old woman.

When all was over, Okteondon and his wife and his two friends went to
the shore of the lake, where they found a large heap of bones of men.
These they gathered into some order near a large hickory tree,
whereupon they pushed the tree over toward the bones, saying, “Rise,
friends, or the tree will fall on you!” At this warning, and by the
great orenda (magic power) of Okteondon, all the bones sprang up living
men. “Now,” said Okteondon to them, “You have come to life, friends,
and you can now go to your homes.” [349] At this they departed.

“We will go home, too,” said Okteondon to his wife and two friends; so
they went to the lodge of his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus. When Okteondon left
his home his uncle hung up in a corner of the lodge a wampum belt, with
the remark, “The deeper you are in trouble, the nearer will this belt
come to the ground, and if you die, it will touch the ground.” Of
course it had been low and had even touched the ground; hence the old
uncle had concluded that his nephew was dead and had mourned for him.
But at this time the belt was again hanging high. While the nephew was
absent many persons had come, pretending to be Okteondon, in order to
deceive the old man; so now when the real nephew asked him to open the
door-flap he would not believe his ears, but said, “Put your arm
through the hole in the door.” Okteondon did so, whereupon the old man
tied it, saying, “Now, I have you,” unfastening the door-flap so he
could strike. But seeing Okteondon and his wife and his two friends, he
exclaimed with delight, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment, until I clean up
somewhat inside.” Saying this, he went inside and pushed away the ashes
and dirt. (End.)





71. OKTEONDON AND HAIEÑTʻHWUS—II

(Another version of the first part of the legend)

Okteondon lived with his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus, in the forest. Beside his
uncle’s lodge stood a large, tall elm tree. Okteondon, the nephew,
always remained at the foot of this tree, and finally its roots grew
over and around his body, thus binding it firmly to the ground.

Now Haieñtʻhwus, being very fond of his nephew, always brought him
everything that he liked to eat and drink—roasted venison, boiled
squashes, dried berries, broiled fish, and all kinds of shellfish. The
first thing that Haieñtʻhwus did in the morning was to put corn into a
wooden mortar for the purpose of making cornmeal for boiled cornbread;
then with a wooden pestle he struck it a single blow, which crushed the
corn to fine meal. The people far and near, it is said, heard this
blow, and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.”
The old man made bread with the meal which he boiled; when it was
cooked he brought some of it to his nephew and also ate some himself.
On certain days he went to the forest for firewood. It was a practice
with him to burn logs into pieces of such length that he could bring
them to his lodge. When the fires on one log were burning well he would
light fires on other logs, and so would go from one to another, keeping
them in order. When the pieces were burned off and ready, the old man
would carry them or drag them home, and as he threw them down they made
a deep, pleasant sound on the earth. Thereupon all the people of the
region round about, even to the most distant places, heard the sound,
and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.” On
some other days Haieñtʻhwus would go out to gather beans and squashes
or to dig wild potatoes.

One spring morning, in the planting season, Haieñtʻhwus went to his
clearing in the woods with two baskets of seeds strapped to his belt.
Before starting he left plenty of food with his nephew, saying, “I am
going to put these seeds into the ground.” The old man was in the field
engaged in making holes in the earth with a stick forked at one end and
sharp at the other. Into these holes he dropped seeds, closing them
with fine earth. All at once he heard a song accompanied with the
words, “Oh, uncle! I am going to rise; I am going to rise.” He knew at
once that what he had heard was his nephew’s song; so dropping his
pointed stick for planting, and forgetting all about the seeds in his
two baskets, he rushed home. As he ran the baskets struck the trees on
both sides of the narrow trail, scattering the seeds so that all were
lost on the trail. When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge he saw that his
nephew was resting on one elbow and that the tree was inclined toward
the earth, with its roots starting from the ground. “Well, nephew, what
is the matter?” asked the old man. “I am getting thirsty, uncle,” said
the youth. The old man gave him some water and pushed the tree back
into its upright position; then looking into his baskets, he saw that
they were empty. So Haieñtʻhwus spent the rest of the day on his knees,
picking up what seeds he could find along both sides of the path.

On another day he went out to strip bark from the slippery-elm trees
for the purpose of making cords. Before starting he gave Okteondon
everything that he needed. After he had stripped off a large quantity
of bark and was tying it into bundles, Haieñtʻhwus heard the song
again, accompanied with the words, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am
rising.” As soon as he heard these words, Haieñtʻhwus, slinging a
bundle of the bark on his back, swiftly ran home. As he hurried along
the bundle struck against the trees, first on one and then on the other
side of the trail, causing pieces of bark to slip out every here and
there, until there was nothing left of the burden on the old man’s back
but the ends of the forehead strap. On reaching home Haieñtʻhwus asked,
“What is the matter, nephew?” as he saw Okteondon resting on one elbow
and the tree leaning over to one side. “Oh, I am thirsty, uncle,”
replied Okteondon. The uncle brought him water, and then straightened
up the tree, after which he returned to the woods. He picked up the
pieces of bark on both sides of the path until he arrived at the place
where he had stripped it from the trees. Just at that moment he again
heard the song, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am rising.” At this,
soliloquizing, “Poor boy, I wonder what he wants,” Haieñtʻhwus again
ran homeward. When he was about halfway there, he heard the song a
second time, and almost at the same moment came to his ears a
tremendous crash of the falling tree, which was heard over the entire
country, so that all the people said one to another, “Okteondon has now
grown to manhood and has arisen.” When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge,
the great elm tree had fallen and Okteondon was standing there,
awaiting him.





72. UNCLE AND NEPHEW AND THE WHITE OTTERS

An uncle and his nephew lived alone far off in the woods. In former
times there had been a great many of their people, but with the
exception of these two all were dead.

One day the uncle said: “My nephew, you have grown to be a large lad,
and now you must attend to hunting. You must take the bow and the
quiver of arrows with which I used to hunt.” So saying, the old man
took from the wall his bow, which was grimed with smoke, and cleaned it
very carefully. Then he said: “We will now make a trial at shooting.”
Having gone out of the lodge, the uncle by way of example first shot
into a tree, and the nephew with another arrow made a good shot.
Thereupon the uncle said, “That kind of shooting will do; you must now
begin hunting.”

The next morning very early, when they were ready, the uncle said, “You
must go out between sunrise and sunset, and you must always keep on the
sun side; never go north.” The lad started to hunt, and had not been
out long when he killed a deer, and soon afterward another, both of
which he took home. The uncle thanked him, saying, “We can live now,
for we have plenty of meat.” He hung the meat up in pieces, with bark
strings, throughout the lodge.

The lad brought in game every day for some time. After a while he had
to go a long way toward the south to find any game; his uncle always
cautioned him against going northward.

Once after he came home and was sitting around the lodge, the uncle
said: “When I was young I used to have an object with which to amuse
myself. I will get it for you and when you are home you can play with
it.” Then bringing out a flute, the uncle taught the boy to play it. As
the uncle blew on it the flute said, “Tomorrow I shall kill a deer, a
bear, etc.,” greatly pleasing the boy who also played on it. In the
morning he started off hunting, and, indeed, he killed just such game
as the flute said he would. That night after he had rested from hunting
he played on his flute and again it said, “I shall kill an elk
tomorrow,” a different kind of animal from that of the previous day.
The next day the lad killed exactly what the flute said.

The morning after he went out he wondered why he must go so far toward
the south; he made up his mind to go northward; so making a circuit, he
was soon north of his lodge. Finding tracks of game animals, he
followed them until he came to a broad opening. Here he ran after the
elks, which he saw in a circle in the woods; at last he came out in the
opening again, where he had started. All at once he heard a woman’s
voice calling, “Here! Hold on!” but he ran on at full speed after the
elk. Around again he went after these animals. When he got back to the
same place a second time the woman’s voice called out, “Wait and rest!”
Looking around, he saw the woman sitting on a fallen tree, whereupon he
stopped. She said to him: “Sit down here and rest. I know you are
tired; when you have rested you can run again after the elk.” He sat
down near her, and pretty soon she took his head on her knees. He had
very long hair—so long that he kept it tied up; whenever he let it
down, it swept the ground. He tied one of his hairs to a root in the
ground, but the woman did not see him do this. After a while he fell
asleep, whereupon she put him into a basket; swinging this on her back
she started off on a run. Rising soon into the air, she traveled very
fast.

The hair which had been made fast to a root stretched till it would
stretch no longer; then they could go no farther, for the hair pulled
them back to the place from which they had started. The lad woke up,
and the woman said to herself, “I think there is some witchcraft about
you; we will try again.” Once more she began to search in his hair. At
last he closed his eyes, and she asked, “Are you asleep?” “No,” he
replied. She continued untying his hair, again inquiring, “Are you
asleep?” He did not answer this time, for he was indeed asleep. Putting
him into the basket and flinging it on her back, she ran off very fast,
after a while rising in the air. When she had gone a long distance she
came down by the bank of a river; rousing the lad, she asked, “Do you
know this place?” “Yes,” said he; “I have fished in this river.”
“Well,” said she, “hold your head down, and let me look at it again.”
She took his head on her knees, and after a while spoke to him, but he
did not answer, for he was once more asleep. Putting him into the
basket, she went up in the air, coming down at last on an island. Then,
rousing the youth, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes; my uncle
and I used to come here often,” he replied (he had never been there,
but he wished to deceive her). Again she put him to sleep, afterward
taking him up in the air in her basket. Finally, removing the basket
from her back, she laid it on the edge of a ravine, which was so deep
that the tops of the tallest trees which grew in it could just be seen
below the brink. Then, upsetting the basket, down the lad went headlong
into the depths, but he fell slowly, for he had orenda (magic power)
and hence came to the ground unhurt. But he could find no way of
escape. The sides of the ravine were like a wall and he was alone.

Meanwhile the boy’s uncle waited and waited, saying to himself: “It is
late. Something has happened, for my nephew is not coming home tonight.
I must find out what the trouble is.” On taking down the flute he found
the mouthpiece bloody,[350] whereupon he said, “They have overmatched
my poor nephew in orenda, and trouble has come to him.” As there was
not much blood on the mouthpiece, he thought that perhaps the lad would
free himself and come back in a few days.

Now the nephew lay down among the rocks in the deep, blind ravine and
tried to sleep, but he could not. All at once he heard a great bird
coming, and as it swept past it bit a mouthful of flesh out of his arm.
Spitting on the arm he rubbed it and thus cured the bite. When the bird
had been gone some time, he heard it coming again, and as it flew past
in the opposite direction, it took a large bite out of his other arm.
This he cured in the same manner as before. When daylight came he arose
and on looking around he saw skeletons on every side. Two men were
barely alive. The lad said to himself, “I suppose that I shall die here
in this same way.”

That night the boy’s uncle saw on looking at the flute that the
mouthpiece was bloodier than before. He then gave up his nephew as
lost; sitting down at the hearth’s edge he cried and scattered ashes on
his head in despair.

The second night the bird twice flew past the lad, each time taking a
piece of flesh out of one of his arms. Thereupon the boy would spit on
the arm, thus healing it as he did on the first evening. When the huge
bird had gone he fell asleep and dreamed that he heard an old woman’s
voice saying: “Grandson, I have come to help you. You think you are
going to die, but you are not; I will save you. Just at sunrise in the
morning you will vomit, and if you throw up anything that looks like a
hemlock leaf you may know that you will be saved. Pick up the leaf and
stick it in the ground. Then sing, and as you sing the leaf will become
a tree. Sit on one of the limbs and keep on singing. The tree will grow
until it reaches beyond the top of the bank. Then jump off and run
away.” In the morning the boy vomited as the old woman of the dream had
predicted, and he found the small hemlock leaf. Sticking this in the
ground near the wall of the ravine he began to sing. The leaf soon grew
into a tree, and as he sang the tree grew higher and higher. He did not
get on the tree but remained below singing until the tree was higher
than the brink above.

Gathering all the bones carefully into a pile and placing on the pile
the two men who were almost dead, he went to a great hickory tree which
stood near and pushing against it called out, “Rise, people, and run,
or the tree shall fall on you.” Thereupon all the bones became living
men and springing up they ran away from the tree. Two of the men had
legs of different lengths by reason of the bones having become
interchanged. The lad said: “Now, follow me, all of you, up this tree
to the bank above. You must not look back, for if you do you will
fall.” The last two were the men with unequal legs. The rearmost, after
climbing a little way, looked back to see how far up they were;
immediately he turned to bones, which fell rattling through the limbs
of the hemlock tree to the ground. As the only remaining man with
unequal legs got near the brink, he also looked down, whereupon he
likewise fell rattling down through the branches to the ground a mere
heap of bones.

When all were some distance away from the brink the young man said:
“You stay here, and I will go and bring the woman who has done all this
mischief to us. She has a mother, who is also a witch. We will punish
both. I shall be back in a few days.” Starting off, he soon came to the
lodge of the woman who had deceived him. Sitting down by her, he said,
“I have come.” Soon her mother came out of another part of the lodge,
saying, “Oh! my son-in-law has come.” Early the next night they heard
the old woman groaning;[351] finally, crawling out of bed on her hands
and knees, she rolled over on the floor. The lad struck her with a
corn-pounder, saying, “Mother-in-law, wake up and tell us your dream.”
Thereupon she stood up and said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must go
and kill two white otters in the lake.” He replied: “Go back to sleep,
Oh! mother-in-law. I will do that tomorrow.” The old woman went back to
her couch. In the morning she said: “You must run and kill two white
otters in the lake and return with them before the door stops swinging
after you have slammed it. If you do not do this, something strange
will happen; but if you get back, you shall live.” Unknown to her, he
tied one of his long hairs to the door and kept pulling the hair. On
reaching the bank of the lake, he called to the otters, which came out
and ran to him; he threw one of two round stones which he had in his
pouch, killing one of the otters. Then great waves of water began to
rush after him, and the second otter came near to him on the top of the
wave. Throwing the second stone, he killed the second otter. At this
the wave went back. He had kept pulling the door-flap to and fro with
his hair all the time. When he reached the lodge, he called out, “Here,
mother-in-law! here are your two otters.” She said, “Where, where?”
(The two white otters were her two wizard brothers.)

The uncle, who was alone, felt sure that his nephew was dead. Often as
he sat in front of the fire in the evening, taking a handful of ashes
in each hand, he held them over his head, letting the ashes drop on his
face. At night he would hear someone coming, then a rap and a voice
calling out, “Well, uncle, I have come.” Jumping up and brushing off
the ashes he would go to the door, only to find a fox or an owl. In
this way he was deceived a number of times, so he had resolved not to
be deceived again.

The night after the death of the otters the old woman again dreamed,
and her son-in-law hit her again with the corn-pounder. Waking up, she
said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must kill the bird on the top of
the great tree.” He answered, “Oh, mother-in-law! I will attend to that
in the morning, so go to sleep now.” In the morning his mother-in-law
said, “If you get back after the door, which you have slammed in going
out, stops swinging, something strange will happen.” Again tying a hair
to the door, he darted off. When near the tall tree he saw on the very
top a black eagle. The first arrow he sent went almost to the tree, but
was driven back by the magic power of the eagle. Then he shot a second
arrow, which struck the eagle right in the heart, bringing it to the
ground. Taking the eagle, he rushed back to the lodge, meanwhile
keeping the door swinging with his hair. When he returned home, he
called out, “Mother-in-law, here is the eagle.” She said, Whu, whu!
astonished at what he had done (this eagle was the old woman’s third
brother, which had always fed on the men thrown into the ravine).

Now the lad, having taken his wife outside, said, “I want this lodge to
turn into flint, and let it become heated to a white heat.” [352] The
old woman and her three daughters were inside at the time. The former
cried out, “Have pity on me, son-in-law,” but he answered, “You had no
pity for me, mother-in-law; so let them all within burn up.” Having
gone back with his wife to the men near the ravine, he said: “I have
brought back this woman. Now we shall be revenged. This is the woman
who threw us off this bank to die in the ravine below.” Stripping off a
wide piece of bark from a tree and tying the woman thereto with bark
thongs, he placed it in a leaning position against a tree. Then all
gathered fuel, which was piled around the woman, and a fire kindled by
which the old woman’s daughter was burned to death.

The youth found two of his brothers among those whom he had rescued. It
appeared that all the men were related, some as brothers, others as
cousins. The young man went with his brothers to his uncle’s lodge.
Before starting he had told all the other persons to go to their homes.
When near the lodge of the old uncle they heard the aged man weeping.
They listened for some time. When the old man stopped weeping he began
to sing, “Ten summers I shall mourn for him.” In attempting to enter
the lodge they found the door-flap fastened. The lad called out, “Oh,
uncle! I have returned.” But the uncle, long annoyed by wizards in the
form of animals, replied: “Be off! You have deceived me enough.” But
the young man begged him to unfasten the door-flap, assuring him that
he had brought his brothers. Again the uncle shouted: “Be off! You
shall not get in here.” Finally, the old man relented, and making a
hole in the skin door-flap, called out: “Thrust your arm in. I shall
see if you are my nephew.” The nephew willingly complied with the
uncle’s request, whereupon the uncle tied his arm with a bark thong.
The youth finally cried out: “Oh, uncle! do not tie my arm so tight.
You hurt me.” Opening the door-flap, the old man saw that it was really
his nephew, and exclaimed, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment until I clean up
a little.” Then, having brushed off the ashes, he welcomed his nephew
and his party.





73. DEOYADASTATʻHE AND HADJOWISKI [353]

Hadjowiski lived with his family, consisting of his wife and seven
children, in a large lodge in the forest. Only the youngest of the
seven children had a name—Deoyadastatʻhe. He was so small that he never
went outside the lodge, nor did he play within it. He remained under
the bed at all times, where he played with his dog, which was a flea.
The father of the family, Hadjowiski, was very poor, for although he
went forth to hunt at sunrise, sometimes even before, he brought home
but little meat.

One morning his wife, who was chagrined by the failure of her husband
to provide a sufficiency of food for herself and little ones, said to
him: “Can you not bring home more meat than you do? We are very, very
hungry.” Hadjowiski, dissembling, replied, “No; I can not kill more
game, for I have not efficient orenda (magic power).” But the
suspecting wife persisted in her questioning: “Well, your back always
looks as if you had killed plenty of game. What do you do with it after
you have killed it?” To this the husband answered: “Nothing. I never
have good luck.” The wife did not believe him, however, so she
retorted, “I think that you are doing something wrong with what you
kill.”

That day Hadjowiski did not bring any game home, but his back bore
traces of fresh blood. In further chiding him his wife said: “There is
fresh blood on your back, so you must have killed some game today.” But
he replied: “No; I killed nothing. That blood came from my getting hurt
by a hemlock tree falling on me.” But she did not believe him at all.

The next morning he was on the trail long before sunrise. His wife, now
thoroughly aroused, stealthily followed him. Just at midday she saw him
kill with a small stone a large bear. Taking the bear on his back, he
started off, trailed by his wife. He soon reached a lodge, which he
entered, wholly unaware that his wife was following him. Creeping up to
the lodge, she listened outside to what was being said within, and
overheard the voice of a woman, saying, “The next time you come you
must stay here, and you must not go back home again.” Hadjowiski
replied, “It is well; I shall do so.” Thereupon he came out of the
lodge, in which he left all the meat he had killed that day, and
started for home.

His wife ran on ahead, and, reaching home ahead of her husband, she
said to her boys, “Sons, your father has another wife, so I shall not
remain here any longer.” Then putting on her panther-skin robe, she
departed. When Hadjowiski arrived at his home, not finding his wife, he
asked: “What is the matter? Where is your mother?” One of the boys told
him that his mother had been gone all day, and that, returning but a
short time before, she had put on her panther-skin robe, declaring that
she was going away. Hadjowiski hung his head, but at last he asked,
“Why did she go away?” The boy replied: “She told us that you have
another wife.” To this the father answered: “It is well. My sons, I
shall follow her. I want you to remain in the lodge while I am away. If
I am alive then, I will be back home in 10 days.” Hadjowiski departed
and traveled all night. The next morning he found his wife’s tracks,
and discovered that she had doubled on them, but he kept straight
ahead, knowing well that she had done this in order to deceive him.
Soon afterward he was again on her trail, going directly westward.
After traveling for some time he came at last to a lodge in which lived
an old man, who said: “You are traveling, my friend?” Hadjowiski
replied: “Yes. I am following the woman whose tracks come to this
lodge.” Then Sʻhagoiyagentʻha,[354] for such was the old man’s name,
who belonged to the Nosgwais people, answered, “I do not know where she
has gone.” Hadjowiski again declared, “Her tracks come here, anyway.”
Sʻhagoiyagentʻha replied: “It is well. You can look for her, if you
like.” So Hadjowiski searched for her everywhere, but he could not find
her. Finally the old man resolved to send him off, so he asked him, “Do
you want me to tell you which way she went from here?” Hadjowiski
replied, “Yes; I do.” Thereupon Sʻhagoiyagentʻha brought a small canoe
made of flint, telling the man to sit in it. When Hadjowiski had done
so the old man shoved the canoe out of the doorway, and at once it rose
into the air, through which it passed with great rapidity. Finally the
canoe collided with a high rock, and the renegade Hadjowiski was flung
out; falling among the rocks, he was killed. The canoe, which was
endowed with life, returned to the old man.

When the sons of Hadjowiski had been at home for several days the
eldest went out to hunt. When night came he did not return to his home.
So the next morning the second brother started off to find him, if
possible. The brothers who remained at home waited all day, but he,
too, failed to return. The second morning the third brother went to
look for the two others, but he likewise did not come back. Thus, day
after day passed, until at last the six brothers had gone out and not
one had returned. Only Deoyadastatʻhe was left of the family of seven
sons.[355] He was always under the bed playing with his dog, which was
a flea. Finally, judging from the unbroken silence reigning in the
lodge, Deoyadastatʻhe exclaimed: “It seems to me that there is no one
in the lodge, for I hear no one moving around. I shall see about it.”
So saying, he came forth from under the bed and looked around, but saw
no one; then he listened for some sound, but he heard none. After
listening for a long time, he exclaimed: “It seems to me that I hear my
mother crying. It must be that she is weeping in the far west. I shall
therefore go to her.” Going outside the lodge, he stood still,
listening, while his dog stood behind him. He now heard quite
distinctly the sound of weeping in the far west. By low half-uttered
growls his dog showed that it, too, heard some unusual sound.

Deoyadastatʻhe finally declared: “That is my mother who is weeping, for
I recognize her voice. I must go to her.” As he started, both he and
his dog, rising in the air, flew along over the highest trees,
directing their flight toward the west. At last in the far distant west
they alighted at the edge of a village. Making their way into it, they
finally entered an old hut in which they found two women, an aged
grandmother and her granddaughter. To the grandmother Deoyadastatʻhe
said, “I have come to visit you.” She replied: “We are too poor for
that. We have nothing to eat, and you would get very hungry.” “Oh! I do
not care for food,” Deoyadastatʻhe answered; “I want only shelter at
night.” “It is well; you may remain,” said the grandmother. One morning
when Deoyadastatʻhe had been there several days some one came on the
run to the lodge, and kicking the door-flap aside, said: “You are
invited tonight to the burning of the woman’s feet and to pick up
wampum beads from the tears that she sheds. All are pressed to be at
the lodge of assembly tonight.” When the messenger had gone, the
grandmother exclaimed: “Oh! how very wicked are the people of this
village. That old man, Sʻhagoiyagentʻha, is the evil servant of the
Chief Dihdih.[356] (The rest of the people belong to the Gaqga357
family.)” Now, the grandmother, whose name was Yeqsinye, also belonged
to the Gaqga family. She was in the habit of making bark thread by
rolling it on her legs. When night came Deoyadastatʻhe went to the
lodge of assembly, where he saw a great multitude of people. Entering
the lodge, he saw his mother tied to a post—the war post of torture.
And as soon as Deoyadastatʻhe entered the room his mother, scenting
him, knew that he was there. Then Chief Dihdih arose and said: “Now all
be ready. Look out for the beads.” He had two daughters, who lighted
the torches for the people who were intending to burn the woman’s feet.
When they held the torches under the woman’s feet tears flowed from her
eyes which fell on the ground, where they became beautiful wampum. The
people rushed forward to pick up the beads. Deoyadastatʻhe was watching
for an opportunity to rescue his mother; so when the people were on
their knees gathering the wampum, quickly unbinding his mother, he led
her out of doors. Then he said, as he ran around the devoted lodge,
“Let this lodge become flint and let it become at once heated to a
white heat.”358 This at once took place, and the people within the
lodge, becoming too hot, ceased picking up wampum and tried to escape,
but they could not. There were fearful shrieks and wails, but these
continued only for a moment before all were dead. The heads of the dead
people burst asunder and from them came owls, which flew out of the
smoke-hole of the lodge.

Then Deoyadastatʻhe told his mother that they must leave that place. So
calling his dog, they started for the lodge of old Yeqsinye. In passing
through the village a blue lizard attacked Deoyadastatʻhe and his
little party, but the young man tore it to pieces. As the pieces fell
to the ground the dog carried them away so that they would not fly back
into place again before they became cool. Then the young man said, “You
thought that you were going to kill me, but I have destroyed you.” When
Deoyadastatʻhe arrived with his mother at the lodge of old woman
Yeqsinye, he said to her, “I have killed all the people of the wicked
village, so you shall now live in peace.” For this the old woman
thanked him.

Then Deoyadastatʻhe and his mother and dog continued their journey
until they arrived at their own lodge. There they found the six
brothers of Deoyadastatʻhe, who had returned during his absence.

[The relator of the story evidently did not know the entire legend, for
nothing is said as to where and as to why they had been so long away,
nor how they came back.—Editor.]





74. A GENESIS TRADITION

[A modern version; a fragment]

Before this earth came into existence there were human beings who dwelt
in the center of the sky above. In the middle of the village in the sky
stood a tree which was covered with white blossoms.

It so chanced that a woman of that country dreamed a dream. In that
dream an Ongwe [359] said to her that the great tree bearing white
blossoms must be pulled up by the roots. When this tree was in bloom
its flowers gave light to the people there, but when its flowers fell,
darkness came over the people. When the woman related her dream all the
people kept silent, because they felt that the suggestion was that of a
visionary and because the tree was sacred to them. In the course of
time the woman dreamed again, and in the dream the Ongwe declared to
her that a circular trench must be dug around the tree, which must be
pulled up by the roots; that then something giving more and better
light would come to them. Notwithstanding this second dream, the people
remained obdurate, paying no attention to the advice of the Ongwe of
the dream. Time went on and the woman had a third dream, in which the
injunctions of the other two dreams were repeated, that the tree must
be pulled up by the roots. Then one of the men said, “I believe that if
we give heed to the words of the dream we may receive better light, and
that the people will have cause to rejoice for having obeyed the words
of the dream.” His advice was adopted by the people at large.

So a number of men began digging and cutting around the roots of the
tree. Suddenly, when the last root was cut, the tree sank into the
ground, disappearing from sight. Thereupon the chief of the people
there said, “I have never given any heed to this dream, because I knew
that something strange would happen to the people if I did.” Then he
ordered that the woman who had had these dreams should be cast into the
hole left by the tree. The order was carried out. The pit seemed to
have no bottom. Nothing could be seen in it, for all was darkness
within. The woman continued falling through the hole for a long time;
at last she saw that below her it began to grow light. When finally she
had passed through the hole she emerged into bright light in our sky.
Looking down, she saw beneath her a great expanse of water, on which
floated loons, ducks, and various kinds of water folk, but no land.

Of these the loon was the first to see the dark object falling from
above, at which he exclaimed, “I believe that a human being is falling
down from above, and I think that it is best for us that all join
together and give aid to her, for if we do not she will sink when she
strikes the water.” So all the water folk were notified to help save
the woman. They all came together—Loon, Fishhawk, Beaver, Water
Serpent, Turtle, and all who dwell in the water. Then Loon said to
Fishhawk, “Go with your warriors and meet the woman in the air; receive
her on your backs, and thus hold her in the air until we shall be ready
for you to bring her down here.” Instantly this request was performed.
While the others watched they saw the woman fall on the backs of the
fishhawks, and they were delighted to see that the fishhawks were able
to hold her in the air. Then the Loon said, “What are we going to do
with her?” to which the Turtle replied, “I will take care of the
woman.” But Loon answered, “You can not take care of her, for you are
too fond of eating flesh.” Next the Water Serpent said, “I will
volunteer to help this woman and to take care of her; she can come and
sit between my horns, and so I shall carry her wherever I go.” Loon
rejoined, “You can not take care of her, for you are endowed with too
much evil orenda (magic power), which would kill her.” The Turtle spoke
a second time, saying, “I think I can care for her, if you can find
some earth to place upon my carapace.” This suggestion satisfying Loon
and the other leaders, Loon replied, “You may take care of her if we
can obtain the earth.” There were there many kinds of water folk, all
of which were sent into the water in an attempt to obtain some earth.
They dived down, but, one after another, they soon floated up to the
surface dead. Hell-diver at last brought up a small quantity of earth.
The Loon being the chief, when Hell-diver came up with the earth he
sent all of that kind of water folk after more earth. Then Beaver
mounted on Turtle’s back, and as the Duck people brought up the earth
he used his tail like a trowel, fastening the earth on the carapace of
the Turtle.

The earth at once began to grow, spreading out large. Chief Loon soon
decided that it had acquired a sufficient extent for their purpose, so
he called to the Fishhawk and his men to bring down the woman. This
they did, placing her on the newly made earth on the carapace of the
Turtle. In the meantime Beaver and the Duck people kept at work making
the earth larger. As it grew in size, a still greater number of Beaver
and Duck people were set to work around the edges of it. The Turtle
floated with ease. Then on the earth bushes began to grow, little red
bushes like water reeds. The woman walked around the edges of the earth
to see how the workers were succeeding in their labors and to encourage
them. She was pregnant, and in a short time after this descent a girl
baby was born to her. The child grew rapidly to womanhood. She was very
active, and soon took her mother’s place, walking around the island
inspecting its growth. It was now very large, and she would be away all
day on her tour of the island.

One day it chanced as she was walking along that she met a very
fine-looking young man. Promptly falling in love, they decided to live
together as husband and wife. It is said that by this union Day and
Night came into the world. Her mother was not consulted. It was the
custom of the young woman to go out in the morning to look for the
young man at their trysting place, and in the evening to start for
home. One evening when they had parted she resolved to look back to
have a view of him. On turning around, she saw a large turtle walking
along where she knew her husband had just been, hence she reached the
conclusion that a turtle was deceiving her; then she went home. The
next day she remained at home and, indeed, did not go out any more
after that time. Her mother saw from her appearance that she was
pregnant. Being questioned about her condition, she told her mother the
whole story of her marriage, concluding with the statement that the
last time they had met she had turned to look at him as they parted,
whereupon she saw only a great turtle walking where she expected to see
her husband.

The time for her confinement having arrived, the prospective mother
heard a conversation being carried on within her body. One speaker
said: “Let us go out now,” but the other replied: “You go first, and I
will follow you.” Then she heard one say, “Let us go out by the way of
the armpit, for I see a little light there,” but the other answered,
“No; we should kill our mother in doing so.” Finally, one came into the
world in the natural way, but she heard the one who was left say, “I am
going out through the armpit, for I can go quicker in that way.” This
statement he repeated a number of times, and at last he tried to issue
through the armpit with his head. Twice he failed, but the third time
he succeeded, although his mother died immediately. He possessed a
peculiar head, in the form of a rough flint. The grandmother had to
draw this child out of his mother’s body, for he could not get out
unaided. Both children lived.

Before the twins were born, while they were conversing in her body, the
woman told her mother that she was going to die and that she should be
buried and covered well with earth. She said further that a stalk would
sprout out of the ground over her which would produce white corn; that
a second stalk would grow which would produce red corn; that one of
these stalks would grow from each of her breasts; and that each stalk
would bear an ear of corn, which the grandmother must pluck, giving one
to each of the children. A short time after her burial the two stalks
appeared above the ground, just as she had foretold.

The boys grew up strong and healthy, but the younger was an awkward,
ugly, disagreeable fellow; he was ill-tempered, often striking his
brother in anger.

One day while the elder brother was away, the younger one became
lonely, so he decided to make something. Seating himself on the ground,
from a portion of earth he formed an object which was in shape like a
grasshopper. After he had finished it, he set it down, saying, “Can you
not jump?” Then he blew on it until at last the grasshopper did jump.
As the grasshopper flew away, the youth decided to try to make a
creature that would fly higher. So he made a bird of red clay, which is
the cherry bird. After he had finished it he set it up, telling it to
fly. Obeying him, the bird flew up in the air, alighting on a bough.
This was the first land bird. Thus the youth made one after another all
the birds of the air. Then he resolved to make a creature that would
run on the ground. So forming a deer out of earth, he brought it to
life. Thereupon, saying to it, “Now you shall run swiftly and go
everywhere around the world,” he caused the deer to live by blowing
upon it. In this manner he made all the various kinds of wild animals,
and also formed a human being out of the earth.

The elder brother had a chosen place where he sat while making these
things. When he formed the human being, his brother chanced to find
him. Then the younger brother, deciding that he, too, would form a
human being, went off by himself. Having formed a human being as best
he could, he brought his creation to life, but it did not look like the
human being his brother had formed; it was a strange looking creature.
When he saw that it was not a human being, but an ugly-looking object,
he said: “My brother has made a human being over there; you may eat the
human being made by my brother.”

The elder brother, suspecting the younger, went near him and found him
making animals of various kinds, and he also heard him instructing them
to eat human beings. So, going back to his own place, the elder brother
caught the cherry bird, and pulling out the hind leg of a grasshopper,
he gave it to the bird, saying, “Go and scare my brother.” As the bird
held the leg it became in form like that of a human being and bloody.
Flying near the younger brother, the bird perched on a near-by bough
and began to cry out, “Gowe! Gowe!” When the younger brother saw what
the bird carried and heard what it cried, he left his work and fled
home to his grandmother, to whom he said: “A bird came and perched just
where I was at work. I believe my brother made it to frighten me, for I
was afraid that it would pull my leg out, so I fled from there.” When
the elder brother returned the grandmother said, “You should not
frighten your brother.”

Finding that the first human being made was wandering around alone, the
elder brother decided to make a companion for him in the form of his
grandmother. So he did this, and when the new being was finished he
breathed into her, telling her to walk, and then he took her to the
man, saying to him: “I give you her. You must always go together.”
During the night the human beings found that one of the man’s arms and
one of the woman’s were in the way, so the man said, “We will cut them
off,” and this they did. When their maker came along in the morning and
saw what they had done he said: “This will not do. I shall give them
blood and pain”;[360] so from himself he gave them a portion of blood
and a measure of pain. He also put back the arms which they had severed
from their bodies. Before this they had no blood nor pain. To the man
he said: “I have made you two, and now you shall have children like
yourselves. You may also hunt the animals which I have made for food.
Kill them and eat their flesh; this will be your food. I have decided
to go above in the sky. You will not live here forever. You shall die,
and your spirit shall come up to me where I will live hereafter.” After
the younger brother found that the elder brother had gone up into the
sky he went forth and, seeing the man and the woman, he talked with
them. Then he said to himself, “I am going to make a human being at any
cost.” So, taking earth, he shaped it as best he could; and when it was
completed he blew into its mouth and ordered it to arise and whoop.
Thereupon it shouted, “Ho, ho!” He shoved it from behind and it took a
great leap. It was a green frog which was as large as a man. The
younger brother was now angry and said: “I can not make a man. My
brother has made a human being and she-human being and many animals.
May what I have made become man-eaters and eaters of animals—eaters of
whatever my brother has made.”

The elder brother, looking down from the sky, saw that all the animals
which his brother had made were trying to eat up the human beings and
the animals which he had made. So he placed all these monsters of his
brother’s creation down in the ground and ordered them to stay there so
long as the earth remained. Having done this, he returned to his home
in the sky.

When the younger brother learned that his animals had been placed
underground by his brother, he was very angry, and exclaimed, “I shall
try again to make a human being.” So he worked a portion of clay to
make it pliable and responsive, going at times to take a look at the
human being which his brother had made. But when his own human being
was finished and he had brought him to life, he was indeed a
horrid-looking creature. The younger brother told him to whoop, but he
could only say, “Ho, ho!” This creature was Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, who was
told by the younger brother to go and eat up all the things that his
elder brother had made. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa started off to do this.

The elder brother in the sky, seeing what was going on, came down to
earth to place Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa under the ground. But the latter spoke
first, saying: “I desire to live on the earth. I will be your servant
and will help you. I will go around in the woods and rocky places. The
ashes of the fires shall be my medicine for human beings. Should anyone
be taken ill, I will scatter ashes over the patient, who shall be made
well at once.” The elder brother could not put Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa
underground, for he had spoken first, so he had to allow him to remain
on the surface of the earth.

Now, the younger brother, going to his grandmother, said: “I have tried
my best to make a human being, but have failed. I shall now cause
people to be evil-minded. I shall go away and shall have a home, too.
And all the evil people who die shall come to me and I shall torment
them because I could not make a human being.”

If one who is good shall die, he shall go to the elder brother, in his
home in the sky.





75. THE TWO BROTHERS AND THE MICE FETISHES

In times past there lived two brothers in a lodge which was built in a
secluded place in the forest.

Most of the time the elder brother was lying down in order to mature
some design which he was developing in his mind. From time to time he
would say to his brother: “Now, my younger brother, be very careful of
everything, and be on your guard against the evil that others may try
to do us. Whenever some person comes here to see us, remember what I am
now telling you. And do not forget that under my bed, in a secret
place, are a human skull and some other sacred things, which it is not
proper for you to show any other person.”

Some time afterward two young women came to the lodge of the two
brothers to look around in order to learn what the two young men had.
After showing them many things, the younger brother said, “I must tell
you that there are some things which are sacred, and which, therefore,
I cannot show you.” But after a while, as the two women appeared to be
so kind and agreeable, and so much pleased with what they had seen, and
as they shyly pleaded to be shown the things which the younger brother
said he was not at liberty to show, at last yielding, he brought out
the human skull. Snatching it out of the young man’s hands, one of the
young women flew away quickly, while the other followed her at once.
Thereupon the elder brother said, “Now, you must chase these women with
the corn-pounder and see whether or not you can overtake them.” So he
ran after them with the corn-pounder, and soon overtaking them, pounded
them to death; then he carried the skull back to his elder brother. The
latter asked him, “Have you recovered the skull?” The younger brother
replied, “Yes, and I have also killed the women.”

Not long afterward, two other young women came to the lodge to see what
the brothers had that was curious. The younger brother showed them
various common articles, but the women said that these were not the
articles they wanted to see. Finally he showed them the human skull, at
which one of the women, snatching the skull away from the young man,
flew out of the smoke-hole, the other woman following her at once. When
the younger brother cried out at what they had done, the elder brother
told him to bring his bow and quiver of arrows. The younger instantly
obeyed, whereupon the elder brother shot an arrow up through the
smoke-hole.

Some time after the woman had taken the skull away, the elder brother
told the younger that he was going to the place to which the women had
carried it. While on the way there the elder brother asked himself the
question, “How shall I disguise myself?” He finally concluded to
transform himself into an aged man; so, making the necessary change, he
became a wretched-looking old man. On his journey he reached at last a
place where there was a large assembly of people, some of whom came to
him, saying, “We will aid you”; but he replied, “I do not want to
mingle with the crowd, for I am too old to do so; but I shall lie down
a little way from the assembly.” While lying there he discovered what
he wanted—information concerning the woman who had carried off the
skull. He learned that she was there, and that she was ill and
suffering great agony. On inquiring casually what was the trouble with
the woman, he ascertained from another woman that she had been shot
with an arrow, which was still in her body, and that no one had been
found who could draw it out. She was in terrible distress from it.
Every one in the assemblage was asked to attempt to draw out the arrow,
but no one was able to do it. Finally, the pretended old man was asked
to make a trial of his power and reluctantly consented to make the
attempt; but he only feigned to be averse to performing this act. So,
bearing him to the place where the woman lay in a lodge, they brought
her on a piece of skin and laid her near him. Thereupon the old man,
seizing the arrow with his teeth, drew it out little by little. At
this, some who stood by, exclaiming that it was almost out, seized the
arrow to extract it the more quickly, but it shot back into the woman’s
body as soon as they had touched it. With one accord they exclaimed,
“We are sorry for what we have done.” Seizing it with his teeth, the
old man again drew the arrow slowly forth. Each time that he stopped to
rest he cautioned the people with the words: “Do not touch it. Keep
your hands off of it.” Then he would say, “I will try again.” After a
while he got the arrow out. Then he said, “This is my arrow.” The woman
arose from the skin and was well.

The old man was taken back to the spot where he had lain in the first
place, although the people asked him to enter some lodge. He told them,
however, that he preferred to remain outside in the place which he had
first chosen. They brought him food and drink. Now, the woman who was
cured went to her own lodge.

Then the old man asked the people to make him a present of corn, bean,
and squash seed, which he desired to plant the next spring. So they
brought to him the seed carefully wrapped in a skin. But he did not
leave the place where he first lay down. After a while he opened the
bundle and, calling the mice, said: “Little creatures, here is enough
for you to eat. I desire to have you dig a tunnel underground to that
woman’s lodge, so that you may go under her bed and get a skull which
is there. Seize it and bring it through the tunnel to me.” Shortly an
army of mice came to eat the corn, beans, and squash seed. When they
had finished eating they began to tunnel, and they did not cease their
work until they had made a hole through the ground to the lodge. There
they found the skull, which they drew out slowly. Then the old man
stealthily crept to the place where they had left the skull, and,
taking it, after dismissing the mice with thanks, he started homeward.
He had told the mice to eat all they desired, and so they did eat what
they could in the lodge. As soon as the pretended old man was out of
sight of the lodge, he again became a young man. Turning toward the
village, he spoke a curse upon it, saying, “Let fire break out and
destroy all that belongs to that wicked woman, the lodges, and the
people.” Instantly the whole was in flames and was soon entirely
consumed.

Then the young man resumed his journey toward home. When he arrived
there he said: “Now, my brother, after much trouble I have recovered
this skull; so do not permit any person to see it again. I have
destroyed with fire the entire village and substance of that wicked
woman. Hereafter we may live in peace and contentment. So heed my
words.”





76. THE ORPHAN

In times past, in a certain village of the Seneca there was an orphan
boy, about sixteen years of age, who went around among the people,
going from lodge to lodge to live on the charity of owners, and living
wherever people were willing to keep him. Sometimes he slept by a brush
fire on the ground and ate whatever was given to him.

When the youth was about twenty years old he was still as much a boy as
ever. A chief who was very rich lived in the same village. He had a
daughter and two or three sons. One day the boy stopped near the
chief’s lodge, where they were burning brush. One of the chief’s sons
came out and said to him, “Oh, my friend! how long have you been here?”
“Not long,” said the orphan boy. “Well, do you not feel poor and lonely
sitting as you do?” was the next question. “No; I feel just as rich as
you do,” replied the orphan. “Do you sometimes think that you would
like to have a wife?” asked the young man. “Yes; I sometimes think that
I should like to have one if I could get one,” answered the orphan.
“Well, what would you think of my sister for a wife? Many men have
tried to marry her, but she has refused all.” “Oh!” said the orphan
boy, looking up, “I should as soon have her as anyone else; she is
handsome and rich.” “I will go and ask her,” said the young man,
thinking that he would have fun with his sister. Entering the lodge, he
said to her: “There is a young man out here who says he would like to
marry you. Will you have him?” “Why, yes! I would rather marry him than
anyone else,” she replied. “Shall I tell him so?” her brother
persisted. “Yes,” she answered. Thereupon he told the orphan boy, who
said, “I shall be glad to marry your sister and live with her.” The
brother in fun repeated this to his sister, who said, “I will go myself
and ask him.” She asked the orphan, “What did my brother tell you about
me?” He told her everything. She then said: “I will live with you as
your wife. Come tomorrow night at this time and I will take you for my
husband.” The next morning she hunted up leggings and moccasins for the
orphan boy. As was the custom with youths, he had never worn moccasins
in summer. The young woman made ready everything for him. In the
evening she went to the meeting place, where she found him. She brought
water with which he washed himself; he then put on the garments and she
tied up his hair. This time she told him to come to her home and to go
straight to her bed, without talking with any of the men, because one
of her brothers was always playing tricks. He did as he was told. The
waggish brother looked at him and laughed, and calling him by name,
said, “Come and sleep with me.”

In the fall the sons of the chief were ready to go on a deer hunt, and
the young married woman thought that she, too, would like to go,
inasmuch as she had a youthful husband, who, perhaps, would become a
good hunter. The husband said, “Yes; I will go and try,” for he had
never hunted. When they had traveled some distance, they camped and
began hunting. The husband, having found a place where there were wild
grape vines, made a swing. There he swung all day, never hunting, as
the others did. At night he would go home without game, but he did not
tell what he had seen in the woods. The brothers killed many deer. One
day one said to the other: “Our brother-in-law gets no game.” The other
replied: “Perhaps he does not hunt.” So they agreed to watch. On
following him, they found him swinging, and they noticed that the
ground was worn smooth around the swing. Thereupon they said: “We will
not live with this man and feed him. We will leave him and camp a day’s
journey away.” So they started, leaving the man and woman only one
piece of venison.

The boy never ate much, so his wife had most of the meat. When all was
eaten she began to fear starvation. One day while the boy was swinging
he saw a great horned owl alight in a tree near by. Having shot it, he
put the body under the swing, where he could look at it as he swung.
His wife was getting very hungry, and when he went home that night she
said, “If I have nothing to eat tomorrow, perhaps I shall be unable to
get up; you ought to kill something.” “Well, maybe tomorrow I shall
kill something,” replied the orphan.

The next day he went as usual to the swing. While swinging he heard a
sound like the crying of a woman. He was frightened and stopped
swinging. Soon he saw a female panther coming toward him with three
cubs. As they approached he heard a great noise in the north, the
direction from which the panthers had come, and a Dagwanoenyent
appeared, tearing down all the trees in his path. He stopped on a tree
near the swing. “There! you know what harm you have done,” said the
Dagwanoenyent. (The old panther and cubs had been in Dagwanoenyent’s
lodge on the rocks and had run away.) “Why are you so angry at the
panthers?” asked the young man; “what have they done to you?” “They
have torn up my best feather cap,” replied Dagwanoenyent. “What makes
you think so much of your cap? It must be very fine,” said the orphan.
“Yes; it was fine,” replied Dagwanoenyent. “Of what kind of skin was it
made?” was the next question. “It was made of the skin of a horned
owl,” said the Dagwanoenyent. “What would you think if I gave you
another one?” queried the orphan. “How can you get one?” asked
Dagwanoenyent. Going to the foot of the tree, the young man tossed up
the owl which he had killed. The wind had stopped blowing as soon as
Dagwanoenyent lighted on the tree. The old mother panther stood at
hand, listening to what Dagwanoenyent and the young man said to each
other. As he tossed up the owl, Dagwanoenyent caught it and said, “I
thank you; this is better than the old one;” so saying he flew away.
The panther thanked the young man, saying: “I am very glad you had this
owl. You have saved my life and the lives of my children; now I will
try to help you. Go to that knoll yonder, and just behind it you will
see a couple of buck deer fighting. You must try to kill both. The one
you shoot first will not run; they will fight until they die.” Running
over to the knoll, the orphan found the two bucks and killed both.
Taking a large piece of the venison, he went home to his wife, for she
was almost starved to death. “I have brought you meat,” said the
husband. “I have killed two buck deer today.” Jumping up, she threw the
venison on the fire to broil, and hardly waited for it to cook before
she began to eat it. The young man and his wife dragged the two deer
home, and having skinned and dressed them, had plenty of venison. The
young woman also dried the meat and tanned the skins. The panther told
the orphan that now he must hunt, and that he must never swing, because
he would kill much game.

When they had a great deal of meat the young man said: “I should go to
see your brothers now. Probably they have a large quantity of meat, for
they are good hunters.” He started on his journey, which took an entire
day. Having killed a deer on the way, he carried along the venison. He
found the lodge of his brothers-in-law, which looked very desolate.
Peeping in, he saw all the brothers, who appeared weak and miserable;
so he walked in, saying, “How are you, my brothers-in-law?” One said,
“There is our brother-in-law.” They answered, “We are nearly starved;
we have found nothing to kill.” “Well,” was the response, “we have
plenty at our place. Come and live with us. I have meat here on my
back. Eat and then go with me.” Thereupon he gave them the venison,
which they ate almost raw. The food made them strong, so they started
with him for his home.

The young man got home very quickly and told his wife, “Your brothers
are badly off; they are worse off than you were.” During the night the
brothers arrived. They were satisfied, and afterward lived with their
sister and brother-in-law. Soon all went back to the village, loaded
with skins and venison. Now the man and his wife were rich. They lived
in the Genesee Valley.





77. THE GREAT WORM [361] AND HINON

One day a boy was wandering about hunting in the woods. While he was
looking around for birds he noticed on the limb of a tree a large,
many-colored worm. He thought it very beautiful and he watched it for
some time. The next day he went to the woods again, thinking all the
time of the worm and wondering whether it still would be there.

When he came to the tree he saw the worm on the branch, but in another
place. The boy had a string of birds which he had killed that morning.
Tearing off a small bit of the flesh of one and fastening it to a
stick, he tried to feed the worm. It ate a little and the boy was
greatly amused. The following day the boy again found the worm and fed
it. The worm always remained near the place where he had first
discovered it. Each day the worm ate a little more and larger portions.
After a while the boy gave it a whole bird at a time; then soon two
birds, feathers and all. The worm had now become very large, too heavy
for the limb of the tree on which it had been staying, so it fell to
the ground. It never looked for food, but seemed to wait for the boy to
bring it.

One day the youth was out with a number of boys hunting. When they
started for home he said, “I shall give all my birds to the worm.”
Thereupon the other boys questioned him about the creature and wanted
to see it, so he led them to the worm, and they had great sport seeing
it eat. At every turn it seemed to change color and grow more
beautiful. The boys were delighted to throw birds at the worm that they
might see it snatch and eat them. Finally they said, “Let us go hunting
tomorrow and bring it all the birds we can find.” This they did.

For a long time the boys brought the worm birds, then rabbits, all of
which it ate. The worm grew very rapidly, became very long and thick—a
huge monster. The boys never told their parents or relations about the
worm, for they were afraid of losing their sport. They would go early
every morning to see the worm. The creature swallowed everything that
came within its reach.

One day while the boys were throwing the worm food they began to
wrestle, and in the excitement the youngest boy was thrown near the
creature. In an instant the boy was swallowed. At this the rest of the
boys were terribly frightened. When the child was missed the parents
looked for him everywhere; they went among the boys to see whether he
had not spent the night with one of them. But they could not get the
slightest clue to the whereabouts of the boy. The other boys said that
they had seen him the day before; that was all they pretended to know.

After this the boys pushed two or three others of their number near the
worm, which devoured them, too. It had become very large and ferocious,
and ruled the boys by a spell. One day they found that the worm had
killed and eaten a deer. Thereupon they were seized with great fear,
for the creature had grown so immense, and they ran away without having
their usual sport.

Now the village was built on a large mound-like hill, sloping on all
sides. The morning after the boys had failed to feed the worm the
people were alarmed to find the village surrounded by a terrible
monster. They were afraid to go near it, although they knew that they
must die if they remained shut up in the village. At last the greater
number, having found on one side what seemed to them to be an opening,
all rushed in. It was the mouth of the worm and all were swallowed.
Then the boys told those who remained that it was this worm that had
eaten the missing children.

When they saw that all who had tried thus to escape were devoured they
were terrified, and counseled together to save themselves. Only a few
were left. These decided to appeal to their grandfather, Hinon. So,
burning tobacco, they called on their grandfather, Hinon, the Thunder
god, imploring him to save them from this awful worm. As soon as the
tobacco was burning, they heard him approaching in a great black storm
cloud with terrific noise. With his lightning he struck the worm,
tearing it to pieces. These pieces rolled down the hillside into the
valley below, which became a lake.





78. THE CHIPMUNK AND THE BEAR

The Bear thought herself a very powerful creature in the exercise of
orenda (magic power), and hence was always trying to exhibit this power
before other animals.

One day she got into a hot dispute with a Chipmunk. Finally the
Chipmunk said: “Why do you boast so much? You have no remarkable
orenda.” At this sally the Bear, becoming very angry, asserted that she
had so great magic power that she could, if she wished, prevent the sun
from rising in the morning. The Chipmunk retorted, “No, you have not;
you can not do that.” “Wait and see,” replied the Bear. The Chipmunk,
not to be fooled, declared he would wait, saying, “We shall have the
sun at the usual time.” When the sun rose, as usual, the Chipmunk,
laughing, made sport of the Bear and her boasting. Finally, the Bear
got so terribly angry that she turned on the Chipmunk, who made his
escape by flight, for fortunately his burrow was near; but as he
reached it, the Bear was so close upon him that she stretched out her
paw to clutch him, and the Chipmunk just slipped from under it into the
hole. The next day the Chipmunk appeared with three marks on his
back—marks of the Bear’s claws, which the Chipmunk carries to this day.





79. THE GREAT WHITE BEAVER AND THE LAKE OF THE ENCHANTED WATER

Once in old times there lived a grandfather and his grandson in a lodge
in a forest far from any village. All the other people of their tribe
had been carried away through sorcery practiced by their enemies. The
grandfather therefore carefully guarded from witches and wizards his
grandson, who was the only hope and comfort of his declining years.

One day the little grandson, almost breathless, ran into the lodge
exclaiming: “Oh, grandfather! I have heard something which is very
wonderful, crying out, Kidjiʹde.” “Oh!” answered the grandfather, “that
is the bird which is called Chickadee; it is the first kind of game
that a young hunter kills.” Taking his cue from this reply, the lad,
seizing his bow and arrows, went out and after many fruitless attempts
killed the chickadee and brought its body into the lodge to his
grandfather. Thereupon the grandfather set up in the ground in front of
the fire two small forked sticks and laid across another stick in the
two forks. Having dressed the chickadee, he hung it on the cross stick
to broil, singing and dancing with great joy, saying, “Now my grandson
will become a great hunter.”

At another time the grandson ran into the lodge, crying out: “Oh,
grandfather! I have seen something with four legs, a black face, and
with four stripes around its tail; it was large and fat.” “Oh!”
answered the grandfather, “that is what is called Dju’äʹkăʼ;[362] it is
the second kind of game that a young hunter kills. It has good meat and
fine fur.” Renewing his hunting, the lad soon killed the Dju’äʹkăʼ and
brought its body into the lodge. The grandfather sang and danced again,
saying, “Oh! my grandson will be a great hunter.” After dressing the
body of Dju’äʹkăʼ he hung it on the cross-stick before the fire to
broil. When it was cooked both ate the flesh of Dju’äʹkăʼ.

A few days later the lad ran into the lodge, exclaiming, “Oh!
grandfather, I have seen a very strange thing, which was walking on two
legs; it had red skin on its head, a black coat, and made a great deal
of noise.” The grandfather told the lad what this new thing was,
saying: “Oh! that is Ohsoon. It makes the best kind of soup, and it is
the third kind of game that a young hunter kills.”

Running off into the forest, the lad soon saw a flock of the Ohsoon and
ran after them until he had caught one. He thought that the soup of
which his grandfather spoke must be in its legs. But after examining
them thoroughly and finding no soup, he exclaimed, “My grandfather must
have tried to deceive me”; with that remark he let the bird go free.
Then he ran back to his grandfather, complaining that he had caught one
of the Ohsoon and, after carefully examining its legs, had found no
soup in them, and that therefore he had let the bird go free. His
grandfather pityingly said, “Oh! you foolish boy. The soup is not in
its legs but in the body. You must kill, dress, and cook Ohsoon, and
then you will have very fine soup.” With this information the lad again
went out into the forest, and, having caught another of the Ohsoon,
brought it home. The old man was highly delighted with the success of
his grandson, so he himself killed, dressed, and cooked Ohsoon. Again
he sang and danced, frequently saying, “Now, my grandson will be a
great hunter.” When the bird was cooked, they ate their fill and were
both satisfied.

On another day the lad went out to hunt. In the forest he saw a very
strange creature, with long thin legs and something on its head
resembling the branches of a tree. Being very much afraid of this
creature, the lad ran home to his grandfather to tell him what he had
seen. His grandfather said: “That is Neogen,[363] which is the fourth
and greatest kind of game that a hunter kills. When a man can kill
Neogen he is a good hunter.” Taking his bow and quiver of arrows the
lad went into the forest to look for Neogen. After long hunting he
killed Neogen and dragged its body home to his grandfather. But on this
occasion the old man did not dance, for this was an event for solemnity
in conduct. With due respect to the amenities of the occasion he
carefully instructed the growing lad in the art of dressing the deer
and of preparing its skin for use. Then he told his grandson that he
had evinced the qualities of a good hunter, and that, “Hereafter you
need not run back home to tell me what you have seen. You now have the
right to kill anything that may come in your way. A man that can kill a
deer is a great hunter, and he then can kill all kinds of game.”

The next time the youth went to hunt he brought back a fine bear. His
grandfather was now very happy, for they had an abundance of meat.
Assuring the youth that he had arrived at the age of manhood, as
indicated by the change in his voice, he said to him: “My grandson, I
am much pleased with you. You may go when hunting in every direction
except toward the east. You must not go toward the east, for there
dwell very wicked women, who have killed through sorcery all our
people. So give heed to what I tell you.”

The next time that the young man started off to hunt he directed his
course southward. But as he traveled on he kept thinking of those
wicked women in the east, who had destroyed all his kindred. Finally,
he decided to change his course from the southward to eastward, and he
kept on for some time in the latter direction. At last he came to a
tree which was covered all over with what appeared to be the scratches
and nail marks of raccoons, whereupon he said to himself, “There must
be a large number of raccoons in this tree.” So he removed his outer
garments and laid aside his bow and arrows; then taking a stout club,
he climbed the tree until he came to a hole very near the top. Peering
into this opening, he saw many raccoons down in the hollow trunk. By
thrusting his club down among them, he killed a number. Drawing them
up, he threw them on the ground at the foot of the tree. Finally he
chanced to look down—there at the very foot of the tree he saw a
beautiful young woman sitting on a log. As soon as she caught his eye
she exclaimed, “Come down here. I wish to talk with you, so do not
delay.” The young man paid no attention to her at first, but kept on
killing the raccoons and casting them down to the ground. She hailed
him again, urging him to come down to talk with her. To avoid her, he
crept around the tree, and there he changed himself into a red-headed
woodpecker. Next he climbed up higher into the tree, pecking at the
bark as he went for a short time. Then he shot his arrow off toward
home; it whizzed through the air making a sound like a woodpecker. The
young woman, who thought that he was the arrow, flew after him with all
her might. But the young man, assuming again his own form, slipped down
the tree, and after putting on his garments and gathering up the
raccoons and his bow and arrows, he started for home.

His grandfather was greatly delighted to see so great a number of
raccoons, but when he learned where the young man had got them he
became very angry and chided him severely, saying, “You must not go
there again, for if you do great harm and evil will befall us.”

The next day the young man started off from home, going directly
southward. But when he was out of sight of the lodge he suddenly
turned, going directly eastward. On the course he passed the tree where
he had killed so many raccoons, and finally came to a second tree,
which was also full of raccoons. Stopping there, he killed a large
number, and while throwing them to the ground from the tree, he again
saw the woman who had accosted him at the other tree. She urged him to
come down, and did not fail to use very enticing terms. As he recalled
his grandfather’s words, the young man well knew that he should not go
down to her, but a feeling came into his heart which urgently prompted
him to comply with her request. So reluctantly descending halfway,
there he stopped. But the woman kept urging him to come down. Finally,
having reached the ground, he sat on the end of the log, near the
middle of which the woman was sitting. She asked him, “Why do you sit
so far away? Young people customarily sit near each other when they
talk together.” At this the young man drew a little nearer to her. But
she still urged him to come close to her, so finally he took his seat
right at her side. Now she began to tell him stories of wonders and
magic power, talking to him until at last, becoming wearied, the young
man fell asleep. Then the young woman, placing him in a bag which she
threw over her shoulder, hurried away through the air. At the end of a
long journey she alighted on the ground, and taking the young man from
the bag, she aroused him and asked, “Do you know this place?” Looking
around, he replied, “Yes; my grandfather and I have fished here.” The
young woman replied, “I do not believe what you say. Point out
something you remember.” The young man (willing that she should see
these things) said, “Oh! there are the poles we set up, and there is an
old kettle in which we cooked.” He had bewitched her eyes, so after
seeing these objects she believed what he had said.

Again the woman told him stories until she had put him to sleep; then
putting him into her bag she carried him far away, finally alighting on
the ground. Taking him out of the bag and causing him to open his eyes,
she set him on a narrow cliff under a mountain, where he had room only
sufficient for him to lie down—a place not wider than a small deerskin.

Looking upward, he saw the mountain extending far above him, and
looking downward, he saw that the earth was many hundreds of feet
below. Nearer to him were other mountain peaks, narrow and pointed, on
which were lying the bodies of men—some alive, some half dead, others
half eaten, and still others reduced to mere skeletons. The sight of
these things caused the young man many bitter reflections. He
repeatedly said: “Oh! now I see that my grandfather was entirely right
in the advice he gave me. There are indeed very wicked women who dwell
in the east.” His feelings of chagrin were only heightened by what he
learned from what one of the living men told. Calling to the man lying
on the nearest cliff, he asked him how he happened to be there. The man
in broken accents replied: “A woman deceived me and brought me here.
Other women brought those other men to the spots where you see them
lying. Their flesh is being eaten from their bones, yet they do not
die. You and I shall be eaten when they get ready to come to us.” He
ceased speaking, and the young man then thought long on some means of
escape from such a lingering, horrid death at the hands of such wicked
women and their agents. At last he remembered that in years past he had
had a dream in which he had seen a Great Spider, which approached him,
saying: “My friend, I will keep and protect you when you shall be in
trouble. So call on me when you shall be in fear of death.” He
therefore cried to this Great Spider for aid, saying: “Oh, Great
Spider! help me now. I am in great trouble.” Hardly had his words died
away before an enormous spider, which was as large as a man, came to
him and at once began weaving webs and to form a rope. When it had
finished the rope the Great Spider suspended it from the mountain above
the man. The rope was quite strong enough to support the man, and
thereby he climbed up to the top of the mountain above him. There he
saw a large level country. Then by the aid of the Great Spider,
lowering the rope to the men below on the cliffs who were still alive,
he drew them up one after another. Having thanked the Great Spider for
its aid, he dismissed it. The men thus rescued went to their homes.

Then the young man set out for the home of the woman who had so
cleverly deceived him. After a long journey he found her living with
her mother in an old lodge standing quite alone. Addressing the young
woman, the daughter of the old sorceress, the young man declared his
purpose in coming by saying: “I have come here to marry you. When I
first saw you I was greatly pleased with you; and I now love you. Will
you be my wife?” Replying, the young woman said, “Oh! I hardly know
what to tell you, for I have a very disagreeable mother, and I am much
afraid you will not be able to live in the same lodge with her. It was
in obedience to her command that I carried you to the narrow cliff on
the mountain peak. I am willing to make the trial if you wish it.” The
young man accepted her even under these adverse circumstances, and so
they became husband and wife.

One night some time after this the old woman, the mother-in-law of the
young man, who slept at the back end of the lodge, pretending to be in
an agony of pain, rolled around on the ground. Her daughter, knowing
what the trouble was, said to her husband, “Strike my mother on the
head with the pestle for pounding corn.” In doing this he said to her,
“Oh! mother-in-law, what is the matter?” Seeming to have been awakened
by the blow of the pestle the old woman said: “I have dreamed, and my
Dream Being declared that it is necessary in order to avoid some
unknown calamity that my son-in-law kill the Great White Beaver that
lives in the Lake of the Enchanted Waters, and that with its flesh he
must prepare a feast for the Dagwanoenyent.” The son-in-law replied:
“It is all right, Oh! mother-in-law. I will attend to this to-morrow
morning. So go to bed, and let it not worry you.”

The next morning the young husband set out for the Lake of the
Enchanted Waters. Having arrived there he soon found the Great White
Beaver. With but a single arrow he shot and killed it. But as soon as
he lifted its body out of the lake the enchanted waters pursued him
with great fury. These waters were reputed to be so full of evil
enchantment that the flesh of any living thing coming in contact with
them immediately fell from the bones. Knowing this, the young husband
ran for his life, bearing the body of the Great White Beaver. At last,
reaching the lodge in safety he triumphantly threw the carcass of the
Great White Beaver down on the ground, and at that instant the waters
of the lake quickly receded. The old woman was now in a great rage at
the turn of affairs. At times she cried out, “Oh! he is a terrible man.
I thought that surely his bones would now be in that lake. Oh, my poor
son! Oh, my poor son!” It seems that the Great White Beaver was no
other than her son, who was a great sorcerer, and who assumed this
formidable shape to deceive other shamans and sorcerers and to lure
them to certain destruction. But evidently his orenda had been overcome
by that of the young brother-in-law, his sister’s husband.

Having dressed the dead Beaver in accordance with established custom on
like occasions and having had its flesh cooked, the young man invited
the Dagwanoenyent and the Gaasyendietʻha to come to the feast given in
their honor. Coming, one and all, they filled the lodge to overflowing,
the Dagwanoenyent being little else than great, horrid, round heads
with long hair and with great flaming eyes. Their host commanded them
to eat everything—flesh and bones—and to drink the broth, for it was an
“eat-all” feast. When the feast had been devoured to the last morsel,
the ugly old heads began to smack their lips, and they praised
ironically the feast, saying: “What a splendid feast, a fine dinner,
the old woman has given us. Oh! how sweet and toothsome was her son’s
flesh.” Then the Great Heads [364] grinned at one another derisively.
Now, beside herself with rage, the old woman, seizing a club, drove all
her unwelcome guests out of the lodge.

The next night the old woman again rolled and tossed on her bed,
finally falling into the fire, crying out, Agi! Agi! The wife of the
young man had told him that this time her mother would dream that he
and his mother-in-law must go into the sweat-lodge—the man first, and
the old woman after him. So when the old woman rolled into the fire,
the young wife said, “Now, strike her with the pestle for pounding
corn.” At this he struck her a blow with the pestle while she was
rolling about among the ashes and fire, and groaning as if in great
agony. The old woman, pretending to awake, said, “Oh! I have dreamed
that my son-in-law entered the sweat-lodge—he first, and then I.”
Making light of her dream, the young man said, “Oh! go to bed,
mother-in-law. I will attend to this matter in the morning.” Early the
following morning the sweat-lodge was heated hotter than it had ever
been before. When the son-in-law entered, the old woman sang and danced
around it, saying, “Let there be heat enough in there to smother him.”
In a couple of hours she cautiously pushed aside the door flap of the
sweat-lodge, remarking, “He must be dead by this time.” But she was
deeply chagrined to find that he sat inside very comfortably, and that
he had not even perspired. It was now the old woman’s turn to enter the
sweat-lodge. As she did so, the son-in-law began to sing and to dance
around it. He sang, “Let this lodge become flint; let it be red hot at
first; and then let it be at white heat.” As it grew hotter and hotter
the old woman begged for mercy, but none was shown her, and thus she
was burned to death.

Now the young husband, addressing his wife, said, “As you brought me
the most of the way hither on your back, and as you know the way, take
me home.” So she bore him on her back over the fields, over the
forests, past the fishing-grounds where he said he and his grandfather
had fished, past the raccoon trees, and at last brought him to the
lodge of his grandfather. The aged grandfather welcomed his grandson
and his wife, being very glad that his grandson had lived through all
the difficulties which he knew he had met while he had been absent.
There they lived in peace and contentment.

This is the story of the Great White Beaver and the Lake of the
Enchanted Waters.







TRADITIONS


80. GANON, THE SENECA WAR CHIEF

Ganon was a Seneca war chief. Having called a council, he said, “We
must go to see the Cherokee, and find out whether we can not agree to
be friendly and to live in peace hereafter.” The people consenting, the
chief continued, “We must purify ourselves thoroughly before we start;
this will take ten days.” Thereupon a great many went off into a deep
forest. All were men. There was no woman in the company. When they got
into the deep forest they took medicine to make them vomit. This they
did every morning for ten days, in addition to bathing and swimming and
washing their bodies each day.

At the end of ten days the chief said, “We shall go now on a high hill
and there make a trench the length of a man’s body. Then we will put a
man into it, placing boughs across so he can not be seen, and on top of
all the whole carcass of a deer.”

Now, they had invited Sʻhadahgeah to come down, and the people staid
near the trench. The man under the bush heard a noise, and saw a common
eagle come, eat a little, and then go off; then the eagle came back
again, ate, and went away in another direction. It seemed as if it
notified other birds, for they also came. The man who was lying
underneath the brush scared them away, for they did not want common
birds to eat the meat. After a while the concealed man heard a
tremendous noise, which he knew was made by Sʻhadahgeah, the bird they
wanted. Sʻhadahgeah is a very cautious bird; it looked everywhere
before beginning to eat the meat. The man got his hand carefully around
the bird’s tail, which he held firmly, and when the bird flew away he
pulled out one feather. It took two years to get a full tail of
feathers; hence they had to entice down a good many birds in this way
before they got enough for the purpose. When secured, the party was
ready to start for the Cherokee country.

Many days were required to reach the land of the Cherokee, who had
built a fort around them so that an enemy could not enter. The Seneca
got there early in the morning, when the gate was open. Two of the
Seneca dancers, adorned with feathers, made a noise like a whoop. When
the Cherokee heard this they came out, whereupon they saw the two men
singing and dancing. “These men must have come on some errand,” said
the Cherokee chief. When the two men came nearer they said: “We wish to
meet in council, as we come to talk about something important.” All
turned and went toward the lodge of assembly. All the Seneca had come
directly there, but only the two were singing and dancing. The lodge of
assembly was crowded. The Seneca sang and danced until tired, when they
stopped. The Cherokee did not dance. The Seneca chief said: “Now I will
tell you for what purpose we have come to you through the forest. We
have thought among ourselves that it is time to stop fighting. You and
we are always on the lookout to kill one another. We think it is time
to stop this. Here is the proof, if we agree to be friendly. Here is
the wampum. If you and your people are willing to be friendly, you will
take this.” With these words he held out the string of wampum as their
credentials. The Cherokee chief, coming up, met the Seneca chief,
saying: “I will take it and hold it in my hand, and tomorrow we will
tell you what we have decided to do.” Then turning, he said to his
people: “Go home and bring food to this lodge of assembly.” Thereupon
all brought from their homes so much food that there was a great pile
lying across the lodge of assembly. All ate together, but could not
consume the whole amount.

The next day they ate together again. “We have decided among
ourselves,” said the Cherokee chief to the Seneca, “to accept this
wampum, to be friendly with you, and to bury all the weapons of war so
no man may reach them again.” In response the Seneca chief said: “I
thank you. We are very glad that you have accepted our offer, and now
all of us have put our weapons together, and the white wampum shall
hang between us, and the belt shall be as long as a man, reaching down
to the ground.” The Cherokee said to their people: “Now is the time for
any of you who wishes to do so to pick out relatives from among the
Seneca to be adopted.”

When the notice was given the Cherokee women picked out one man,
saying, “You are to be our uncle, our mother’s brother.” Some other
woman took another for a brother; and finally all were taken except
Ganon,[365] the chief. Then Ganon, being above a Cherokee, said, “No
one has a right to take Ganon away, for a young man is here who will
claim him as his father.” At this, the young man, walking up to Ganon,
said, “Father, I am glad to see you. Now, father, we will go home.”
Speaking thus, he went to his mother’s lodge, taking his father with
him, and it was found to be he. He took him to the lodge where Ganon
spent the first night, and the young man was really his son. When Ganon
came to the lodge he recognized the woman. Everyone was pleased with
the place and relationship.

A good many days later a man came to the village from the East—the
Great Salt Water. He came from the Seoqgwageonon [366] tribe to
challenge them to a ball play, and he told how many days it would be
before his people would come. They came at the time appointed. The head
man was dressed in skins which were so long that they touched the
ground. Next day the Seoqgwageonon began to bet with the Cherokee. The
Seneca were there. The bet was two very heavy, costly skins, and other
valuables. The Seneca and the Cherokee said, “We can not say that we
shall win this game, but we are willing to play.” The play began. The
Cherokee lost the game. Then the Seneca said, “We shall try this time,”
and they bet again heavily. All were ready. They put their netted clubs
to the ground. After a little swift running, the Seneca brought the
ball to their goal, making a point. After the game had continued a
while, having made all the points agreed on, they won the game. They
now doubled the bet, and again the Seneca won. They won the third game
also. Now the Seoqgwageonon said, “We will try the race with you.”

The ground was quite level, and the opening was very broad. The
Cherokee chose a Seneca runner. They were to run the first time without
betting, and to bet on the second running. The men ran to the post, and
his people, seeing that the Seneca runner was just the thickness of his
body behind as they reached the post, asked him whether he had done his
best. He replied, “No; I have not.” Now they bet and the second, the
real race, began. At the middle of the course the Seneca runner said to
the other, “Do your best, for I am going to do mine.” The Seneca left
the other far behind, winning the race. Now the Seoqgwageonon said,
“There is yet one race, the long race, which we shall try.” The
Cherokee said, “We have won everything from these people. I believe it
will be best to let them win one game. If they lose all, they may make
trouble.” So they selected a Cherokee to run, who was beaten, whereupon
the Seoqgwageonon went home.

In two days another man came to say in behalf of the Seoqgwageonon that
he had come to challenge them a second time, and that they were to meet
halfway and have a fight. The Cherokee said to the Seneca who were with
them: “You are so few in number here with us that we do not want to
have you killed, so we think you would better go home.” When the time
came, the Cherokee met and fought with the Seoqgwageonon and were
beaten. Three years later the Seneca went to visit the Cherokee. On
this occasion they heard all about the fight, and the Cherokee told
them that the Seoqgwageonon had said, “We should like to fight with the
Seneca, for I am a double man; I have two virile members.” So the
Seneca held a council and decided to fight them, saying, “We shall try
and see whether he has two virile members.” The Cherokee volunteered to
guide the Seneca. They traveled many days until they came to a place
where the Cherokee said, “This is as far as the Seoqgwageonon usually
come to hunt.” They came to a path, and finding a footprint, they
waited there for the man who had made it. Soon they saw a man carrying
meat on his back. “We must take that man,” said the Seneca, “but let us
be careful lest he hurt us.” When he came near they ran at him. As soon
as he saw them, he whooped and dropped the meat. Then he drew his bow
and arrow to shoot, but before he could select his arrow, he was taken
captive. They caused him to stand in the middle of the assembly,
saying, “Let us see whether he has two virile members. “When they saw
he had only one, they said, “Now we want your people to stop saying
they have two virile members.” Thereupon the Seneca went back to the
Cherokee village.

Soon a runner came from the Seoqgwageonon, who told the Cherokee that
they wanted to have war with the Seneca and that he had come to
challenge them. The Seneca answered, “We will try to gratify them;” so
they started for the Seoqgwageonon village, guided by the Cherokee.
They came to an opening, from which it was one day’s journey to the
first village. Stopping at a hill in this opening, they were about to
send two messengers to the Seoqgwageonon when the Cherokee said, “You
must send them so as to arrive at the village about sundown.” They did
this. When the messengers arrived near the village they saw that the
Seoqgwageonon were playing ball. The messengers then went around to the
south side and threw sumach darts, so as to deceive the other Indians
into thinking them of their own people. The Seoqgwageonon so regarded
the messengers, hence they did not take notice of them. The messengers
having killed a man, scalped him, and rushed off whooping. On the way
home the Seneca kept saying to one another, “Djágon—brace up, take
courage.” About dusk they saw dust rising from the ground a good
distance behind. The Seoqgwageonon on horses were pursuing them. The
Seneca saw that they would be overtaken in the open, so they hurried to
a dry creek with overhanging banks, where they hid. Soon the horses and
dogs drew near, but the dogs failed to find the Seneca and the pursuers
went on. Shortly they returned, but again failed in their search.

The next morning the Seneca went on to Odaiadon, where there was an
opening into a forest. The messengers soon saw the dust a second time
and knew from this that they were being pursued. In a little while they
could see the horses which were coming on them; soon the horses were
near. The arrows of the Seoqgwageonon whizzed past them, and now their
enemies were almost on them, but the runners were at the opening, where
their people were arrayed in the form of a horseshoe. As soon as the
pursuers got into this formation the Seneca closed in on them,
capturing and killing all but one, who, being in the rear, turned and
fled in time. The two Seneca now followed the horseman until they saw
that he met a crowd. He talked to his people, and he and they went back
together to the country of the Seoqgwageonon.

The Seneca and the Cherokee now went to the Cherokee country, and in a
month the Seneca returned to their own place.

After a while the Seneca said, “Let us go again to our friends, the
Cherokee.” When they arrived there all were glad and invited them to
their lodges. They said to the Seneca: “We hear that the Seoqgwageonon
think the Seneca are dangerous and bad people. They themselves are
fortune-tellers and can see what other people are going to do, but they
can not tell what the Seneca are going to do. They are magically more
powerful than the others.” During this visit they merely amused
themselves with games and other sports.





81. HATCINONDON:[367] A HISTORICAL TRADITION

Hatcinondon was a great warrior, the greatest among the warlike Seneca
of the Iroquois Confederation.

Once Hatcinondon led a large company of warriors to the Cherokee
country on a raid. In time they arrived at a place called Oyada [368]
Thadinongeh, which was within the Cherokee country. They knew well that
the Cherokee were on the lookout for them. Having reached this place,
Hatcinondon told his men to remain where they were, and that he would
go ahead to spy out the land and to learn what could be done. Then he
departed from the camp of his men. Soon it was discovered by the enemy
that he was in the Cherokee country, and he was closely pursued by
them. He fled into a region covered with a heavy growth of reeds, which
was in two great sections, with a narrow strip of comparatively clear
land between them. Hatcinondon managed to escape into one of these
stretches, unobserved by the enemy, who believed that he had concealed
himself in the other part. So they set guards at the narrow strip of
land dividing the two sections of reedy land. After they had set fire
to the reeds and burned them up they made a careful search for his
charred body; but Hatcinondon had fallen asleep from exhaustion in the
other stretch of reeds. During the night, however, two men came to him,
who seized him by the arms, saying: “We have come for you.” When they
had brought him to the place whence they had been sent, they said to
him: “We have now brought you to this man who sent for you.” Whereupon
the two men pointed out a lodge, with the words: “There is where the
Heron lives who sent for you.” Hatcinondon went up to the lodge, but
could find no doorway; but after he had searched for some time without
success he heard a voice on the inside say, “Come in!” and a door
opened of itself, and Hatcinondon entered the lodge. Within he found a
man, who said: “I sent for you, and you have now come. Are you not
hungry?” At this Hatcinondon thought: “This is a strange way; this is
not the way I do. I would give the food at once.” But Ne Hononhsot,
knowing the thought of Hatcinondon, laughing, remarked: “I said that
only in fun.” Arising, he got half a loaf of bread made of corn meal,
half a wild apple, and half a pigeon, which he offered to his guest.
Hatcinondon said, laughing: “How little it is that will satisfy me.” To
which Ne Hononhsot answered: “If you eat this I shall give you more.”
As soon as Hatcinondon began to eat he saw that as he ate everything
became whole again, so that he was not able entirely to consume
anything. He was finally satisfied with what he had eaten. Then Ne
Hononhsot said: “Now that you have finished eating I will speak with
you further.”

While Hatcinondon was speaking he heard footsteps of someone
approaching on a run, and suddenly the door was thrust open, whereupon
the Sun came in so quickly and with such brightness that he had to hold
his head down to shield his eyes. The newcomer conversed with Ne
Hononhsot but Hatcinondon could not understand a word that was said. In
a short time the visitor started off toward the east. Then Ne Hononhsot
said to Hatcinondon: “This man is the one whom you Seneca call Endekha
Gaahgwa.[369] It is night now down on the earth, so he is hurrying
toward the east. He told me of a great battle that is now ended.”

Ne Hononhsot was indeed Hawenniyo, and he said: “This is what I
expected when I created human beings. I thought they would fight. The
man who has just been here is the one who watches on the earth below. I
want you to know that when you meet an enemy who shoots at you, you
must not run away but must walk straight up to him. He shall not hurt
you. An arrow shall not kill you. It is something else that shall kill
you. Now you shall eat again.” Ne Hononhsot next gave him the same kind
of food, one half of each object. Then he continued: “I am the cause
that the Seneca do not now fight with the Cherokee, for I love both
tribes. When you return home you will find all your people there, and
they will know that you are alive. When you get back to your party of
warriors you must tell them that they must leave the warpath at once
and cease fighting, returning to their homes and remaining there until
they shall find something to satisfy their wants. Now my messengers are
ready to lead you back to your camp.”

Going out of the lodge, and directed by the messengers, Hatcinondon
passed through an opening and soon found himself in the reeds where he
was before he had been called away, and then the messengers departed.

Returning to his party of warriors, Hatcinondon told them what he had
seen and heard. All went home, where they held a great council, and it
was there agreed that the party should go to the Cherokee country in a
couple of days. At the appointed time they started, while Hatcinondon
went directly to the Cherokee lands again. He was not afraid, for he
knew that an arrow would not kill him. In time the Seneca met the
Cherokee, and a fierce fight took place. Remembering what he had been
told, Hatcinondon, going straight to the enemy, killed and scalped a
Cherokee warrior, whereupon he immediately proclaimed, “I have killed
and scalped a warrior. My name is Hatcinondon.” He did this before any
of the Cherokee knew that he was there. They had a great battle and
many were killed. After the fight the party of Hatcinondon retreated to
their homes. The news soon spread that this party had returned home
with scalps.

Shortly after this affair another Seneca party started away to fight
the Cherokee, and Hatcinondon accompanied it. They soon encountered the
Cherokee, and in the ensuing fight Hatcinondon was captured. He was led
away, bound, to the Cherokee village, where a great council of war was
held. It was a standing rule with the Cherokee that when any person
from the Six Nations of the Iroquois was captured his or her fate was
left to the decision of two women, whose privilege it was to determine
how such a person should be tortured. These two women at this council
decided that Hatcinondon should be hung up and tortured to death by
fire. So he was securely bound to a tree, the war post, and wood was
carefully piled up under and around him. He had given himself up as
lost. They were about to set fire to the pyre of wood when a violent
rainstorm came up, causing the women to defer the execution until the
storm should have passed over. All the people sought shelter from the
storm, leaving Hatcinondon tied to the war post. While there alone he
saw an old woman coming toward him, who said: “My grandson, you think
that you are going to die, but you are not. Try to stir yourself.”
Thereupon, moving himself about, he found that his bonds were loosened
and that he was free. “You see now that you are free,” she said; “I
thought that I would come to return your kindness. You remember your
people once made a circle of fire and I was in the middle of it. You
recall, perhaps, that you saw a toad in the middle, and that you saved
the toad, placing it in your bosom. I was that toad. You carried me
until you came to water, in which you placed me. This is the reason I
am returning your kindness, for I see that you are in trouble now. I
brought that rainstorm and now I want you to run in the direction of
the next stream, and you must continue down the stream.”

When the rainstorm was over the two women returned to the war post,
only to find that Hatcinondon had escaped. They gave the alarm at once,
and the warriors assembled, calling the dogs, which forthwith took up
the trail. Soon they reached the stream and followed the current. As
Hatcinondon fled he came to a tree that leaned over the water. He found
that the trunk was hollow and that he could get into it from the water
and then crawl farther up. Here the dogs lost the trail and finally the
pursuit was abandoned. When the pursuers had departed he heard two
people approaching the spot, talking. Presently they sat on the tree at
the very place where he was concealed. He overheard them say, “It is
wonderful how that man escaped from us.” Hatcinondon was very careful
not to cough lest he should be discovered. But at last he heard them
depart and there was no further sound of talking. At last, having come
out of the hollow in the tree, he went southward, down the stream. When
night was approaching, while walking along he heard a blow which
sounded like that of an ax on a tree. Being greatly frightened, he
became very wary in his movements. While standing listening, he saw
three men, who had made a fire where they were going to camp for the
night. When darkness had fully set in he crept up stealthily, shielded
by a very large tree. Standing behind this tree, he saw that the men
were sound asleep and were snoring. Without disturbing them he secured
their weapons, with which he armed himself, carefully hiding those he
did not need. Then with an ax he killed the three men, whom he scalped.
Thereupon he said: “The blood is too strong, so I shall go aside from
this place.”

Taking their provisions, he went to a neighboring stream, where he made
a fire. Having done this, he went back and dressed himself in the best
of the garments of the slain men, for he was entirely naked; then he
returned to his fire, and, having cooked his meal, he ate it. When he
had finished his meal he prepared and painted the three scalps.

The next morning Hatcinondon, taking with him what provisions they had,
traveled in a great circle until he had found the path by which he and
his party had come to that country. Discovering fresh tracks leading
both ways, he learned that his friends were still in the country. As he
went along the path he saw smoke ahead, at the sight of which he
stopped and listened to see whether he could hear Seneca speech. He was
delighted to hear Seneca terms, and displaying the three scalps on a
stick he called out, Goʹweh, goʹweh! three times. When his friends
heard this, shouting for joy, they ran to meet him. They saw indeed
that he had three scalps and brought him to their camp fire. They were
glad that he had been found for they had watched day and night for his
return, but had about concluded that he had been killed. Setting out
for home, they found all their people well. This is the story.





82. GODIONT [370] AND THE SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA

In Genesee Valley is Dedioitgeon—the mouth of a gully. In that place
lived the Seneca people. Godiont, the principal woman in the village,
had a meeting with a Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, who said to her, “We think it
would benefit your people for us to settle permanently at Dedioitgeon.”
Godiont thought it was good and kind in them to do this, and so she was
glad. Afterward when anyone was sick she went to that place and called
on the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa for assistance. She invited them to come to
her lodge, and got a pot of corn soup ready for them. They came in
person, and having asperged the patient with ashes and having blown on
him, they ate the corn pudding. The Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa said to Godiont,
“Whenever you invite us to come, you must have the pot ready, for we do
not wish to wait. After we have arrived we want to do our work
quickly.”

Once there was a man who had not much substance, who thought he would
fool the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa. Going to their place, he invited them,
saying, “Your help is required at a certain place” (naming it). They
went there, but found no one, and nothing was ready. After waiting a
while, the chief one said: “We have been trifled with. This will not
do. Godiont did not do this. Some other person has trifled with us. The
one who has done so must die. We are not to be trifled with. The people
must understand this. It is best for us to move away from this place.”
“I will tell you,” said he to Godiont, “what I want you to do. Make
masks as near like our faces as you can, and let men wear them, and we
shall work through these masks and thus help the people.” “Soon the man
who has trifled with us must come here,” said the oldest
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, “and you shall see what will happen to him.” Soon
the man came on a run. He was in a kind of crazy fit. Coming right to
the spot where the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa were, he fell down and began to
vomit blood, and finally died. After that day the people knew it was
wrong to make fun of the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa.





83. SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA

The inhabitants of a village saw an enormous Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa
approaching, whereupon they were very angry and provoked to see that it
could think of coming; so they got their bows and arrows ready to
shoot. But the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa called out: “Your arrows can not kill
me. I have not come to harm you. I have come for tobacco, and you must
collect voluntary contributions of it and give me all that you can
spare.” They did not shoot, for they well knew that their arrows would
have no effect except to make the Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa angry and
revengeful. So they collected a quantity of tobacco, which they gave to
him. Then he left them with the promise that he would never trouble
them again if during their tobacco harvest they would always set aside
a portion of this soothing plant for him. He kept his promise, as he
never molested them after this.





84. SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA

The Onondaga say that Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa live in a cave among rocks near
their reservation. They assert as a fact that they have seen
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa going along in front of these rocks and entering the
cave, and they believe that many Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa live in that place.
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa are represented by the so-called False Faces, or
maskers, of the Iroquois.





85. GENONSGWA

Three men were hunting in the woods. One of them, who was married, had
his wife and child with him. While the men were off in the forest the
woman and child remained in the lodge. The child was small and swathed
to a cradleboard.

One day when the woman returned to the lodge with water from a near-by
stream, she heard talking, and, looking into the lodge, she saw a woman
dressed in stone. The woman had taken up the baby and was rocking it on
her knee, singing, Aʼuwah, aʼuwah (such good eating). Every little
while she would take a bite out of the child’s cheek. The child
screamed. Then spitting on her hand and rubbing the cheek, it became
whole again, and the child stopped crying. The mother stood near the
door, and seeing all this, was terrified. “Now we are going to die,”
said she to herself. The Genonsgwa (Stone Coat Woman) looked up, and on
seeing the mother bade her come in and be not afraid, as all would be
well. Toward night the hunters returned. When they saw the woman
dressed in stone, they were afraid, but the Stone Coat Woman said, “I
have come to help you in hunting.”

So they all lived together. The men went hunting day after day and had
good luck in finding game and bringing home meat.

One evening during this hunting season the men said, “We have found a
pond not far away that has a great many beavers in it.” The Stone Coat
Woman said, “I will go with you tomorrow.” The next day she went to the
pond, and having cut a small circular hole in the ice, called to the
beavers to come out. A number came out; these she caught and killed.
Then she called again and more came out; she killed them, too, and so
she continued to do till the hunters had as many as they wanted. The
men skinned the beavers and kept the furs. The Stone Coat Woman fell to
eating the bodies raw.

One morning the Stone Coat Woman said to the hunters: “A visitor is
coming, and you must do all you can to defend yourselves. My husband is
mad, and perhaps he will kill us all. When I left him, I ran away and
came to you; he is angry, and when he comes I will fight with him as
well as I can. You must be ready with a basswood stick. Sharpen it and
harden it in the fire a little to make it effective. When he throws me
to the ground, as he will do, you must spear him from behind and kill
him. He will come some time this afternoon. Then you must be on the
lookout for him continually.” At last they saw him approaching; he came
up and talked with his wife. She begged him not to make any trouble,
saying she would go home with him, but he would not listen to her
words. He saw there were two men there; so he became jealous and began
fighting. He knocked down his wife, and as he leaned over to beat her,
the men ran the basswood spear into his body, thus killing him. Then
the woman, having gotten up, said: “I do not know what will happen to
us now, for my husband has two brothers, who know he is dead, and who
will come here and kill us. The river is open; you have canoes and must
escape that way.”

The Stone Coat Woman then went off alone; the others took to their
canoes. As they were pushing out into the river, a man came to the
shore, calling to the oarsman to come back a moment; refusing to do so,
he pushed farther out. Thereupon the other man called out, “It is lucky
for you that you did not come back, for I came to eat you.” So these
people had a narrow escape.





86. GENONSGWA

A long while ago, while some Seneca were out hunting, a Stone Coat came
up to them, saying: “I should like to remain here with you, and I think
that you will derive good luck from me. You can have all the skins you
need and meat enough to live on. I will take the rest.” The Seneca
agreed to this.

The next morning the hunters had great luck in hunting. When it was
time for them to go home for the season, the Stone Coat said, “I will
pack each man’s load of meat and skins.” They had dried meat,
buckskins, and furs. The Stone Coat packed in a single bundle what he
thought each man could carry; then he shook each bundle till it became
small. He told the men to cast their bundles on the ground when they
got home, and that they would become as large as when he began to pack
them. Bidding them good-by, the Stone Coat said, “I hope you will all
come to this place next winter; then we can all be together again.”

The next winter these hunters went back to the same hunting-ground,
whereupon another Stone Coat came to them, who said, “My father has
sent me here to bring one of you hunters to his home; he wants him as a
son-in-law.” One of the men volunteered to go, saying, “Probably we
shall be better off; perhaps we shall live longer by doing as he
wishes”; so he accompanied the Stone Coat. When they came to the Stone
Coat’s house, the old man said, “I sent my son to bring you here. I
want you to marry my daughter. You must not be afraid. I will make my
people understand that they must not touch nor harm you.” So the man
married the Stone Coat’s daughter, although the old man said that his
people would be surprised at his giving his daughter to a Seneca.

The Stone Coat rubbed his son-in-law’s hands, feet, and body with an
object like a bone, and then told him to go out hunting. The young man
felt himself growing so strong that he felt he could carry off
everything he laid his eyes on. There was a certain young man of the
Stone Coats who loved the old Stone Coat’s daughter and wanted to marry
her. Being angry with the Seneca, he came up to him, saying, “You and I
must have a foot race. If I should outrun you, thereby winning, I shall
cut your head off and take your wife. If you win you may cut my head
off.” The appointed day came, and all the Stone Coat people assembled
to see the race. The young man’s father-in-law said, “You need not be
afraid. I will help you.” Taking some substance out of a stone box, he
rubbed it over the man’s body. Thereupon he and his opponent, locking
arms, ran until they reached a tree, when they were to have let go and
run on, but the Stone Coat held on to the man’s hand, so that their
locked arms bent over the hemlock tree. When they got nearly to the end
of the tree the Stone Coat let go, causing the tree to spring back,
throwing the man backward a good distance. The young man, hurrying
forward, outran the Stone Coat, and cut his head off in the presence of
all.





87. GENONSGWA

Once while a man was out hunting in the woods he saw that a Genonsgwa
was following him, and thereupon he began to run for his life. Finally,
when closely pressed, he ran up on a tree trunk which in falling had
become lodged on another. The Stone Coat stopped and stood looking
around, but he could not find the man, for his body was rigid on
account of his Stone Coat, so he could not look upward. Then the man
saw him draw from his pouch a magical finger, which he placed in the
palm of his hand. The finger at once raised itself, pointing to the man
in the tree. When the man, who was a fast runner, saw the magical
finger pointing at him he knew that he could slip down from the tree,
snatch the magical finger, and escape with it. He did so. Stone Coat
shouted after him, begging, praying, and promising to be his friend
forever if he would give back the magical finger. The man was afraid to
go near Stone Coat lest the latter might deceive and seize him; so
finally he threw the magic finger back to the Stone Coat. Ever after
this particular man and the Stone Coat were on friendly terms.





88. GENONSGWA

At times men got lost while hunting in the forest, and it was supposed
by their friends that Stone Coats ate them.

Once three Seneca went out on the warpath against some other tribes.
They journeyed directly westward from the place where the Seneca lived.
After a day’s journey they encamped in a deep ravine at the head of a
stream. When they had made their fire they saw a fine-looking man
coming toward them. When he came up, he said: “I think it well to do
what I am going to do. I have come to tell you that there are hundreds
of people on the warpath who intend to eat people. Tonight you must
camp here. They will make their camp in sight of yours. One of you
three must go to their fire and say: ‘Hallo, I have discovered your
fire. Where are you going?’ They will answer: ‘We are on the warpath.’
Your man must reply: ‘I, too, am on the warpath,’ to which they will
respond: ‘Well, we must fight.’ Then your man must leave them and come
back to your camp.”

The Seneca soon afterward saw men come and make a camp a short distance
away. Thereupon one of the three hunters, drawing near them, said:
“Hallo, I have discovered your fire. Where are you going?” “We are on
the warpath,” they replied. “So am I,” he answered. Looking around, he
saw stone clothing lying against one of the trees, while the owner of
the clothes was resting on the ground. The people were all Stone Coats.
The next morning the Stone Coat army went up the ravine toward the
Seneca camp. They made a terrible noise, for all the army sang, “We are
going to eat the Seneca tribe.” When the Stone Coat force had gone
about halfway up the ravine, filling the entire space between them and
the Seneca, with a great whoop they rushed forward. But at that moment
great rocks rolled down on them and great trees fell on them, killing
them, and the Seneca saw a strange, wonderful man running along on the
top of the rocks and trees. Whenever he saw a Stone Coat head in sight,
he would hit it, killing its owner. Only one Stone Coat was left alive,
and he, having escaped, was never seen again. The man who was throwing
down the rocks sang all the time that the Seneca tribe could stand
against anything—against the world. When the contest was over, the
strange man came to the three men, saying: “I am the one whom you call
Hawenniyo. It is I who saved you. I did not make these Stone Coats.
Something else made them.” And Hawenniyo said further: “I want you, the
Seneca people, to be the most active of all tribes in every kind of
game or contest and in hunting.”





89. GENONSGWA

When the Seneca lived at Canandaigua one of their medicine-men notified
them that something terrible was about to happen, something which would
cause many to lose their lives. At this they were greatly frightened;
they quarreled with one another and became suspicious even of their own
children.

One night a great uproar was heard in the village, and jumping up from
their couches, men, women, and children, running out of their lodges,
fled as fast as they could in every direction. The weather was very
cold. Among the people of the village was a woman who two days before
had given birth to a child. She ran for her life, holding the infant in
her arms; it was wrapped up and she carried it as a bundle. On the way
she determined to throw the bundle down so as to be able to run faster,
and on coming to a tree having a hole in one side, not far from the
ground, she dropped the bundle into it. This was a bear’s den, and as
the bundle fell into the hole the old bear found it. The woman, running
for her life, overtook some of her people, who asked her what she had
done with the child, but she made them no answer. After many had been
killed, the enemy (who were Indians) disappeared, and the Seneca made
new homes for themselves.

In the spring, while on a hunting expedition, a man came to a chestnut
grove, where he camped. The next day while hunting he saw a she-bear
with cubs. He killed the old bear. As she fell over, she struck one of
the cubs, which cried like a child, while the other cubs ran up a tree.
The hunter, hearing the cry, thought it very strange. When he came near
the spot, he saw a small boy, who ran away crying. The boy was so wild
that the man could hardly catch him. He cried all the time. The hunter
said: “Stop crying, nephew; nothing will harm you. Stop, nephew!” The
little fellow answered: “You made me cry. You killed my mother; you
have made me very miserable. Over there are my brothers” (pointing to
the tree). “I should not have killed your mother had I seen you first,”
said the man; “but how came that bear to be your mother?” The boy, who
was covered with hair, replied: “I will tell you. When your people fled
from Canandaigua in the evening of the attack on them, I was thrown
away. I was then only two days old, but I remember everything. I knew
my mother’s mind. I was a burden to her when she was trying to escape,
so she dropped me into the hollow trunk of that tree over there, where
a bear happened to live. The bear caught me as I fell, and said that I
should live with her children, and that she could keep us all. My
mother threw me away to die. The bear is the mother who nursed and
cared for me.”

“Very well,” said the man; “I know this is true. You will be my son
now.” The boy did not like this, but he agreed to it at last. The man
promised that all he had or would get should be his. He stopped crying,
and the man, strapping him on his back, carried him to camp. After
this, whenever the man went out to hunt, he tied the boy so that he
could not get away, until one day the boy said, “Do not tie me. I will
never leave you” (his nature had now become human). The hunter had
buried the mother bear without taking off her skin. As the boy had
promised not to run away, the man let him go with himself to hunt. The
boy seemed to have some way of knowing where bears lived, but he never
told his father where a female bear was, only where male bears were to
be found, and his father shot them. This man had always been a poor
hunter until he found the boy; afterward he had wonderful luck. Some
time having passed, the man said, “We must go back to our own village.”
When they reached home the boy said, “That woman (meaning his mother)
will see and know me.” “Pay no attention to her,” said the man; “she
threw you away.”

They had been home two days, when the woman heard that the hunter had
brought back a little boy (the hair had fallen off the boy and the man
had made him clothes). Visiting the hunter’s lodge, she watched every
movement of the boy. He was afraid of her; he knew her thoughts when
she threw him into the tree and knew them now. He said, “This man is my
father; he brought me home.” But she made up her mind the boy was hers
and urged him to go home with her. One day, when she knew the hunter
was away, going to his lodge, she tried to catch the boy, but he ran
into the woods, crying from fright. She followed him. The hunter came
back, and not finding the child, looked for tracks, soon discovering
that the boy had fled from his mother into the woods. The man was
sorry, for he was afraid he would never see the boy again. He searched
for him for several days. Then he happened to think that perhaps he had
gone to their old hunting lodge. On finding him there, he asked, “Why
did you leave me?” The boy answered: “A woman followed me. I thought
she was going to kill me. She called me her son. I did not like it. I
told her I had no mother, but she tried to catch me. I would rather
live here all the time.” The man was willing, so, having built a better
lodge, they remained there. The boy was an industrious worker and the
man became very fond of him. One day the boy said, “I want a playmate.”
“All right,” replied the hunter; “your mother is going to have a child.
I will bring it.” This did not satisfy the boy, who wanted a companion
near his own age. So, going to the settlement, they brought back the
man’s sister’s child, who was only a little younger than the
bear-nursed boy.

Now there were three in the lodge. When he went off hunting the man
often left the boys at home, telling them not to go far from the lodge.
After the lapse of time, however, they began to venture farther and
farther away from the lodge, until one day, when they were quite far
off they saw that the leaves and grass and hills and valleys and
everything else were moving together westward. Looking more closely,
they saw a large body of land moving, even with game on it and moving
as if it were a river. Presently they noticed a coon sitting on the
moving ground and going along with this stream, or river, of land.[371]
Watching it made them forget everything. As the coon looked at the boys
they were about to shoot it with their bows and arrows; one indeed drew
his bow, but the coon held up his paw against his face to ward off the
arrow. At last the elder boy said: “Let us go home now; we will come
here tomorrow and play all day.”

When the hunter came back he had killed several bears and had driven
one to the lodge. Calling the boys, he said, “I drove this one home
only to let you have a hand in killing it.” Instead of killing the bear
at once they plagued and tormented it. When they had killed it the man
was well pleased and told them that was the way they must do
thereafter.

The next day, as usual, the man when starting off cautioned the boys
not to go far from the lodge, for if they did they would meet with
trouble. But they were so anxious to see the place where they had been
the day before that he was scarcely out of sight when they started off.
They found that the river of land flowed on the same as it had the day
before, the only difference being that it was running more rapidly.
They resolved as they saw the animals riding on it that they would do
likewise. The younger boy rode some distance on the land stream (it was
dry land, but moving just like a river; it was not wide, for a person
could jump across it). When the boy came back he said to the other, “Go
and try it; it is great fun.” “Well, go with me,” replied the other.
They tried it together. It was like sliding down hill; instead of
stepping off the “river of land” they would fall over on the land that
was not in motion, and then they would get up again. The smaller boy
said, “Let us continue on this stream as far as it goes.” The other
agreed to this. It was necessary that they should be always of one
mind. The smaller one said, “You go ahead.” “All right,” replied the
other. He ran on the stream and the other followed. They were having a
good time, as they could hear each other shout and laugh. After going
some distance the younger one decided to get off and run back, so he
called out to the other, “I will go back but will come down again.” It
seemed to them exactly like sliding down hill; it was fun to run
upstream as well as ride down. As the younger one got on again to go
down, his companion passed him, running up. It seemed that they were
going faster this time, and when both were on again, one called out to
the other, “Let us go as far as we can.” Soon they came to a place
where everything seemed to be passing in at a doorway. The boy behind
saw his companion go in at the doorway on the stream of land, and he
thought it was great sport. At that moment he heard a noise from within
which sounded as though some one had killed his friend; then he too
went in at the doorway, only to find that it was a place to snare game,
and that no one could get off after he had gone so far. All the game
went of their own volition, even as they themselves had gone. The
instant the elder entered the doorway the man of the lodge hit him on
the head with a hammer, killing him. Both boys were now dead.

Two Genonsgwa lived in this lodge, and it was through their great
orenda (magic power) that everything was drawn to them. One of the two
said to the other, “Hai! now we will have something to eat,” and
running splints through the bodies of the boys, each took one to roast.
The two Genonsgwa did not seem to be of the same family, for each sat
on his own side of the fire and cooked for himself. As the bodies began
to cook the fat came out, falling on the fire and simmering. A body was
standing on each side of the fire, and one called out to the other,
“You are burning.” “Guah!” said the Genonsgwa, “that one has a voice,
but this one is roasting finely; it can not burn. When one begins to
burn the other tells him of it.” One of the Genonsgwa then began
eating. “Oh! how delicious this is,” he said, smacking his lips. After
he had eaten off all the flesh that was well cooked, he put the rest
back to finish roasting; thereupon the partially eaten boy said to the
body on the other side, “You are burning.” “How good they are; they
won’t let each other burn. It is queer game that talks like this,” said
one of the Genonsgwa. The Genonsgwa kept on roasting and eating until
one and then the other finished, neither leaving a particle uneaten.

As the first finished he began to be in terrible pain; the other told
him that he must help himself, for he was eating his last morsel. Soon
he, too, began to groan, and he said to the other, “There is some
mystery about this game; it must be that which makes us so sick.” All
night long they groaned, each lying on his own side of the fire. Toward
morning one quieted down, and at break of day the other also ceased
groaning. The two boys were born again, and both Genonsgwa had died
from the terrible pain of giving birth to them. One boy said to the
other, “If these men had not bothered us, we should have been far from
here. Let them be as full of witchcraft as they can be, they do not
amount to anything in comparison with us. We have gotten through with
them. I have always heard that these men, our uncles, were very potent
magically, but they are not. This is why our father warned us not to go
far from the lodge. We will go back and tell him all.” While they were
there everything was moving. The game which was not killed passed
through the lodge. The elder boy said, “Let us go!” As they were
starting he saw his mother passing through the lodge; they stood there
laughingly, but did not speak to her. The younger said, “Now we will
destroy the lodge. Our uncles have done great harm to people. A man
should not eat another man. There shall be no more of this. Henceforth
men shall eat only game.” [372] The younger boy said this. Of the two
boys he had the greater power of witchcraft and was the first to be
born after being eaten by the Genonsgwa. He walked around the lodge,
throwing red paint such as they used to paint their faces; this action
stopped the movement of the stream of land and everything became quiet.
He then said, “Now, let us run!” They ran a short distance; on halting
and looking back they saw the lodge in flames. The Genonsgwa one after
the other burst with a loud report.

When the boys arrived near home they heard singing, whereupon the
younger said, “Our father is feeling bad because he thinks we are
dead.” The other replied, “When we get to the lodge, you will tell him
of our adventure.” “No; you must tell him. He will believe you sooner
than he will me, for you are older,” was the answer. When they entered
the lodge, the hunter was sitting by the fire; his song was about the
loss of his children. “Father,” called out the boys, “we have been
hunting and we have come back. We have not been killed and we shall not
die. There is no trouble in the world for us, for nothing can harm us.”
The elder man, looking around, greeted his boys, whom he was very glad
to see. At night they began telling their adventures: How far they had
been; how they had seen a stream of dry land and had ridden on it to
the Genonsgwa lodge; how they had killed the two Genonsgwa and burned
their lodge. “And now,” said the younger, “we are going farther.” The
hunter said: “Your uncles are ferocious men; they have killed all my
people except you. You will find beyond the lodge you burned other
lodges; they are all inhabited by your uncles.” The younger boy said:
“I do not care about them. I meet all people with pleasure; their
action or treatment matters not. I am determined to try everything.”
The man made up his mind to say no more; he was astonished at their
resolution and became aware that his children were possessed of potent
orenda (magic power), and that, though there were many witches and
wizards, they were far above them all. The younger boy seemed to have
control of his father’s mind, and it was through his influence that the
father let them do as they liked. The advice of the younger was: “You
stay at home and never worry about us. We will go to see our uncle who
lives beyond Genonsgwa lodge; perhaps he will tell us some stories. We
are lonesome.” Their father said, “I am afraid that if you go you will
never come back. Your uncle is full of orenda, and it is his custom to
kill his visitors.” The little fellow answered: “Let us go. I want to
know all persons who possess orenda.” The hunter replied: “Beyond the
lodge you destroyed is another. Your uncle lives there, and beyond that
other uncles dwell. The first lodge is ‘three looks’ from here; the
lodges are all ‘three looks’ apart.” Having heard this, the boys
departed.

When they came to the Genonsgwa place they halted; looking around, they
could see some object at a distance. There was the end of the first
“look.” Getting near to that object, they looked again, and seeing a
similar object, they went to it; then looking off at a distance and
seeing an opening in the woods, they said, “Our uncle must live there.”
They advanced cautiously, in the hope of surprising their uncle. As
they got out of the woods they saw a lodge, and as they came near it
there seemed to be no one in it, all was so quiet. The younger boy
crept up carefully, and making a sudden leap, sprang into the house,
calling out, “I have caught you, uncle!” “How are you, nephew?” said
the uncle; “I am glad you have come. I am sick; you shall give me
medicine.” “All right,” replied the younger boy, “whatever you wish
shall be done. What is it you take most pleasure in?” “It is this,
nephew,” said the uncle. “When a person comes to see me I play hide and
seek. If you find me, I lose my head; if I find you, I take yours.” The
boy looked around everywhere. The lodge was entirely empty, but he saw
hanging from the rafters where they met in a point, a very small bag,
and concluded it was there that his uncle would hide. The uncle told
the boys to hide first. The younger said, “All right,” for he had
decided where to hide. As was usual in those days, there was a very
large log on the fire, and the fire was all there was within the walls
of this lodge. The old man said, “The finder must go over the top of
the hill, and when the hider is ready he must call.” Thereupon the old
man went out, fastening the door behind him. The boys heard the clatter
of his bones as he ran beyond the hill. The younger boy said: “I will
go into the log and you go behind the sun. When you are ready I will
give the word.” The elder boy, flying off through the air, hid behind
the sun. Then the other called out, “Now, ready!” “This is what I do to
my nephews,” said the old man, as he came running into the lodge. He
expected to find them sitting around somewhere, but seeing no one, he
caught up his club and singing out, “Here you are; come out of this,”
he struck at the wall. He went to every part of the lodge, saying, as
he hit the wall with the club, “Here you are; come out.” The boy in the
log was looking at his uncle, laughing; the boy behind the sun was also
watching him, and could see the club as it hit the walls of the lodge.
When the old man’s time was up, he said, “Come out. I can not find you.
I give up.” As he said this, the nephew behind the sun showed himself,
and laughing at the old man, came down to the lodge. The other boy
crawled out on his hands and knees from the heart of the log. The old
man, laughing loudly, said, “Now I will hide; you go beyond the hill,
and when I am ready I will call.” They started off and had been waiting
some time when they heard the old man call, “Now, ready!” At this they
ran to the lodge. The younger, picking up the old man’s club, did as he
had done. At every crack and crevice he gave a thump, saying, “You are
here; come out.” He was sure the old man was in the bag, but he kept on
as though he did not suspect it. The man was so large that, even after
making himself small, he was so crowded that the boy could see the bag
move occasionally. At last, going up to the bag, he gave it a heavy
thump with the club, saying, “Come out, uncle!” The old man came out,
laughing, and said, “My little nephew, you are full of sorcery; no one
ever found me before.” The boy said, “It is customary when a person
makes a bet to live up to it. You have lost your head.” The man begged
his nephews to give him time to smoke. “No,” said the younger; “if you
had won, I should not have asked it.” Upon this he ran up, and catching
his uncle by the hair, cut off his head. Thereupon the elder boy picked
it up, and striking it against a tree, commanded that trees should
hereafter have heads (knots) on them, which could be used to make
ladles and bowls (to this day all trees with knots have the uncle’s
head fastened on them). Then they burned the home. The elder boy said,
“Our uncle has delayed us; otherwise we might have been a long way on
our journey by this time.”

The youths traveled on until they found tracks, and not long afterward
they came to the edge of the woods, where they saw a lodge near by. The
younger said, “You stop, and I will go to this lodge alone.” The elder
boy saw his brother go into the lodge; then he waited a long time.
There were four witches in this lodge, and as soon as the boy went in
the old woman said, “Hurry up! get the pot over the fire.” The boy
looked on, thinking that very likely they were going to make a feast
for him. The girls were sisters of the boys’ uncles. The elder boy
getting out of patience waiting, at last called his fetish, the mole.
When it came, he said: “I have called you to take me to that lodge. My
friend went there, and I wish to see what has become of him.” They went
together into the ground. He told the mole to stop in front of the
younger boy, but underground. The women were such witches that they
knew when anyone was approaching. When the old woman was ready, she
said to the boy, “Come and sit on this side,” and to her eldest
daughter she said, “Lay a skin on the ground and put on the skin the
game that has come to see us.” The boy knew that she intended to kill
him. Another of the women took a mallet from the wall, but as she
raised it to strike him, the youth said, “Let the mallet strike the old
woman.” As the mallet came down, it struck the mother; and as the girl
raised it again, he commanded it to strike one of the sisters,
whereupon they began immediately to fight among themselves. The boy sat
commanding the mallet to strike first one and then another. There was a
terrible struggle, a great sound of blows, and at last there was
silence. All the women were dead. Then a voice from under the ground
asked, “What are you doing, brother?” Knowing that it was his comrade
who spoke, he said, “Oh! the women have had a little sport of their
own.” “All right,” said a voice behind him, for there stood the other
boy. “I got out of patience,” said he; “we might have gone a long way
on our journey if it had not been for these women. We will burn up
their lodge, after which I think we will go home. We have done harm
enough.” “What have we done?” said the other; “we have only put an end
to man-eaters, who have killed many of our people.” “Very well,”
answered the other, “I do not want my mind to be different from yours.”

“There is one thing still to be done,” said the younger brother, “and
when we have finished that, everything will be right; but before we
undertake it we must purify ourselves. We will go to the river; you
must be very careful. I will go first, and you stay on the bank. Unless
we bathe and purify our bodies, we shall meet with misfortune, for many
of the people where we are going are filled with evil magic power.”
Coming to the river, they found very thick red water. The elder youth,
seeing the younger go into this water, thought it must be a great
pleasure; so without heeding his companion’s word of warning, he went
in also, whereupon the filth of the water gathered on his body and he
sank out of sight. His brother had great trouble in saving him.
“Perhaps we are sufficiently purified,” said the younger; “though if
you had waited until I called you, it would have been better. You have
caused me to fail in my purpose.” All the filth that had gathered on
his body dried, so he could hardly close his eyes. It was as much as
the other could do to get him washed clean. At last he was as before he
jumped into the red water. Then his companion said: “Now, let us go. We
shall come to a large village where there is ball playing.”

They soon came to an opening, in the center of which stood a pole, and
many people were scattered around. As the two went forward the younger
said to the chief, “We have come to challenge you. What are your
rules?” “We wager our heads in betting,” replied the chief. “I thought
you had something else to wager. Everyone seems to bet heads,” said the
challenger. He saw there were many animals around, which these people
fed with heads. “There must be two on a side,” said the boy. The chief
told his people that the strangers challenged them to a game of
lacrosse ball and that there were to be two players on a side. “But you
must take part yourself,” said the boy; thereupon commanding a spider
to weave a web across the ball ground, so that the ball could not pass
it. When the game began the ball flew off in the direction of the
spider’s web and, hitting it, was thrown back. The elder boy, catching
the ball, ran for the first point, which he made, thus scoring one
point, at which he called out, “The game is mine; we have won, and the
game is finished.” “No; it is not,” replied the chief. “That is the way
we play,” retorted the younger boy; “whoever gets one inning has the
game.” The chief assented, saying, “You have won the heads of the men
you played with.” “Not true,” said the boy; “we bet with you; no matter
who did the playing for you.” Thereupon the elder boy, running up,
caught the chief by the hair and cut his head off, saying, “Do not let
us talk with the fellow; if it had not been for him we might have been
far along on the way.” The chief had wolves, panthers, and all kinds of
carnivorous animals. Going up to their dens, the younger boy ordered a
panther to come out, which it did, and then he said to it: “Your
masters wanted to feed you with human flesh; that is not the desire of
Hawenniyo. He put you on earth to be free; henceforth you must never
allow yourselves to be captured and fed with human flesh.” All the
animals rose and separated. To the bear the youth said: “I wish you to
eat that dead man’s body that lies yonder. Then go and never be seen in
this part of the country again; your place is among the cliffs and
mountains.” The people there asked the boys to be their chiefs, saying
that they had never liked the old man. The boys, having agreed to this,
commanded the people to remain where they were, as it was not the will
of Hawenniyo that his people should leave their old homes.

The two brothers now started back, saying to the people: “Our father
will wonder why we do not return. You stay here. We will come sometime
to see you.” When they got home the younger one said, “We have finished
our work in the west; we have killed all the man-eaters. There will be
no more trouble of this kind hereafter.”





90. BALD EAGLE SENDS MUD TURTLE AROUND THE WORLD

A bald-headed old man lived on the top of a mountain, while his wife,
who had three children, lived near a lake about half the way to the
summit. It was the old man’s daily custom to go down to fish in the
lake. On his way home he gave some fish to his wife, and thus they
lived well and prosperously.

After he had lived in this way many years, the old man became curious
to know how large the world is. Being the chief of his people, having
called a council, he said to the people: “I should like to know the
size of the world, and I wish some one would volunteer to go and get
this information.” One young man said, “I will go.” “All right,”
answered the old man; “how long will you be gone?” “I can not tell, for
I do not know how far I shall have to go,” was the answer of the young
man. “Go on,” said the old man; “and when you return, tell us all about
your journey.”

The young man started on his journey, and after traveling two months he
came to a country where everything was white—the forests, the ground,
the water, and the grasses. He could not go farther. It hurt his feet
to walk on the white substance, so he turned back. On returning home he
sent word to the chief, who said, “I do not believe he has been around
the world, but we shall hold a council and hear what he has to say.”
The council was held, at which the young man said that he had not gone
very far, but that he had proceeded as far as he was able, and he told
all he knew about the White Country.

The people, not satisfied with his relation, said, “We must send
another man”; so they despatched a second man, who was gone four months
before he returned. The old man again called a council, at which he
asked him, “Did you go around the world?” “No, but I went as far as I
was able,” answered the man. “Everything was as it is here until I came
to the White Country. I traveled two months in the White Country and
could go no farther. I could not have lived if I had gone on.”

So the people sent a third man, who went on until he reached the White
Country, where he traveled longer than the second man. On coming back
he reported that the people there lived in white houses and dressed in
furs (looking like the animals).

Encouraged by this, the old man sent a fourth man, who went on,
noticing everything, until he came to the White Country, whereupon he
crossed white rivers and white lakes, keeping on the run. He was gone
eight months. He said, “I returned more quickly than I went, for in
coming home I cut across in a straight line, reaching the green land
sooner than if I had come on the road by which I went.”

The old chief now sent a fifth messenger, who ran nearly all the time.
He crossed the White Country and beyond found a place where there was
nothing but rocks, rocks, rocks. He had to climb very high and then go
down; so he went up and down until he wore off all his moccasins. After
being gone ten months he came back. At a council called by the old man
this fifth man said: “I have passed over the whole country and have
crossed rocky places. In returning I came straight home. The route was
not quite so long as the road by which I went. It can not be very far
across the world.” “How did you know the way?” asked the old man. “Oh!
I took notice of the trees. The tops of the hemlocks lean toward the
east, and our home is in that direction, so I followed the bend of the
hemlocks,” was the man’s reply.

The old man, the bald-headed chief, was learning something all the
time. Various people went, one after another; each came back with a
story slightly different from those told by the others, but still no
one satisfied the chief until one man said: “I will start and will go
around the world before I return.” The old man looked at him; he was
very uncouth but strong. The chief said: “I think you will do, and you
may go.” Thereupon the man went home to his people, who held a council
of their entire tribe. Each one of their best travelers agreed to make
a journey by himself in a different direction, and afterward to come
home and tell all he had seen to the one who had promised the
bald-headed man to go around the world. So the man and his whole tribe
journeyed for forty months. At the end of this period they returned,
and, at a council, each told what he had seen. Then the old man whom
the chief had sent out announced his return. The chief called a great
council, before which the man appeared, telling all that he had seen
himself and all that each one of his nation had seen and related to
him. He finished with the words: “I have been all around the world; I
have seen all kinds of people, all kinds of game, all kinds of woods
and rivers. I have seen things which no one else has ever seen.”

The old bald-headed man was satisfied. “Now I am chief of all people,
and you will be next to me. You will be second chief.” This was the
reward the man got for his journey. So he immediately took his position
as second chief.

The old chief was the Bald Eagle. The man who became the second chief
was the Mud Turtle. The first man who went out was the Deer; his feet
could not stand the ice of the White Land. All the others were
different kinds of people (animals and birds).





91. THE POOR HUNTER AND DJOGEON [373]

Once there was a man who went hunting every autumn. In order to have
better luck he was in the habit of taking medicine and emetics for 10
days before he started. The medicine he employed was made from the bark
of various trees. Notwithstanding this long preparation by fasting and
medication, he was not a successful hunter. For this reason he was
accustomed to carry a heavy load of parched cornmeal, so that if he
killed no game he would at least not starve to death.

When starting out one day he passed on the outskirts of the village a
lodge in which an old woman and her granddaughter lived. As he passed,
the granddaughter was standing outside the lodge, and when she saw him
coming she shrugged her shoulders, saying, “Hu, hu! there goes a poor
hunter.” Running into the lodge she told her grandmother that
“All-kinds-of-trees” had just gone past, giving him a nickname which
derided his medicines, which were made from the bark of “all kinds of
trees.” But the grandmother chided her, saying, “Why do you make fun of
him? He is a good man—the best in this village. He keeps on hunting, no
matter whether he kills anything or not. I wish he were your husband.”
The young woman answered, “If you say so, I can go with him.” Her
grandmother told her that she would better go. So they made bread in
great haste, and when it was ready they put it in a basket, which the
girl placed on her back; then she followed the trail of the man. When
night overtook her she lay down beside a log to sleep. She had not been
there long before she heard some one at a distance calling in a
pleasant voice. As the sound of the voice approached the girl became
frightened. Shortly Djogeon came up to her, saying, laughingly, “Ha,
ha! There is Gadata [374] sleeping, and she is following the trail of a
very poor hunter. Get up. Do not sleep. Your man is near here, and you
should go to meet him.” But the girl, covering her face, kept quite
still. He shook her, called her names, and teased her in all manner of
ways to seduce her, but without result. When daylight came he ran away.
Thereupon Gadata arose, and after making a cold bite do for breakfast,
she again took up the trail. Just as she had been told, she found the
camp of the hunter not far from the spot where she had slept the night
before. When the hunter saw her, he said to her, “Are you following
me?” She replied, “Yes. My grandmother told me that I should try to
become your wife, as she said you are a good man.” He then welcomed
her, and they went on together. At midday he ate some of the bread
which the young woman had brought, and in the afternoon he killed a
deer. After this he had very good luck at all times, for he had a wife.

One day while he was hunting he saw a small lodge, whereupon he said to
himself, “How strange it is that I never before saw this lodge.” On
entering a small woman welcomed him and gave him a bowlful of fine
green-corn hominy. While he was eating it he saw a wee, tiny baby.
Seizing the infant and placing it in his bosom, he ran away with it,
the little woman pursuing him. Immediately there was a tempest. The
wind twisted trees and tore them up by the roots, sending them flying
through the air in every direction. Gripped with great fear, the hunter
now thought that he was surely about to die. As he was running past a
fallen tree a small man, springing upon it (it was he who had tormented
Gadata), called out to the hunter, “You have stolen my baby. Give it
back to me at once.” The hunter stopped, saying, “Yes, I stole it
because I never saw before anything so pretty. Here it is—take it.” So
saying, he handed it back to the little man, who was Djogeon. Then
Djogeon carefully unwrapped the baby, and taking a tiny arrow from
among its wrappings, gave it to the hunter, saying to him: “Take this
and keep it. It will bring you good fortune and success in all your
undertakings—in hunting, in warfare, or in any other pursuit.” As soon
as the hunter had returned the baby, the tempest ceased and the winds
calmed down. Then the hunter returned to his home with his wife and
always after this episode had the best of fortune.





92. THE MAN KILLED BY THE THREE HUNTERS [375]

A man with his wife and child lived happily together in a village. One
day the man said to his little family, “We will start off to the woods
tomorrow to hunt.” They set out the next day and were two days and
nights on the road. Having reached their destination, they built a
fire, and the man started off hunting, telling his wife to boil samp
and that he would be back in time to put meat with it. He went up a
stream and came back in time with game. Having cut up some of the meat,
his wife put it with the samp. About dusk supper was ready and they ate
heartily. The man continued to hunt every day, killing one to three
deer, and also bear, so they soon had a great deal of dried venison and
bear meat, whereupon the man said, “We shall soon have plenty of meat.”

One night he said that he dreamed there were other hunters near by who
could kill nothing. Now this man had four dogs. One day he met a man
who said that he could kill nothing; that he had three companions who
could find no game in the wood; and that the three had nothing to eat.
Another day the man met the same three hunters in the woods. They asked
him whether he would not give them some meat, something to eat. “No; I
will not,” said he; “I have told my wife that we would stay long enough
to get a sufficient quantity of meat. I have nothing to give away.” So
saying, he went home.

The next morning his wife went for a load of wood, leaving her child in
a swing in the lodge. When she returned she heard somebody talking to
her baby. She was frightened at this, for she thought it must be
Genonsgwa. The words were, “You look very sweet to me.” On going in,
the mother saw a large naked woman sitting by the swinging cradle, who
said: “I know just what you thought when you heard me singing. You gave
yourself up for lost. I am not going to harm you. I came in to get
something to eat. Perhaps you would give me some meat.” She replied, “I
will give you some, for you seem very kind and good.” With these words
she took two or three pieces of meat from the side of the lodge,
saying, “I will cook them for you.” “No,” said the naked woman; “I will
eat the meat as it is.” After eating three hams of venison she asked
for more, “For,” said she, “I eat a great deal when I get started.”
When she had eaten enough, she said, “I have finished now. I shall go
and come again.” The woman watched her as she went out, saying to
herself, “That woman looks very savage.” The naked woman, turning to
her, said, “I am Genonsgwa.” When he came the woman told her husband
what had happened.

Early the next morning her husband went hunting. At night the dogs
began to bark and became terribly frightened. The husband said, “I
think that Genonsgwa is going to come and kill us. You would better go
home with the child.” “I will stay with you and will be killed, if
necessary,” replied the woman. She begged her husband to go with her,
but he said, “No; I will stay and save our meat.” Then he heard the
bushes around the lodge breaking and a wind blowing down the
smoke-hole.

The next night they heard something again coming nearer and nearer, and
the dogs were greatly frightened. Then a face looked down through the
smoke-hole from the top of the lodge—the face of one of the three
hunters. Making a hole through the bark wall of the lodge, the man said
to his wife, “Creep through and escape,” but she did not want to go.
The dogs began to bark at a distance on the side opposite the hole in
the wall, coming closer to the lodge, and again he told his wife to
creep through the hole and hurry away on a side trail. Having done so,
she started off with the baby on her back. She went on, and by and by
she heard a dog howl. The dog, coming up to her, said, “Your husband is
killed.” Keeping on a little way farther, she heard a second dog making
a noise as though dying. The first dog said, “Go on as fast as you can;
save yourself.” Only two dogs were left now. The woman remembered a
place through which they had come on the way to the woods—a hollow
log—but she feared that when the men came up they might run a stick
into it, causing the baby to cry. Next day she climbed a hemlock tree,
hiding herself and the child in its branches. She said to the little
one, “Now you must be good and keep quiet.” After the woman had become
somewhat rested, she saw the three men coming with loads of meat on
their backs, engaged in talking about how they got the good venison.
They stopped under the hemlock tree in which the woman and her baby
were resting. While the men were lying below the child made water,
whereupon the woman, thinking how she could save herself and the little
one, caught the water in her hands and drank it. One drop, however,
fell on a man directly beneath her, at which he said, “There must be a
hedgehog in this tree; we will cut it down in the morning.” At daylight
one of the hunters said, “Let us go on.” When they were out of sight,
the woman, coming down from the tree, went homeward.

On the way the mother said to her child, “You have now no father, poor
baby.” When she was near home she saw that there was a light there. The
three men, having parted, went to their homes. The woman hurried on,
crying, Goʹweh! goʹweh! meaning that a man had been killed. The people
who heard the cry hurried to meet her. She told everything. Taking her
home, they put her in her lodge. An old man came to the lodge and
asked, “Are you telling the truth?” “Yes,” she replied. “Well, we will
have a dance,” said he, “and call the neighbors together. You must hide
so that nobody will see you.” He hung up a blanket in a corner of the
Long Lodge, and when the people were coming in she hid behind it. When
the people were dancing one of the three hunters came with blood on his
clothes, while the other two had blood on their backs. The old man said
to them, “Your backs are all bloody.” “Yes; we are good hunters,” they
replied; then they danced a while—the women first, then the men. After
fastening the door the old man asked the three men about their hunting.
He said they should dance once more, and then they would talk a little.
All felt free and happy, and one of the three men was talking pretty
loud. The people danced again, and having finished, sat around a while.
Then the old man said, “I will ask these three men whether they are
free of crimes during their absence.” They replied, “We are; we hunted
all the time.” Thereupon the old man brought out the woman, who told
all. The old man next called on the warriors present to kill these
three men, and they did so, afterward scalping them one after another.
Then the people, going to the lodge in the woods, brought home the body
of the dead man in a robe.





93. HINON [376] AND THE IROQUOIS

In olden times there was in a certain village an orphan lad, who had
always been regarded as a very peculiar child by all his friends. He
was, moreover, without relatives and very destitute, so he was cared
for largely by the kindness of the people in general.

The boy seemed to know intuitively many things that other and older
people did not know, and it was a custom for him to bring up and talk
about many mysterious topics. Quite often when it rained he would say
that he could see Hinon walking about in the clouds above their heads,
and he would ask those who might be near him whether they, too, did not
see Hinon, at the same time pointing him out to them.

At last the orphan requested the people to be so good as to make him an
arrow of red willow and also a bow, assuring them that he would shoot
Hinon. So they made him a bow and an arrow out of red willow. One day,
while standing in the doorway of the bark lodge which he called his
home, during a passing storm he suddenly shot at Hinon, the arrow
swiftly winging its way into the clouds. Soon the people saw it come
down near a large tree some distance from the lodge. Rushing to see it,
they found it sticking in the ground, but there was no man nor other
object near it; but they could not pull the arrow from the ground, no
matter how much they tried. Thereupon, returning to the boy, they told
him what they had discovered, and that they could not draw his arrow
from the ground. As an answer to them he accompanied them back to the
tree and, taking hold of the arrow, drew it forth without trouble; but
as he did so there appeared the body of a dead human being, which had
been shot through the heart by his arrow. It was the body of a small
person, not more than four or five feet in height, beautifully
ornamented with the finest feathers they had ever seen. The people
constructed a neat little lodge of bark, which they lined with fine
skins and furs. In this they carefully and reverently laid the body of
the strange personage. From time to time they would go to this lodge to
view the body. When they were going to war they would take two or three
feathers from his arms, in the belief that these would secure them
success. If they wished for rain, they had only to carry these feathers
along after dipping them in water. All their trails were obscured in
this manner. The people kept this body many years, and the feathers
served them during this time; but after the advent of the whites these
Indians, being driven from their home in the south (North Carolina),
lost both the body and the feathers.







TALES


94. A SHAMAN’S DEED

A medicine-man managed to get one hair from the head of a man he wished
to kill. Then, having caught a snake, he tied the hair around its neck,
and digging a hole in the ground, he put the snake therein, not leaving
an opening large enough even for an ant to get through. After putting a
stone over the hole, he left the place.

It was impossible for the snake to escape, so after a while it grew
weak, and the man whose hair was around its neck grew weak at the same
time. At last the snake died, and in consequence of its death the man
also came to his end.





95. SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA

(MODERN)

There is a man now (1883) in Canada who sees real
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa—False Faces. He goes around a great deal among the
various tribes of Indians.

One day while on his travels he met a Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, who spoke to
him. The man handed him a plug of tobacco, telling him that he might
have the tobacco to smoke. After the man had gone to the end of his
journey and was coming home he met a Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa near the same
spot, with his back toward him. Seeing that this was a different one,
he passed by without speaking. Soon afterward he met the one he had
encountered before. Saluting him, the man gave him another plug of
tobacco, whereupon the False Face said, “I think you would better come
and see where we live.” “I shall be glad to go,” said he in reply.
Arriving at a cave in a rocky place, they went in. The man saw a great
many Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa there who were very old, and a good many very
young ones. The Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa gave the tobacco to the oldest one,
who said, “You would better give a piece of this to each one present.”
So he cut it into small pieces for the purpose. Then the oldest one
said, “Give thanks,” whereupon they gave thanks to the Tobacco, and all
danced, the little ones, too, and asked this man to dance, and he did
so. When the man was going away the oldest Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa said, “I
want you to remember us, so you must come and see us when you are on
your travels.”

[The foregoing incident took place on the Canadian side of the Niagara
River, near the mouth.—The Relator.]





96. SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA

A few years ago (previous to 1884) two young men started for a
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa dance. They had their wooden masks or “false faces”
with them in a bundle. On the way they stopped at a white woman’s
house. The woman asked, “What have you in your bundle?” “Our masks, or
false faces,” they answered; “we are going to a Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa
dance.” “If you will put on the masks and let me see them, I will give
you two quarts of cider,” said the woman. Going outdoors, they put on
the masks, and came into the house again. The woman’s child, a boy of
six or seven, became so frightened that he acted as if he had lost his
mind; he could not talk. The mother sent to Perrysburg (N. Y.) for a
doctor. He came, but he could not help the boy. The mother then went to
an Indian shaman for advice, who said to her that she must get the
maskers, or false faces, to cure him. They came at her request and
danced, and they rubbed the boy with ashes, also blowing some in his
face; soon he was well. According to custom, the woman had ready a pot
of pounded parched corn, boiled with pork and seasoned with maple
sugar, for the false faces, or maskers.





97. THE VAMPIRE SKELETON

A man with his wife, starting from a Seneca village, went from it two
days’ journey to hunt. Having built a lodge, the man began hunting.
When he had obtained a sufficient store of meat, they started for home.
They packed all the meat they could carry and left the rest at the
lodge. Setting out in the morning, after traveling all day they came to
a cabin in which they found all the people dead. The last person to die
was the owner of the lodge. The people of the village had put the body
on a shelf in a bark box which they had made. When the man and his wife
came it was already dark. The husband thought it better to spend the
night there than to continue the journey. He gathered a quantity of
wood with which he made a fire. The woman began to cook, broiling meat
and making a cake of pounded corn, which she placed under the hot ashes
to bake. The man lay down to rest a while and fell asleep. While
cooking the woman heard a noise behind her, near the place where her
husband lay; it sounded like the noise made in the chewing of flesh.
She began to think about the corpse on the shelf and remembered that
the dead man was a wizard. Putting on more wood and making the fire
blaze up, she looked toward the bunk, where she saw a stream of blood
trickling out. From this she knew at once that her husband had been
killed by the dead man.

The bread under the ashes was baked. She then spoke, saying, “I must
make a torch and bring some water.” Thereupon she prepared a torch of
hickory bark taken from the lodge, making it long enough to last until
she could run home. Taking the pail, she stole out, but once outside of
the door she quickly dropped the pail, and ran through the woods with
all her might. She had gotten more than halfway home when the dead man,
the vampire, found that she was gone. At once he rushed out, whooping,
and ran after her. She heard him, and knew that he was following her.
The sound of the whooping came nearer and nearer, and for a while,
unnerved completely by fear, she could scarcely move, but at last,
having regained her strength, she ran on. Again the vampire whooped,
and the woman fell down from fear and exhaustion; but she arose again
and ran on, until finally she came within sight of a place near her own
village where there was a dance. The pursuing man-eating skeleton was
gaining on her, and her torch was almost gone; but, running ahead, she
fell into the lodge in which the dancing was in progress, and then
fainted. When she came to her senses, she told what had occurred to her
and her husband.

In the morning a body of men went over to the cabin, in which they
found the bones of her husband, from which all the flesh had been
eaten. Taking down the bark box, they looked at the skeleton of the
dead man and found his face and hands bloody. The chief said it was not
right to leave dead people in that way; therefore they dug a hole, in
which they buried the man-eating skeleton, and took the bones of the
other man home. The chief had him buried and ordered that thereafter
all dead people should be buried in the ground. At first the dead were
put on scaffolds, but the people used to see sights which frightened
them, for the dead would rise and run after the living. Then it was
resolved to build bark lodges for the dead and to put them on shelves
therein. This plan did not work well, as the foregoing story shows.
About one hundred years ago, says the relator, the present system of
earth burial was begun. Before the burial system was adopted they used
to put the corpse on the ground, into a chamber like a room dug into a
hillside. If the deceased was married, the husband or wife had to watch
with the corpse in this place, and every ten days for a year friends
brought food to the watcher. If the watcher lived through the year, he
or she was then brought out and became free to marry again. The watcher
often died in the excavation, however, for it was dark and foul.

Once a man left with the body of his wife heard, after a time, an
occasional noise of craunching and eating. The next time his friends
came with food he told them of this. Thereupon they held a council, and
the chief sent several men into the excavation to ascertain the cause
of the noise. They found that the bodies had been eaten, and that a
deep hole led down into the ground, which must have been made by a
great serpent. After that the Seneca ceased to bury in this way and put
their dead into the ground as they do at present.

When it was the custom to place bodies in the bark lodges the husband
or wife had to remain in the lodge and look after the dead for a year.
At the end of this period the bones were taken out and fastened to a
post in an erect position, and a great dance was held around them.







MYTHS


98. A TALE OF THE SKY WORLD

A long time ago human beings lived high up in what is now called
heaven. They had a great and illustrious chief.

It so happened that this chief’s daughter was taken very ill with a
strange affection. All the people were very anxious as to the outcome
of her illness. Every known remedy was tried in an attempt to cure her,
but none had any effect.

Near the lodge of this chief stood a great tree, which every year bore
corn used for food. One of the friends of the chief had a dream, in
which he was advised to tell the chief that in order to cure his
daughter he must lay her beside this tree, and that he must have the
tree dug up. This advice was carried out to the letter. While the
people were at work and the young woman lay there, a young man came
along. He was very angry and said: “It is not at all right to destroy
this tree. Its fruit is all that we have to live on.” With this remark
he gave the young woman who lay there ill a shove with his foot,
causing her to fall into the hole that had been dug.

Now, that hole opened into this world, which was then all water, on
which floated waterfowl of many kinds. There was no land at that time.
It came to pass that as these waterfowl saw this young woman falling
they shouted, “Let us receive her,” whereupon they, at least some of
them, joined their bodies together, and the young woman fell on this
platform of bodies. When these were wearied they asked, “Who will
volunteer to care for this woman?” The great Turtle then took her, and
when he got tired of holding her, he in turn asked who would take his
place. At last the question arose as to what they should do to provide
her with a permanent resting place in this world. Finally it was
decided to prepare the earth, on which she would live in the future. To
do this it was determined that soil from the bottom of the primal sea
should be brought up and placed on the broad, firm carapace of the
Turtle, where it would increase in size to such an extent that it would
accommodate all the creatures that should be produced thereafter. After
much discussion the toad was finally persuaded to dive to the bottom of
the waters in search of soil. Bravely making the attempt, he succeeded
in bringing up soil from the depths of the sea. This was carefully
spread over the carapace of the Turtle, and at once both began to grow
in size and depth.

After the young woman recovered from the illness from which she
suffered when she was cast down from the upper world, she built herself
a shelter, in which she lived quite contentedly. In the course of time
she brought forth a girl baby, who grew rapidly in size and
intelligence.

When the daughter had grown to young womanhood, the mother and she were
accustomed to go out to dig wild potatoes. Her mother had said to her
that in doing this she must face the west at all times. Before long the
young daughter gave signs that she was about to become a mother. Her
mother reproved her, saying that she had violated the injunction not to
face the east, as her condition showed that she had faced the wrong way
while digging potatoes. It is said that the breath of the West Wind had
entered her person, causing conception.[377] When the days of her
delivery were at hand, she overheard twins within her body in a hot
debate as to which should be born first and as to the proper place of
exit, one declaring that he was going to emerge through the armpit of
his mother, the other saying that he would emerge in the natural way.
The first one born, who was of a reddish color, was called Othagwenda;
that is, Flint. The other, who was light in color, was called Djuskaha;
that is, the Little Sprout.

The grandmother of the twins liked Djuskaha and hated the other; so
they cast Othagwenda into a hollow tree some distance from the lodge.

The boy that remained in the lodge grew very rapidly, and soon was able
to make himself bows and arrows and to go out to hunt in the vicinity.
Finally, for several days he returned home without his bow and arrows.
At last he was asked why he had to have a new bow and arrows every
morning. He replied that there was a young boy in a hollow tree in the
neighborhood who used them. The grandmother inquired where the tree
stood, and he told her; whereupon then they went there and brought the
other boy home again.

When the boys had grown to man’s estate, they decided that it was
necessary for them to increase the size of their island, so they agreed
to start out together, afterward separating to create forests and lakes
and other things. They parted as agreed, Othagwenda going westward and
Djuskaha eastward. In the course of time, on returning, they met in
their shelter or lodge at night, then agreeing to go the next day to
see what each had made. First they went west to see what Othagwenda had
made. It was found that he had made the country all rocks and full of
ledges, and also a mosquito which was very large. Djuskaha asked the
mosquito to run, in order that he might see whether the insect could
fight. The mosquito ran, and sticking his bill through a sapling,
thereby made it fall, at which Djuskaha said, “That will not be right,
for you would kill the people who are about to come.” So, seizing him,
he rubbed him down in his hands, causing him to become very small; then
he blew on the mosquito, whereupon he flew away. He also modified some
of the other animals which his brother had made. After returning to
their lodge, they agreed to go the next day to see what Djuskaha had
fashioned. On visiting the east the next day, they found that Djuskaha
had made a large number of animals which were so fat that they could
hardly move; that he had made the sugar-maple trees to drop syrup; that
he had made the sycamore tree to bear fine fruit; that the rivers were
so formed that half the water flowed upstream and the other half
downstream. Then the reddish-colored brother, Othagwenda, was greatly
displeased with what his brother had made, saying that the people who
were about to come would live too easily and be too happy. So he shook
violently the various animals—the bears, deer, and turkeys—causing them
to become small at once, a characteristic which attached itself to
their descendants. He also caused the sugar maple to drop sweetened
water only, and the fruit of the sycamore to become small and useless;
and lastly he caused the water of the rivers to flow in only one
direction, because the original plan would make it too easy for the
human beings who were about to come to navigate the streams.

The inspection of each other’s work resulted in a deadly disagreement
between the brothers, who finally came to grips and blows, and
Othagwenda was killed in the fierce struggle.





99. SʻHAGODIYOWEQGOWA AND HOTʻHOH [378]

There were a mother and two daughters living in a clearing. When the
daughters became women the mother said: “You must now get married. Make
twenty loaves of green-corn bread, tied up in husks in the usual
manner.” The girls made the bread, and the next morning the mother said
to the elder daughter: “Fill a basket with the bread and go to the
lodge of a man who lives not far from here. It is a double lodge. Go in
at the first door and say to the man who is there: ‘I have brought you
bread. I am going to marry you.’” To the younger daughter she said: “Go
in at the back door and say to the man who is there, ‘Here is marriage
bread. I have come to marry you.’ The two brothers will take your bread
and will tell you to stay. The path branches to one side before you
reach the place, but keep on the straight path, which leads from here.”

The girls started, and when they came to the fork they kept on the
straight path, and after a long time they came to a lodge. Looking
through the cracks, they saw a number of False Faces dancing,
whereupon, becoming frightened, they ran away. The Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa
followed them, and when they were getting near one of the girls, she
threw down her basket of bread. The Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa ate the bread and
then he ran on. The second sister threw down her basket, and then piece
by piece they cast off their clothes. The Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa in pursuit
would stop and examine every piece. By this delay the girls kept a
little ahead and finally reached their mothers lodge, but they were
naked. The mother said: “You did not do as I told you. You must try
again.” Having made bread again, the next morning they started the
second time. This time they reached the right lodge. The elder sister,
setting the basket of bread before the man, said: “I have come to marry
you.” After eating the bread, he thanked her. The younger sister went
in at the other door, and placing the basket of bread before the man,
said: “Eat; I have come to marry you.” He thanked her and ate the
bread, and so they were married.

There was a partition in the lodge, and in the morning when the
brothers got up the elder brother always cried out, “I am up.” The
younger brother would answer, “So am I.” “We are eating breakfast,”
would be the elder brother’s response. “So are we,” was the younger
brother’s answer. “I am going hunting,” would be the next sally. “So am
I,” would be the reply.

Before starting off to hunt each brother said to his wife, “You must
stay in the lodge for ten days. If you do not, our brother
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa may carry you away.” For nine days the sisters
remained indoors; then the younger said: “It is bright and pleasant.
Let us sit outside a few minutes.” The elder consenting, they sat down
outdoors near the lodge. They had not been there long when
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa came. The sisters did not see him in his real
character, and when he asked them to go and eat with him, they readily
went. When the two brothers returned they missed their wives, and they
knew that their brother had captured them. The elder of the two, going
to Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, said, “I have come to ask you to give back our
wives. You can keep watch over them, but let them live with us.” At
last Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa gave them up.

Now Hotʻhoh (Cold Weather) was a brother of these men who lived not far
away. He always went naked. His only weapon was a tomahawk, which he
carried in a hole or slit in the skin of his hip. It is he who makes
the trees crack with such loud noises in winter, for he is striking
them with his mallet or tomahawk. The two men now went to Hotʻhoh, whom
they asked to protect their wives from Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa. Some time
after this they went hunting again. On this occasion Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa,
coming to the lodge, said to the sisters, “Come and eat with me. I live
near here. You can eat and return in a little while.” Not recognizing
him, they went. He took them to his lodge in the woods, where he shut
them up. The youngest sister escaped and had gone some distance before
Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa found it out. Then he followed, screaming as he ran.
She was terribly frightened and ran directly to Hotʻhoh. He told her to
go home, and that he would meet Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa. They met, and then
began a terrific battle. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa fought with his rattle and
Hotʻhoh with his mallet. They uprooted the trees for miles as they went
toward the east. At last Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa was conquered and promised
never to trouble his brothers’ wives again.





100. THE MORNING STAR AND THE CANNIBAL WIFE

Once far off in the woods there lived by themselves a husband and wife.
It was the custom of the husband to hunt, while the woman devoted her
time to raising corn and beans.

One day, while the wife was baking a cake in the ashes, a large spark
from the fire fell on her hand as she sat in front of the hearth. The
pain caused her to rub the spot with her finger. Soon it began to
blister, whereupon she wet her finger in her mouth and rubbed the
burned spot; in this way she got a taste of her own blood, and strange
as it may seem, she took a liking for it and craved more of it. So with
a knife she cut out pieces of the burned flesh, which she ate
ravenously. The taste for the flesh grew on her so that she put a coal
of fire on another spot on her hand, where it burned more flesh; thus
she continued to cut out pieces of her own flesh and eat them. She
persisted in this unnatural practice until she had eaten all the flesh
from her legs and arms.

The husband had a dog, which was very wise and faithful to him. Now
this dog eagerly watched what the woman was doing. When about half
through eating the flesh off of her limbs, the unnatural wife, turning
to the dog, said: “You would better go and tell your friend and master
to escape from this place at once. You must go with him, for if you do
not hurry away I shall eat you both.” Obeying this warning, the dog
started and, running as fast as he could into the forest until he came
to the place where the husband was hunting, he told him at once that
his wife had become an Ongwe Ias (cannibal), and that she would eat
them both if they did not flee immediately. The man and the dog started
without delay on a keen run. After a while the man, knowing that the
dog’s legs were short and not strong, decided to put him into a hollow
tree. The dog consented to this in order to save the man, as he knew
what was in store for both. So the hunter placed the dog in a hollow
tree, at the same time bidding him to become punk. The hunter went on
as fast as he could run, continuing until he came to a river with high
banks, where an old man lived. He said to the old man: “Grandfather, I
am in great trouble. Take me across the river to save me from peril of
my life. My wife, who has become a cannibal, is pursuing me in order to
devour me.” The old man said in reply: “Oh! I know what you are telling
me, but she is still a long way behind you. She will not be here for
some time to come. But you must bring me a basketful of fish from my
fishpond.” The hunter at once went to the pond, which was enclosed,
where he found a wickerwork dip net, with which he soon filled the
basket with fish. As soon as the basket was full he hastened back with
it to the old man, who soon said, “Sit down and eat with me.” So they
ate together the fish, which had been prepared and cooked by the old
man in such manner as to give the fugitive hunter more orenda (magic
power) to resist the hostile influence of that of his wife. When they
had finished eating the fish, the old man said, “I now want you to
bring me a basketful of groundnuts.” The hunter went at once to the
garden of the old man, and digging up the groundnuts as quickly as
possible, brought them to him. After these were prepared and cooked
they sat down and ate them. Then the old man said, “I will now take you
across the river.” Going to the river bank, the old man lay face
downward, resting on his elbows at the edge of the water, and
stretching out his neck to the farther bank. He said to the hunter,
“Now you may walk over on my neck, but you must be very careful, for I
am not as strong as I have been in the past.” The hunter walked over on
the old man’s neck with great care. When he had reached the other bank,
the old man bade him good-by with the remark, “Far away in the west you
will see a large lodge, which belongs to three aunts of yours, who will
help you further; so call on them for aid.” On hearing this, the hunter
hurried away.

After the woman had sent the dog away she ate all the flesh from her
bones; then with small sticks she pushed all the marrow out of her
bones and devoured that, too. Finally she filled the hollows in her
bones with small pebbles, which rattled as she moved around. From time
to time she sang and danced, causing the pebbles in her bones to
rattle; whereupon she would exclaim: “Oh, that sounds fine!” Having
become ravenous, she fell to devouring everything in the lodge—meat,
bread, corn, beans, skins; in fact, everything that could be eaten.
When she had eaten everything in the lodge, she started in pursuit of
her husband. She soon discovered his tracks and followed them. Once in
a while on the way she would stop and dance, listening with delight to
the rattle of the small pebbles in her bones. Afterward she would take
up the trail again.

Shortly after the hunter had fled from the lodge of the old man his
wife came running along. Coming up to the bank of the river, she
screamed: “Old man, take me across this river. I am pursuing my husband
to seize him and eat him. Come! Be quick!” The old ferryman, not being
accustomed to hear words like these, slowly turned toward the woman,
saying: “I can not take you across. There is no walk for you, who are
chasing your husband to eat him.” But the woman begged and begged him
to comply with her request. At last the old man replied: “It is well.
Go bring me a basketful of fish and also dig me a basketful of
groundnuts.” Going out, the woman caught a basketful of fish in the old
man’s pond; then from his garden she dug a basketful of groundnuts and
brought them to the old man. When he had prepared and cooked them, she
would not eat them, for she now craved nothing but human flesh. After
eating by himself, the old man went to the bank of the river and,
getting into position, stretched his neck across the water like a
turtle, making a very narrow, high, arching span. Then he told her to
walk across. But the woman became angry and said: “How do you suppose I
am going to cross on that kind of walk?” The old man replied: “Oh! you
can do just as you like about it. I am old now and can not make my neck
flat. If I did, it would break down. As it is, you must walk very
carefully.” No matter how the woman raged she had to go on that narrow
path; so she picked her steps carefully, scolding as she went along.
The river, which was very angry and deep, was full of terrible
creatures. When the woman reached the middle of the river, she made the
old man so angry by her scolding that he suddenly jerked his neck,
making her fall into the water; whereupon she was devoured instantly,
with the exception of her stomach, in which was her life, which floated
downstream, passing the lodge of the three aunts of the hunter, her
husband. Seeing it on the surface, the three aunts, having caught it,
chopped it up fine, thus killing the woman.

In the meanwhile the husband came to the lodge of his three aunts, who
told him to keep on his way and that they would watch and do what they
could to aid him. So he kept on until he came to a wood, in which he
saw a young woman gathering sticks for fuel. She asked him: “Where are
you going?” He replied: “I am going on until I find pleasant people to
live with.” The young woman answered: “You would better remain here
with me as my husband. We can live very happily if you can manage my
grandmother, who is a little old woman, but very troublesome.” As the
young woman was pleasant and good-looking, the hunter decided to remain
with her. When they arrived at the lodge of the young woman the little
old woman, her grandmother, was outside. She was about one-half the
height of an ordinary person, but very stout. She exclaimed: “Oh! you
have brought a husband, have you?” Continuing, she added: “You would
better bring him into the lodge to let him rest. You should also give
him something to eat.” The young woman replied: “It is well; you ask
him to come into the lodge.” So the grandmother told them to enter the
lodge; following her inside, they sat down. Thereupon the grandmother,
getting a club from the farther end of the room, began beating her
granddaughter, saying: “Oh! you like too well to have a husband.” She
struck her many blows, which the granddaughter endured without making
any defense. When bedtime came the old woman said to her granddaughter:
“Your husband must sleep with me tonight.” There was nothing to be done
but to comply with her demand. So the husband went to the old woman’s
bed. The latter covered herself and the man with a skin, fastening it
down on all sides in such manner that it was air-tight, so the man
could scarcely breathe. Then the old woman made an attempt to smother
the husband; she would have done so had he not had a small false face
[fetish] hidden away in his bosom. At once he told this aid to absorb
all the odor into itself, and thereupon it did so. When morning came,
contrary to the expectation of the grandmother, the husband was alive
and well. The old woman now for a time left him in peace, and he
enjoyed the company of his wife.

Several days later the old woman said to the man: “We must go to an
island today to hunt.” They found that the island was low and that in
the middle of it there was a very deep lake. Having made a landing,
they drew their canoe up on the island. The old woman said to the man:
“Take your position here on the right,” indicating with her finger a
spot away from the canoe, “and I will drive the game toward you.” The
man had gone about halfway toward the place when, hearing a sound in
the direction of the canoe, he turned back, only to see the old woman
in the canoe paddling away as fast as she could. He called to her to
return, but it was of no use.

The man remained on the island all day long; there was no escape for
him. He noticed the marks of water high up on the trees, which were
very tall. He knew well what these marks meant. When night came the
water began to rise, and thereupon the hunter climbed the highest tree
he could find on the island. The water kept rising, and he continued to
climb as it rose. With the first streak of dawn in the east the hunter
saw that all the shorter trees were covered with water, while around
him on all sides were great numbers of monsters waiting to devour him.
He sat at the top of the tallest tree on the island. While looking
around for some avenue of escape he saw the Morning Star shining
brightly in the east. Remembering that the Morning Star had promised
him in a dream in the days of his youth to help him in the time of
trouble or peril, he prayed that the Morning Star would hasten the
coming of the day, for he believed that with the advent of daylight the
waters would subside and he would be saved. He cried in the anguish of
his mind: “Oh, Morning Star! hasten the Orb of Day. Oh, Morning Star!
hurry on the daylight. You promised when I was young that you would
help me if I ever should be in great peril.” Now, the Morning Star
lived in a beautiful lodge, with a small boy as a servant. Hearing the
voice of the hunter appealing to him for aid, he called out to the
servant, “Who is that shouting on the island?” The small boy replied,
“Oh! that is the husband of the little old woman’s granddaughter. He
says that you promised him in a dream when he was young that you would
help in the time of trouble.” The Morning Star answered, “Oh, yes! I
did promise him to do so. Let the Orb of Day come at once.” Immediately
daylight came, and the water on the island subsided.

When the waters were dried from the land the hunter slipped down from
the tree, and going to the landing place he buried himself in the sand,
leaving only his nostrils and one eye exposed. Early in the forenoon
the old woman came again to the island. Drawing up the canoe on the
beach, she said to herself: “The flesh of my granddaughter’s husband
has been eaten up by this time, but I suppose his bones are left. Being
very young, they must have good marrow in them, so I think I will have
some of this marrow.” So saying, she started to search the island for
the bones. The man was watching her, and when she had gone far enough
away he sprang up out of the sand, and boarding the canoe pushed off
and paddled away. When he had gone some distance from the island the
old woman saw him, whereupon she cried out in agony of despair, “Oh,
grandson, come back! I will never play another trick on you. I will
love you.” The hunter replied in derision, “Oh, no! I will not return.
You shall play no more tricks on me,” and continued to paddle away.

When night came the water on the island began to rise. Then the old
woman climbed the tall pine tree to escape the monsters waiting to
devour her. Between midnight and sunrise the water, still rising, was
nearing the treetop where the old woman was, when she called out to the
Morning Star, “You promised me when I was young that you would help me
when I should be in distress.” The Morning Star asked the boy, “Is that
man down there on the island yet?” The lad replied, “Oh, no! He got off
yesterday. This is the little old woman herself. She says you promised
her in a dream to help her.” The Morning Star replied, “Oh, no! I never
had any conversation with her. I never made any promise to her.” With
these words the Morning Star fell asleep again and slept on, letting
the Orb of Day come at its own time. The water on the island kept
rising and rising until it had reached the top of the pine tree, when
the inhabitants of the lake ate up the little old woman.

The man was at home with his young wife and they lived ever after in
peace and happiness.





101. THE WOMAN AND THE CANNIBAL [379] THUNDER

One day a stranger came to a lodge in which a man, his wife, and four
children lived, and asked leave to marry the young daughter of the
family. Both father and mother consenting, he married her.

The man remained there for a time, and then he wished his wife to go to
his own lodge. The old people were willing, so the two started. They
soon reached a large cabin, whereupon the young man said, “This is my
cabin.” When they arrived there was no one in it, but toward night the
woman heard some person approaching on the run. Soon afterward a man
entered and sat down by the door; again she heard the sound of someone
running, and another man entered and sat down; then a third person
came. They began talking one with another, relating how far they had
been. One of them said, “I had good luck; I killed a bear.” Finding
that he was the only one of the three who had killed anything, they
said, “Go, bring it in; we will cook it.” The young woman sat watching
at the end of the room. The man brought in what he called a bear, which
she saw was the trunk and head of a man. Having cut it up, they put it
into a kettle to boil; when cooked, they ate it. The three walked to
and fro in the room without once looking toward the woman. Her husband
was there, but he did not talk, nor eat with the men. Although they
were his brothers, he never ate their kind of food. The next morning,
and on succeeding days, after making the usual preparations, the three
went hunting; in the evening they returned, and sitting down by the
door, talked over their journey. If they had killed any game they
brought it into the lodge, and cooked and ate it; if they had killed
nothing, they ate what was left from the meal of the previous evening.

One day when the young woman went to draw water she found a man
standing by the spring. He addressed these words to her, “I came to
tell you that your husband is going into the ground tomorrow. He is
magically a very powerful and evil man. As soon as he is gone, you must
put your moccasin exactly in the center of your lodge, telling it to
answer for you every time your husband speaks. When you have done that,
hurry to this place.” The next morning the husband said, “I am going
into the ground. I want you to stay in the lodge all the time I am
away,” and turning around where he stood, he disappeared in the ground.
After doing as she had been told to do by the stranger, the wife went
to the spring, where she found the man. Putting her into the top of an
arrow, and saying, “When the arrow falls, get out and hurry along the
lake as fast as you can,” he shot it into the air.

Soon the husband called to his wife, “Are you there?” at which the
moccasin answered in her voice, “Yes.” After a time he called again,
“Are you there?” “Yes,” was again her reply. He was away several days,
during which many times did he ask, “Are you there?” always receiving
the same answer. When he appeared above the ground and asked, “Where
are you, wife, are you here?” a voice answered, “Yes.” Looking around,
he could not see her; then suddenly he discovered what had been talking
to him. He was very angry and began to search for the woman’s tracks.
He followed them to the spring, where they disappeared. After looking
for a long time he became discouraged, and calling his dog
Onhagwio,[380] he said, “You failed to watch my wife while I was gone.
Now you must find her.” Then he watched the dog as it ran round and
round, coming back to the spring; finally it stopped scenting the
ground, and looking into the air, it sniffed. All at once the dog ran
off northward, looking up all the time as if it saw tracks (but
trailing a faint scent in the air). The man followed. After a while
they came to the spot where the arrow fell. There were tracks on the
ground. The dog barked and began to run faster, the man urging it on.
As they neared the woman, the man who had been at the spring stood
before her. He put her again into an arrow, saying, “You will come down
on an island in a lake, and you must run across this island in all
directions.” When the husband and the dog came to the place where she
met the man they lost her track. Again the dog scented, and finding the
trail in the air, followed it. When they reached the lake, the man
changed himself into a flea, and going into the hair behind the dog’s
ear, held on. Then the dog swam to the island, on reaching which the
flea turned to a man again. Coming to the spot where the arrow fell,
they found her tracks, which they followed across and around the
island. As they neared the woman, the man again stood by her, and
putting her once more into his arrow, said, “You will come down on the
shore of the lake; then run as fast as you can. I can help you no
longer, but you will soon reach a village, where you will find some one
to help you. You may see now who I am.” As he turned to go away, she
saw that the man was a Djondjongwen.381

The dog arrived at the place where the tracks disappeared on the
ground; here he found the woman had crossed the lake. Again the man
turned to a flea and the dog swam with him to the shore. Having found
the woman’s footprints, they followed them. As they were getting very
near, so near that she could hear the dog bark, she came to a lodge in
which a man was sitting, making flint arrowheads. His name was
Hathegwendonnis.[382] The woman asked him to help her. He said. “Go on
as fast as you can; the man in the next lodge will help you. I, too,
will do all I can to aid you.” When the dog and man came to the lodge,
Hathegwendonnis threw toward him a handful of flint. The flint flew in
every direction; wherever it struck it tore up trees and earth. But the
dog ran at Hathegwendonnis and, seizing him by the back of the neck,
shook him until he was dead. The woman reached the second lodge, where
she found a man making nets. His name was Hadaeonnis.383 To him she
said, “I am running away; can you help me?” He answered, “Go on as
quickly as you can; you will soon come to a cabin, and the people who
live there can help you. I will do all I can.” When the man and dog
came to the lodge Hadaeonnis threw his net, which caught them, winding
round and round them. For a long time they struggled; at last, breaking
through the net, the dog ran at Hadaeonnis, seizing him by the neck,
and shaking him until he was dead. In the third cabin the woman found
four men. When she had asked them for help, they began chopping down
great dry trees, which they piled on her tracks. Soon they had a high
pile, and setting fire to the wood, they stood waiting, two at each
end. When the dog and the man came to the fire, the dog wanted to go
around, but the man, seeing that the tracks led into the fire, said,
“No; you must go through.” When they came out on the other side, both
dog and man were nearly dead. The eldest of the four men said, “We will
shoot and kill them,” but they found shooting had no effect. Then the
older man said, “We will catch them and pull out their hearts.” Having
caught and killed them, they pulled out their hearts; these they put
into a red-hot kettle, which the old man had heated over the fire. The
hearts flew around and around in the kettle trying to get out, but the
men shot them until they were dead and burned up.

Now the old man, whose name was Deoneyont,[384] went to the cabin and
told the woman she was safe. He said, “You must rest four days; then
you can go home.” When the fourth day came the old man said, “It is
time to go. Your home is in the south. As you travel, you will know
where you are.” In the afternoon she met a man who said, “Toward night
you will see something to eat.” She traveled all day, and in the
evening she came to a stump, where she found a part of Ononda
onoqgwa.385 She thought this must be what he meant, so she ate it; then
she went on until dark. The next morning she started again. In the
afternoon she met the same man, who told her she would soon find
something to eat. Toward night she came to a stump, where she found a
pot of hulled corn. On the following day, when she awoke, the man was
standing by her; he said, “You are near home, so I shall leave you
here. I am one of those whom you call Hadiwenodadyes.”386 Starting on,
she soon came in sight of an old cabin. Then she came to a spring which
she knew, for it was the spring where, when a girl, she used to get
water. Going to the cabin, she found all her people, who looked very
old. She said, “Mother, I have come.” All were very glad and said,
Nyâwen.

[The narrator thinks the net-maker was a spider.]





102. GAQGA AND SGAGEDI [387]

A brother and his sister lived together in a lodge. The brother never
allowed his sister to go outside. When he went hunting, he did not fail
to tell his dog to stay at home and to bring whatever his sister
wanted.

One day when her brother was hunting the sister wanted water; not
seeing the dog she thought what harm could it do for her to go out and
bring back water as quickly as possible. She ran to the spring, and
stooping down, filled the bucket, but as she straightened up and
rested, putting the bucket on the edge of the spring, someone, grasping
her from behind, carried her away through the air. The dog came on the
run, and barking loudly, made a spring into the air to catch her, but
he could not reach her. On hearing the dog bark, the brother hurried
home. Finding his sister gone, he said to the dog, “You have caused me
great trouble.” The animal felt the rebuke so keenly that, putting his
head beneath his body, he became a stone.

Gaqga, the man who had stolen the young woman, took her to an island in
the middle of a lake, where she passed some time. Every day Gaqga would
go away, returning with dry fish which he found on the shore. Sometimes
he would bring pieces of human flesh, which he ate himself; afterward
he would send the young woman to get water for him to drink.

One day when the woman went to the edge of the island for water, a man
stood before her, who said: “I have come to tell you that the man who
is keeping you is very hungry, and has made up his mind to kill you
tomorrow. He will tell you to bring water to fill the kettle; as soon
as you do this, he will seize his club to kill you. You must run behind
the post on which the kettle hangs. He will strike the post and break
his arm. Then come to this spot as quickly as you can.” The next day
Gaqga acted as the man said he would. When the kettle was full, seizing
his heavy club, he struck at the girl, who ran behind the post; as his
arm came down with the club it struck the post and it broke. The woman
ran to the lake. The man was there with a canoe. Both got into it, and
the man pushed out into the lake. This man was Sgagedi. After a while
Gaqga’s arm felt better, so he followed the girl to the water. Seeing
the canoe far off on the lake, he was very angry, saying, “This is the
work of Sgagedi.” As the canoe was approaching shore, the girl saw a
lodge near by. When Sgagedi stepped into the canoe, he divided himself,
one half sitting at each end of the canoe. As the canoe struck land,
the half of the body which was at the stern was raised and thrown
forward, whereupon, striking the front half, it was joined thereto, so
that the two parts became a whole man. The girl was sitting in the
bottom of the boat, when the mother of the man came to her, saying, “My
daughter, come with me,” and led her to the lodge. She was now
Sgagedi’s wife. Every time he went out on the water he divided himself,
one half sitting at each end of the canoe. As soon as the canoe touched
land he became whole again. All his life he had been traveling around
on the lake in this way, liberating people captured by witches.

After a while the young woman gave birth to twin boys. As soon as they
were born the old grandmother threw them into the lake; as they touched
the water they began to paddle and quickly swam to shore. Again she
threw them in the water, but in a moment they were back again; then she
threw them far out into the lake. When they swam to shore she said,
“That will do.” They now began to run around and play. They grew very
quickly and after a while said to their father, “We think you ought to
rest, so you would better stay at home and let us go out in the canoe
and do your work.” “It is well,” replied the father.

Thereupon the twins started off in the canoe, and after rowing some
distance one said to the other, “See! there is something on the land
that looks as if it were falling to pieces.” “That is true,” said the
other brother; “let us go ashore and find out what it is.” So they
landed, and going to the spot they found an old lodge lying flat on the
ground; within was something breathing, which they discovered was a
very old man. They got him out of the lodge, and one of the boys said,
“This is our uncle, and we must carry him home.” The man consented to
go with them. As they were leaving the place he pointed to a large
stone, saying, “That is my dog.” Striking it with a switch he said,
“Get up,” whereupon the dog got up, shaking himself and stretching, as
is the custom of dogs. They traveled on until they came to the water,
with the dog following them. Then all got into the canoe and the boys
paddled across the lake. When they reached home the boys said,
“Grandmother, we have found our uncle.” On looking at the old man, she
was convinced that he was her brother. Now the boys said to their
grandmother, “You must marry our uncle.” “It is well,” replied she.
After that they all lived together very happily.





103. DAGWANOENYENT AND GAASYENDIETʻHA [388]

There was a large village of people provided with plenty of meat, who
lived happily. Among these people was a man who lived at one end of the
village, whom few noticed.

One night this man had a dream, in which his Dream Spirit said to him,
“Something is going to happen to the people of the village, so you must
notify them to move away within ten days.” In the morning he went to
the center of the village, and having gathered the people together,
told them his dream. Some of them believed and some did not. Five days
later, all those who had believed his dream joined those who had not
believed and paid no further heed to the warning.

On the fifth night the man dreamed again. This time his Dream Spirit
said to him: “We know that all the people do not believe you. Now save
yourself. Start within three days, taking your bow and all your arrows
with you. About halfway up the high hill east of the village you will
find a large hollow rock; enter this cavern, and you will find a
subterranean passage running toward the village. Look through this
passage, and you will see all that is going on in the village. The
people will be destroyed. At midday of the tenth day a great cry will
be raised by the people, such a cry as you have never heard. When it
begins to die away you must commence to shoot through the passage, for
the monster that destroys the village will track you to this place. You
will save your life if you shoot all your arrows before the monster
reaches the underground passage. When your arrows are gone, come out of
your hiding place and go to the place where the monster has fallen.
Then take a small piece of its skin together with the hair (which is
very long) from the back of its head; this will be of use to you, for
it has great orenda (magical power). This monster is called
Dagwanoenyent. You must wind the hair around your body next to your
skin and declare at the same time that there is nothing that you can
not do. At night when it is too dark for you to be seen, go northward a
short distance, and you will find a tree upturned by the roots. Go
around the roots—you must not be frightened, for I will give you
something which will be of great service to you.”

The morning after this dream the man seemed very gloomy and unhappy.
When the time came, taking his bow and bundle of arrows, he started;
going eastward, he soon began to climb the mountain (he did not take
his family, for all believed not in his dream). Just as the sun set he
came to a large rock, in the opposite side of which he found an
opening. Entering here, he kept on until, as he thought, he arrived
directly under the center of the rock; there he found a room high
enough for him to stand in. (There was stone all around, but the bottom
was earth.) He now remembered the subterranean passage, and looking
around, he found it; then he lay down to sleep. The next morning when
he went out there was a deer standing close by, which he killed and
skinned. Having roasted some of the venison, he ate it for breakfast.

Then the man went on top of the rock, which he found large and level.
The tenth day, as he sat on the rock he heard a great noise coming from
the south, but he could see nothing. After a while the sound seemed to
approach the village, whereupon he saw something that looked like
smoke. He saw, too, that the trees in a very wide area were uprooted
and were falling toward the village. As the terrible noise neared the
village, he went under the rock, where he took position opposite the
underground passage. As he looked through it the village seemed to him
to be right at hand. In a short time he heard a terrible outcry, which
was the screaming of the people in distress. He could see that the huts
were hurled up into the air and torn to pieces. He could also see the
Monster eating the people. When all the rest were eaten, it missed one,
and laughing, said, “The world is not large enough for him to hide in.”
Then the man saw that the trees bent toward the east, and from this he
knew the Monster was on his track. Stringing his bow, he began to shoot
through the underground passage as rapidly as possible. When but few of
his arrows remained the noise seemed to be rapidly approaching.
Finally, when only two arrows were left, he saw a great Black Monster
[389] approaching. Thereupon he shot the last arrow. At that instant
the roar and noise ceased, and the Monster fell; he heard it say, “It
is dismal (awendonyat); you have killed me.” The man said, “I will go
and see this creature.” On going to the place where the head lay, and
examining it, he discovered that every arrow he had shot was in the
head. As he stood there, thinking, he said, “I must do as I was
commanded,” so he took part of the scalp from the crown of the head,
with the long hair hanging to it. This he tied around his body, saying,
“You must always help me and not let me be overpowered by anything.” He
then climbed the remainder of the hill, reaching the top quickly, for
he could now go very fast. On looking around, he found a place to build
a brush hut and began work. In a short time he had completed the hut.
Then he said, “I must have plenty of meat,” and going out, he saw deer,
bear, and all other kinds of game in great numbers. Having killed what
he wanted, he skinned the deer and the bears. In doing this, he merely
took hold of the skin of the head and pulled it off. After he had
skinned the animals, he put up hurdles in brush arbors, on which he
placed the meat to dry.

It was still the day on which he killed Dagwanoenyent. When it began to
get so dark that he could not distinguish objects, he started, as his
dream had said, toward the north. He had not gone far when he came to a
fallen tree with the roots turned up. On starting to go around this,
when halfway around, he saw Gaasyendietʻha, which had its great mouth
open and seemed very angry. When the Gaasyendietʻha saw that the man
was not frightened, it began to laugh; then, changing itself to a man
(human being), it said: “You must take one of my teeth out. This will
be of great use to you, for it will enable you to change yourself into
any form you wish.” The man took out one of the double teeth, the one
farthest back in the jaw. At this Gaasyendietʻha said: “You shall live.
You shall have full magical power in your possession, but you and I
must always counsel with each other, especially if you are in trouble;
now we must part.” Immediately Gaasyendietʻha, resuming his natural
form, flew off through the air.

Going back to his hut, the man made up his mind that this should be his
home hereafter. He remained in the hut one year; at the end of that
time, getting lonely, he thought of the people, and said to himself: “I
will go and see whether I can find anybody.” As he started he turned
himself into a Gadjidas [390] and flew toward the southwest. He did not
know how far he might go before finding people, but, as he soared high,
he kept looking down on the earth. After a time he saw something
directly to the west which made him think people were living there, so
he came lower and lower. When near the ground he saw a village and
said: “Well, I shall eat up all the people that live here, but if I
find a good-looking woman, I shall take her home.” Then he turned
himself into a Ganiagwaihegowa, and, beginning at the first house, he
ate all the people. When he thought he had eaten everybody and had seen
no woman that suited him, he saw away off on one side of the town a
little hut from which smoke came out. Going there, he found an old man
and a woman with several children, all of whom he ate. Then saying, “I
have finished,” he changed himself into a man. He stood around a while
and then, seeing a little trail, followed it. He had not gone far when
he met a woman who was very handsome and whom he liked at once. As they
talked together he asked: “Where do you live?” “Oh! right over here at
that lodge,” she replied. He said, “You would better go home with me,
for there is no one living there; all the people are dead.” “I must see
first,” she answered. They then went back to the village. She led him
to the last hut, in which he had found the old man and woman with the
children. She was their daughter. Finding only the blood on the ground,
she began to cry. He laid his hand on the top of her head, and as he
touched her she instantly became senseless; whereupon he shook her,
causing her to become a small gnat. Changing himself into a hen hawk
and putting the gnat (ogenhwan) under his wing, he flew off in the
direction of his home. In a short time he was there, and, changing
himself into a man again, he took the woman from under his wing and
shook her back into her natural form and size. Then he said: “This is
our home; you must stay here and take care of the meat and the lodge.”
She obeyed, while every day he went off to hunt.

One night some time afterward, as they sat in the hut the man heard a
noise outside, as though some one were coming on a run. Suddenly the
door opened and a man came in. They greeted one another. “I have come
again,” said the man. “I find that you have made yourself into two
persons now. I am here to warn you. A great monster has become very
envious of you and has said, ‘There is a man over yonder who has become
magically very powerful, and I have determined to try to overpower him
and to eat him.’ Tomorrow at noon this monster will come. You must go
eastward until you reach a large hill of stones, half as high as the
highest mountain, not far from here. The place will be your only refuge
when this monster attacks you. Get up on these rocks, and when it
approaches you, you must jump from one rock to another. It will jump
after you, but when it fails to reach you and falls, you may feel safe.
We will then take care of it. This is what I had to tell you, so now I
shall go.” The man and his wife went to sleep. The next morning the
woman, noticing that her husband was gloomy, said, “What is the
matter?” “Nothing, except I am thinking of what will become of me today
at noon.” (She had neither seen nor heard the strange man who had
spoken to her husband, although she was present. They two were so
powerful in orenda that only they heard what was said.) The husband,
walking up and down, seemed to be very uneasy.

As it neared noon, leaving his wife, the man started for the rocks.
Seating himself on the top of the highest rock, he waited. Just at
midday he heard a great noise, a distant howl; then he heard another
nearer; then a third howl, just at the rocks. Now by way of defiance he
gave a whoop, calling out, “I am the strongest of the strong. Nothing
can overpower me.” The source of the sound was a bear, the oldest and
strongest of the great bears. As it came up, it leaped on the rocks
where the man stood, whereupon he jumped on the next rock, with the
monster close behind him. In this way they kept leaping from one rock
to another, being ever about the same distance apart, until the man
began to feel tired and faint, and as he looked ahead the next rock
seemed farther off than any of the others had been. Making a greater
exertion, he just reached it. The bear was close behind him, but as it
sprang, it fell short, just striking its jaws on the edge of the rock.
The man looked over the edge of the rock and then jumped to the ground.
As he struck the ground, looking behind him, he saw the rock from which
he had leaped turn over and fall on the monster, killing it. “That is
what I said; there is nothing that can overpower me,” the young man
thought. He then went back to his hut very happy. His wife asked what
had happened to him. “I have killed a monster bear that came to destroy
me,” he replied.

Now all went on as usual. One day after the man returned from hunting,
as he and his wife sat by the fire they heard a man approaching the
hut, and they kept listening until he came to the door. When the man
opened the door, there stood his friend. For the first time now the
woman saw him. They greeted each other. The guest said: “The time has
come when your life is again in danger, but I will try to save you and
your wife. I will tell you what to do. Rub your hands on your wife’s
head and she will turn to Osʻhada;[391] then you must tell it to follow
you wherever you go. It will not be well for you to stay here; you must
go away, but remain here as long as you can after your wife has gone.
She must start immediately after you change her into Osʻhada, and when
you have given up all hope of being able to stay, then flee directly
toward the south. Tomorrow morning as soon as you get up, you must do
as I have told you. I shall go now and we shall meet again.”

Thereupon the visitor started off. The man and wife began to talk. They
did not know what to do. In the morning the man rubbed her head,
saying, “Let my wife become Osʻhada.” At once she became Osʻhada and
rested on his hand, while with the other hand he rubbed it off in the
direction it was to go. Then piling up all his meat, he said in a loud
voice, “I give this meat to you, all flesh-eating animals that live in
the woods.” He now went toward the southeast from his lodge to a very
large elm tree, which was smooth up to a great height, where branches
formed a crotch. Climbing the tree, he sat in this crotch. Soon he
noticed that he felt faint and very weak at intervals, and he thought
that there must be near him something mysterious. He looked around
everywhere, but saw nothing. Taking out the tooth Gaasyendietʻha had
given him, he dampened it with spittle; then having rubbed his finger
over the tooth, he passed it over his eyes, saying, “Now I can see
everything that is going on, even down in the ground.” On looking into
the ground, he saw, deep down, a tree and on the tree a great monster.
He sat still, watching it as it slowly climbed the tree. As it came
near the top, the faint feeling grew stronger on the man. He saw that
the animal was a Djainosgowa,[392] the greatest of the Djainos family
of monsters. This Djainosgowa had determined to overpower the orenda of
the man. It came up out of the ground and up into the heart of the tree
on which the man was sitting. As it came nearer and nearer, the man
leaped to another tree. At that instant the Djainosgowa, coming out at
the place where the man had been sitting, said, “Guhge sedjinoⁿ (You
are indeed somewhat of a man, but I am determined to overpower you in
orenda).” Thereupon the Djainosgowa leaped toward the man, but the man
jumped to another tree, and then from tree to tree, the Djainosgowa
following. There was a great rock at the brink of the hill to which the
man ran; from this he leaped through the air across the great valley to
a mountain far away. Thence he ran directly southward, right along the
top of the mountain, descending on the other side to another very wide
valley. He ran across this valley and had begun to ascend the mountain
on the other side when he heard the monster in close pursuit. It
continued to run all night. In the morning he came to an opening, on
the other side of the valley. It was nearly dark, but the man continued
to run all night. In the morning he came to an opening, on the farther
side of which he could discern a hill and smoke arising. As he came to
the foot of the mountain, he stopped, and turning around, he saw that
the monster Djainosgowa had gotten to the opening. Raising its paw, it
struck the man’s footprint on the trail. Instantly the man fell to the
ground. As he fell, his friend appeared and said: “Get up; you cannot
live if you fall this way.” So saying, he pushed him into a run,
telling him to hurry. The man then felt stronger and again ran fast
from valley to valley, with the Djainosgowa always about the same
distance behind. All at once the man fell again. Immediately his friend
was there, and put him on his feet, saying, “Keep up your courage,” at
the same time pushing him into a run. Again he felt stronger and ran
fast. He ran all night. It was a very dark night and he struck a great
maple tree, going straight through it; this happened many times during
the night, whenever he hit a tree.

For eight days and nights the monster chased him. When it discovered
that the man went through trees it threw its power ahead of him, making
the trees so hard that the man could no longer go through them. On the
ninth night the monster commanded a terrible rainstorm to come and the
night to be so dark that the man could not see where he was going, but
the man ran on until midnight without hitting a tree. Just at midnight
he struck a tree and was thrown far back. At that moment his friend was
there, who said, “Do all you can; exert yourself”; and taking hold of
his hand he led him. The two went and traveled a great deal faster than
the man had gone alone, unaided by his friend, Gaasyendietʻha, the
Meteor. The two ran together until daylight, when the friend left and
the man went on alone. This was the tenth day and he began to be very
tired and faint, but still the monster was approaching and its strokes
on his tracks were frequent, so that the man fell often. The chances
seemed against his escape. Night came and the Djainosgowa made it
terribly dark. Running against a tree, the man bounded far back, but
fortunately the Djainosgowa was so near that he fell behind it. The
Djainosgowa, having likewise struck the tree, was also thrown back. At
once the man was up and running forward again. The Djainosgowa was just
upon him and was reaching out to grasp him when the man fell, as it
seemed to him, into a hole in the ground. He thought, “Well, I am near
my end. When I strike I shall be dashed to pieces.” He kept falling,
and as he fell he grew sleepy. Looking up he saw the monster coming
down the side of the hole, winding round and round. Thereupon the man
went to sleep. After a long time he woke and was still falling, and the
monster was still pursuing him. At last the man landed on his feet. He
seemed to have come out of the hole, and on looking around he saw a
beautiful country. Saying to himself, “My friend told me to go toward
the south,” he ran in that direction. As he went on rapidly he saw the
Djainosgowa coming toward him very fast, and thought, “Now I shall
die.” As it came near the monster turned itself into a man. The runner,
closing his eyes, kept on thinking, “I will not be looking at him when
he reaches me.” He ran until he thought it was a long time to wait to
be seized; then he opened his eyes and looked around, but he could not
see the Djainosgowa, but still he kept on running.

Soon the man came to a lodge, which he entered, finding within an old
man, who, looking up, exclaimed: “Oh, my grandson! I am glad you have
come. I have been waiting for you a long time. You are bringing with
you what I have wanted to eat for a long time. So go back there and
stay. The Djainosgowa and I will fight alone. We will see whether it is
as powerful as it thinks it is.” Soon the noise of the monster’s
approach could be heard. Coming to the lodge, it asked, “Where is the
man I have been chasing?” The old man said, “Here I am.” “No; you are
not the man,” Djainosgowa replied. “I am; but if you think it is some
one else, you shall not find out until you overpower me,” retorted the
old man. The Djainosgowa said, “Come outside; there is not room in
here.” “Very well,” replied the old man, and, arising, he went out.
Then they began to fight. Whenever the animal bit the old man, tearing
open the flesh, it immediately came together and healed. The old man
tore off the forelegs of the Djainosgowa. They fought until the
Djainosgowa was torn to pieces and the old man convinced himself that
the pieces were not alive. Then he hung up the meat in the lodge and
said to his grandson: “Come out! I have killed the monster you were
afraid of. I am very thankful, for I have been wishing for this kind of
meat for a long time.” The old man boiled the meat in a large kettle,
not leaving a particle. In a small kettle he cooked bear’s meat for his
grandson. As the meat was boiling, he put corn into the pounder and
with only a few strokes it became corn meal; then having made bread, he
began to eat. He was constantly giving thanks for the meat he was
eating. At last, when he had eaten every bit of the great Djainosgowa
he said: “I thank you, my grandson, for this will last me for a great
many tens of years. You must stay with me until you are rested and
cured, for you have been infected by the orenda (magic power) of this
great monster.”

One day the old man said, “I want you to see what I have planted.” A
short distance from the lodge they came to a field where something was
growing. The old man said, “This is called onĕñoñ.” There were great
tall cornstalks with ears of corn on them as long as the man was tall
and kernels as large as a man’s head. The field extended farther than
the eye could see. The old man said, “Let us go on the other side.”
There the young man saw another field, where all varieties of corn were
growing. Going on, they came to a third field, whereupon the old man
said, “These are squashes.” They were very large and in great variety.
Passing the squash field, they went to the old man’s lodge.

The next day, after he had rested, the grandson, having bade the old
man good-by, went on. He traveled many days and finally came to a large
opening, where there was a village. After thinking a while, he went to
the lodge of the chief, who received him well. The chief’s daughter,
looking at him, asked, “Have you ever heard of a man sending his wife
off in the form of Osʻhada, a vapor?” He thought and thought this over;
he had entirely forgotten about it. After a good while, remembering the
past, he said, “Yes; I myself did that.” “I thought I recognized you. I
am your wife,” declared the woman. They were glad to be together again.





104. DAGWANOENYENTGOWA SʻHAGODIGENDJI [393] AND YENONSGWA

Dagwanoenyentgowa Sʻhagodigendji, the eldest woman of her people, lived
in the woods with two grandchildren, a boy and a girl.

One day, when the old woman had gone on a journey, a Yenonsgwa came to
the lodge. Picking up the younger child, after speaking kindly to her
and saying that she was a pretty little thing, the Yenonsgwa swallowed
her. Then she began to talk to the boy, telling him how well he looked,
but did not kill him. Sitting on the bed, she told the boy that if he
would get on her back she would take him out to look for his
grandmother. Accordingly he climbed on her back; but soon becoming
frightened, he grasped her so tightly that he became fastened to it, so
he could not get off, although he tried hard to do so. The Yenonsgwa
started off, but went in a direction different from that where his
grandmother was. The boy told her so, but she said: “Oh! we shall soon
come to the place where she is.” The Yenonsgwa woman went very far into
the woods, and the boy began to cry for his grandmother; he cried so
hard that Yenonsgwa told him to get off her back. She did not like to
hear him cry, and, moreover, she wanted to eat him. But he did not get
off, for he could not do so. Yenonsgwa could neither get her hands
around to pull him off, nor could she turn her head to bite him; she
could not get at him in any way. Knowing this, the boy clung to the
middle of her back, for he knew also that she would eat him if he
slipped down. They traveled thus for many days.

When the grandmother returned home she found that the boy and girl were
not in the lodge, and she became very uneasy. She searched everywhere,
but found no traces of either. After a while, finding the tracks of the
Yenonsgwa around the lodge, she guessed what the trouble was. The old
woman followed the trail of the Yenonsgwa, saying that she was bound to
get her grandchildren back.

Yenonsgwa tried to get the boy off, even rubbing him against a hickory
tree, but the boy said: “Oh! I like that. Rub harder.” At this she
stopped rubbing and went on. The grandmother, in the form of a
whirlwind, followed her, and Yenonsgwa told the boy that his
grandmother was following as a whirlwind, and would strike and kill
both. The boy was silent. Then looking around for a refuge, Yenonsgwa
found a hiding place in a deep ravine. There she dug a hole, into which
she went and covered herself with the earth which slipped down from
above. Now Yenonsgwa heard Dagwanoenyentgowa coming, and said to the
boy: “You can hear your grandmother coming if you listen.” Then the
Dagwanoenyentgowa rushed over the place where they lay. The boy shouted
to his grandmother, who heard him. Changing her course, she came back
straight to the spot where they were, blowing the earth off the hiding
place, so that Yenonsgwa was visible on the surface of the ground. When
the grandmother asked the boy whether he was there, he answered: “Yes.”
The Yenonsgwa, however, lay still, whispering to the boy: “Be quiet!
Your grandmother will see us.” The grandmother then called to the boy
by name: “Dagwanoenyentgowa, get off Yenonsgwa’s back.” Having done so,
he went a short distance from her inside the cavern. Then the old
woman, his grandmother, hurled great stones at Yenonsgwa, rending all
her clothes of rock and killing her. Thereupon the old woman took her
grandson with her toward home. On the road she said: “Never allow
yourself to be treated in this way again. Never let anyone maltreat
you. You can master all those people if you only use your orenda (magic
power), for you are a Dagwanoenyentgowa like myself.” The old woman
remained at home a few days with her grandson.

Meanwhile some of the Yenonsgwa’s people found her trail, which they
followed until they came to the place where her clothes were rent and
scattered, and she lay dead. When they asked, the spirit of the
Yenonsgwa told them that the old woman had killed her and had rent her
coating of stone. The men of the Yenonsgwa’s people now resolved to
collect a large company of their people to kill the old woman,
Dagwanoenyentgowa.

While they were preparing for this, the old woman, while she was out on
one of her journeys, found out their plans. When she heard the news of
the intended attack she said to her grandson, “We must get your sister
out of the belly of the Yenonsgwa, for she is sitting within, crying
for me all the time.” So they set out from home, and when they reached
the place where Yenonsgwa lay dead the old woman, having built a little
fire, began to burn tobacco on it for her granddaughter, saying, “This
is what we like; this is what we like.” She burned perhaps half a pouch
full and kept pushing the smoke toward the Yenonsgwa’s body, saying,
“This is what we like. Do you come out of Yenonsgwa’s body.” Still no
sign of the granddaughter; she did not come out of Yenonsgwa’s body. At
last the old woman said: “We must have more help. You have a great many
relatives—uncles, aunts, and cousins. We must call them here.” So
saying, the old woman, the Dagwanoenyentgowa, called them loudly. They
came one by one. There was a great number of them. They broke up and
removed all the clothing of the Yenonsgwa, which they threw away,
leaving the body naked. Then the old woman built a fire at Yenonsgwa’s
head, on which she burned tobacco. All the Dagwanoenyentgowa walked
around the fire, each throwing tobacco into it, saying, “This is what
we like; this is what we like.” After each one of them had gone around
once and had thrown tobacco into the fire once, the young girl started
up in Yenonsgwa’s body, panting for breath. Soon she arose, and walking
out, said, “How long have I been here?” The people gave her tobacco to
smoke. She inhaled it until she gained her full strength. Then all went
home—the old woman with her two grandchildren to her lodge, and the
other Dagwanoenyents each to his own place.

After they had been home a while a Yenonsgwa came to the old woman’s
lodge, who talked pleasantly and inquired how they were. Finding out
that they were only three in number, the Yenonsgwa went back, thinking
it would be a small task to kill them. After the Yenonsgwa had gone
away the old woman said, “We are in trouble now. There is a great
number of these Yenonsgwa people leagued together against us. They are
assembled somewhere around here. When this struggle commences we do not
know whether or not we shall be able to come home here again.” As soon
as she had finished talking with her grandchildren the old woman went
out and called loud and long, “Dagwanoenyentgowa! Dagwanoenyentgowa!
Dagwanoenyentgowa!” The girl did not know what that meant, so she asked
her grandmother, who told her, “I am calling your relatives to help us.
You are a Dagwanoenyentgowa, too.” They came one by one. When all had
come they numbered 60, besides the old woman and her grandchildren.
Dagwanoenyentgowa Sʻhagodigendji said that each one must have a round
stone to strike with, just heavy enough to handle well. They had barely
gotten the stones when the Yenonsgwa began to appear, thousands and
thousands in number. The Dagwanoenyentgowa were frightened when they
saw them, but the old woman who led them said, “We must separate and
attack them singly. You must keep the stones in your hands. Be firm and
have the faith that you will kill with one blow each one you hit and
you will do so.” [394] Then the Dagwanoenyentgowas ran off in different
directions, with the Yenonsgwa chasing them. Whenever they had the
chance the Dagwanoenyentgowa struck and killed a Yenonsgwa, and so they
kept retreating and killing the Yenonsgwa for a long distance. The old
woman told all her people to go up a high mountain on the south ahead
of them and to continue fighting as they went, saying, “When we all
reach the top we will go down a little on the other side, and the
Yenonsgwa will come to the top, and we shall then strike them. One part
of us will strike them from the east and the other from the west side,
and we will get behind them and drive them into the great ravine on the
south side of the mountain, where a river runs, and they will all
perish there.” On coming to the mountain top, where there was a large
space, and looking around the Yenonsgwa saw nothing of the
Dagwanoenyentgowa. They looked on every side, but could see no one,
whereupon they thought that the Dagwanoenyentgowas had gone for good.
They had not stood there long, however, when they heard the sound of
wind below them on the mountain on both sides of them. The sound grew
louder and louder, and presently the Dagwanoenyentgowa struck them on
both sides, and uniting in their rear struck them there also. So
terrible were the attack and the power of the Dagwanoenyentgowa that
they tore all the trees out by their roots and swept the earth from the
top of the mountain, hurling the trees and earth into the ravine and
river below. The dead Yenonsgwas were piled up on one another like
rocks in the river bed and along its banks. The Dagwanoenyentgowa were
now dancing on the mountain top, when the old woman said, “We have
hurled the Yenonsgwa down there now and we would better finish them.
Let half of you go along the ridge running south from this mountain
east of the river and the other half on the western ridge and blow all
the trees and stones and earth into the great ravine.” They did so, and
when they came together they had stripped the mountain spurs naked. The
river forced everything to the end of the ravine, piling up the débris
in a great dam, so that the river became a lake on the south side of
the mountain, which is called Hadiqsadon Genonsgwa ganyudae.395





105. THE TWELVE BROTHERS AND THEIR UNCLE, DAGWANOENYENT

Once there lived 12 brothers who were great hunters, and who dwelt very
happily together. Everyone knew that they excelled in whatever they
undertook, for they had great magical powers and were honest.

Every morning the brothers would start off in different directions to
hunt, and would return in the evening. The eldest brother seemed to
understand best the women, who went around the world to destroy men, so
he always avoided them. One day, however, while he was hunting he saw a
red-headed woodpecker drumming on the trees, making a great noise. As
he watched the bird, it went around the tree and then flew to another
tree and around that. Finally it flew to the ground, and, behold! a
beautiful young woman took the place of the bird. She said to the
hunter, “Are you not ashamed to point an arrow at a woman? Come and
talk to me.” Thereupon he went up to her—this was the last thing he
remembered. She took him to a high rock where stood another woman, who
said “Let his bones come to the ground,” and his body fell, becoming a
heap of bones. Great piles of human bones lay around this rock, for
many men had been decoyed to the place by the first woman and destroyed
by the other.

Night came, and as the eldest brother did not return, the remaining 11
said that some evil had befallen him, and that he would never return.
As predicted, he never came home; his mat remained vacant, and they
left everything as it was and mourned him as dead.

After a long time another brother was missing one evening and he, too,
never returned. Later it was learned that while walking along in the
woods he came upon two women, who with their wiles put him to sleep.
One of them said: “Let us put him into the ground until mold appears
all over him—he shall be alive—and let him remain there until his uncle
finds out where he is and rescues him.”

Now, the 10 remaining brothers were greatly alarmed, and they told
their youngest brother, whom they loved very dearly, that “he must stay
at home and not go roaming about the forest, for he was young and did
not know the world as well as they did.”

Again many moons passed, and then one night the third brother was
missing. The others knew he must be dead, or he would not have failed
to return when night came. Now, three mats were vacant, and the
remaining brothers were almost heartbroken.

Time went on, and one brother after another had disappeared, until only
two were left—the second and the youngest, and there were 10 empty
places. Then the elder said to his younger brother: “You must not go
out of doors. You must stay close at home, where no harm can come to
you, for you are all I have to depend on when I grow old.” “But,” said
the younger, “it may be that our brothers are still alive and are being
kept captive and tormented by the spell of some magic power. I wish to
go in search of them.” “No; you can not,” replied the elder; “you are
still young. But we have a great uncle, who knows everything. He is a
terrible man; no one can go near him. He could bring our brothers back,
if we could get to him, but the trouble is he would not know that we
are his nephews, so we would be destroyed. He is Dagwanoenyent. He
lives on a rock. His long hair sweeps the ground, so that all around
the rock it is as smooth as ice; and he has enormous eyes.” [396] “I
must go to see this uncle,” said the younger, “and find out where our
brothers are.” “You will travel the wide world over and never find them
unless he tells you,” came the reply.

“What does he live on?” asked the younger. “He gnaws the bark of
hickory trees,” answered the elder. “That is an easy living. I will get
plenty of it,” said the younger, and having cut down the largest
hickory trees he could find, he took off great blocks of bark for his
uncle to eat. Then he made himself six arrows, each arrow being a great
tree. He would lift the tree out of the ground by the roots. “I want
you to be small,” and made an arrow of it; the blunt end of the arrow
was the butt near the roots. The elder brother did not know that these
arrows were large trees. He was afraid to have his brother go and put
but little faith in his success. While the younger brother was making
his arrows he practiced running. One day while so engaged he thought he
heard a groan under his feet, as it were, and going back and forth he
found the exact place whence it seemed to come. It was as though he ran
over a man and each time hurt him fearfully; so digging down into the
ground, he found a living man, whose features were perfect but whose
face was covered with thick mold. He took him home to his elder
brother, saying, “We have plenty of bear’s oil, and you can anoint him
until he regains his natural skin.” The newly found man could neither
see nor hear.

The elder brother told the younger to run toward the north. The next
morning the latter started, having cautioned the elder to stay in the
lodge while he was gone, as he would bring his uncle home with him. He
ran for several days until he came near the place which his brother had
described. Possessing magical power over a mole, he said to it, “You
must carry me under the ground so that the leaves shall not rustle.
When we are very near my uncle, Dagwanoenyent,[397] let me out.”
Thereupon he entered the mole, which ran on until they were near the
Great Head, when he looked out. He was almost afraid to come forth, so
terrible was this enormous object, but he sprang out of the mole with
his arrow drawn, crying as he did so, “Uncle, I have come after you!”
Away sped the arrow! As it whizzed through the air it grew to the size
of a large tree. When it hit the Great Head above the eyes, with a loud
laugh the latter, rolling off the rocks, swept along in the air, making
a broad track of fallen trees as it passed through the forest like an
immense cloud. The young man kept ahead by running with lightning
speed. As the Great Head was nearly on him, he turned and shot another
arrow, which drove it back some distance, and again he got ahead. This
act he repeated whenever he was in danger of being overtaken, otherwise
he would have been killed by the big trees that fell in the track of
the Great Head. So on he ran for his life, and as his last arrow was
spent, he reached home. Each time the rebound of the Great Head
decreased, so it gained on him continually.

While the pursued and the pursuer were still a long way off, the elder
brother began to hear a frightful roar and to feel a great wind rising.
Thereupon, saying, “My uncle is coming,” he opened the skin doors
(there was one at each end of the lodge) and put great pounders on
them, and made a big fire. When the younger brother reached the lodge
he took up the pounder, and as the Great Head came down to the
threshold and rolled in, both brothers began pounding it and kept on
doing so until it rolled almost to the end of the lodge and became
silent. At this the young man said: “I brought you here, uncle; now,
you must stay with us and tell us where our brothers are.” “I can not
stay,” replied the Head, “but I will help you, and your brothers will
come back.”

By this time the elder brother, having rubbed nearly all the mold from
the man’s face, found he was his brother. The Great Head blew on the
body, whereupon the man became well and sound again. Now there were
three brothers. At night the Great Head would remain outside the lodge,
gnawing the hickory bark provided for it. After a time it said, “I can
not remain and must be going home, but I will take you to the spot
where your brothers are”; so they started off together. The Great Head
would make long leaps, springing high from the ground. It conducted the
young man to the woman on the rock. As they passed the first woman the
Great Head said, “We shall have to kill this woman.” She tried to make
the Great Head laugh, but it would not, saying, “Oh, woman! Come down
and be bones.” Enraged at these words, she tried to spit at the Great
Head, which repeated the words. The third time, both women rolled off,
and as they fell their bones made a noise like the pouring out of many
shells, and the Great Head said, “Scatter the bones.” So the young man,
gathering them up by handfuls, threw them in every direction,
commanding them to become such and such birds; and they became
birds—horned owls, hawks, crows, and woodpeckers—which disappeared in
the air. “Now,” said the Great Head, “you must work hard. Fit all these
other bones together nicely, giving to each body its own bones by
putting together as many bodies as you can. While you are doing this, I
will go off a long distance and then come back straight over this
forest. When I approach you will hear the roar of the wind, and
thereupon you must cry out to these bones, ‘Arise, or the trees will
fall on you.’ They will obey you. I will pass over them and go to my
home; if you want me again, you may come for me.” The young man went to
work with great haste and laid together many skeletons. Nearly all the
bones were arranged when he heard the deep roar of the wind and knew
thereby the Great Head was coming. Then he called out, “Arise, you
bones, or the trees will fall on you,” [398] and as the Great Head
swept with an awful noise over the skeletons, all sprang to their feet.
The bones of two skeletons were interchanged. One who from the shape of
his foot had gone by the name of Sharp-pointed Moccasins had but one of
his own feet, while the second man had the other, so both were
cripples. One of these men had been enticed from a great distance; he
was a man-eater and wished to commence a meal at once, but the young
man killed him with a single blow of his club. Among those now restored
to life were the nine missing brothers. Each man found whatever he had
brought with him and all separated; those who did not know where their
homes were went with the brothers. Thus, again, after many years the 12
brothers were united.





106. ONGWE IAS [399] AND HIS BROTHER, DAGWANOENYENT

There was a man who had three nephews, and all lived in a lodge which
was divided into two parts by a partition. The old man lived in one
part and the young men in the other. There was no door between the two
rooms; they could talk only through the partition. The old man,
however, was an Ongwe Ias; he was a brother of the Dagwanoenyent who
chased the panther and her cubs.

When the old man went hunting he always started on a run, and one could
hear the sound of his going. The young men used to go hunting, too.
Whenever the old man came home they could hear him throw down a
person’s body and cut it up; then they could hear him eating. Afterward
he would ask the boys whether they had all returned from hunting,
whereupon they would say, “Yes.”

One morning after the old man had gone off the youngest of the three
started by himself. At a short distance from the lodge lay a big tree,
over which moss had grown everywhere. When he put his knee on this tree
to get over it he saw a man who had grown to the tree. The man said: “I
am glad you have come; I am tormented here. I think you would better
take me to your lodge. I will be a brother to you and stay with you as
long as you live.” “I do not think this would be well,” replied the
young man, “for our uncle is a man-eater; but I will go home and talk
with my two brothers, and tomorrow I will let you know our decision.”
That night when the old man got home he asked whether all had gotten
back. “Yes,” they answered. Then the youngest said to his uncle: “We
have found a man who wants to come here to be our brother and live with
us. You must not touch him.” The old man agreed not to injure him,
saying, “I will give him a name; he shall be called The-Found-One.”
[400] They brought the man in. When he had recovered his health he was
a swifter runner than the old man-eater.

One morning all started off to hunt, the three brothers and
The-Found-One. In the afternoon the old man came back home and stayed
in his part of the lodge. At night he asked, “Are you all here?” One
answered, “No; our eldest brother has not come.” The old man was
astonished, and told the second brother that he must start early the
next morning and follow his brother’s tracks.

In the morning the second brother started on the run to look for his
elder brother. After a while he came to a clearing, in the middle of
which sat an old woman; his brother’s tracks went straight toward her.
He made up his mind to inquire of the woman about him. Going straight
up to her, he asked, but she gave no answer. Then she struck him and
straightway he turned into bones. Now, two of the brothers were gone.
When night came and the uncle reached home, he asked the lone brother
whether all had returned. The youngest said, “No,” whereupon the uncle
said, “You must follow them and see what has happened.”

So the youngest went out the next morning, and soon reached the opening
or clearing, where he saw the gray-haired woman. It came into his mind
that she was the cause of the trouble; so taking a start he ran and
then jumped on her back, asking “Have you seen my brothers?” Having
said this, he jumped off. After trying in every way to hit him, at last
the woman just touched him and thereupon the three brothers were gone;
he, too, then becoming merely bones, like the other two.

At night when the old uncle returned he asked the fourth person,
The-Found-One, “Have your brothers come back?” “No,” was the answer. At
this the old man, astonished, said, “When you rise in the morning get
crotched sticks and make a platform on them; put as many stones as
possible on the platform, and then start in search of your uncle. You
can not help finding him. When you see him you must shoot him in the
forehead; then he will follow in the direction from which the arrow
comes.” The next morning, having made a platform, the man put on it as
many big stones as possible. After doing this, he started in the
direction the old man had pointed out. During the forenoon he heard a
big noise, and when he came out into a broad opening, or clearing, he
saw his uncle, Dagwanoenyent, on a great rock which he was eating,
biting off large pieces. On seeing him, The-Found-One shot an arrow at
his forehead, saying at the same time, “I have come for you, uncle.”
His uncle, the Great Head, followed him, and he shot another arrow. The
Great Head always followed the course of the arrow. After shooting
twice The-Found-One was back at the lodge, where he called to the old
man-eater, “Uncle, I have come.”

Very soon they heard the noise of a great wind, and Dagwanoenyent came,
and standing on the platform, began to eat stones;[401] the sound of
his craunching could be heard a long way. The man-eater spoke to his
brother Dagwanoenyent, saying: “I sent after you, and you have come.
The three brothers have gone and have not come back. Now I am going for
them, and if I do not return, you will come after me.” The next morning
The-Found-One was alone. Dagwanoenyent came, and standing on the
platform, ate a stone, and called out, “Have they returned?” “No,” was
the reply.

“Well, I am going after my brother; he ought not to eat men, if he too
gets lost.” With these words, Dagwanoenyent flew up high in the air.
The old woman knew he was coming, so shading her eyes with her hand,
she kept watch; presently she saw him approaching. Flying down where
she was, he bit at her, but she had disappeared; then he bit gravel. On
flying up he could see nothing. At last he hid behind a cloud and
watched until he saw her; thereupon, plunging down, he bit deep into
the ground, this time killing the old woman and letting out her blood.
Then he said to himself, “My brother should not eat people, if he is
such a coward that he can not kill an old woman.”

Dagwanoenyent had to bring to life his three nephews and his brother.
The-Found-One came to the place where the old woman was killed, and
Dagwanoenyent told him to put the bones together, and then to go to a
big hickory tree near by and push against it, calling out, “Rise! you
people, lest the tree fall on you.” Having put together the bones as
directed, he pushed against the tree, at the same time calling, “Rise!
lest the tree fall on you.” At once all came to life, whereupon the
man-eater said, “I give up; I will never eat man again.” All went home
together, and are said to be living in some parts of the Rocky
Mountains now. Dagwanoenyent is living still.







MEDICAL NOTE


107. NOTES ON THE MEDICINE NIKAHNEGAAH [30] [402]

Solomon O’Bail, an aged Seneca, living on the Cattaraugus Reservation,
in 1884 had about a tablespoonful of the Great Bird-medicine in the
form of powder.

Only a minute portion of this medicine, mixed with water, was needed.
In putting the small portion of the powder into the cup of water O’Bail
sprinkled a little on the east side of the cup, another portion on the
west side, and still another on the side nearest to the lips of the
patient. If all the powder remained on the surface of the water instead
of mixing with it, the indication was that the patient must die; but if
the powder dissolved completely in the water, this was taken as a sign
that the patient would live. When the powder would not mix with the
water the latter became of the consistency of sirup; but if it mixed,
the water remained clear. When the medicine would not dissolve in the
water the hochinagen [403] knew that there was no help for the patient
and would not give the medicine to him; but in case the powder
dissolved in the water, the solution was given to the sick man to
drink.

About 20 men on the Cattaraugus Reservation still had, in 1884, a small
portion of this medicine. This medicine is the same as that which the
birds made when they brought Bloody Hand to life. It is so powerful in
orenda, or magic potency, that when it was given to the sick by the
hochinagen the patient was forbidden to eat anything that was colored;
he could eat, however, pure white beans and pure white cob corn. If
anything black or in any manner colored was eaten, the taboo was
broken, and the man or woman would die, as the medicine’s virtue was
thus destroyed.

If another man came into the patient’s presence after having stopped to
see a corpse on the way, and looked at the patient, the sick person
would immediately grow worse and would die shortly thereafter. For this
reason it was customary to hang up a skin or a blanket so that the
patient should not by any chance see such a person.

It is said that medicine similar to this ancient bird medicine could be
made, but no one knows how to make corn grow without seed corn.

When this Nikahnegaah was taken, the smell of burning or broiling meat
had a bad effect on its virtues. During her catamenial periods a woman
was not permitted to look at a person who had taken this medicine; if
she did so he would surely die. Hence it was a standing rule that a
patient who had taken this medicine should not be seen by any one for
four days except the person who was caring for him.

When a person who was ill desired to try this medicine, he or some
friend was required to give a handful of native tobacco and some other
small present to the person who had the medicine. The hochinagen could
do what he pleased with the presents. The hochinagen would cast into
the fire a piece of the tobacco, at the same time saying to the
medicine, which he then held in his hand, “Take a smell of this
tobacco, for I am about to make use of you.” Then he would visit the
sick man, and taking a small vessel he would go to a running stream,
and after making an offering of tobacco to it in the name of the
patient, he would dip up the water with the current, not against it. He
took what water he could dip up in this manner.

If the sick man was not very ill, this one dose would cure him; but if
he was very ill other hochinagen who have this same kind of medicine
must come to assist in the cure. They must cook a kettle of white beans
for themselves and the singers who come to sing that night; they would
also give strength to the medicine by the burning of tobacco as
directed by the birds.

The first sentence of the song is “Now, this is the medicine to be
taken.” When the medicine is swallowed the words are, “Now, let it
begin to work over all his body.”

If the patient recovered his health he must celebrate the event by
preparing a feast, the chief dish of which must be a great kettle of
hulled corn seasoned with meat or venison cut into small pieces.

The hochinagen who gave him the medicine must come to sing and dance in
honor of the medicine through whose aid they were enabled to cure the
patient. Some of the sentences employed in the songs are: “The spirits
have come and they have cured the ill person”; “We now dismiss them
with thanksgiving”; and then they sing the songs employed when
preparing the medicine, of which some of the sentences are: “I have
been to the place of the plant”; “I have been to the mountain”; “I have
been at the falls”; “I have been beyond the clouds”; etc. After recess
they use: “Now we have assembled where the tobacco is”; “Now they meet
together, say the ducks”; “Now the deer with two prongs say, ‘We have
assembled,’” and similar lines. Only hochinagen may sing at this feast.







SENECA FICTION, LEGENDS, AND MYTHS

PART 2

Seneca material collected by J. N. B. HEWITT in native text, in 1896,
on Cattaraugus Reservation, New York, and translated by him, with two
texts with interlinear translations.







SENECA FICTION, LEGENDS, AND MYTHS


108. THE LEGEND OF HAYANOWE (“HE-THE-FLEET-FOOTED”)

Once there dwelt together in a lodge in a village two brothers. The
time of the story is autumn.

It so happened that the elder brother said to the younger, “Now, let us
go to the forest to hunt deer.” The younger answered, “So be it. We
will take our blowguns.” But the elder said: “As for me, I will not
take a blowgun. I will make use of a tomahawk and a knife, for the
reason that I am very fleet-footed.” The younger brother rejoined, “Let
it be so. I am satisfied with what you suggest,” adding, “Come, now!
let us start for the forest.”

So they started for their destination in a distant forest. They
encamped on the way three nights before they reached the rendezvous
where they knew game animals abounded. Then they erected at once a
temporary shelter for their camp.

In the morning the elder said, “Now, early in the day we must go out to
do our hunting.” But the younger brother replied, “You must follow me
around in the forest, and then you will see how fleet I am on the
course.” Then the two started out from their camp to hunt. Carrying
only a tomahawk and a hunting knife, the younger brother took the lead,
while the elder brother followed him, as requested. Just before
starting from their lodge the younger brother said to the elder: “Do
not take a blowgun with you, for just as soon as I kill anything you
must bring it back to our camp.”

Having gone into the forest some distance, they finally saw a large
herd of deer, which at once fled from them, whereupon, then, the
younger brother said: “Whenever I kill one I will call out in a loud
voice, ʻam, ʻam.” So saying, with loud shouts he pursued the deer into
the forest, and by the time the sun marked midday he had overtaken and
killed six deer, on account of his great fleetness of foot. Then the
two brothers rested from hunting for the day.

When they had retired to their camp, the elder, addressing his younger
brother, said, “Do not ever say that you are fleet of foot, because
that quality is an essential of your character.” But the hot-headed
younger brother answered, “I am fleet-footed, anyway.” At this the
elder brother scolded him, saying, “Do not ever say that again, because
something sinister will happen to us owing to that.” But the younger,
heedless of the advice, rejoined: “Let it be so then. I shall match
myself, however, with anything, be it an animal or a human being; it
matters not what it may be.”

When night came they lay down to sleep. In the morning, after their
morning meal, the two again went forth to hunt. After a long tramp they
reached a place in which they saw many deer. At once the younger
brother began to shout loudly in order to frighten the deer, so that
they would run away from him, and he would have the opportunity of
overtaking them. Hearing his outcries, the deer fled from him, and the
youth pursued them. By midday he had overtaken and killed six deer.

As he was returning to his camp, he was surprised to hear the voice of
a man speaking to him, saying, “Verily, is it not you who are fleet of
foot and swift on the course?” Looking around, the now frightened youth
saw at one side an opening—a roadway, as it were, through the
forest—and standing in this roadway at some distance he saw a man, or
what he took to be a man, gazing at him. Boastingly the youth replied,
“It is certainly true that I am fleet-footed.” Then the strange man, or
what the youth took to be a man, said: “I will run a race with you. You
keep saying at all times and places that there is no one able to
outfoot you, so let us make an agreement to run a race with certain
conditions tomorrow. At midday we shall meet here in this place; right
here. And we will agree to wager our lives on the issue of the race.
One of the conditions of the race must be that I shall follow you for
two days. When we start let us be as far apart as we are now—the
distance from the spot where you are standing to this place where I
stand. You shall choose the direction that we shall take in the race,
whether we shall camp for the night, or not. When you decide that we
shall camp for the night, you must say, ‘We will camp for the night’;
and where you stop you shall make a mark from which you shall start in
the morning, and then you can go aside to camp for the night. And there
you may kindle a fire and prepare any food that you may have with you
(said sneeringly).”

Then the youth who was swift of foot answered: “I agree to your
proposition, and if at the end of two days you do not overtake me, then
I shall pursue you.”

Then the strange man rejoined, “We have now come to an agreement on
this matter, and you must tell your elder brother of it.” The
fleet-footed youth replied, “Let it be so; I will tell it to my elder
brother.” Thereupon the strange man admonished the youth, saying, “You
must not fail in the least to be here just at midday tomorrow, and we
shall stand here again.” Then the youth, answering, said, “So let it
be,” and he started for the place where stood the temporary camp of his
elder brother and himself.

When he arrived there he found his brother at home. As soon as his
elder brother looked at him he said, “You look very dejected; possibly
you are ill.” The younger brother said: “I am not at all ill. Perhaps
the reason why I am looking as I do is that I saw a strange man, who
said to me, ‘Are you the person who keeps on saying “I am swift of
foot?”’ I replied that I am the person. Thereupon the stranger said, ‘I
will run you a race just to test your words. So tomorrow when the sun
will be at midday here in this very place you and I must again stand,
and from this place you and I must start.’ Moreover, he told me that I
must inform you, my elder brother. So I have now informed you.” And he
continued to sit with his head bowed as if in deep trouble.

Then the elder brother said: “Oh! my younger brother, you and I are
brothers, and we are about to die because of your doing that which I
have frequently forbidden you doing, namely, your continually saying,
‘I am fleet-footed.’ I kept saying to you that your talking thus would
bring us misfortune. Now that form of talking has this day severed our
minds one from the other.” Thereupon the elder brother began to shed
tears of bitter grief, saying between paroxysms of weeping: “Perhaps
that thing with which you have made an agreement to run a foot race
with your life as a wager is not at all a human being. Verily, no one
knows of what abominable species of monsters it comes.”

Seemingly undismayed, the younger brother replied, “Oh! my elder
brother, now you must make me two pairs of moccasins, and I shall take
with me also two ears of parched corn, which I shall place in my
bosom.” So the elder brother sat up the entire night to make the two
pairs of moccasins which his younger brother required in his race on
the morrow.

In the morning the two brothers conversed together. The elder said:
“When you start away I shall go to notify our friends in their
encampment; for perhaps the person with whom you are to run a foot race
is not a human being. Perhaps, too, you are about to die, so you and I
may be now talking together for the last time.” Then they parted there.

The younger brother went to the place where he had agreed to be at
midday for the beginning of the two days’ foot race. In due time he
arrived at the spot, and he was surprised to see standing there the
strange man who had challenged him to the race, and who now addressing
him said, “Now, truly, you have arrived on time.” In reply Hayanowe
(“He-the-Fleet-footed”) said, “I have arrived all right, and I am ready
for the race.” To this the stranger answered, “Come, now, which way
shall we go?” The youth then said, “So let it be. We will go toward the
east—toward the sunrise.” The strange man replied, “Come on then. Get
ready; and when you are ready you must say, ‘Come now; I am ready.’”

In a short time the youth said, “Come on now; I am ready.” Then the two
started on a run. The youth Hayanowe struck a steady gait. When the sun
was at the meridian, and again when it was midway between noon and
sunset, the strange man urged his youthful competitor, saying, “Exert
yourself, my friend.” These admonitions caused the youth some
perturbations of spirit; he even feared for his life; so he put forth
his topmost speed and ran swiftly until nearly sunset, when the
standing trees gave out loud sounds, which seemed to come as the result
of a force which struck them hard. Thereupon the youth heard the
strange man shout to him, “Exert yourself, my friend; I will overtake
you indeed.”

Then it became night, and the youth, remembering one of the provisions
of his agreement with the stranger, although he somewhat doubted the
stranger’s sincerity in making it, said in a loud voice, “Let us two
camp for the night, as we have agreed to do.” The stranger replied, “So
be it. Have you marked the end of your run for the day, too?” The youth
answered, “I have marked it, indeed.” To this the stranger rejoined,
“So be it. You may eat your food now, and so will I. You also must
kindle a fire if you need it.” So the youth kindled a fire, and so the
strange man did likewise. The youth could plainly see the fire of the
stranger, for it was not far away at all, indicating that his opponent
was close at his heels in the race. He then took out his parched corn
and ate it, after warming it at the fire. Hayanowe was ill at ease, for
he fully realized that he had unexpectedly met his match, perhaps more
than his match. While he was eating his parched corn the strange man
said to him, “In the morning, just as soon as you are ready to take up
the race again, you must say aloud, ‘I have now taken my stand on the
scratch.’” The youth, answering him, said, “Let it be as you say.” But
he could not sleep during the entire night. He spent the time in
devising some plan by which he might win the race from the unknown
stranger, whether man or beast. He thought of many things, finally
deciding that he would choose deep thickets as the course of the race,
to see whether they would not retard the fleetness of his antagonist.

The next morning very early he made his usual preparations and then
went to the scratch. Standing there, he shouted to his antagonist, “I
am now ready.” The stranger answered, “So be it. And you must also say
as you start, ‘Come now.’” The young man, giving the required verbal
notice of his start, leaped forward with a bound, as did his antagonist
and challenger.

The youth exerted himself to the utmost, indeed, running at his topmost
speed. Finally he came to a dense thicket, which was large in extent,
which he entered at once. Stopping for a moment, he listened intently
for sounds made by his pursuer. It was not long before he heard the
sounds in the distance made by the stranger as he, too, entered the
thicket. The crackling of sticks and boughs sounded to him as if the
object pursuing him possessed great weight and strength.

In resuming his race for life, the youth said in his mind: “So now it
is again my turn to flee. I shall go back to the place where abide my
kinsfolk and my elder brother.” He then changed his course from the
east to the southwest. Running at top speed, he came to a mountain,
which he ascended and passed over. Then, not knowing whether his
challenger was still on his track, he listened for any sounds which
might indicate that he was being pursued. He had not been standing
there long when he heard the voice of his pursuer in the distance say,
“Exert yourself, my friend.” Again the youth put forth all his power,
running as swiftly as it was possible for him to do. He was directing
his course for the place where abode his kinsfolk and his elder
brother, for he had repassed their temporary camp in the forest, but
his brother had already fled. So he kept on thinking, “He has gone back
to the place where dwell my kinsfolk.” Having arrived there, he found
that they, too, had left their settlement, because his dear elder
brother had informed them of the conditions of the foot race, whereupon
they decided at once that their kinsman’s antagonist was not a human
being. They had fled because the elder brother had said: “We shall all
die if we remain here. I really do not know what kind of a being it is
that has challenged my younger brother to this foot race. Come, then,
let us flee from here.”

The youth, surmising where they had gone in their distress, followed a
course which would take him to their asylum. While he was running he
was greatly surprised to find a woman lying in his path. Stopping a
moment, he asked, “What is the matter with you?” She replied, “I was
ill when they decided to flee, so they built a cradle in which to bear
me along with them. They bore me along in it. Finally I said, ‘Put me
down here in this place, because I am ill in the manner of all women.’
[404] I will die here. Not having any women to bear me, I was left by
them here. And you must beware for I am still ill in the manner of all
women, and I am very, very ill thereby.”

The youth, answering, said, “So be it. Right here you and I are about
to die. There is coming behind me an animal, and I do not know what it
is or what it looks like. And I do not know whether we shall be aided
by what I am about to suggest.” Then he came forward from the direction
he had come and corpus ejus (mulieris) ille ita convertit ut pedes ad
animal appropinquans spectarent; eoque tempore cruribus mulieris
expansis omnibusque vestimentis ab ea sublatis corpus ejus sanguine
mentruo opertum vidit. Then He-the-Fleet-footed said to her, “Now, you
must remain perfectly quiet; do not move under any circumstances.” So
saying, he concealed himself behind a large tree near by, behind which
he awaited developments.

Looking back to the spot where the woman lay, he heard the sounds,
Woqʹ, woqʹ, woqʹ, approaching nearer and nearer and resounding very
loud. While looking back to see what was in pursuit of him, he saw at
last an animal following his tracks on the run. It was very large,
without a tail, and it had no hair on its body; there were only a few
bristles, which stood along the center of its back.

It came up to the place where the woman lay and it stopped there [tum
se gessit tamquam si aliquid insoliti odoraretur, cruoremque circa
corpus mulieris concretum intuitum est. Jam brevi tempore corpus
animalis tamquam frigore tremuit, iterumque sanguinem odorans]; its
body again quivered violently, and the great creature became nauseated.
It vomited a great quantity of blood, and in a short time fell over
dead, and its feet resounded on the ground.

The youth, who watched these things from his position behind the great
tree, now went to the place where the animal lay; when he placed his
foot on the body the entire carcass moved to and fro, showing that the
beast was dead. Then the boy removed the woman to a spot some distance
from the place where she first lay, saying to her for her comfort, “Lie
here a while. I will pursue our kinsfolk to learn whither they have
gone.” Thereupon he started on the trail with great fleetness of foot.
He had not followed the trail very far when he overtook them; they were
in large number, and among them was his elder brother. Coming up to
them, he said, “You must all turn back to see what kind of an animal it
was against which I ran the foot race.”

So all the people turned back, going directly to the place where they
had left the woman who was ill. When they reached the spot the ancients
held a council and, after carefully examining the animal, said, “This
is what is called Yăʼgwaiʻhē.[405] It is this thing which you overcame
in the foot race, the conditions of which have now been fulfilled. You
two wagered your heads on the issue of the trial of speed. So, then, we
will now kindle a huge fire. Let each one bring a piece of dry fuel.”
So, going out into the neighboring forest, each brought back a piece of
dry wood; with this wood they kindled a great fire. As soon as the fire
had become very large they cast into it the body of this animal, and
then they threw dry wood on the top of the body, causing the fire to
burn fiercely. When the fire died down only a few charred bones were
left of the huge animal. Then the eldest man of the assembly said: “Let
each one take a portion of these bones and make of it a fetish
(otcinăʻkĕⁿʼʹdăʼ) for hunting some kind of game animal, which he must
name; this fetish will give him the power to kill easily the animal
thus named.” So each of the assembly did as the hochinagen had
directed. One would take up a fragment saying, “I will employ this for
hunting the bear.” Another would say, “I will make use of this in
hunting deer.” A third person, “I will employ this for hunting
raccoons.” A fourth, “I will use this for hunting the otter.” A fifth,
“I will use this for fishing for sturgeon.” A sixth person, “I will
make use of this for trapping minks.” A seventh, “I will employ this
for hunting the raven.” An eighth, “I will use this for hunting women
(i.e., for winning the favors of the women).” Lastly, some vulgar,
worthless persons would say that they would employ the bones for
various filthy functions of the body.

Then placing on a pack-cradle for carrying wounded persons the woman
who was ill, they started for their homes, where they arrived safe.
This is the end of the story of Hayanowe.





109. OÑGWEʻ HAÑGESʹʻHÄʼ AND GAJIHSONDIS (SKIN-OF-MAN AND SPIKE-HITTER
[406])

In former times an uncle and his nephew dwelt together in a lodge. The
name of the old man was Oñgwe Hañgesha and that of his nephew
Gajihsondis.

It was the custom of the uncle when he left to be absent some time to
fasten his nephew securely in the lodge. He was also in the habit of
giving to his nephew the foot of a bear, with these instructions: “You
must remain in here quietly, and you must continue to shoot at the
bear’s foot. Whenever you hit the foot you shall say aloud,
‘Gajihsondis,’ but if it so happen that you do not hit the foot, you
shall not say that name. So you must keep at this business during the
entire day, but whenever you become hungry you must eat food which you
know is here ready for you to eat. Just as soon as you have finished
your meal, then you must again begin to shoot at the bear’s foot; you
must not stop in this task, but must continue to shoot at the bear’s
foot without ceasing.”

So the little nephew did as his uncle had instructed him to do, and
whenever he was fortunate enough to hit the bear’s foot he would
exclaim loudly, “Wagajihsondis!”

At last the nephew began to wonder what his uncle ate, for he had never
seen him eating anything. So Gajihsondis finally decided to watch the
old man and to continue doing so during the approaching night, as the
young boy had concluded that his uncle ate his meals at night. The boy
mused to himself, saying, “Tonight I will watch my uncle during the
whole time.”

So in the evening, when Gajihsondis lay down for the night, he wrapped
himself up in an old piece of skin; he lay on one side of the fire and
his uncle on the other. There was a rent in the skin covering of
Gajihsondis, probably a hole which he had made in it for the occasion,
and through this he peered as he watched his uncle. This hole in the
skin was very, very small. The boy did not sleep, but kept a watch on
his uncle to learn on what the latter fed to sustain life, for they two
had never taken a meal together.

At midnight, possibly a little past that time, the small boy, who was
on the watch, was surprised to see his uncle blow with great force on
the fire in the fireplace.[407] At once sparks shot up from the fire,
some of which fell on the boy as he lay there. But the little hero kept
quite still, although his uncle, in order to see whether the boy was
awake, said, “Gwēʹʻ, my nephew, you will burn; look out!” But still the
boy kept still. Then, after the lapse of a long time, the uncle arose
and while watching the seemingly sleeping boy, drew from beneath his
couch a bark case, such as was in use in the early times. He took
therefrom a small kettle and from the kettle something which the
watching boy did not recognize. The old man hung the kettle over the
fire, and then he again blew on the fire and the flames began to burn
briskly; and he kept on blowing the fire until it had become hot enough
to cook a meal. He had placed water in the kettle when he set it over
the fire—just the right amount for his purpose. Then the old man began
to scrape some object and permitted the scrapings to fall into the
kettle. The old man was acting just as one would have acted while
making chestnut mush. All the time he was being watched by his nephew,
who was called “Gajihsondis.”

When the mush was cooked the old man removed the kettle from the fire
and set it aside, and then he took out what he had cooked in a bark
dish and began to eat. When he had finished his meal, he blew on the
kettle and it began at once to grow small in size; then, blowing on it
a second time, the kettle became as small as it was at first, which was
very, very small. When it had returned to its normal size the old man
wrapped it up in something which the watching nephew did not recognize,
but before doing so he placed in the kettle the something out of which
he had made the mush which he had just eaten. Then he again drew out
the bark case from beneath his couch and replaced therein the kettle
and its contents. Having done this, he pushed the case back into its
hiding place. Thereupon the old man lay down again. His nephew had
observed him carefully in all that he had done—this for the first time
since they two had lived together, and while the boy was growing up.

The morning after this episode the old man made his usual preparations
for going out to hunt, and said to his nephew, “You must eat whenever
you get hungry.” He repeated this saying often.

Then the boy began to sport, as he had been instructed to do by his
uncle. Wherever he threw the bear’s foot he would attempt to hit it by
shooting at it. Throwing it here, he would shoot at it, and throwing it
there, he would shoot at it. When he hit it he would exclaim loudly
“Gajihsondis,” as he had been told to do.

When it was the usual time for the uncle to return from his hunting
trip, the boy would say to himself, “My uncle will soon be back now.”
So one day the youth said, “I believe I will prepare food for my uncle
against the time of his return.” Going at once to his uncle’s couch, he
drew from under it the bark case and took therefrom the kettle, which
was very small in size, and also an insignificant looking object
contained in the latter, which his uncle had scraped down to about
one-half its original size.

Next the lad blew on the kettle to increase its size, as he had seen
his uncle do, and after it had become sufficiently large he put water
into it and set it over the fire, musing to himself, “So be it. I will
now prepare food for my uncle, for he soon will return very hungry.”
The lad now blew on the kettle the second time, whereupon it increased
slightly only in size; so he continued to blow on it until finally it
was large enough to suit him, when he said, “It is now large enough.”

Then he began to scrape into the kettle from the small object, but soon
he exclaimed, “Oh, pshaw! it is not enough. I will scrape it all into
the kettle.” Having done this he said, “Perhaps this food is abundant
in the place whence he obtains it, so I have used it all.” As he began
to stir it briskly, using a paddle for the purpose, the mush commenced
to boil with great violence. At last, realizing that the mush was
rapidly increasing in quantity in the kettle, the boy merely kept on
stirring it. As soon as he began to blow on it to cool it, the mush
increased still more rapidly in bulk. While he continued to stir and
blow on the mush, it began to overflow and to fill the room around the
fire. Still he kept on as before (not realizing the effect of his
blowing), until at last he had to run over the couches at the side of
the room in his anxiety to stir the mush, for he was now thoroughly
frightened at what he had done. As he again blew on the mush flowing
from the kettle it still continued to increase in quantity until
finally he was driven from the room by the great mass, and had to climb
upon the roof of the lodge. Here he ran around while he vigorously
stirred the mush, which, with the kettle, entirely filled the lodge.

Suddenly he noticed his uncle approaching in great haste, anxiously
looking up at the lodge, for he saw his nephew Gajihsondis running
around on the roof. When the uncle reached the doorway, which, as was
the custom in those times, was closed by two pieces of bark, he found
these ajar, for the inside of the lodge was, as already said, filled
with the mush and kettle. The uncle began to blow on the mush,
whereupon it at once diminished in quantity, and after he had blown on
it many times it was reduced to small bulk.

The nephew still stood on the roof of the lodge, greatly frightened.
The uncle said to him, “Come, now, Gajihsondis, get down from there.”
At this the nephew descended from the roof and reentered the lodge.
Thereupon his uncle said, “Now you have killed me. I did not think that
you would do this, although fear that you might is the reason why I
never permitted you to see me prepare my food, because you have no
sense.” Then covering himself with a skin robe, he lay down, adding:
“So I shall die here. I do not know that there is anything left for me
to eat. Hunger will kill me, and you have brought this about by your
acts.” Having said this he covered himself up completely.

Thereupon the boy arose and standing beside the couch of his uncle,
said beseechingly, “Oh, my uncle! my mother’s brother, only have pity
on me. But tell me where the place is in which abounds that on which
you live?” The old uncle replied commiseratingly: “It is no use for me
to tell you. You are not able to go to obtain it, on account of the
great difficulties along the path; there are all manner of discouraging
perils along the way, for all manner of demoniac creatures lay in
ambush along the path.[408] And so for these reasons I think you are
unable to undertake the task of trying to get me more of my food.” The
boy simply asked, “What is the name of the substance you eat?” “It is
called Chestnut. Far from here it is planted by personages, beastlike
in appearance, which are full of evil magic power or otkon in their
actions.” “Oh, mother’s brother! it is needful for you to tell me the
direction that the path takes going to that place,” said the lad. The
uncle answered, “It is impossible for you to do anything in that
direction; you are powerless. You can not make the attempt and live.”
Then after some reflection he added, “The path leads directly west from
here.” To this the boy Gajihsondis answered: “I will make the attempt.
I will start, and I will get this thing called Chestnut that you are in
the habit of eating. So now I go. I have fastened together two limbs.
You must look at these from time to time. Whenever they break apart,
you will know that I have had ill luck away from here; that probably I
shall be killed by them. So only keep a watch on this thing, and if it
chance that they do not break apart, you may expect me to return after
the lapse of some time, bringing chestnuts.” So saying, the boy started
on his journey.

After going some distance he found a very narrow path which led
directly westward, and remarked, “This is perhaps the path indicated by
my uncle.” Finally he started to run, when all at once he heard sounds
seemingly made by a rattle. Keeping on, at last he came to the place
whence the sounds proceeded. There he found two huge rattlesnakes, one
on each side of the path, blocking it in such manner that he could not
pass. Going aside, he killed a large number of chipmunks, which he
bound into two equal bundles. Returning to the place where the two
rattlesnakes were on guard, he said to them, “You two seem to be in
need of food, and so I think that you two would like to eat these
things.” With these words he threw a bundle of chipmunks to each of the
rattlesnakes, which they ate.

After the two rattlesnakes had devoured the chipmunks the boy said to
them in a commanding tone: “You two must withdraw from this place, for,
you know, you are slaves, indeed; you must go from place to place to
hunt for your food, for this is always pleasant; and He who gave
faculties to our bodies did not intend that anyone should be held in
bondage.” Thereupon the two rattlesnakes withdrew and went aside from
that place; thus were they freed from their bondage to sorcerers.

Then the boy left on a very swift run, carrying only his bow and
arrows. Again, after having gone a long distance, he heard sounds in
the distance. Having reached the place whence came the sounds, he was
surprised to find there a great bear just beside the path, and, looking
on the other side of the path, he saw another of equal size and
ferocity; they were in ambush and barred the passage of the path. The
noises that he had heard were made by the tusks of these animals, which
projected far from their jaws and could be heard at a long distance,
thus—dūʼ, dūʼ, dūʼ, dūʼ.

Then the boy, taking his bow and arrows, went aside to hunt. He killed
two fawns, one of which he threw to the one bear, and the other to the
other bear, in order to occupy their minds and mouths. He said to these
guarding beasts: “It is too bad that you two are barring the way. One
might think you would be glad to eat this food which I now offer you.”
The bears ate what had been given to them and were quiet for the time
being. The youth then gave them this command: “You must withdraw from
this place; what you are now eating is abundant, as is well known; and
you must eat this kind of food regularly hereafter. You shall be free
to go and come as you choose, for He who made our lives did not intend
that you should be enslaved by sorcerers and confined to one place.”
The two bears at once fled from the spot, one going in one direction
and the other in another.

Then the boy went on his way. He had not gone very far when he heard
other sounds—dūmʻ, dūmʻ, dūmʻ. He soon came to the place where the
sounds were made, and he was indeed frightened, for then the sounds
were fearful in volume and rapidity. He was astonished to see two great
firedragons in ambush, guarding the pathway. Thereupon the boy said,
“So let it be; I will make the attempt.” Running aside, he killed a
large deer, and having dragged the body back to the place where the two
firedragons were, he divided it into two portions. Then saying, “You
two are guarding this pathway, and one would think that you might eat
what I am offering you.” He threw a piece to each of them. They were
pleased to get this food, which they ate ravenously; after doing this
they were quiet for the time being. Then the boy again spoke, saying,
“You two beings must withdraw from this place. This is food good to
eat; it is called deer meat. You now go to some other place. You are
indeed slaves, are you not? But He who completed our lives did not
intend that anyone should be a slave to a sorcerer.” He ceased
speaking, and the two firedragons fled from the spot, as they had
obtained their liberty.

Now the boy passed on. After having run a long way from his home, he
suddenly saw in the distance openings in the forest, which seemed to
indicate that there might be people dwelling in those places. So he
went along slowly and craftily, concealing himself as much as possible;
he arrived at the edge of the clearing, where he stood for a while. He
looked around to learn, if possible, what other antagonists he had to
meet. Suddenly he saw hanging up not far away the skin of a dead woman
watching the pathway. This woman’s skin [409] was guarding the trees of
chestnuts which grew in the clearing into which the boy had come. In
performing this duty the skin kept saying, “I espy (out-eye) you. You
who are a human being, I suppose.” But the boy kept very still,
standing at the edge of the clearing. He saw in the distance a lodge
that stood on the farther side of the clearing, and he saw women going
in and coming out of it. Most of these were maidens. On looking around
the boy saw the chestnut trees that grew there, and he noticed that
they bore many burs. He realized at once that within these burs were
the chestnuts. And as he watched he saw some of the chestnuts fall from
the trees.

But while he was thus engrossed he was surprised to hear the woman’s
skin begin to sing, Giʹ-nu, giʹ-nu, giʹ-nu, giʹ-nu; “I espy a human
being,” and then out of the lodge in the distance the boy saw three
women and their mother emerge. The mother, addressing her daughters,
exclaimed, “Exert yourselves, my children! I suppose, now, that some
one has come to rob us of our chestnuts.” The skirts of these women
reached to a point just above their knees, and they carried war clubs.
They ran toward the place where hung the woman’s skin, which was
guarding their chestnut trees. When they arrived there they found no
human being. Thereupon the old woman angrily said, “Indeed, you have
told a falsehood,” and struck the hanging skin with her war club, and
each of her daughters, running up, did likewise. Then all the women
went back to their lodge, and the boy said to himself, “How may I
deceive this woman on the watch?” At last he hit upon a scheme which he
thought would accomplish his purpose. Stripping off a piece of basswood
bark as wide as his person, he removed the outside rough portion of
suitable length. Spreading this out on the ground, he drew thereon with
a piece of charcoal the outlines of many kinds of animals, all true to
nature. He then filled the outlines with the animals he had drawn—the
bear, the deer, the wolf, the fox, and the raccoon; in fact, with the
forms of all the animals.

Then the youth returned to the edge of the clearing, where he again
took his stand. He found the skin of the dead woman still hanging
there, watching, looking this way and that, to detect, if possible, the
approach of any stranger. In full readiness to execute his design, he
finally started toward the skin, and, running swiftly, reached the spot
before she was aware of his approach. Seizing it at once, the skin
ceased swinging. Thereupon the boy said to it: “Do not report my taking
this pile of chestnuts away with me. I will pay you for this favor;
indeed, I will pay you a very high price; it is of the value of a man’s
life. I will pay you with what is called a wampum belt, which is made
of wampum beads.” Saying this, he gave her what he had made, and she
accepted it. She opened her eyes wide in looking at it, exclaiming,
“Oh! it is beautiful,” for it looked fine to her, and she laughed with
delight. Then she said, “So be it; I will not give the alarm.”
Answering, “Do not give the alarm,” he proceeded to take a bark case of
chestnuts which had been left there temporarily. Placing this on his
back by means of a forehead strap, he departed at once. He had not gone
very far when suddenly he heard the voice of the hanging skin of the
woman singing, “Giʹ-nuʻ, giʹ-nuʻ, giʹ-nuʻ; one has closed my mouth with
a belt of wampum. Giʹ-nuʻ; at the edge of the clearing goes the pack of
chestnuts.”

On hearing this, the old woman, the mother of the three women in the
distant lodge, said urgently, “Take courage! Bestir yourselves, my
children! I suppose some one has now robbed us of our chestnuts.” In a
moment they rushed out of the lodge and ran toward the place where the
woman’s skin hung swinging to and fro, singing the notes of alarm. They
soon arrived there, and, lo! the skin swung to and fro, gazing intently
at a wampum belt, and saying, “It is of the value of a human life, and
by it one closed my mouth.” The women rushed up, and their mother
snatched the so-called belt from her hands, exclaiming: “This is not a
wampum belt; it is a piece of bark, and still you say it is a belt of
wampum. You, indeed, have no sense.” And throwing the piece of bark
away she struck the skin of the woman a cruel blow with her war club.
Continuing her rebuke, she said, “It is too true that you have no
sense. It is entirely your fault that one has robbed us of our
chestnuts.” Then the woman, looking far away in the distance, saw the
pack, consisting of the case of chestnuts, disappearing in the forest
beyond the edge of the clearing. Then the old woman said: “Come! Let us
pursue him. It is distressing to think that he has robbed us. On the
other hand, it seems that he is a person who has more orenda (magic
power) than his uncle Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ (“Human Skin”), this
Gajihsondis. So, therefore, let us pursue him and kill him with blows
of our war clubs. If, perchance, we may be able to overtake him, we
will surely kill him.”

It so happened that Gajihsondis heard the footsteps of the women as
they drew near in pursuit of him, and without further ado, he took his
pack from his back and laid it down, and seated himself beside it.

When the women came close to him on the run, he struck the case of
chestnuts with his arrow, saying: “It seems that I should sing you a
song so that you may dance, because you come in so great anger. It is
fine, indeed. The song that I will sing is pleasant to hear. So, now,
you must dance.”

Then he sang: “One shall not return from the upper side of the sky. One
shall not return from the upper side of the sky. One shall not return
from the upper side of the sky. One shall not rob me of my song (the
orenda of my song).” He kept on singing this song; and the women, the
mother and her daughters, danced without ceasing as they circled around
the spot where he was seated; and the mother kept on saying, “Exert
yourselves my children; this is a very fine song.” But Gajihsondis kept
on singing, “On the upper side of the sky, on the upper side of the
sky, on the upper side of the sky, one shall not return thence”; and
the women kept on rising in the air. Before long they had ascended half
the height of the tallest trees, and they still danced on. Then
Gajihsondis suddenly ceased his singing, and taking up his pack and
slinging it on his back by the forehead strap, started on homeward
leisurely. He had not gone very far when suddenly he saw the body of a
woman falling, followed in quick succession by the bodies of three
other women, all falling, head foremost, to the earth.

Then the young man started for home, but he stopped along the way to
rest at times. Without further adventure he reached his uncle’s lodge,
bearing the bark case full of chestnuts. On reaching the lodge he
called out, “Oh, my uncle! Are you still living?” The old man, who was
indeed feeble, replied: “Alas, my nephew, it can still be said I am yet
alive, my nephew—you who are called Gajihsondis.” His nephew answered:
“I have now returned, and I bring with me what I sought to obtain; I
have a large quantity. So now you can eat again, and now I will prepare
mush of chestnuts for you, and you will again become satisfied with a
sufficiency of food, and will recover your health.” So saying, the
young man set to work making a very large quantity of the mush for his
poor old uncle. When it was cooked, he removed the kettle containing it
from the fire and poured the mush on a piece of bark. Then he went to
the side of his uncle, and raising him up and urging him to be of good
cheer, fed him the mush, although his uncle could hardly move. The old
man ate the mush, for he was nearly famished; his privations had
reduced his body to a mere skeleton—just skin and bones. He ate a large
quantity before he had enough. He did indeed recover his strength and
health.

Later the old man said to his nephew: “My nephew, I am very thankful
indeed that you were able to accomplish this great task. The only thing
I did was to watch the branch, which was the index of your state and
situation. I could only think that you were still alive. I now again
thank you for being able to accomplish this great task. On my part, I
am much delighted with our fortune.

“Now I am going to ask you by what unheard-of means did you accomplish
this great task.” The young man answered: “I, of course, know, but I
will tell you only this: That I have destroyed all those women,
possessed of great orenda and moved by evil purposes.” The uncle said,
“So be it. What a wonderful thing this is. You and I will return to
that place.” To this the youth replied: “So let it be,” and then, after
making their usual preparations, they departed. They stopped along the
route and finally reached the spot where the women dwelt who had
planted chestnut trees. The only one who was alive was the skin of the
woman which was hung up to swing to and fro and to watch and to give
the alarm should any person make his appearance.

When they arrived at the empty lodge of the women they unfastened and
uncovered the bark cases containing chestnuts, which the women had
stored and guarded from all mankind. Taking up a handful of the
chestnuts, the old man exclaimed in a loud voice: “All people shall eat
this food. Never shall it again be the possession of a single family,
but it shall be for all human beings”; and they scattered the chestnuts
in all directions by handfuls. When they had completed their task they
went to the place where the skin of the woman was swinging to and fro.
Arriving there, they took down the skin, and the old man said to her:
“You shall go together with us to our home. You will recover, indeed,
from that awful thing which the women had done to you, and you shall be
restored to the likeness of a living human being.” So saying, he
proceeded to rub her entire body with his hands reenforced by his great
orenda (magic power). She soon was restored to her normal figure and
condition, and she again had the appearance of a human being.

Then the old man, Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ, said to her and his nephew, “Come
now, let us start for home”; and after making suitable preparations,
they departed. They stopped to camp many places on the way, but in due
time they arrived at their home, whereupon the old man said to his
nephew: “We have now returned to our home. You have now also grown to
manhood, and it is a custom that when one attains to manhood, he
marries. Marriage must take place in your case now. You must start on a
10-days’ journey. There are on the way 10 camping places with
fireplaces, which are visible. That is the distance which you must go.
To reach this place you must go eastward, and there you will find a
valley. You must go along the path leading thither. You must summon all
your courage and resolution in undertaking this journey, for along this
path there are found all manner of difficulties and dangers. Along this
path you will find one who is called Sʻhodieʹoⁿskoⁿʼ (the Abuseful
Trickster), who continually haunts this pathway. Come, now! I will
dress you for the occasion.” So he anointed him abundantly with
sunflower oil over his entire body. He said to him: “You must take
along with you this pouch of human skin, in which there is a smoking
pipe which was the skull of a human being; and for a lighter there are
a flint and a piece of tinder, or punk; and also an awl and a knife.
These are the things this pouch contains, and with these you will
provide for your needs on the way. You must now start. The trees along
the way have been blazed, and you will find the camping places,
although it is not certain that they are still easily discovered. But
you must find them, and there you must spend the night. This you must
do for 10 nights, and then your pathway will lead you to the valley.
There you shall find assembled a large concourse of people, and you
shall see there also the home of a woman who has a tall tree, on the
top of which are perched mysterious Hawks (?), three in number, which
are her servants and which obey her thaumaturgic commands; but these
are three of her daughters. He who will hit one of these mysterious
birds shall be privileged to marry her youngest daughter, who is a
“down-fended” [410] virgin; that is to say, a noble virgin. So the
fortunate one shall marry her. And so you shall go thither. It is known
that in the days that have gone by no one has hit one of these
mysterious birds, although those who shoot at them daily are very
numerous. You it is who will be able to hit the bird. Come, then, now
depart. But perhaps it might be better that another day should break on
us together; that you and I should again eat together, for we know that
it is very doubtful whether you shall return in health and peace. All
manner of difficulties and dangers fill the way which you must follow.

“If it be so that you become a son-in-law, then you must say to your
mother-in-law, ‘I shall now smoke my pipe.’ And when you have lighted
your pipe you shall inhale the smoke twice, and your mother-in-law must
spread a buckskin on the ground. Then you shall inhale the smoke only
twice and shall expectorate wampum beads thereon. Together in one place
you and I shall eat again and also sleep again.”

So they spent the night in the lodge together, and in the morning they
ate together. When they had finished their meal the young man said: “I
am all ready now. Oh, uncle! I start now. Put forth, therefore, your
orenda (magic power = hope, in modern usage) that in peace and health
you and I may see each other again.” The old uncle answered, “So let it
be as you have said.” The young man replied, “Indeed, you did say that
there are 10 camping sites indicated by signs of fireplaces on the way,
and that it is 10 days’ journey.” So saying, he started on his journey.

After leaving the lodge the young man ran very swiftly. He had not gone
very far, as he judged, when he was surprised to see the ashes and the
dead coals of a former fire—the signs of a camping place. At this he
exclaimed, “Ah! he did not say that some of the camping places were
quite near.” He stopped and thought seriously for some moments, finally
deciding to return to the lodge for further information from his old
uncle. So he ran homeward, going to the place where lived his uncle,
his mother’s brother. On arriving there the uncle said to him, “Well,
what has happened to you?” The young man answered, “I have come to ask
you again about my journey. You did not say that one of the camping
places was near by.” The old uncle exclaimed, “Wuʻʹ! Did you go as far
as that?” “I went as far as that,” replied the young man. The uncle
answered, “Ho, you are indeed quite immune to the spells of sorcery.
These camping places are all like this one along the way.” The young
man replied, “So be it. I will stop there again. It does not matter,
does it, that you and I see daylight together?” The old man was much
discouraged. Daylight came upon them, and they ate their morning meal
together. When they had finished eating, the old man, addressing his
nephew, said, “You shall hereafter be called Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ. It
shall be your custom when anyone asks you your name to say, Oñgweʻ
Hañgesʹʻhäʼ.” The young man answered, “So be it. I now start,” and he
left the lodge of his uncle.

The youth came to the place marked for the first camping place, but he
passed it and kept on, and thus he did with all the others, until he
arrived at the tenth camping place, although the sun was low in the
west when he had reached the first one. At the tenth camping place he
saw that the forest edges were wreathed in long films of dew clouds,
and he stopped there for the night. Quickly arising in the morning, he
was startled to hear the voices of a number of men, who were laughing
as they went eastward, and who passed by on the path.

The young man got ready and went on. When he reached the pathway he saw
that all the tracks indicated that these persons were going eastward.
He continued his journey along the path in the same direction. Suddenly
he saw ahead of him a man, who was very old in appearance and very,
very small in size. Just before overtaking him the young man decided
that this must be Sʻhodieʹoⁿskoⁿʼ, who was in tatters. When the young
man came up with him, the small man exclaimed; “Oh, my nephew! you have
overtaken me, so now you and I will go on together. For all are going
in pairs. All those who are going to the place where the Hawks (?),
perched on the woman’s tree, forthtell for her. I shall follow you, as
you can go so much faster than I.” Then Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ answered:
“It is impossible for me to agree to that proposition. You yourself
take the lead, because I am fleeter than are you.” The only reply the
old man made was, Wuʻʹ, and then they two went on with the old man in
the lead. All at once he began to run. Hohoʻʹ, he ran on ahead. He kept
on for a long distance, and then suddenly he turned aside into the
forest. In a short time he began calling, “Hō! come hither, my nephew.
I have treed a fisher here, and you must get its skin for me. Come,
come!” he kept on saying; “you must shoot it, too, and this is a good
place to stand when you are about to shoot at it. Come on, come on!” he
kept on saying. Finally, the young man said, “I will shoot it.” Then he
went thither and shot at it, striking it fairly through the heart, and
with the arrow still sticking into it the fisher fell dead to the
ground. The old man exclaimed, “Come on! Come this way. I forbear
touching your arrow.” Then Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ said, “My arrow has lost
its orenda (magic power).” Overhearing this remark, the old man said,
“Wuʻʹ. One would think perhaps that he is a sorcerer,” and he then drew
out the arrow from the dead fisher, and carried it to his companion,
saying, “I am free from (magical) taint, you know, and so I can not
de-magic-ize [411] your arrow. Here, take it!”

The young man took the arrow again and they went on to the spot where
they would encamp for the night. When they arrived at the place the sun
was low in the west. The old man said to his nephew, in order to remove
any apprehensions from his mind as to his own good intentions, “I will
now skin the fisher and prepare its skin.” At this time they heard in
the distance the sounds of persons laughing. And, they say, these
persons made their several camps there. Then Sʻhodieʹoⁿskoⁿʼ said,
“Here let us, for our part, pitch our camp, because when among people I
am much abused because I am quite old.” So Sʻhodieʹoⁿskoⁿʼ and his
companion kindled a fire with fagots and soon had it burning briskly.
Each took opposite sides of the fire and lay down to sleep for the
night.

Some time during the night the crafty Sʻhodieʹoⁿskoⁿʼ sat up and blew
the fire up in such manner that sparks and coals fell all over Oñgweʻ
Hañgesʹʻhäʼ as he lay asleep. But the latter arose suddenly and asked,
“Why have you done this unreasonable thing?” The old man
dissimulatingly replied, “Oh! that was probably caused by a gust of
wind driving the sparks over your body.” Then they lay down again.
Again, just before the break of day, the old man once more blew the
fire on his seemingly sleeping companion. Thereupon the latter arose,
and taking his bow and flint-pointed arrow, crossed over the fireplace
to the place where his companion was lying. He was surprised to see him
awake, looking at him. The old man deprecatingly said, “Oh, my nephew!
you do not seem to know that you were nearly burned up, as the fire was
falling on you; and you must not think that it was I who did this to
you.” Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ was greatly astonished at what had happened
and said to his companion, “If you do not refrain from what you are
doing it is possible for me to destroy you.”

When it was nearly daylight sounds were heard in the camp ahead and the
occupants started on their journey; then the two in turn started on
their way. They had not gone very far when they heard sounds in the
distance which told them that they had arrived at the place in which
were congregated all the people who were shooting at the mark.

Sʻhodieʹoⁿskoⁿʼ and Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ kept right on their way until
they reached the spot. The nephew did not fear anything. Once on the
ground they were quickly made aware that a tree stood there and that on
its top sat a hawk (?) or hawks (?). There was a large number of people
who were engaged in shooting at the prize, seemingly fastened to the
top of the trees, which stood in the dooryard of the old woman who
dwelt in this place; but all failed to hit the mark. A short distance
from the place where the people were engaged in shooting at the mark
there stood a lodge, in which the old woman, the mother of the family,
walked to and fro, murmuring, “He who will hit that thing which is
perched on the top of my tree shall marry my youngest daughter.” She
kept on saying this as she went from place to place. Without cessation,
day after day for many days the marksmen kept on shooting at the hawk
(?) perched on the top of the old woman’s tree. Sometimes an arrow
would fly very close to the bird, which would merely flap its wings; at
this the assembly would give a loud shout of encouragement. At once the
old woman would come forth on the run and would ask anxiously, “Who is
it that hit the mark? Who is it that is my son-in-law?” But the people
would reply, “It is not true that one has hit it. No one has done so.”
Then she would return to her lodge somewhat disappointed.

Now the people began to say among themselves, “Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ has
arrived, and he is immune (from the influence of hostile orenda).” Then
he said to the assembly, “Now it is my turn to shoot. It is not certain
what will take place when I shoot. You will see what happens.” He
strung his bow, and all the people became quiet and attentive as they
watched him. Assuming a suitable position and taking aim, the young man
drew his arrow to the very point and then let it fly. Without a hitch,
the arrow struck fairly in the center of the bird’s body, causing the
bird to fall over on the opposite of the tree, whence, with wings
feebly flapping, it fell to the ground. At this the assembly broke out
in a loud shout of applause—so loud that one would think the sound
struck the heavens. The old woman came up on the run, anxiously asking,
“Who is he that has become my son-in-law?” All the people rushed
forward to the place where lay the bird with the arrow still sticking
in its body.

It so happened that one of the marksmen would run up and attempt to
withdraw the arrow, but would fail,[412] and then another, and then
another; but they all failed. Again Godwĕñniăʹʻdănĭʻ, coming up, said,
“Who has become my son-in-law?” As the marksmen failed to withdraw the
arrow, she continued, “He who shall be able to withdraw the arrow shall
be my son-in-law.” Just then Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ came up, saying, “All
stand back. This is my arrow.” The people drew back, and he walked up
to the bird and, as he walked along, he drew out the arrow. Then the
old woman said, “Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ has become my son-in-law,” and,
taking him by the arm, she led him back to her lodge. Then the people
dispersed in all directions. Then the old woman and her companion
reached her lodge, in one side of which was a sort of apartment
occupied by her daughter, who was born with a caul, and hence was
regarded as of noble birth. The epithet applied to such maidens and
young men is “down fended.” The old woman, leading the young man into
this apartment, said to her daughter, “This man has become my
son-in-law. He is called Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ, and he is immune from
enchantment.”

The young man then took up his abode in his wife’s family. Hō! He
remained there for a long time. Then he said, “I shall go on a hunt,”
and Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ said to his three brothers-in-law, “Come with me
to hunt.” Having accepted his invitation, they started on their hunting
trip, but they had not gone very far when they were surprised by a
small herd of deer, which fled from them. Then the young bridegroom
said to his brothers-in-law, “Remain here, and I alone will pursue them
from place to place.” In a short time he shot at one and hit it, and it
fell. Then, following the remaining deer, he killed them one by one.
Thereupon he stopped, and hailing his brothers-in-law, said to them,
“Come hither, my brothers-in-law, and let us dress these deer.” So they
went to him and took part in the skinning of the deer. When they had
finished dressing the carcasses they began at once to pack the pelts
and the venison into suitable bundles in such manner as was customary
in the early time. When they were all ready they bore these bundles on
their backs by means of the forehead strap—the usual and the most
convenient method of carrying heavy burdens; and they started for their
home with Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ in the lead.

Having arrived at their lodge, they laid their packs of venison and
pelts at the feet of their mother, who wept for the great joy she had
in receiving so much venison, saying: “I am very thankful to my
son-in-law for this bounty, and on my part I will fulfill my duty in
providing the feast of the ‘eat-all-up,’ [413] which shall take place
tomorrow.” So the next morning they put the kettles over the fire in
the early dawn, and the daughters set to work industriously to prepare
food for the approaching feast. Suddenly the old woman,
Godwĕñniăʹʻdănĭʻ, went out of the lodge and ran through the village,
saying to the people: “The feast of eat-all-up is to be held at my
lodge. Let all go directly to the place whence I have come, and start
at once.” This she said as she went through the village, and then she
returned to her own home. Then her daughters and sons removed the
kettles from the fire; and they placed the corn-meal mush and the
venison, cooked in pieces, in bark trays and bowls which they had ready
to receive the prepared food.

Now people began to arrive, and they sat down and became very quiet. At
this time the old woman, the mother of the daughters of the lodge,
Godwĕñniăʹʻdănĭʻ said, addressing the assembly: “Now, you who have come
here this day know that the usual custom for a feast of this kind shall
be followed. You who have come in by invitation shall first eat your
shares of the food; and it was for this reason that I desired a feast
of eat-all-up as my thanks offering; and when you have finished eating,
then my children and I will eat. For such is the custom when one
marries. Now, then, you must eat. You must eat up all that is
apportioned to you, for this is the reason that this feast is called
the feast of eat-all-up.”

Thereupon the neighbors began to eat. They ate during the entire day;
they ate the venison; they enjoyed also the corn-meal mush; and they
kept saying as they ate, “I am thankful for this food,” each as he felt
satisfied. Thus in time they fulfilled the rites of the feast of
eat-up-all, which is usually given when one is married; they ate up all
that had been prepared for them—a good omen for the newly married
couple. Then each went his way home. But there was one matter which was
postponed until the next day.

The day after the feast of eat-all-up there took place what Oñgweʻ
Hañgesʹʻhäʼ had said would come to pass. He had said, “I crave a smoke,
and so very early tomorrow morning you, my mother-in-law, must again go
around and invite your neighbors, telling them as you go from place to
place that your son-in-law is about to take a smoke, and that he will
then disgorge wampum beads.” Godwĕñniăʹʻdănĭʻ, the mother-in-law,
replied with joy, “So let it come to pass,” and she went forth again to
issue invitations to her neighbors, represented by small sticks,
saying: “I extend to you hereby an invitation to come to my lodge. My
son-in-law, Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ, is going to smoke, and he will then
disgorge wampum beads.” So saying, she visited all her neighbors, and
then she returned to her own home.

Having reached home, she said to her son-in-law, “In a short time the
people will have assembled here.” Shortly after, the people began to
come. They seated themselves in the lodge and became very quiet. Then
the old woman, Godwĕñniăʹʻdănĭʻ, placing a bench or block of wood in
the center of the room, called to her son-in-law, “Oh, my son-in-law,
Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ, come hither.” At this he came forth from the place
wherein the “noble” or “down-fended” maiden lived. Seating himself on
the block provided by his mother-in-law, he threw over his knee the
entire skin of a woman,[414] which still had the head affixed to it;
the eyes winked and moved from side to side. Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ took
from his pouch his pipe and filled it with tobacco. The tobacco which
he used was a mixture of native tobacco, hemlock gum, spicebush bark,
and red willow bark.414a When he placed it in his pipe this mixture
emitted a very pleasant odor.

Then Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ said to his mother-in-law, “You must spread out
here a tanned buckskin.” So she hastened to obey his instructions and
spread a buckskin on the ground in front of him and between his feet as
he sat on the block of wood. In explanation of what he was about to do,
he said: “Oh, my mother-in-law, all the wampum that shall fall on this
buckskin shall belong to you; but the wampum that shall fall away from
this skin shall be for prizes to those of the assembly who may be able
to seize it, for all will struggle to obtain some. This will take place
twice, for I will draw into me the smoke several times. The first time
that I draw in the smoke I will disgorge black wampum beads; but the
second time I will disgorge white wampum beads. So the people may
strive to obtain some of the beads which fall away from the buckskin.
This is what will take place.” After a moment’s deliberation he said to
the woman’s skin, “Do thou, my human skin, light my pipe; the fire is
yonder.” Thereupon the woman’s skin brought a coal from the fire and
placed it in his pipe while he held it in his mouth. Then he drew in
the smoke with the sound huʻkt, and then he disgorged, saying Hwuʹʼw;
and the beads in falling made the sound dāʹ. His mother-in-law took up
a large quantity of the beads from the buckskin. But for those beads
which fell away from the buckskin the people struggled among
themselves. In the strife the people created a great noise and uproar,
for everyone attempted to get all that he possibly could. He who was
quick was able, of course, to lay hold of the greatest quantity, and
the slowest could obtain but a few of these wampum beads. Oñgweʻ
Hañgesʹʻhäʼ said, “Now this time the wampum beads will be of a black
color.” His mother-in-law, as was the custom on such occasions, spread
another buckskin on the ground. Then he drew in the smoke a second time
and at once disgorged wampum beads which were entirely black in color;
some of these fell on the buckskin and some away from it. As before,
the people engaged in a lively contest for the beads which fell away
from the buckskin, thus creating a great uproar. He who was active
secured the most of the beads in these contests. Now Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ
said, “This affair is over entirely, and all people must return to
their homes.” At this all the people departed from the lodge of
Godwĕñniăʹʻdănĭʼ and went to their several homes.

Things remained thus for a long time and the couple lived quietly
together as husband and wife. One day Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ said to his
mother-in-law: “I am now thinking that she who lives with me and I will
return to the place where my uncle, my mother’s brother, dwells. I do
not know whether or not he is still alive, and for this reason we two
will go back there. Now, my mother-in-law, I am going to tell you what
I am thinking. I am not certain in my mind that you would be willing
for me to suggest that you and my old uncle should mutually care for
each other. You two are fine-looking and are about the same in age and
bodily condition. How is it? Will you be willing to undertake this
condition?” To this the mother-in-law answered, “Oh, my son! indeed
your mind and thought suit me well. What you have suggested shall come
to pass as you have said, provided your uncle is still in good health
and alive when we shall arrive at the place where he lives. I will
accompany you two home, my daughters will remain here with my sons and
they will not want for anything.” So the next morning she was fully
prepared with food for the journey to the former home of her
son-in-law, and Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ said to his former companions on his
journey homeward, “Let us now return to my home; and we bid you
good-by.” So saying, he bade farewell to his brothers-in-law and
sisters-in-law.

Then they departed on their long journey, and the bridegroom took his
wife and his mother-in-law with him. They encamped on their way
homeward many times. As soon as they arrived near the lodge of the
young man’s uncle, Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ said to his two companions: “Stop
here until I visit the lodge of my home to make a reconnoissance, for I
do not know whether my uncle is yet alive or not. I will return soon.”

Thereupon he started on the run to his home. Arriving there, he found
his uncle eating his midday meal. The old man quickly arose and seized
the young man, saying, “Now hast thou returned? Is it thou, my nephew?
Art thou Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ?” The nephew replied, “I it is, Uncle.”
“Where is my daughter-in-law?” asked the old man. The nephew answered,
“Oh, my uncle! she and another halted at a place not far from here,
while I came here to make a reconnoissance to learn whether you were
still alive or not. I am married in fact, and what is more than this, I
have brought with me my mother-in-law. They two are very fine-looking
women. I have thought very seriously of your age and also of the age of
my mother-in-law, and you two seem suitable in this respect one for the
other. I have already told her that I have thought well of having you
two abide together as husband and wife. Oh, my uncle! I have now said
to you what I intended to say. My mother-in-law is very thankful to me
for my kindness in this matter and for my desire to make you and her
happy and contented. Thus have I thought about this matter. Now will
you agree to what I have proposed for your welfare?” Greatly pleased,
the uncle exclaimed, “Oh, my nephew! how thankful I am for your kind
effort in my behalf. Let me dress myself, and you may now bring the
woman.” Delighted with the reception his uncle gave the marital
proposal, Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ ran back to the place where the two women
were anxiously awaiting his return. On arriving there, he exclaimed:
“He lives! He lives and is in the best of health. He is eating. Let us
go to him.” Thereupon they started for the lodge.

When they reached there they found the old man dressed and ready to
receive them. As they entered the lodge the old man, tapping his couch
several times, said gently to the mother-in-law, “Here you may abide.”
She came forward and took her seat beside him, and Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ
and his wife seated themselves opposite, putting the fireplace between
them as was the custom for families to do in the ancient time. Then the
old man said to his nephew: “I am indeed thankful that you have been
able to overcome difficulties of all kinds along your path to and fro.
You have heroically braved all. Now, you must hunt, and mother and
daughter shall live in contentment and peace.”

So Oñgweʻ Hañgesʹʻhäʼ spent his time in hunting. Day after day he
hunted. He knew well what animals to kill. Thus it came to pass in the
ancient time that they dwelt together in peace and harmony and great
contentment.

This is the end of the tale.





110. GAJIHSONDIS, THE AMULET-HITTER [415]

(A LEGEND OF THE CONTROL OF THE GAME ANIMALS)

An old man and his grandson, who was very small, lived together in a
lodge for a long time, during which they occupied opposite sides of the
fire, as was customary among their people. The little grandson played
by himself on his side of the fire, rolling about in the dust and
ashes. The old man was quite anxious at times about the future of the
boy.

There came a time when the old man saw the child sitting about in
different places on his side of the fire. Finally the child was
surprised to hear the old man say in no kindly voice: “You will become
a pitiable object if you continue in this way, for you are very small.
It is necessary that you should do something to help yourself and
provide yourself what you may need. A bow and arrows are perhaps the
first of your needs.” So saying, the old man started making these for
the boy, and when he had completed this task he went over to the place
where the child was rolling about in the dust. Taking him in his arms,
he said, “You must use these in this way,” and then standing the child
on the ground, he said, “You must learn to shoot with these.” Then,
grasping one of the hands of the child, the grandfather placed it on
the bow in the usual position for shooting; then in the other hand he
placed an arrow, at the same time instructing the child how to fit the
two together in proper positions for shooting. Then the old man himself
drew the bowstring, telling the little grandson, “This is the way you
must ordinarily do.” In this manner he instructed his grandson in the
art of shooting with a bow and arrow, and the child was not long in
learning how to do it. Again he told him: “That is the way you must
continue to do it.”

Afterward the old man drew forth his bundle of trinkets and treasures,
and taking therefrom the foot of a raccoon he fastened it to a staff,
which he set upright a long distance away, saying to his grandson: “You
must shoot at this continually, and whenever you hit it you must say
‘Gajihsondis.’ This you must say, and I shall then learn what a good
shot you are.” Now the child did indeed follow his grandfather’s
instructions.

Finally the time came when the old man said to his grandson: “I will
now free you from my tutelage and now you must depend on yourself. No
matter where you may be you must keep saying ‘Gajihsondis’ whenever you
may hit any object—even this foot of the raccoon.” Therefore the old
man paid no more attention to the welfare of his grandson. The latter
ran around at pleasure for a long time. At last he asked his
grandfather this question: “My grandfather, where are our kinsmen?” In
answering him the old man told his grandson a number of things.
Pointing off a long distance he replied: “They have gone far away to a
place where lives a great beast. It is impossible for anyone to reach
this place in seven years.” Without replying the youth kept on playing,
as was his custom. Some time after while at play he arose and, going to
his old grandfather, asked “What is the exact direction of that place
whither our kinsmen have gone?” Going out of the lodge and standing
beside the doorway the old man pointed far away straight toward the
place where their relations had gone. He said: “There in that distant
place is a spring of water in which lives the great beast, and in that
place all our former kinsfolk perished.”

The youth answered, “Now, my grandfather, I will go to that place.”
Very early the next morning, it is said, the youth, taking his bow and
arrows, started on his long journey, saying, “Oh, my grandfather! I
start now.” After a while the old man went out of the lodge, and,
standing beside the doorway, said, “Kuʹ; he is indeed going a very long
way off. It may be that he will be able to go there.” With these words
the old man reentered the lodge.

How now with regard to the youth? Starting at a slow running gait,
finally he reached a place which his grandfather had indicated to him,
and after going over a mountain which was on his way he came to a lake,
in the middle of which he was surprised to see floating about a white
waterfowl. Taking aim, the youth at once shot at this strange fowl; the
shot went so true that the fowl merely fell on its side dead. Pulling
hairs from his head, the youth spliced them together until he had
produced a cord sufficiently long for his purpose. This he cast out on
the lake, and by this means was enabled to draw the body of the
waterfowl to shore. At once he rushed up to the body and fell upon it.
Soon he had prepared it so it could be borne on his back by means of
the forehead strap. Then the youth started for home, and when he
arrived at his grandfather’s lodge he said, “There now. I bring a very
large animal.”

After looking at the body, his grandfather said, in reply: “Oh! this is
not the right thing on which to be avenged.” The youth answered, “So be
it, then. I will take it back to its home, as it seems proper to do.”
Having packed the body by means of the forehead strap, he started for
the place whence he had brought the great animal. On arriving at the
shore of the lake he cast the animal down on the ground, saying, “As to
you, I shall leave you here, and, furthermore, you must come to life
again.” Then, starting for home, the youth was not long in reaching the
lodge of his grandfather, to whom he said: “I have now released the
animal.” He did not delay in resuming his sports around the lodge, and
continued them for a time.

One day when weary with playing he went up to his old grandfather, with
the words, “Come now, just tell me the exact direction to take to go to
the lair of the great animal of which you have told me such awful
things.” The old man replied, “So be it.” Going out of the lodge he
stood there. As soon as he had taken a suitable position he said to the
youth: “Here it is; it is just here. As soon as you start and have gone
quite a distance, then verily you will see that this pathway has the
habit of shrinking back.[416] This will be taking place continually,
and this is the reason that it will require seven years to reach the
place where is the spring which you are seeking. This path is one, too,
of great danger and difficulty, for in that place dwell female beings
which feed on human flesh, and it is they who devoured all the kinsfolk
we had.”

After hearing this and following with his eyes the direction shown by
his old grandfather, the youth started. After the lapse of some time
the old man again said, “Let me see where he is.” Going out of the
lodge, he stood looking around for his grandson, whom he finally saw
disappearing in the distance. He mused with himself, saying: “It is
certain, I believe, that he will be able to accomplish the feat of
reaching the place where are the pitfalls set by the eaters of human
flesh.”

When the youth arrived at the spring, he was indeed very thirsty. At
once he decided to inspect the place in order to see how true was the
saying of his grandfather that there lived in the spring a number of
female beings (women?) possessed of great orenda (magic power).
Thereupon the youth deliberately put his feet into the water. As soon
as he did so the hideous being covered with scales quickly darted
forward and snapped off his leg far above the knee. The youth merely
laughed, saying, Hăʻhăʻ, and wondered what would happen if he placed
his other leg in the water. On doing so, the being at once snapped off
this leg also; but the youth merely laughed and said nothing. Finally
he said, “Let it be so. Now perhaps I will fish with a line.” This he
proceeded to do. For the purpose of carrying out his design he removed
portions of flesh from his thighs, which he fastened on his hook. Just
as soon as he cast the hook into the water the great being seized it,
whereupon the youth pulled his adversary out of the water and cast its
body aside. It is said that now the great being began to whimper, “My
grandson, put me back into the water again.” But the youth, paying no
attention to what it was asking him to do, again baited his hook and
cast it into the waters. At once it was seized in the mouth of another
one of the great wizard beings, which appeared in assumed shapes, and
immediately the youth began to pull on his line, soon landing another
of his adversaries. This, too, like the other, began to whimper,
saying, “My grandson, will you please put me back into the water?” The
youth replied: “I have no legs. You have broken off my legs.” At this
the two beings came forward and began to work on his body. And the
youth said to them in turn: “Do you two reset my legs. You see that I
can not do it myself.” So the two beings, which were possessed of great
orenda, obeying his instructions, put back his legs. Next the youth
kindled a great fire, and just as soon as this was burning fiercely,
seizing the hair of the male being, he cast him into the flames, and he
did likewise with the body of the female being. When the bodies were
consumed the heads of these beings exploded and out of them flew
owls.[417]

Continuing a short distance, the youth found the lair of panthers which
were fierce in aspect, for they were fighting. Raising his bow and
arrow, he said to them, “Stop your anger, you two, for the place where
you are belongs to me.”

Going on a short distance farther, he found a number of elk fighting in
their turn. He said to them also, “Stop fighting, you two;” and they
did stop fighting and separated. The youth told them, too, “This region
belongs to me.”

Then there arose a great tumult and noise among the animals of all
kinds. The youth saw there what seemed to be a long lodge, on the top
of which owls were seated; these, too, were making outcries, saying
“Hiʻ, hiʻ, hiʻ, hiʻ, hiʻ. Awake! a male human being is coming.” The
youth now watched them, and he was surprised to find there lying down
the body of some one who much resembled his grandfather, and he saw
also everything that was inside the lodge. Among the things he saw was
a kettle of corn mush, which was boiling over the fire. “I have found
something which is perhaps good to the taste.”

Entering the lodge, he went to the farther side of the fire, whereupon
from the opposite side of the fire a white deer came forth and entered
the bosom of the old man. At this the youth started out of the lodge,
and at once everything in the lodge began to leave. The breechclout of
the old man went out, and the boiling mush, too, started out. The youth
had gone a long distance before the old man awoke, exclaiming, “Pshaw!
I think that he still has a grandson, that old man.” Straightening
himself up, he said: “So let it be. I now believe that I also will
start.”

Then the old man took his club from its usual resting place, the one
with which he was accustomed to fight, and pursuing the youth, soon
overtook him, as was to be expected. Addressing the youth, he said,
“For what reason did you rob me as you have done?” So saying, he struck
the youth a heavy blow, causing the young man to fall over in an
unconscious condition; and he lay where he fell.

Thereupon the old man turned back homeward, and all the things that had
started out also returned homeward. As he walked along the old man
restored the body of the great beast and all other things which had
been disturbed by the youth during his visit to him.

Meanwhile the youth regained consciousness, and, realizing his
condition, exclaimed, “Wŭʻʹ, my head does certainly pain me; I believe
that the old man has really killed me. So let it be. I think I will go
back, perhaps, to the lodge of the old man.” When he reached the lodge,
ho-wŭʻ, the owls were making a great outcry: “Awake you! Now, indeed,
the male human being is again coming.” At this the youth exclaimed, “Do
you keep quiet! these things, here.” Entering again the lodge by
stealth, he saw there the war club resting in its place, the club with
which the old man did his fighting; it was full of nicks from hard
usage in combat. Thereupon the youth said, “Keep thyself still; and
indeed, you must give me assistance at this time. We will awaken the
old man to his death.” Again entering the lodge, the youth went to the
back part of the lodge, where he took a seat. Again the very small
white deer came forth and entered his bosom. Then he arose and stood
there, and all the things on the inside of the lodge started to follow
him out of it. Even the breechclout of the old man he took from him.

The youth had gone a long distance before the old man again awoke.
Realizing what had taken place, the latter exclaimed, “Gwăʻʹ. He is
alive again, I believe. Now, indeed, he shall suffer for this. I will
do him harm in many places.” Then the old man started, after which he
exclaimed, “Kwŭʻʹ! I have forgotten that, I have not painted my face,
as is the custom, for I believe that I shall have to fight with one who
is, it seems, a brave man, this youth.” Having poured dead coals into a
basket, he carried them to a mortar standing near by, in which he began
to pound the charred coals. He made a great noise in doing this, the
blows with the pestle sounding “dum, dum, dum.” This action of the old
man caused the youth to grow weak and faint as he walked along.

When the old man had finished pounding the coals he painted his face.
Then he started in pursuit of the youth, saying, “I am following you.”
The old man finally overtook the youth, whereupon he said to him, “Look
here, my grandson! I am going to kill you.” The youth replied, “So let
it be,” at the same time striking the old man a blow with the war club.
Then they fought, and being evenly matched, the struggle was fierce.
Thus the battle went on for some time until at last the youth succeeded
in killing his grandfather. Then he started for home, followed by all
the things that were in the lodge of the old man.

The youth did not realize the time it took him to arrive at the lodge
of his living grandfather, who exclaimed: “You certainly have brought
back home our great beast. How did you accomplish it? Was the old man
willing for you to bring it home? Was he willing, too, for you to take
all the things which you have brought back with you?” The youth
replied, “I killed the old wizard.” At this his grandfather began to
weep, saying, “Now, indeed, you have killed him who, when living, was
my brother.” Without making any reply, the youth prepared to lie down
for the night. The two occupied the same side of the fire.

As soon as the youth fell asleep, the old man, his grandfather, arose
and, addressing the sleeping youth, said, “I suppose that I must now
kill you, wicked man, in your turn.” Taking up his bow and three arrows
and, going over to the opposite side of the fire, he shot three arrows
into the back of the youth, his grandson, who was asleep. Then the old
man returned to his bed and laid himself down again. Some time after
this the youth awoke and said, “Kwŭʻʹ! indeed my back does give me much
pain.” On examining it with his hands, he was surprised to find three
arrows sticking in it. At this discovery he exclaimed, “Gūʻ! now, I
suppose, I must depart from this place, for it seems that my
grandfather has killed me. So be it then. I will now go far away.” He
started at once on his journey, and all the things which he had taken
from his dead grandfather went with him—his grandfather’s breechclout
and also the mush—these all went along. As soon as the old man saw that
these things started to leave, he began to weep. So the youth left his
grandfather.

When the youth had gone a long distance from his home, he was surprised
to find a village of people. Leaving his slaves and domestics near the
village, he went to the first lodge, where he visited. He found in this
lodge a young man who resembled himself very closely in age, size, and
manners. It was soon customary for them to go around together. It is
said that they two kept company with each other wherever they went.
Finally the youth from the village said, “Kūʻ, game is indeed very
scarce. Where may be the game animals? Perhaps they have gone far away
to seek subsistence. Possibly they have gone to the place where dwells
the great beast.” In reply, the visiting youth said to his friend, “I
am, it is known, called the great beast.” The other youth answered,
“Aā, it is true. So be it. I will now show you where abide my domestic
(game) animals.”

Then the two youths departed from the place and at last came to the
spot where dwelt the great beast, the prototype of all others.

The youth from the village now said to his friend: “I will now give up
all the animals over which I have control, that they may go over the
whole earth and dwell in freedom; that they may increase and multiply
at their will and go and come as seems good to them. Then the noises
made by all the animals became great in the world.

This is the story.





111. THE LEGEND OF HONENHINEH AND HIS YOUNGER BROTHERS

In times long past Honenhineh and his younger brothers dwelt in a lodge
together; the lodge was constructed of bark and was very long,
according to the custom of the country. There were three fires
occupying the place provided for fire along the midway of the lodge.

These brothers dwelt thus together for a long time in this long lodge.
It was their custom to go out into the forests daily to hunt game
animals, and every evening those who had gone out that day to hunt
returned, bearing each his burden of venison or other flesh, which
would be cast down in the middle of the floor space of the lodge. It
was usually dressed when packed for carrying; this was done for
convenience. Then one of the brothers who had not been out hunting
would unpack the bundle and proceed at once to cut up the meats and to
hang them up for drying all along the sides of the lodge. This was the
daily routine of these hunters of the lodge of Honenhineh. Thus they
traveled much in many places in the forests.

At times, when all but the youngest brother, who was still very small,
started out to hunt, one of the elder brothers would produce the foot
of a raccoon, and throwing it to the end of the lodge, he would say to
the youngest brother, “Here! This is something with which you can amuse
yourself.” Then, when he would be ready to start he would scatter ashes
around the doorway in such manner that no person or thing could enter
the lodge without leaving tell-tale tracks to betray the intruder.
Afterward he would say to the small boy, “Oh, youngest brother! You
must not leave the lodge; you must not go outside of it.” So it was
that this youngest brother never went outside of the lodge and did not
know what the light of outdoors was like. The name of this boy was
Little Burnt Belly.[418] The youngster amused himself daily by tossing
up the raccoon’s foot and shooting at it while it was in the air. It is
said that he never missed the foot, for he had become an expert bowman
from his daily practice. So the days went by for some time.

Then there came a day when the Honenhineh returned from hunting without
bringing back anything in the way of game, but the other brothers
returned, bringing large packs of venison and other meats and furs and
skins. As each brother returned he saw the eldest brother Honenhineh
lying on his couch in silence, but not one of them paid any further
attention to him, for they had returned with heavy packs while he had
brought back nothing. Remaining thus for some time, Honenhineh finally
arose and unpacked the packs of his brothers and hung up the quarters
of venison and bear’s meat and the flesh of other animals to dry, and
he hung up also the skins and furs properly prepared to dry—some to be
made into buckskin and others into furs for robes and other useful
articles.

This state of affairs in the lodge continued for many days and nights,
and Honenhineh continued to fast rigorously. At last one evening one of
his younger brothers said to him, “Oh, elder brother! you should take
some food.” But Honenhineh replied: “No, I will not do so now. Do you
help yourselves and take what food you may need. In a short time I
myself shall take some food. There has come a change in the manner of
my life. The land over which I hunted has become deserted of all life.
Tomorrow I shall start from here, going in a northerly direction this
time.”

So, without breaking his fast, Honenhineh lay down on his couch and his
brothers retired for the night. But late at night Honenhineh arose and,
going to the fire, he gathered together the embers and firebrands to
stir up the flames, close beside which, it is said, lay Little Burnt
Belly. Honenhineh having stirred up the fire, the rising flames caused
many sparks to fall on the uncovered legs of Little Burnt Belly, who
passively bore the pain. The elder brother, after watching the effect
of the sparks, finally said, “Oh! my younger brother is very sleepy.”
But in this he was deceived, for his younger brother, having made a
small aperture in the skin with which he was covered, was watching all
that he was doing. It is said that the skin was that of an old
she-bear. Thus deceived, the elder brother prepared some food for
himself and ate what he wanted of it. While watching him the youngest
brother fell asleep. In the morning the youngest brother arose after
his brothers had gone out on their hunting trips, and was very
anxiously watching for the proposed departure of his brother Honenhineh
after his long fast. When he had made all his preparations he said to
his youngest brother, “Now I have started,” adding, “Do not, my
brother, go outside of this lodge.” Then, taking out of his pouch
suddenly a bear’s foot and casting it into the middle of the lodge, he
said, “Here! Thou shalt amuse thyself with this object by using it as a
target continuously.” On going out of the lodge, he scattered ashes all
about the entrance so that nothing could enter without disturbing the
ashes and so showing what it was that entered the lodge. On starting
away, he said to his youngest brother, “For this journey I am going
toward the north to hunt.” So saying, he departed from the lodge.

Honenhineh kept on his northward course for a long time. When the day
was past the meridian, on looking ahead he saw what appeared to him a
number of clearings. When he emerged from the forest into these
clearings he stopped and looked around; then he walked along slowly for
some time.

Ahead of him a great deep gorge or valley yawned.

Scarcely had he taken a good look at this gorge when he heard in the
distance an ominous tapping on a tree and the voice of a man singing:
“It is a fortunate thing for me. A human being is walking along on the
farther side of the valley.” Somewhat surprised, Honenhineh exclaimed:
“Wūʼʹ! A man has discovered me. I suppose that he has treed a bear.
Well, so be it; I will go thither.” So saying, he started down into the
valley on a brisk run. As he ran along he came to a ridge, or shelf,
leading into the valley, and he was startled by seeing pieces of bark
fall all about him several times. Stopping and raising his head to look
up into a tree standing in front of him, he saw a flicker, or
yellowhammer, clinging to the tree trunk far above the ground, looking
at him. As he looked at the flicker it began to smile at him and
audibly said, “He who has the bow is well known to be a fairly bad
shot,” and continued to smile at him. Honenhineh at once strung his bow
and shot an arrow at this smiling yellowhammer, but the arrow flew wide
of the mark, sticking harmlessly into the tree trunk. He shot all his
arrows away in this manner without disconcerting the yellowhammer in
any way.

Withdrawing a short distance, Honenhineh broke his bow and threw away
the pieces. Then he said: “So be it. Let me pass on in my way yonder.”
He continued onward until he reached the bottom of the valley, when he
stopped to look around; ahead of him he saw a lodge out of which arose
smoke. He resolved at once to go up to the lodge and started toward it.
Going along slowly, he finally reached the side of the lodge, where he
stood still. But he had not come to a halt before he heard from within
the lodge the voice of a man saying to him: “My grandson, thou hast
visited my lodge; so come in.” Honenhineh, at once obeying the summons,
entered the lodge.

On looking around, he saw before him a young maiden seated, who was
engaged in weaving a pack strap from the strands of slippery-elm bark
prepared for this purpose. The man of the lodge said to the maiden, “Do
thou make room on thy mat for the man who has entered our lodge, for
you and he do now become husband and wife.” Complying with this
request, the young maiden made room on her mat for Honenhineh to sit
beside her.

Then the elderly man said to her, “My granddaughter, prepare some food
and set it before him who has entered our lodge, for he is probably
hungry. With dried green corn as it cooks in the pot you must mix dried
venison pounded fine, and into this mixture you must put a sufficient
quantity of maple sugar and a quantity of bear’s grease or fat, to make
the whole savory and appetizing.” The old man’s granddaughter at once
obeyed, and after kindling the fire to make it burn briskly, she set a
pot of water over it containing a quantity of dried sweet green corn.
Bringing maple sugar from her store in a bark case, she put it into the
pot with the corn. Then, procuring the dried venison and the bear’s
grease, having pounded them fine, she put these ingredients also in the
pot to cook with the other things. When she found that the corn soup
was cooked she removed the pot from the fire and set it aside to permit
the contents to cool. When it was sufficiently cooled the young maiden,
taking up a portion of the soup with a ladle, placed it in a bark bowl
and, setting it before Honenhineh, said to him, “Take this and eat it.
I have prepared it for you.” Honenhineh, being quite hungry, willingly
ate what was set before him.

It was not long after Honenhineh had finished eating that night came.
Before the evening was far advanced the old man said, “Let us now
retire for the night. Our guest has come here tired out in all
probability, for he has traveled a long distance.” So they lay down for
the night. Then the old man said, “My granddaughter, let me tell my
story,” and he began to sing, “It is said that there were eight
brothers who lived in a lodge.” This was the topic of the story which
he chanted three times.

After waiting a few moments he said in a stage whisper to the sleeping
visitor, “My grandson, are you listening to my story?” The only reply
he received was the loud snoring of the guest. Presently the old man
exclaimed, “The game animals are just toying with me. Why, one has even
come into my lodge (to show its contempt for me).” So saying, the old
man arose and took down his war club from its resting place, and
approaching the sleeping visitor, he killed him with blows on the head.
Then, replacing his club, he got out a huge clay pot, which he set over
the fire after placing some water in it. Next he quartered the body of
his victim and placed all the pieces in the pot to cook. While engaged
in this gruesome work he kept saying, “I still can deal with the game
animals which visit my lodge in my approved way, and so I am still able
to eat the flesh of the most rare game animals.”

In the meantime, when night came on the lodge of Honenhineh and his
younger brothers, the brothers returned one by one until all were there
except the eldest, Honenhineh, who of course did not return. His
absence was duly noted. The brother next in age said, “I met him just
this side of the Great Valley.” The following morning the brother next
in age to Honenhineh started out on his brother’s trail to seek for
him. He had gone along for some time when he was surprised to find the
tracks of his brother, which he at once followed. Before long he saw
ahead of him light through the trees from clearings in the forest, and
he found also indisputable evidence that his brother had stood there.
So he started forward slowly and finally came to the top of a hill
overlooking the Great Valley, where he stood still for a moment. While
standing there he heard the sound of a blow struck by a war club on the
opposite side of the valley, and he heard the voice of a man singing,
“I am indeed fortunate, for on the opposite side of the valley a human
being walks along.” After thinking a few moments, he exclaimed: “Pshaw!
This is all right. There is where my elder brother is moving about from
place to place. Perhaps he has treed some animal or has found an animal
in its lair. It must be a bear, I think. So be it; I shall go thither.”

In pursuance of his resolution, he resumed his brother’s trail and
descended into the valley until he came to a bench, or terrace, where
he stopped for a moment. Here he was surprised to see pieces of bark
fall several times around him. Looking up into a tree near by, he saw
clinging to the trunk far above the ground a small flicker, or
yellowhammer. The bird smiled at him, exclaiming, “He has a bow in his
hand just as if he could use it, for it is well known that he is quite
a poor marksman.” At this the young man at once strung his bow and shot
an arrow at the bird, whereupon he was surprised to see the arrows of
his brother stuck in the tree. His first shot missed the bird, as did
all the others. When all his arrows had been shot away, stuck fast in
the tree top, he broke his bow and cast it away. Now, he was greatly
surprised to see the pieces of his bow fall beside those of his
brother’s bow. While he was shooting at the bird, it merely smiled and
said, “It is curious that one who is a poor marksman generally goes
about with a bow and arrows,” and it was only when he had lost all his
arrows that he drew aside in disgust and destroyed his bow as a token
that he did not care about what had happened to him. After casting away
his bow the young man exclaimed: “Pshaw! I will go on farther, for I
now hear my brother singing in the distance,” for he heard the voice of
a man singing on the opposite side of the Great Valley.

Starting on a run down into the valley, he had not gone far before he
saw ahead of him a field. When he reached the border of this he stood
there a moment, but seeing in the distance a lodge and smoke issuing
from it, he exclaimed: “So be it. Let me go to that lodge to see what I
may find. My elder brother has gone there.”

When he reached the lodge the young man came to a halt, but he had no
sooner done so than he heard the voice of a man inside say to him: “Oh,
my grandson! come in; you have visited my lodge at this time.”
Accepting this challenge, the young man entered, whereupon the old man
said to him: “I am thankful that you have now paid our (two) lodge a
visit.” In front of him the young man saw a young maiden seated on a
couch, weaving a forehead pack strap from slippery-elm-bark fiber. Then
the old man said to her: “Make room on your mat for our visitor, for
you and he are to become husband and wife. I am so delighted by this
visit, for we two are to be pitied, living alone in this lodge, I and
my granddaughter.” Obeying her grandfather, the young maiden made room
on her mat for the young man. Next the old man said to the young man:
“You have come here looking for your elder brother, Honenhineh. He
passed here. Yonder, not far away, stands another lodge. There is where
your brother has gone; he will return soon, I think.” Turning to his
granddaughter, the old man said: “Oh, granddaughter! prepare food for
our visitor; he is perhaps hungry, having come a long distance. You
must pound up dried green sweet corn and dried venison, and place these
in a pot to cook, to make corn soup; and you must put into the pot also
maple sugar and bear’s grease. When the soup is cooked, place a bowlful
before our visitor and let him eat his fill.”

The maiden set to work preparing the corn soup, as she had been
instructed to do. First she pounded up dried sweet green corn and then
dried venison. Then, having placed a large clay pot over the fire with
water in it, she put in the dried corn and venison, which soon began to
cook. Presently she added maple sugar to her soup. While these were
cooking, the old man got for her some bear’s grease, which he brought
to her in a bowl, saying: “Oh, granddaughter, put this also in the pot
of soup.” When the soup was cooked, the maiden removed the pot from the
fire and the contents were then placed in bark bowls to cool. When
ready, the young woman placed a large bowl of the soup before the young
man, telling him to eat his fill. When he had eaten what was set before
him he thanked the old man, his “grandfather,” who acknowledged the
compliment by saying, “My grandson, you were to be pitied, for you were
very hungry when you visited my lodge.”

It was not long after this that night came. Before night had fully
settled down the old man said: “Let us retire to sleep. Our visitor has
come to us very tired, I suppose. You should prepare a separate couch
of bark. I am very anxious concerning the probable return of his elder
brother tonight. At all events, I suppose he will probably return by
tomorrow.” Having said this, the old man lay down, saying to the young
man and the young woman: “Do ye two retire to sleep. I my own little
self am asleep” (i.e., lying down to sleep).

After they had all retired for the night the old man said aloud, “Let
me tell a tale,” and thereupon he began to sing, “They (masc.) have a
lodge as a home, it is said; they are eight in number; they are lost
(devoted to destruction).” He sang this song through three times. Now
the young man began to snore loudly, for he had fallen sound asleep. In
a short time the old man arose, and carefully readjusting his robe,
said: “I am greatly perturbed in my mind. A game animal has come into
my lodge on a visit.” Then taking down his war club and approaching his
sleeping guest, he killed him by blows on the head.

Going to a corner of the lodge, he obtained there a great clay pot and,
after putting water in it, he set it over the fire. Having quartered
the body of his victim, he put it into the pot to cook. While he was
engaged in this gruesome work he kept saying, “There is still no lack
of power to do things in my manner of living, for I have no trouble to
live. Game animals habitually come to my lodge.” So spake the old man,
who was then cooking the entire body of a human being, and was happy.
(It is said that he gave to his granddaughter the flesh of leeches to
eat and putrid things also. She was not aware of what she was eating,
for he had hypnotized her to think these things were proper and good.
This granddaughter was a prisoner whom he had taken in one of his
raids. But he himself ate human flesh in his lodge, and in order to
satisfy his unnatural appetite he was engaged in killing people from
all the neighboring settlements; this conduct agitated the entire
country around.[419])

In the meanwhile the brothers of Honenhineh, it is said, were not very
much surprised when night came and the next younger brother had not
returned, for they suspected some harm had befallen both their missing
brothers. Then the eldest of the remaining brothers said, “Well, it is
now for me to go to find my brothers who have not returned from the
north.” So in the morning when they had eaten their morning meal he
started out alone on the northward trail to seek for his missing
brothers. After having gone some distance from the lodge he found the
tracks of the eldest of the two brothers and followed their lead.

While running along he suddenly saw ahead of him the light in the
forest from clearings near by. Keeping on his course, he finally came
to a large clearing or field, where he stopped to look around, because
the tracks of his two brothers led him to this point. While examining
the country he saw in the distance the Great Valley, and as the trail
led thither he followed it until he came to the brink of the valley,
where he stopped again to view the country around. At this point he
heard a sound coming from the farther side of the valley, made by the
blows of a club on a dead tree, and also the voice of a man who sang:
“I am indeed lucky. On the opposite side of the valley there is a human
being going along.” This song was repeated by the unknown singer.
Thereupon the younger brother of Honenhineh said to himself: “It is
strange that my two brothers have not given notice of this thing. It
indeed seems certain that they have chased a bear to its lair; let me,
then, go thither.”

So the young man started on a run down the slope leading into the
valley along the trail made by his two brothers. Having run some
distance, he suddenly noticed pieces of bark falling around him. At
this he came to a halt and, looking up into a tree which stood near,
saw high up on the trunk a small bird, a flicker or yellowhammer, now
clinging to the tree trunk, and now flitting from place to place. As he
raised his eyes to it the flicker, smiling, said, “He carries a bow and
arrows pretentiously (as if he knew how to use them), although he is
notoriously a very bad marksman.” Quickly stringing his bow the young
man said to his tormentor, “Do not say anything more.” But the flicker
only laughed, saying, “There is nowhere on this whole earth among the
inhabitants a person living who has the ability to kill me.” The young
man replied, “Be careful of thyself,” and he at once nocked his arrow.
The flicker became visibly agitated and kept glancing at the young man
furtively as it slowly crept around the tree trunk. Thereupon the young
man shot at it, and then he saw not far from the spot occupied by the
flicker the two shocks of arrows which belonged to his two brothers.
The aim of the young man and his orenda were such that the arrow hit
its mark, becoming fixed in the body of the flicker, which uttered a
loud wail of despair and fell to the ground.

The young man did not withdraw his arrow, but took it up with the
flicker’s body transfixed by it and placed it on his shoulder, thus to
carry his victim. In the meantime the flicker kept saying, “You should
let me go free again. I am doing nothing wrong.” But the young man
replied, “No. I will not let you go free. I desire to show you to my
two brothers.” With these words he resumed his journey.

He had not gone very far when he reached a clearing, at the border of
which he stopped to look around. He saw at some distance a lodge, out
of which smoke arose, whereupon he said, “I will go thither to the
lodge. My two elder brothers are certainly idling away their time, for
I believe that they are both there in that lodge.” He came to this
conclusion because he noticed that the tracks of his two brothers led
to the lodge. Having reached the side of the lodge, he came to a halt.
He had no sooner stopped walking than a man’s voice inside challenged
him, saying, “Come, my grandson. Thou hast come to visit me in my
lodge.” On entering, the youth was greatly surprised to see before him
a fine-looking young maiden, who was seated on her couch weaving a
forehead pack strap from the prepared fibers of slippery-elm bark. The
old man said to his young visitor: “It has been, indeed, a very, very
long time that I have been looking for you to pay me a visit. I have
been saying that a great hunter is on his way here. There sits my
granddaughter whom you are to marry. Granddaughter, move along on your
mat to give him room to sit beside you.” As the young man passed him
the old man noticed that he was carrying something that he had killed,
and he quickly arose, saying: “Give me the body that you are carrying.
That is indeed a very fine game animal which you have killed on your
way here.” The young man replied, “No. I will not give it up until I
first see my two brothers.” To this the old man rejoined, “They passed
here, and so they will return here, perhaps very soon.” Then, turning
to the young maiden, he added: “Prepare some food for him. He has come
here hungry, perhaps. You must procure a quantity of dried green sweet
corn, which you must pound in a mortar, and also dried venison, which
likewise must be pounded fine. Set a pot containing water over the
fire, and into this you must put the pounded corn and venison, adding a
quantity of maple sugar, dried huckleberries, and lastly bear’s
grease.”

The young woman hastened to prepare the corn soup in the manner in
which she had been instructed by her old “grandfather,” and it was not
long before the soup was cooked and ready to be eaten. At this time the
old man brought from an adjoining room a bowl of bear’s grease, which
he gave to the young woman, who put it into the pot of soup. Having
done this, she removed the pot from the fire and set it where the
contents would cool. Presently she placed a large bowlful before the
young man, who ate it with a good appetite, and he gave thanks to his
host for what he had eaten. Night coming on shortly after this, the
three persons began to get ready for retiring. At this time the old man
said to his guest, “You should give me the body of the bird which you
have brought with you. You will leave it with me to keep for you.” But
the youth replied, “I will not give it up to you.” To this the old man
answered, in a threatening manner, “I am greatly agitated in my mind.
Let us retire for the night. A game animal has indeed come into my
lodge. I am now an old man. Still there is nothing that curbs my orenda
(I am unaffected by any influence). I am bound to get back my own bird
at any cost.”

So saying, he arose and, going aside, he took down his war club. Then,
returning to the side of the young man, he said, “Do thou give up to me
the body of the bird which you have.” The answer came, “I will not give
it up to you.” The old man, now in a great rage, retorted: “You are
risking your life. You are about to die, and you can not escape from
it.” With these words he raised his war club, shouting, “Will you hand
me the bird, or not?” But the young man still replied, “No. I will not
give it up to you.” Then the old man struck the youth on the head with
the club and killed him. Thus he recovered the body of the bird and
gave back its life [420] (which was that of a female relation of the
old man).

These events gave great pleasure to the old man, who went around
saying: “There is nothing that yet affects my orenda; I am not
suffering in any manner; no one from any place can come here who is
able to treat me lightly.” So the old man was quite happy. Having
brought out his great clay pot, with water in it, he set it over the
fire, and after quartering the body of the young man, he placed it all
in the pot to cook. After a suitable time he remarked, “It is perhaps
cooked now.” He kept on looking into the pot from time to time to see
whether the flesh was done. As it seemed not to cook thoroughly, the
old man was greatly concerned about it, and continued saying, “There is
something wrong; otherwise it would be possible to cook this
thoroughly.” Finally, getting out of patience, the old man removed the
pot from the fire and ate the raw flesh.

Now, in the lodge of the brothers there was anxiety when night came and
none of the brothers who had gone northward had returned, and the five
remaining brothers were wondering what had befallen them. When those
who were left were back in their lodge Little Burnt Belly said, “Oh,
elder brother! you must go tomorrow to bring them back.” Then they
retired for the night and went to sleep. In the morning they arose and
all except Little Burnt Belly went to hunt, as usual. The latter seated
himself beside the fire and there he sat all day long without moving.
When evening came the two missing brothers had not returned, and the
hunting brothers came back empty handed, having killed nothing during
the day. They all saw Little Burnt Belly seated beside the fire, silent
and motionless.

The brothers retired for the night and slept soundly. When daylight
came and they arose they saw Little Burnt Belly still seated beside the
fire. He maintained the one position and said nothing to any of his
brothers. When they ate their breakfast he did not arise to have his
share. The other brothers then left the lodge to go out hunting for
game animals for food. After they had gone Little Burnt Belly arose,
saying, “Let me amuse my elder brothers.” Thereupon he then took down
his bow and arrows, and shot two arrows up out of the smoke-hole of the
lodge.

As the brothers were engaged in the chase at no great distance one from
another, they were greatly surprised to see a very large deer rush up
to them and fall dead at their feet, and soon another deer did
likewise. They saw that an arrow protruded from the body of each deer—a
circumstance which was very mysterious to them. As quickly as possible
one of the brothers rushed up to the stricken deer, and breaking off a
leaf, wrapped it around the arrow before touching it with his hand to
draw it forth, saying, “I do not desire to uncharm my youngest
brother’s arrow.” Then drawing out the arrow, he carefully laid it up
in the fork of a tree. Having done this he started at once for home,
carrying the whole body of the deer. Before it was dark Little Burnt
Belly saw his elder brother bringing back the deer. Not long afterward
the other brother came into the lodge bearing on his back the other
deer properly packed for carrying. The other two brothers returned with
them as guards.

They found Little Burnt Belly still seated before the fire. But when
they were back in the lodge he said to them, “Our missing brothers have
not yet returned home. Tomorrow I myself will go on their trail to seek
for them.” After eating their evening meal they retired for the night
and slept soundly. When morning came they prepared their usual
breakfast and then started out to hunt. Thereupon Little Burnt Belly
arose, and going to his couch procured such articles of apparel as he
needed for his journey. He took also his bow and arrows, which were his
immediate trust and dependence for accomplishing his task, for they
were full of orenda (magic power), which he could control for his own
use. He ate no breakfast; he needed none, for he desired to have all
his faculties clear and alert. While seated beside the fire he had been
taking suitable medicine to make him sound and clear visioned that he
might be able to cope with the wizard whom he suspected of having
destroyed his missing brothers.

Leaving the lodge, Little Burnt Belly shaped his course northward to
find the trail of his three brothers. It was not long before he struck
this, and he followed it on the run, presently entering a vast forest
whose great trees made it dark and gloomy. He had been running for a
large portion of the day when he saw daylight through the trees, from
which he inferred that there must be a clearing ahead of him. Keeping
his course, finally he came to the edge of a large clearing or field.
As he saw the tracks of his brothers there, he stopped to look around.
Immediately he heard a peculiar sound of tapping, and looking in the
direction whence the sound seemed to come he perceived that it
proceeded from the opposite side of a great valley just ahead of him.
Making his way along to the brink of the valley he heard the voice of a
man saying, “It seems that I am in luck, for on the opposite side of
the valley a human being walks along.” He heard this voice three times.
As the trail led him in the direction of the sound he said, “I think it
my duty to follow this trail, for the voice may be that of one of my
brothers (said ironically).”

So descending into the valley he came to a terrace or bench, along
which he was following his brother’s tracks, when his attention was
attracted by pieces of bark falling around him. Halting and looking up
into a tree standing just at his side, he saw a small bird high up on
the trunk, clinging to it and flitting at times from place to place. He
saw that the bird pretended to be a flicker, or yellowhammer. When the
flicker saw him looking up, it said with a laugh, “Some people who
believe themselves possessed of orenda go about with bow and arrows
just as if they knew how to use them, although they may be the poorest
of marksmen.” Pointing an arrow at it, Little Burnt Belly said: “Be
careful of thyself. Some people trust their orenda too far, for they
lay claim to too much power for their own good.” At once the flicker
became visibly agitated, and kept glancing at Little Burnt Belly
furtively, as it slowly crept around the tree trunk. At an opportune
moment he let fly an arrow, which pierced the body of the flicker,
causing it to fall to the ground without uttering a sound. Little Burnt
Belly did not fail to notice the shocks of arrows sticking in the tree
trunk near the spot where the flicker was clinging and to recognize
them as belonging to his brothers; he saw also their broken bows, and
knew that they were in the power of some wizard.

Taking up his arrow with the flicker still pierced by it, and placing
it over his shoulder, he resumed his journey. He was not long in coming
to the lodge which he had seen in the distance, and to which the trail
of his brothers had led him. As he drew near, a man’s voice within
said, “Oh, my grandson! come in; I am thankful that you have come to
visit me.” On entering the lodge he saw an old man whom he recognized
as a cannibal, and he saw also before him, seated on her couch, a
fine-looking young maiden. The old man exclaimed: “I have been looking
for you for a very, very long time. I have said all along that a great
hunter was on his way to visit me. There sits my granddaughter whom you
are to marry. Granddaughter, move along, and give him some room by
you.” As Little Burnt Belly passed the old man the latter saw that he
was carrying something which he had killed, and he arose quickly,
saying: “Do give me the body of that thing which you have killed, for
it is indeed a very fine game animal.” But Little Burnt Belly replied:
“I will not give it up. I will first see my missing brothers.” The old
man persisted, however, saying: “You should give me that bird. I am
greatly agitated in my mind. Nothing yet has curbed my orenda. I will
get back that bird at any cost. A game animal has now come to my
lodge.” Little Burnt Belly retorted: “You are boasting of the
invulnerability of your orenda, but this bird contains your life, and I
am your master, and you know it. You have long ago forfeited your life
by all your murders and cannibalism, so now you shall die.” So saying,
Little Burnt Belly crushed his head with the blows of his war club.
Then he liberated the slave, or prisoner, of the cannibal from the
effects of drugs which had been given her by her master, and after
bringing back to life his own brothers, who had been devoured by the
cannibal, they all returned to the lodge of Honenhineh.





112. THE LEGEND OF GODASIYO

In the beginning of time, when the earth was new, when the inhabitants
of it spoke but a single tongue, when these good people dwelt in
perfect harmony and peace, and when the several settlements lived in
such manner that there were no quarrels or contentions among them,
there dwelt in one of these settlements, or villages, Godasiyo, a
woman, who was the chief of her village.

The village over which Godasiyo held sway was situated beside a very
large river; in fact, it occupied both sides of this important stream.
It was the custom of the people of Godasiyo to cross the river for the
purpose of visiting, of attending the dances which are held every
night, and of exchanging their goods—meat, venison, skins, furs, roots,
bark, and dried fruits and berries—in order to supply their several
needs. Moreover, the lodge of public assembly was situated on one side
of the river—a feature that occasioned considerable traveling across
and back. This stream was very large and rapid. The people crossed it
by means of a bridge constructed of saplings and of limbs of trees
carefully fastened together. The state of good will and contentment,
above described, continued for a long time, but at last trouble arose.
The cause of this was a white dog which belonged to the chief,
Godasiyo. The dissension became so serious that there was great danger
that the factions would become involved in a fight over the matter. The
great river divided the two parties.

Finally, Chief Godasiyo, after long deliberation, decided that the only
way in which a deadly contest could be avoided would be by the removal
of her own adherents to some other place of residence. Having decided
to take this step, she at once informed her adherents of her resolution
to remove westward by ascending the stream on which they were living.
She invited all who had taken her part to follow her into exile from
their present settlement. And they all agreed to emigrate with her. She
told them further that they would ascend the river in canoes of birch
bark, which would enable them to transport their small belongings with
ease. So the people set to work to construct the water craft. Two
canoes of birch bark of suitable size were made, and these were
fastened together by means of strong saplings extending from one canoe
to the other so as to support a kind of platform extending over the
canoes and the space between them. This structure was for the sole use
of the chief, Godasiyo. The followers of Godasiyo proceeded to
construct birch-bark canoes for themselves also. When Godasiyo took her
seat on the craft constructed for her sole use all her adherents and
defenders launched their own canoes containing their effects.

When all had embarked, with Chief Godasiyo in the lead, all paddled
upstream. The flotilla of canoes was very large, covering the surface
of the water as far as the eye could see up and down the river. After
they had paddled a long distance, the people finally came in sight of
the forks in the river, and then it was that they began to converse
together—the two divisions of canoes, one on each side of the float of
the chief, Godasiyo—as they paddled upstream. One division chose one of
the forks in the river as the course to follow to their new settlement,
and the other division elected to turn into the other channel. Each
division gave its reasons for the choice which it had made, and the
divergent views gave rise at last to heated discussion. This strife
continued to the point where, if persisted in, the people would become
definitely separated; still no compromise was effected, so the leaders
in each division turned the prows of their canoes so as to ascend the
fork of the stream which they had selected. Thus they began to
separate.

When this movement began the two men paddling the two canoes on which
rested the float of Chief Godasiyo disagreed as to the course that they
should take under the circumstances. As each chose the fork branching
off on his side of the stream, the two canoes became separated, and the
platform on which Chief Godasiyo was sitting slipped off its support,
falling into the water and carrying the chief with it. The people drew
near and, looking into the water to see what had become of their chief,
they saw that she had sunk to the bottom, where she had become
transformed into a great fish.

Thereupon the people of the two divisions attempted to converse
together, but they were unable to understand one another, for their
language had become changed. It was in this manner that this body of
people became divided and possessed of different languages. Thus it
came about that there are so many languages spoken by the various
tribes dwelling on this earth.





113. A LEGEND OF AN ANTHROPOMORPHIC TRIBE OF RATTLESNAKES

In the ancient country of the Oneida, which they occupied when the
League of the Iroquois was formed, were a number of subterranean
caverns, which, it was said, were inhabited by various tribes of men.
The following legend is about one of these caverns:

It was said that in the olden time a certain young man of a good family
while out hunting in this region saw a large raccoon ahead of him,
which seemingly was attempting to escape from him. At once the young
hunter started in pursuit of the raccoon, and soon the race became
interesting, for the raccoon was gradually gaining on its pursuer. It
was not long before the raccoon had gotten out of his sight, so the
hunter was able to follow it only by following its tracks in the snow
that lay on the ground to the depth of a span. After a very long
pursuit the hunter finally tracked the raccoon to a large river, the
banks of which were very high and rocky. The tracks led along under one
bank for a long distance. The young man was becoming quite exhausted
when finally he came to the mouth of a cavern in the river bank, into
which the tracks of the raccoon disappeared. The entrance to this
cavern was just large enough to admit the body of the hunter, and he
decided to go in; but before doing so he set up his bow and arrows and
walking stick beside the entrance. He found that the passageway
inclined downward at a gentle grade. After entering the passage the
young hunter found that the way was long. Having gone so far in that
the light from the entrance had entirely faded away, at last he was
delighted to see that it was becoming light ahead of him. So he kept on
until finally he emerged from the cavern. Thereupon he was surprised to
see that the tracks of the raccoon led out of the passageway into the
open. The young hunter stood quiet for some minutes, viewing the
country around. He was greatly surprised to find further that the
climate of this region was quite different from that in which he
commonly abode, for he found black raspberries ripe or ripening,
although there was much snow on the ground in the country whence he had
just come. Then he resolved to follow a well-beaten path, which led
farther into the new country. As he went along he blazed the trees
bordering the path, or broke twigs and branches off the trees in such
manner that these would serve as signs by which he could retrace his
steps in the event of losing his way. He noticed that the path leading
from the entrance to what he thought was a cavern led inland, turning
to the right a short distance from the entrance. He followed this road
because he saw in the dust of the path the tracks of the raccoon which
he had been following.

As he walked along, keeping a sharp lookout for whatever might happen,
he saw in the distance a lodge, which from its appearance seemed to be
occupied; he noticed smoke arising from it, hence he inferred that
people were dwelling there. He resolved to go ahead to see who lived in
that lodge. As he continued on he still saw the tracks of the raccoon
which he had been following. On reaching the lodge the young hunter
entered, finding within two very aged people, seemingly a man and his
wife, who appeared to be superannuated. The old man was the first to
greet the hunter, saying, “My grandson, it is indeed well that you
visit our lodge and home.” Then the old woman joined her husband in
welcoming him with the words, “My grandson, it is indeed good that you
visit our home.” The hunter replied to these words of welcome, “I am
indeed glad that you two are still living in health in this world.” The
heads of these two old people were white and partially bald, for their
years were many; but they set food before their guest, which he ate
heartily and thankfully, for he had become quite exhausted from his
long pursuit of the raccoon. When he finished his meal he conversed
with the old man concerning the affairs of that country.

In a short time the old man said, “The chiefs of this settlement have
invited me to meet them in council this evening, and I should be much
pleased to have you accompany me to our lodge of assembly
(“Long-lodge”).” Here the wife of the old man added, “My grandson, you
should go with him and so become acquainted with our people and see the
country.” The young hunter consented to accompany his aged host, for he
learned that he was a noted chief in his land. Thereupon the aged chief
said, “My grandson, when we arrive at the lodge of assembly you must
not remain outside; you must enter with me; and when they begin to
dance you must return here at once, for if you should remain there you
would meet with a terrible misfortune. I am giving you warning in due
time. Moreover, you must not linger along the way homeward, but you
must make all possible speed. Yonder is a hut, which rests on a
platform supported by four posts, in which hut you must retire for the
night. There is a ladder leading up to the entrance of the hut, which,
when you have reached the platform, you must pull up after you and lay
on the scaffolding outside the lodge. I warn you further. You must not
consent under any consideration or persuasion to let down this ladder
to enable a person or persons to go up and be with you, for should you
give this consent a most appalling thing will befall you. Do not forget
these warnings. Your safety depends on your obeying what I have said to
you, for I am telling you these things for your welfare.” The young
hunter assured the old man that he would obey his warnings. Looking out
he saw the elevated hut to which the old man said he should retire for
the night, and he noticed that the supporting posts had been peeled and
carefully oiled to prevent anything from climbing them to reach the
hut. This fact aroused the young hunter’s curiosity, but feeling that
he should not pry into the affairs of his hosts he held his peace.

Having completed their small preparations, the aged chief and his young
guest departed for the council. When they reached the lodge of assembly
(“Long-lodge”), they found that they were on time. The hunter saw what
was usual on such occasions and gatherings—that those whose intentions
and purposes were good had already taken their places inside the
council lodge, and that those who had evil designs and propensities
were going to and fro outside. He noticed, too, that when the frivolous
young women saw him and recognized him as a stranger, they at once
guyed one another at his expense, jostling and hawing and clearing
their throats, in order to make the young stranger look at them and to
join them; but he paid no attention to their ruses. On entering the
lodge of assembly the aged chief and his guest found that it was
already well filled with the orderly people of the settlement, and that
the chiefs were all present, quietly awaiting the arrival of the host
of the young hunter. When the two had taken their seats the Fire-keeper
chief arose and in a formal speech uncovered figuratively the council
fire, expressing with much feeling the public thanks for all the good
things they enjoyed and for the preservation of their lives. He made
these remarks in a loud voice, giving thanks to the Master of Life.
After forbidding the commission of bad deeds by everyone there present
he carefully stated the purpose of their session. He asked every chief
to employ wisdom and mercy and justice in the conduct of the business.
After a number of the chiefs had discussed the matter pro and con
before them, and had in their parlance “cooked the ashes,” and the
business of the council had been transacted, the Fire-keeper again
arose to close the session formally, by saying, among other things, “We
now cover the fire with ashes. And after the dancing, which will begin
now, we will disperse to our homes.”

The young hunter, hearing these last words and remembering the strict
injunctions of his host, hastened out of the lodge and at once started
for home at a rapid pace. But his movements had been watched by four
young women, abandoned characters of the settlement, who at once
pursued him swiftly, laughing, hawing, and calling to him to stop and
await their pleasure. This conduct, however, only caused the young
hunter to travel ahead as fast as it was possible for him to go. Soon
he was chagrined to find that he was not leaving the young women, for
their voices did not die away, so finally he started to run at top
speed. After a time, becoming exhausted by the exertion, the hunter
slackened his pace to a brisk walk, whereupon he soon heard the sounds
of the laughing and guying voices of the pursuing women, who seemed to
be rapidly gaining on him. Again he started on a brisk run in a
seemingly vain effort to outdistance his fleet-footed pursuers, for
just as soon as he would relax his efforts in the least, the sound of
their voices could be heard not far behind him. The serious injunctions
of his aged host urged him onward as rapidly as it was possible for him
to go. Thus closely pursued, he finally reached the hut and lost no
time in ascending to it by means of the tree ladder, which he drew up
after him, as he had been directed to do by the old man. Having entered
the hut and secured its bark flap door as well as he could from the
inside, he anxiously awaited events. Soon the four wretched women
arrived and clamorously asked him to let down the ladder to enable them
to climb up to his room, but the young man gave no heed to their
importunities. Through small crevices in the walls of the hut he
watched them while they attempted to climb the posts, but as these were
greased the women were unable to do so. Throughout the night they
remained at the foot of the posts clamoring for the ladder. At daybreak
the women ceased their attempts and noise, and the young man fell
asleep from exhaustion. When he awoke he arose, and unfastening the
door flap of bark, he went out on the platform around the hut. On
looking down, he saw at the foot of each of the posts a huge female
rattlesnake, coiled and asleep; these he divined were the four wretched
women who had pursued him the previous night. His movements over their
heads awakened them, and at once they crawled away into the neighboring
thickets without indicating in any manner that it was they who had just
tormented him.

Having gathered up his few belongings and let down the ladder, he
descended to the ground and hastened to the lodge of his aged hosts,
which stood not far away. On entering, he was astonished to find the
aged host, in the form of a huge rattlesnake, coiled up on the couch,
but he was reassured by seeing the old woman, who was up, and who had
taken the precaution of assuming human form again. Though at first
somewhat nonplused by what he had just seen, the young hunter asked the
old woman, “Where is my grandfather? I suppose he has gone out into the
forest?” Without showing any perturbation, the old woman replied, “Yes;
he has gone out, but he will soon return. Back of the ledge you will
find water with which you may wash your face and hands. The morning
meal is now ready, and we will eat it just as soon as you return.”
Having washed, as suggested, in a bark trough in the rear of the lodge,
he returned to join the old woman and her husband at the morning meal.

While eating the young hunter took occasion to examine the furnishings
of the lodge more thoroughly than he had had an opportunity of doing
sooner. In the room he saw numerous bark vessels of many sizes with
various kinds of nuts, dried fruits, and berries; wooden vessels
containing honey; and small bundles of the dried twigs of the spicebush
shrub for use in making a beverage to be drunk hot with meals. The
youth was further surprised to see in a corner of the room, curled up
on a mat, the raccoon which he had pursued so persistently the previous
day. He was now fully convinced that he was the guest of a family of
rattlesnakes, for when he returned from washing himself at the back of
the lodge he found that the old man had again assumed human form,
appearing to him as he had the day before, and greeting him with,
“Well, my grandson, did you rest well last night?” The young man
replied, “Yes; I rested quite well.” When the old woman had placed the
food on the bench, she addressed the young man, saying, “My grandson,
now you must eat your fill, for there is plenty here. So do not be
afraid of eating all you wish.”

Having finished his meal, the young hunter thanked his rattlesnake
hosts, and after bidding them farewell he started for his own home. He
returned to the mouth of the cavern, for such was this place, and
crawling back through the passage he reached the surface of the earth
in his own country, where he found his bow and arrows and his walking
stick just as he had left them. He quickly made his way home to his
family, to whom he related his experiences in the cavern. He was so
astonished at what had befallen him while in pursuit of a raccoon that
he had the chiefs call a council of their chiefs and people to hear the
strange recital. He told them that he had indeed visited the
rattlesnake people, and that they assumed at will human form and
attributes and lived under human institutions. He was thanked by the
council and people for his recital. But the young hunter never
afterward took advantage of the invitation of the old rattlesnake chief
to revisit him and his wife.





114. THE TWINS: GRANDSONS OF GAHOⁿʻDJI’DĀʹʻHOⁿK [421]

In ancient times a certain family, consisting of seven brothers and one
sister, lived together contentedly in a large bark lodge. It was the
duty of this sister while her brothers were out hunting to cut in the
neighboring forest the firewood used by the family and to bring it to
the lodge.

It is said that the sister was uncommonly comely, although her size and
stature were above the average for women, and that she possessed
unusual strength. In the performance of her duties she was accustomed
to be absent from the lodge during the entire day, returning with her
burden of firewood in the evening. Now, the youngest of the seven
brothers was a recluse—that is to say, he was deanoäʹdoⁿʼ.[422] As the
duties of the sister did not require her to go far from the lodge, she
was usually the first to return to it in the evening, while the
brothers, who had to go many miles away to find game and fish, did not
return at times until very late at night.

There came a day, while the six normal brothers and their sister were
absent, and while there was no one in the lodge except the recluse,
when a young woman, daughter of the noted witch, Gahoⁿʻdjiʼdāʹʻhoⁿk,
came to the lodge bearing a huge basket of marriage bread. There were,
of course, eight beds to accommodate the seven brothers and their
sister, which were properly arranged along the sides of this long
lodge. The bed occupied by the youngest brother, the recluse, was
nearest to the doorway on its side of the lodge. The witch’s daughter
had been instructed by her mother to take her seat on this bed. But
upon entering the lodge the young woman, after looking around, set her
basket down in front of the third bed and took her seat thereon. This
bed was the third one from the doorway, counting from the entrance on
the left side of the lodge. Feeling, however, that she had not followed
her instructions, the young woman did not sit there long, but took her
seat on the next bed, because she imagined that it had a better
appearance than the one on which she had been sitting. But she kept on
shifting her position from bed to bed until she finally came to the
seventh bed. Here the second of the seven brothers and his sister found
her on their return to the lodge.

Seeing her seated on the bed and noticing the basket of
marriage-proposal bread, they inferred that she had come to marry their
brother on whose bed she sat, so they said to her kindly, “We are very
thankful that you have come to our lodge, oh, our sister-in-law.” She
made them no reply but by her actions showed her appreciation of this
welcome reception on their part. In the order of their ages the other
brothers returned to the lodge, and with the exception of the eldest
one all saluted her with words of welcome in the same manner as the
first two had expressed their delight at having her for their
sister-in-law.

The eldest brother was the last to return to the lodge, and by the
young woman’s own choice seemingly by sitting on his bed with a basket
of marriage-proposal bread before her, he was her chosen husband, so he
addressed her as his accepted wife. Noticing at once that he was blind
in one eye, she was chagrined for not having obeyed her mother’s
instructions with regard to the bed on which she should await her
future husband. She thought it best, however, to seem to ignore her
disturbing discovery and her unhappy feelings in consequence, so she
began to study her surroundings in the lodge. She saw that some one
whom she had not noticed before was lying on the bed next to the
doorway on the left-hand side of the entrance, the one on which she had
been told to sit on entering this lodge. She made the discovery also
that the person lying on this bed was the recluse of the family, that
in fact he was deanoäʹdoⁿʼ, and as such was “secluded” from all
persons. She noticed, too, that no one paid the slightest attention to
the recumbent figure, which was heavily covered with robes of skin from
head to foot. Hence her curiosity was thoroughly aroused, especially as
it was on this bed that her mother had directed her to sit.

The next day, when all the other persons of the lodge except the
recluse and the bride wife had gone out into the forest on their
various errands, she arose from her couch, and crossing over to the
other side of the fire, went to the bed on which lay the covered figure
and cautiously drew down the covering from the head of the person who
was fast asleep. There she saw with longing eyes and half-suppressed
passion a handsome youth of finely developed figure. She stood there
partly bent over the sleeping youth, sorely infatuated. By gently
shaking the young man she finally succeeded in awakening him, whereupon
she said to him, “Arise, my friend, and come to my couch and let us
talk together.” But the youth neither arose nor would he speak to her,
notwithstanding all her fervent entreaties to embrace her. Naturally
this conduct only intensified the young wife’s desire, so she continued
during the entire day to tease and coax the youth to go over to her own
couch. But he made no response to her persistent efforts. When she
thought it was about time for the other persons living in the lodge to
return, she went back to her couch, where she had remained of her own
choice the previous night. She did not love her husband since she found
out his misfortune and her great mistake in choosing his couch
(contrary to her instruction) for a resting place when she first came
to the lodge.

When all the family had returned to the lodge for the night and had
prepared, cooked, and eaten their supper of corn bread, boiled venison,
and spicebush tea, they retired to their several couches, whereupon the
bride began to tell her husband a story invented for the occasion. She
declared that when he and his brothers and sister had left the lodge
the day before and she was alone with his deanoäʹdoⁿʼ, or recluse
brother, the latter had come over to the side of her bed and had made
improper proposals to her, and that she had great difficulty in
resisting his attempted assaults. Her husband, however, made no reply
to this carefully concocted story.

Again, the next day, when all the brothers excepting the recluse, and
their sister, had left the lodge, the bride went to the bedside of the
recluse, and after awakening him, coaxed and begged him to come to her
own couch. Knowing her motive, the youth made no response to her
importunities except to tell her that she should be satisfied with her
own choice of a husband, reminding her that she had been satisfied to
reject the speaker when she first came to the lodge, although she had
been instructed to take a seat on his bed as a token of a marriage
proposal. Completely baffled by the attitude of the youth and enraged
by his conduct in refusing to gratify her desire, she returned at last
to her own couch with a heart filled only with bitter thoughts of
revenge on him. Then, in order to make her contemplated story appear
true, she lacerated and bruised her neck and face and breasts and arms
with her own hands and fingernails, in order to support her intended
accusation against the youth of an attempted assault upon herself.

When the other members had returned to the lodge in the evening, and
after they had eaten their suppers and had retired for the night, the
young bride again told her husband with much simulated emotion that his
recluse brother had made that day another attempt to assault her when
the other occupants of the lodge were absent, showing her lacerated
neck and arms and face in corroboration of this false story. Still the
husband made no response to her accusations against his youngest
brother. The next day, however, when he was out in the forest hunting
with his other brothers he related to them the story which his bride
had told him. They, too, received this information in silence.

On the third day after the arrival of the young woman in the family she
still had hopes of entrapping the recluse by inducing him to share her
bed with her. In fact, she had been sent by her notorious mother,
Gahoⁿʻdjiʼdāʹʻhoⁿk, to marry this youth, not because the mother thought
he would make her daughter a suitable husband, but rather because she
wished to get him into her power, for, on her own account, she feared
to allow him to grow to manhood without an attempt to destroy him,
knowing well that all who were regarded as deanoäʹdoⁿʼ [423] were
possessed of most potent orenda (magic power), which they would put
into use as soon as they attained manhood—at the age of puberty. The
recluse youth had foreseen for many months the events which would come
to pass after the arrival of this dutiful daughter of
Gahoⁿʻdjiʼdāʹʻhoⁿk. He knew well that the great witch had sent her for
the express purpose of getting him into her power in order to destroy
him before he could develop into manhood. Hence, he sturdily resisted
all the wiles of the daughter to get him to embrace her, as he knew
that such action would place him at the mercy of her mother. He feared
being bewitched; he realized that he must exert to the full his orenda
against that of the great witch, for he was aware that the penalty for
being defeated was death. In order to carry out her scheme the young
bride arose on the third day when all except the recluse and herself
had left the lodge, and going over to the bedside of the youth, again
entreated him tearfully to come to her couch. But he was obdurate,
rudely repulsing her advances, until finally she returned to her own
side of the fire. Despairing of accomplishing her purpose by gentle
means, the young woman, whose anger was thoroughly aroused by the
youth’s refusal to be seduced by her, went out of the lodge into a
dense thicket, and, baring her legs, she plunged into the midst of
briers and thorns, which lacerated them very badly. In this condition
she returned to the lodge to await the coming of her husband. When her
husband and his brothers and sister had returned the young woman kept
her peace for a while, although she pretended to be troubled in mind.
But after they had eaten their supper and had retired for the night she
told her husband a story of another attempted assault on her by his
youngest brother, and to confirm this she showed him in the ill-lighted
room her torn and blood-stained legs and thighs. Her husband made no
reply, although he had decided what to do.

The next day after their morning meal all except the young wife and the
recluse left the lodge on their daily trips into the forest, the
brothers to hunt and the sister to procure bark and fuel for the fire.
When the brothers had reached their rendezvous in the forest the eldest
told the rest what his wife reported to him, and also that she had
shown him her bleeding legs and thighs in confirmation of her story.
After a short parley, the brothers solemnly decided that it was their
duty to kill their youngest brother; so they returned to the lodge that
night with the firm determination to carry out their resolution. The
next morning, after they had eaten their breakfast, they informed him
of their decision to kill him in order to put a stop to his scandalous
conduct toward his brother’s wife. The youth, knowing that he was
innocent of the charge and that the young woman had falsely accused him
to his brothers, calmly lay down on his couch in silence that his
brothers might kill him.

First, the eldest brother solemnly approached the couch, and drawing
his flint knife from his pouch he passed it across the throat of his
youngest brother; whereupon he was astonished to see that the knife had
made no cut. After sawing away with his knife until he had worn it out,
he abandoned the attempt with grave misgivings that all was not well
with his brother. Then the rest of the brothers tried in turn to cut
the throat of the youngest, but in this they failed completely. When
they fully realized that they had been foiled by some unknown power,
the recluse said to his astonished brothers: “None of you possesses the
orenda (magic power) to enable you to kill me. My sister alone
possesses such potency; hence she can kill me. When she has done so,
you shall build a log lodge of massive construction, and you shall put
over it a roof of the largest logs, so that the lodge shall be entirely
secure. But before putting in place the roof you shall lay my body in
the lodge and also leave my sister alive therein. Further, you shall
place my head in its correct position with relation to the rest of my
body. Finally, seal up the lodge with the logs as I have said.”

Then the sister of the youth, with her flint knife, beheaded her
brother, afterward withdrawing in deep sorrow. Thereupon the six
brothers of the dead youth set to work constructing the log lodge as
they had been instructed to do, using the largest logs they could
handle. When they had finished this task they placed their sister alive
in the lodge with the body of the slain brother, just as he had
directed, and covered the rude but strong structure with the largest
logs it was possible for them to obtain and handle. Then they returned
to their own camp.

When the brothers arrived there they were somewhat surprised to see
that the bride of the eldest had mysteriously disappeared. They
marveled greatly at this singular occurrence, which they could not
explain, for there were no traces of her having been attacked by an
enemy.

While they were thus perplexed there suddenly arose a terrific
hurricane and windstorm, which was the work of the notorious witch
Gahoⁿʻdji’dāʹʻhoⁿk, the mother of the missing bride. At the height of
the tempest, within the lodge of great logs, the head of the youngest
brother became reunited to his body, and the youth came to life. At
once he said to his sister, possessed of potent orenda, “Oh, my sister!
press with all your might both your hands over both my eyes and keep
them there until I tell you to remove them.” The sister quickly obeyed
her brother, for she knew that the storm maidens would snatch away the
eyes of her brother if possible. The tempest swept the ground in all
directions from the lodge as far as the eye could see, trees being torn
up by the roots and tossed about as if they were grass stalks. The camp
of the six brothers was swept away and they were destroyed with it.

Nevertheless the lodge in which the youngest brother and his sister
were inclosed was left intact, and the two inmates were unharmed,
except in one respect: When the rage of the storm had subsided, the
brother said to his sister, “Now you may take your hands from my eyes,
for it was of no avail for you to have held them there.
Gahoⁿʻdjiʼdāʹʻhoⁿk has overmatched me in sorcery; her orenda has
overcome mine.” From this speech the sister learned that the youth
claimed to be a wizard, possessed of orenda of abnormal potency and
efficiency. But she was greatly astonished and agitated to find that
her brother’s eyes had been snatched out from under her hands during
the storm and that consequently he was blind, for on removing her hands
from his face she saw the eyeless sockets.

Without any ado the brother said to his sister, “Let us leave this
place. Remove the roof of logs so that we may get out of this lodge.”
Then the sister, who was abnormally strong for a woman, set to work
removing these logs, and, when she had removed enough of them to enable
her brother and herself to climb out, they regained their freedom.
Thereupon the blind brother said, “Let us go home now; and in order to
do this we must travel directly southward from here.”

The sister, agreeing with this proposition, at once set to work making
preparations for the journey. In order to be able to bear her brother
on her back she constructed a kind of harness or carrying-chair
(gaʼnigoⁿʹʻhwāʼ). When she had completed her task she placed her blind
brother in the “chair,” and by means of the forehead strap bore it on
her back. Thus burdened, she started at once southward for their home.

Having traveled a long distance without stopping to rest, they finally
came to a place in which the sister saw a covey of wild turkeys. She
wished, mentally, it were possible for her to secure one of the birds
for food for her brother and herself. The former, being aware of her
thought, said, “Oh, my sister! make me a bow and an arrow, and I will
kill one of the wild turkeys.” The sister, having done as desired,
brought the bow and arrow to her brother, who said, “Oh, my sister!
tell me where the turkeys are and turn me so that I may face them as I
shoot.” As soon as his sister had placed him in the proper position,
with one shot he killed a turkey. The sister, who was delighted with
their good fortune, at once proceeded to dress and cook the turkey for
their supper. But when she told her brother that the turkey was ready
to eat he refused to partake of it, telling his sister that she would
have to eat it by herself. At this, without asking him his reason for
not eating his portion, she ate what she desired. Then she constructed
a temporary lodge (kanoñsʻhäʼ) with boughs, strips of bark, and other
suitable material, in which she and her brother remained for the night.

In the morning the sister ate what remained of the turkey and then,
placing her brother on her back, resumed the journey toward the south.
They traveled the entire day. When the sun was setting they again came
upon a covey of turkeys, one of which they killed in the same manner as
they had killed one the evening before. The devoted sister, having
dressed the bird carefully, boiled it by putting hot stones into the
water, but the young man again refused to eat any portion of it. When
the sister had eaten what she desired she reserved what remained for
breakfast. Then she made another temporary shelter in which they
retired for the night.

Next morning after the sister had eaten her breakfast she again took
her brother on her back in the carrying cradle and they resumed the
journey southward. Nothing unusual occurred during the day. When the
sun was setting they again came upon a covey of wild turkeys, one of
which was killed, and after being dressed, was cooked and eaten, as the
two other turkeys had been. Afterward the sister prepared a temporary
shelter, as she had done twice before.

In the morning of the fourth day they again set forth on their journey
southward. Toward midday the sister said, “Oh, my brother! I see a
lodge in the distance ahead of us. Beside it stands a very tall
chestnut tree. Shall I continue our journey?” The blind brother
replied, “Yes; go on! It is the lodge in which we formerly lived. Yes;
that is our lodge and home.” Thereupon the sister hastened her steps
and they soon reached the lodge. Within they found everything that was
common to the lodges of those ancient times, as clay pots, baskets,
wooden mortars, tubs of corn and beans, and bundles of spicebush twigs
for use in making a warm drink.

Nothing unusual happened to the blind brother or to his sister until
the third day after their arrival at their old home. On the morning of
that day, while the sister was out in the neighboring forest gathering
fuel, she was surprised to hear some person, seemingly near to her,
say, or rather whisper, “Chit!” Quickly turning in the direction whence
the sound proceeded, she was startled to see a short distance away a
handsome young man looking intently at her. After talking with her a
few moments he made her a proposal of marriage, in reply to which she
told him that she could not give him a definite answer without first
consulting her brother. Then she asked him to meet her at the same time
and place on the following day. The young man agreed readily to her
proposition, whereupon they separated without further ceremony.

When the sister returned to the lodge she told her brother of meeting
the young man, and asked his advice with regard to her acceptance or
refusal of the offer of marriage. He replied that it was his wish,
prompted by wise policy, that she should accept the offer, since the
young man was a noted wizard, son of the notorious witch,
Gahoⁿʻdji’dāʹʻhoⁿk; for, if she did not marry him, her refusal would be
tantamount to a sentence of death on each; hence, they must accept the
inevitable.

During the following night the blind brother explained in detail the
reasons for his advice to her to marry the young man, who was the son
of the great witch, Gahoⁿʻdji’dāʹʻhoⁿk, the relentless enemy of their
family and kin.

The next morning the sister went into the forest to keep tryst with the
strange young man, whom she found there awaiting her coming. She told
him at once that her brother had been happy to consent to have her
marry him. He seemed greatly pleased at her reply and merely said: “It
is well. I will be at your lodge tonight. So, I go away now.” So they
two parted in this abrupt way. That night, when darkness had come, the
strange young man arrived at the lodge of the sister and her blind
brother. He remained overnight with his wife, but left the lodge at the
dawn. Before leaving, however, he assured his wife that he would return
at night. Accordingly, he came to the lodge that night also and
remained with his wife until the dawn, when he departed as he had done
on the previous morning.

Thus he came and departed for seven nights. Then he said to his wife:
“It is my wish that you return with me to my mother’s lodge—my home.”
His wife, knowing well who he was and who his mother was, readily
consented to accompany him; by so doing she was faithfully carrying out
the policy which her blind brother had advised her to pursue toward
him. On their way homeward, while the husband was leading the trail,
they came to a point where the path divided into two divergent ways
which, however, after forming an oblong loop, reunited, forming once
more only a single path. Here the woman was surprised to see her
husband’s body divide into two forms, one following the one path and
the other the other trail. She was indeed greatly puzzled by this
phenomenon, for she was at a loss to know which of the figures to
follow as her husband. Fortunately, she finally resolved to follow the
one leading to the right. After following this path for some distance,
the wife saw that the two trails reunited and also that the two figures
of her husband coalesced into one. It is said that this circumstance
gave rise to the name of this strange man, which was Degiyanēʹgĕñʻ;
that is to say, “They are two trails running parallel.” Not long after
the two reached the husband’s home, the residence of the notorious
witch, Gahoⁿʻdji’dāʹʻhoⁿk, who welcomed her daughter-in-law to her
lodge.

In due course the wife of Degiyanēʹgĕñʻ gave birth to male twins. The
great witch, who acted as midwife to her daughter-in-law, cast one of
the children under a bed and the other under another, and then nursed
her daughter-in-law and instructed her as to her conduct during
convalescence.

Some days elapsed, when the inmates of the lodge were surprised to hear
sounds issuing from beneath the beds under which the twins had been
cast. At once the great witch, making two small balls of deer hair and
buckskin and also two lacrosse ball clubs, gave a ball and a club to
each of the twins. At once each of the twins began to play ball beneath
the bed under which he lived, and it was not long before each of the
little boys was seen to pass from under his bed beneath that of the
other. Thus they amused themselves the entire day, but at night each of
the twins returned under his own bed. Day after day the twins visited
back and forth. There came a day, however, when one of the twins tossed
his ball up in such wise that it flew out of the doorway of the lodge.
Thereupon the two youngsters followed the ball so nimbly and swiftly
that they were able to overtake it before it struck the ground. So they
kept batting the ball high up into the air and overtaking it before it
could reach the ground again. After playing thus for long hours, each
would return to his own retreat beneath the bed under which he lived.

This outdoor sport was indulged in by the twins for a long time. One
day, on being tossed into the air, the ball at once took a course
directly toward the lodge of their blind uncle, but the twins kept up
with it, hitting it with their bats before it could touch the ground.
They did not notice that they were approaching a lodge, hence they were
greatly surprised to see it finally fall into the smoke hole of the
lodge. They cautiously approached the lodge and, peering through the
crevices in its bark walls, they saw their ball in the hands of a man
with eyeless sockets.

One of the boys said to the other, “Lo. Go in, and get the ball,” but
the other replied, “I fear him. You go.” Finally they entered the lodge
together to ask the man to give them back their ball. As they drew near
the man, he said to them: “Do not be afraid of me. Fear not; I am your
friend. It is I who have caused you to come here to my lodge. By
sorcery I caused your ball to fall into my hand. Indeed, I am your
uncle, your mother’s brother. I should very much like to see you two,
but you observe I have no eyes, so I can not do so.” At this the twins
exclaimed together: “Oh! maternal uncle, how did you lose your eyes?”
The uncle replied: “Your grandmother, Gahoⁿʻdji’dāʹʻhoⁿk, overmatched
me in sorcery, and as a penalty she took out my eyes, so I am blind.”
The twins answered: “Oh, uncle! we desire very much that you see us.”
To this the uncle replied: “As it seems to be an impossibility for me
to see again, it would probably be useless for you to wish me to see
you.” But the twins said: “We will try to make you able to see us.”

With this remark the twins left their ball and their lacrosse clubs and
went into the neighboring forest. They had not gone very far before
they met Degĕñsʹgē (the Horned Owl). They asked him to lend them his
eyes for a short time, promising to return them to him uninjured.
Complying with their request on this condition, he removed his eyes and
handed them to the twins; then he sat down to await their return.
Delighted with their success, the twins hastened back to the lodge to
their uncle. Placing the borrowed eyes in his sightless sockets, they
asked him whether he could see with them, whereupon he told them that
he could see nothing. Disappointed with this result, the twins removed
the eyes from their uncle’s head and returned them to the Degĕñsʹgē
(Horned Owl) in the forest, thanking him for his kindness.

Going a short distance farther into the forest, the twins met
Ke’kʹʻhowā (Barred Owl), whom they asked to lend his eyes to them for a
short time. He readily consented on condition that they return them
within one day. So the twins soon had his eyes, which they carried back
to the lodge as swiftly as their feet could take them. But after
inserting them into their uncle’s eyeless sockets, they were again
disappointed to hear him say: “It is indeed too bad; I can not see
anything with them.” So removing the eyes, the twins carried them back
to Ke’kʹʻhowā, whom they thanked for his kindness.

The twins were not to be easily defeated, however, in their purpose, so
they went still farther into the forest. There they met Odoñnyoñʹdăʻ
(the Eagle), and they at once asked him to lend them his eyes for a
short time. The Eagle readily consented to part with them for a day,
and in a moment the twins were hurrying homeward with them. After they
had placed these in their uncle’s sockets he told them that he could
not see things clearly, merely faint outlines of them. So once more
they removed the eyes and gratefully returned them to the Eagle.

Not to be thus baffled in the attempt to enable their uncle to see
them, one of the lads proposed to the other that each lend their uncle
an eye from his own head. To this proposal the other readily consented.
Each of the lads having removed one of his eyes, the two started for
the lodge of their uncle. When they reached his side they placed the
eyes in their uncle’s head, who at once exclaimed in delight: “Oh! I
can see. Oh! I am so glad to be able to see you two, my nephews.” Then,
after taking a glance around the lodge, he returned the borrowed eyes
to his wonderful nephews, who said to him: “We will now go away to get
back your own eyes; so be of good cheer for a short time. We start
now.”

But their blind uncle replied: “Knowing what I do, it seems impossible
for you two lads to accomplish your purpose. So take courage and be
brave.” Then, after a moment of silence, he added by way of advice:
“Remember this: My eyes are partly bloodshot, and they are attached to
the swaddling wrappings of a female child, who is still fastened to a
cradle board, and whom they serve as breast ornaments. The lodge in
which this child may be found has a fox skin as its clan mark and
stands far away in cloudland. And, my nephews, no one can enter that
land unseen by the sleepless eyes of the grim warder, who is called
Haneʹʻhwăʼ,[424] and who on the approach of a stranger gives the alarm
by three terrific shouts. So have courage, my nephews.”

Undaunted, the lads left the lodge, and going to a neighboring swamp
they set to work industriously collecting a vast quantity of swamp
grass, which they placed on a large pile. When they had collected a
sufficient quantity they set the pile on fire, and when the flames
leaped the highest the lads, casting themselves into their midst, were
borne aloft on the huge billows of smoke, which mounted ever higher and
higher, and were soon in cloudland, where they came down in the form of
cinders.

Then one of the lads called two mice, which he instructed to creep
cautiously under the leaves, grass, and rubbish to a certain lodge
having a fox skin for a clan mark, and to emerge from the trail as near
the lodge as possible without being apprehended by the warder,
Haneʹʻhwăʼ. Then each lad entered one of the mice, and the two mice,
burrowing along under the leaves and other rubbish, soon came out just
where they had been directed to emerge. Notwithstanding their caution
and ruse, Haneʹʻhwăʼ knew the purpose which the two mice had in coming,
but before he could give the alarm one of the lads said to him: “Keep
silence. We will give you a quantity of wild beans if you consent to
our request.” Believing the lads to be harmless and to be on a mere
sporting expedition to show their powers of metamorphosis, he readily
consented to permit them unheralded to pass to their destination.

Having thus easily passed the warder of the lodge of
Gahoⁿʻdji’dāʹʻhoⁿk, the two lads, assuming the form and size of fleas,
at once entered the portico or porch of the lodge, in which several of
their aunts, sisters of their father, were pounding corn in wooden
mortars with wooden pestles. As fleas the lads, unnoticed, quickly
crawled up the legs of these women, and by vicious bites soon caused
the corn pounders to fall to fighting among themselves, believing that
they had been cruelly pinched by their mates. By crawling on and biting
the legs of all the women the lads were able to make all of them fight.
In fighting, the women, influenced by the orenda of the boys, employed
their wooden pestles in striking their opponents on the head,
fracturing their skulls. Thus, in a short time the women had destroyed
one another.

After all the women were either dead or stretched out unconscious with
fractured skulls, the lads cautioned the warder, Haneʹʻhwăʼ, not to
inform Degiyanēʹgĕñʻ, their father, what he had seen them do, should he
come there inquiring about his sisters. They told him to sing for their
father the following song:



    Yekĕⁿnĕⁿnéʹʻhoʻ skahetchonăʼ otiʹʼsĕñ.
    Oekĕⁿnĕⁿnéʹʻhoʻ skahetchonăʼ otiʹʼsĕñ.



The warder consented to do what his boy friends had asked him to do.
Thereupon the lads quickly entered the lodge to which was attached the
fox skin clan badge. They soon found the cradle board on which was
fastened the female child, even as their uncle had told them, but they
were greatly astonished when they saw that the eyes of many persons
adorned the swaddling clothes (wrappings). Quickly but carefully
examining these eyes, which served as the breast ornaments of the
child, they soon found the eyes of their uncle, which were partially
bloodshot. When they had secured these they removed also the others, in
pairs, and, tossing them up into the air, said to them: “Return to the
place whence you were taken by stealth.” At once these eyes took flight
and returned to their owners. After killing the female child and
compassing the death of the treacherous Haneʹʻhwăʼ, the lads started
for home with their uncle’s eyes.

When the boys reached the point whence they must descend they assumed
the size and form of fleas, and, using the seed heads of the dandelion
as parachutes, they easily floated down from cloudland to the earth.
Going directly to the lodge of their uncle, they returned to him his
eyes. He was delighted beyond measure when he found that his nephews
had been successful in their expedition and had so speedily brought
back his eyes.

The lads had killed the baby in cloudland by means of potent drugs
given them by their uncle while they were still on the earth. Before
starting their uncle had told them not to fail to put this deadly drug
on the baby, for he knew that the child was the life itself of the
great witch, Gahoⁿʻdjiʼdāʹʻhoⁿk. Through its death the witch herself
necessarily died, because the child was her life, not her baby, as it
appeared to be. Thus, Gahoⁿʻdjiʼdāʹʻhoⁿk was destroyed and the young
deanoäʹdoⁿʼ man at last was revenged on her, partly through the potent
orenda of his nephews and partly by means of the potent “medicine” with
which he had armed them before they had started on their expedition
into cloudland.





115. THE LEGEND OF THE MISOGAMIST

In ancient days, it is said, there lived a good mother and her son in a
lodge that stood alone. Now, the son was a very successful hunter; in
the chase of all kinds of game animals he had no competitor. The
possession of an overflowing larder and of rare and excellent furs and
skins gave him an enviable prestige among his people.

It was natural among a hunter people that the prowess of the young man
in the chase should make him an attractive figure in the eyes of all
the mothers among his people who had marriageable daughters. So these
thrifty mothers urged their daughters to make the usual marriage bread
and to go to his lodge with proposals of marriage. Each of these
obedient daughters would say: “Indeed, I believe that thou and I should
marry.” This was the address made to the young man after the young
woman had set her basket of marriage bread before him, seated, to
receive her. In replying, the young man would say to each: “In so far
as I am concerned it is my settled purpose not to marry anyone, as I
have no desire to do so.” Thereupon the young woman, having failed in
her suit, would return to her home.

This pursuit of the young man by the marriageable daughters of the
community continued for many seasons. As each maiden came with her
proposal of marriage the youth invariably made the same answer. During
all this time his mother continued to remonstrate with him on account
of his firm resolution not to marry, telling him repeatedly that it was
a well-known fact that one who acted as he was doing would surely be
punished for his attitude by some great calamity. He refused, however,
to listen to her remonstrances.

Now, it was his custom to go every autumn to hunt in the forest, and he
would return home with great quantities of venison and other meat, and
furs and skins. All the people who had none of these things came to the
lodge where the mother and son lived together because they wished to
trade for some of the meat or for some of the furs or skins, each one
bringing therefor something of value. One would bring a bracelet,
saying: “For this cut me off a small portion of meat of the bear, of
venison, or of some other kind.” Another would bring a burden strap,
saying: “For this give me the skin of a beaver, or a small portion of
bear’s meat, for I have come to buy.” This trading continued for some
years, and all kept saying of the young man: “He is indeed immune to
adverse orenda.”

After a while another autumn came, and again he started alone on a
hunting trip into the forests where he knew game was always abundant
and in which it was his custom to camp for the season. Having reached
the place where his hunting lodge stood, he proceeded at once to repair
it and to supply it with suitable fuel and other necessities. Then he
went forth to hunt, as was his custom. He was very successful,
returning every day to camp with the game he had killed.

After a certain number of days thus spent he lay down one night to
rest, as usual. But in the middle of the night it so happened that he
moved about in his bed, and he was greatly surprised by feeling what
seemed to be a woman lying beside him. No one had ever slept with him
before, man or woman. Thereupon the surprised misogamist said: “Lo, who
are you?” The young woman, for such she was, in a fascinating voice
which thrilled the heart of the young man, replied: “Oh! I desired to
visit the place where you are only because of the love which I have for
you.” Saying this softly, she threw her arms around his neck and
fervently embraced him. He remained perfectly quiet, making no protest
against the fondling of the beautiful maiden. Without further ceremony
the young woman joyously exclaimed: “Come now! let us two go to sleep
again.” But the young man lost consciousness at once, and the last
thing he remembered were the words of the young woman. It was after the
dawn of day that he awoke. Uncovering his head, he found that he was
quite alone, and that, in fact, the young woman was not anywhere
around. He was greatly astonished at what had happened, and said to
himself in wonder: “What is this that has befallen me? Now, indeed, has
come to pass perhaps what my dear mother has been saying to me, for has
she not kept telling me that I would be punished sooner or later for my
unreasoning attitude toward those who have desired to marry me. Now I
shall start for my home, for I am seized with fear.”

He set to work at once making up his pack and putting the lodge in
order for his departure. When he had completed his preparations he
started for home.

At the end of the day’s journey he camped for the night in the place
where he usually stopped for this purpose. After kindling a hot fire in
the temporary shelter he set to work warming some pieces of cold meat
which he had brought with him, and then sat down to eat his supper.
When he had finished his meal he made ready to rest for the night. It
was quite dark, for the evening was then far spent. As he sat resting
he was suddenly surprised to hear noises that seemed to draw nearer and
nearer. He could plainly hear the sounds, sāʻʹ, sāʻʹ, sāʻʹ, and also
sounds caused by the moving aside and breaking of sticks and small
twigs, and the branches of trees falling. Seized with a great fear, he
at once added small dry sticks to the fire, which blazed up, giving a
great light, which enabled him to see whether anything was approaching
his shelter. Suddenly he saw standing at the end of the illumined space
a very large woman. After a moment’s hesitation she came up to the
opposite side of the fire and, addressing the now thoroughly frightened
young man, said: “It is just this: I have come here with the desire
that you should give me a portion of meat.” To look at her one would
have thought that she was in all respects a human being, as she stood
gazing toward the youth. As quickly as possible he took from his pack a
quarter of meat, which he heaved over the fire toward the woman, who
caught it. Then she began to eat it, while the blood dripped down on
her breast and over her garments. Thus she ate up a quarter of meat.
When she had finished she said: “The only thing for you to do is to
return to this place in the autumn, when the season changes again.” So
saying, she turned at once and started away, leaving the young man more
astonished than ever. Soon she was lost to view in the darkness.

Thereupon the youth was seized with great fear, and he kept saying to
himself: “Now indeed has been fulfilled the saying of my dear mother; I
am suffering the penalty which she told me would befall for my refusal
to marry some of the marriageable daughters of my people. But with it
all, I think that when I have returned home I shall not relate what has
befallen me on this trip. Moreover, in case some shall say to me, ‘Let
us marry,’ I will consent at once.” Of course he did not fall asleep
during the entire night. Very early in the morning he ate some cold
meat, and then taking up his pack, he started for home. Having arrived
there, he hung his pack on the wall of the lodge. His mother said: “I
am thankful for this.” Noticing a changed expression on his face, she
said to him: “Lo, pray what has befallen you, since you have returned
so soon after your departure?” The son replied: “Something unusual
happened, it would seem. I became homesick; this is the reason that I
returned home at once.”

During the time that the son was away hunting many women visited the
mother, who were continually asking her consent to a marriage with him.
So now the mother said to him: “I will tell you that three maidens paid
me visits, who proposed marriage with you; these maidens you know well,
as they are the three who have been the most insistent on marrying you.
So now it is for you to choose which of these three, or if not one of
these, then whom are you willing to marry? I do not know what may
happen should you again find it impossible to consent to marry one of
these maidens.” At once the son replied: “I will consent to taking one
of these maidens in marriage. I will marry without further ado.” He
then informed his mother which of the maidens he would marry, for he
well knew the names of all those who had come to his mother’s lodge
with their baskets of marriage bread. This answer greatly pleased his
mother, who said to him: “It is indeed the right thing for you to do,
for many women have come here to ask you to marry them. Now I will
bring here the chosen one.” So saying, she went at once to the lodge of
the maiden of his choice.

On entering the lodge of the maiden she greeted her and her mother,
and, after informing them of the purpose of the visit, said to the
former: “I have come after you to bring you to our lodge and fire. My
son has consented to marry you; so you will accompany me home, and you
it will be who will dwell with her spouse’s people.” The maiden,
agreeing to the proposition, said: “So let it be; I am willing to marry
him.” Thereupon the two returned to the lodge of the mother of the
young man, the misogamist. They reached the lodge, and, on entering it,
the mother said to her son: “I have brought with me her who is my
daughter-in-law. Now I will speak a few words: Oh, my child! you must
continue to love her; you must have compassion for her; never vex her
in mind or body; never let it be said that you are one of those who
kill their spouses. Some grasp them by the hair of the head to abuse
them; never do you thus. I am through.” This speech she addressed to
her son.

The maiden remained there one entire year, and she properly fulfilled
the duties of a good wife. A little later she gave birth to a daughter.
The child was very handsome, and she was also very large and healthy
and strong. In all respects she was of the size and hardiness of a
child who was large enough to be borne on the back in a cradle board.

Now the time had arrived in which the men who were capable of doing so
severally went out to their hunting grounds—autumn had come. One day
the young man said: “My dear mother, you will prepare provisions for a
journey, for I am again going out to hunt, and I am thinking of having
my wife accompany me, as the child is sufficiently strong and hardy to
be borne on her mother’s back in a cradle board. I will bear by means
of the forehead strap the provisions that we will take with us.”

Then the mother proceeded to prepare the corn bread in the usual way,
and the parched corn meal sweetened with honey or maple sugar. When the
bread was cooked she removed it from the boiling water and set to work
preparing the pack, in which she placed all the bread, making what was
called a wrapped pack. When she informed her son that she had completed
the task of preparing the food for the journey, he said: “Tomorrow,
very early in the morning, we two will start on our journey.”

Accordingly next morning the husband and wife set out. The wife bore
their child on her back by means of the cradle board and forehead
strap, and the husband carried the wrapped pack, containing boiled corn
bread and parched corn meal mixed with sugar and honey, by means of the
forehead strap. After traveling all day, in the evening they reached a
spot where it was the custom of the husband to camp for the night; this
was a good day’s journey from their lodge. He set to work at once
repairing the temporary shelter and kindling a large fire. Meanwhile
the young wife warmed up some cold meat and the boiled corn bread which
they had brought in the pack. Their evening meal prepared, the two ate
heartily. When they had finished their supper they made ready a rude
couch of bark and boughs on which they lay down for the night. The
wife’s mind was contented.

In the morning the husband rekindled the fire, and the wife warmed up
more of the cold boiled corn bread. When they had eaten their fill the
husband at once repacked their belongings. He also closed the temporary
shelter in order to preserve it for their return. Then he said to his
wife: “Now let us depart. Our journey will require fully the time of
the entire day, and we will arrive at my hunting camp in the evening.”
As predicted, they reached their journey’s end as the sun was sinking
low in the west. Its crimson rays shot upward through the treetops and
along the western sky.

The husband quickly began to make his hunting lodge ready for
occupation and also kindled a large fire. While the wife was warming up
the meats and the corn bread the husband kept on repairing the lodge by
filling up the crevices with moss and replacing such pieces of bark as
had fallen off. He desired to make the lodge warm and comfortable,
especially on account of their baby. When it was too dark to continue
his work the wife called him to their supper. They were happy and
contented. After finishing their meal they prepared their rude bed and
retired for the night. Before falling asleep the husband said to his
wife: “Tomorrow I will go out to hunt again.”

Next morning, as soon as they had finished eating breakfast, the
husband said to his wife: “I am about to start out to hunt now, and you
two will remain alone. Perhaps I may not return until just before
sunset. Of course, should I have very great success, I will return home
at once.” So saying, he left the lodge. Just before sunset he returned,
carrying by means of the forehead strap the entire body of a fine deer.
He set to work at once skinning the carcass. When this task was
completed he quartered the animal and hung up the parts to cure, but
not before he had selected some choice pieces for their supper. These
the young wife quickly prepared, and they ate their evening meal in
peace and quiet. The wife was, of course, very much pleased to have
fresh venison to eat; she was indeed happy. Then they retired for the
night and were soon asleep. In the morning the husband again started
out to hunt, saying to his wife: “You two will remain at home alone,”
assuring her that he would return as soon as he was successful in his
hunting.

Thus many days passed. The hunter was very successful in his hunting,
always bringing home large quantities of venison, bear, moose, and elk
meat and various other kinds of game. He and his wife had a great
quantity of meat hanging around the sides of their lodge to cure, and
also many fine furs and skins.

Toward sunset one day the young wife went out of the lodge to procure
fuel for the fire while the child lay asleep. As she was walking
around, she heard sounds made by some one approaching through the
woods; thereupon she hastily gathered an armful of wood and, quickly
reentering the lodge, took a seat near her sleeping baby. In a short
time, as she looked out through the openings in the forest, she saw
suddenly a very large woman approaching, bearing on her back an
unusually large child. At once she became fearful, exclaiming: “What
shall I do to save us? Perhaps we two shall now die?” So saying, she
quietly awaited the coming of the strange woman. In a few minutes the
latter entered the lodge and, standing in the doorway, said to the
frightened woman: “Do not have any fear of me, for I come with no ill
feeling in my mind toward you and yours; there is no evil in my mind,
so, above all, do not fear me.” With these words, she walked to the
opposite side of the fire and took a seat there. The young wife noticed
that the two children were exactly the same size. Although the stranger
kept comforting her by telling her not to be afraid, that she had not
come to the lodge for any evil purpose, her hostess was so fearful that
she made no replies, but she kept thinking: “It is certainly
unfortunate that my husband does not return at once. I wish he would
come. This is ill-omened.” Meanwhile the strange woman continued to
remain quiet. Looking at her face, one would think that she was human,
although she was so tall and so stout that she appeared uncanny.

Now there came sounds from a distance, as the sun was low in the west,
and the expected husband returned home. He entered his lodge, bearing
by means of the forehead strap the entire carcass of a deer. He cast
the burden down, giving merely a passing glance at the woman seated on
the opposite side of the fire, without saying a word. The young wife
then set to work getting his supper. When she had set the food before
him he said to her: “You would better give some food to the woman
sitting on the opposite side of the fire.” His wife willingly obeyed
this suggestion, carrying to her in a bark bowl a generous supply of
food, and saying: “This is for you to eat.” But the woman (or what
seemed to be one) refused to accept it, answering: “I do not eat that
kind of food.” At this the wife, of course, went back to her side of
the fire. Her husband sat with his back toward the strange woman and
studiously refrained from saying a word, but kept on eating. In a few
minutes the strange woman spoke, saying: “He knows what kind of food I
am accustomed to eat.” At once he rose, and, reaching up, took down a
quarter of venison, which he threw over the fire back of him toward the
strange woman. She caught this as it came to her. The wife was intently
watching what was taking place. The stranger proceeded at once to eat
the raw venison, and in a short time she had devoured the entire
quarter. While eating, the strange woman kept saying: “I am very glad
indeed. My wish has been fulfilled, for I desired to come here on a
visit.” When night had come and they were ready to retire to rest, the
husband prepared his mat at the feet of his wife and child, while the
strange woman and her child lay on the opposite side of the fire, which
was the guest’s side according to custom. The young wife of the hunter,
who was thoroughly frightened, kept thinking: “I just do not know what
may befall us that is untoward.”

In the morning the husband arose, and having rebuilt the fire, his wife
proceeded quite early to prepare breakfast for them. When they two were
about to begin eating the husband again took down a quarter of venison,
which he threw over his shoulder across the fire to the strange woman,
who caught it and began to eat it raw, the blood even dripping from her
mouth, so ravenously did she eat. When they had eaten breakfast the
strange woman said: “Now, my wish has been fulfilled—my wish to visit
this place.” All remained there in the lodge. After a while, however,
the strange woman arose, carrying her child, and, walking over to where
the hunter was seated, said to him: “Lo, take this child, for it is but
your own child. Here it is.” Shrinking away, the husband drew back his
hands, but the woman, preferring that he should have the child, gave it
to him, so he had to accept it. Thereupon, the woman said, “I desired
that he should just look on his child, and it was for this reason that
we two came hither.” So saying, she returned to the opposite side of
the fire, where she again seated herself. The husband sat still,
holding his child, dubious as to its real character. After a while he
arose, and going over to the place where the woman sat, on the opposite
side of the fire, he gave the child back to its mother. Then returning
to his own side of the room, saying, “I am now going out to hunt
again,” he started from the lodge.

In the meantime the two women remained in the lodge with their children
of the same size. The strange woman said to her companion in a
comforting way: “You must not have any fear of me.” When her child fell
asleep she laid it down on her couch and carefully covered it with a
skin robe. Then, turning to her hostess, she said: “I will fetch some
fuel, because it is so difficult and trying for you at all times to
have to bring it.” With these words she left the lodge in quest of
wood. She was absent a long time, when suddenly there came a sound,
dā—h, which drew nearer and nearer, as if one were dragging some great
object along the ground. On looking out to see the cause of the noise,
the hunter’s wife saw the strange woman approaching with a huge tree in
her arms, which she threw down just outside the doorway; it was a whole
dead tree, which was dry and hard. She proceeded at once to break up
the tree, and when she had finished her task there was a great pile of
wood—fuel for the lodge fire. The wife of the hunter was greatly
astonished at the enormous strength of the strange woman, and she again
was filled with great fear. Then the other woman, entering the lodge,
said: “I have now supplied you with a quantity of fuel.” Thereupon, she
seated herself on the opposite side of the fire.

She had just taken her seat, when suddenly she arose, saying: “ʼAʻʹhăʻ!
Now comes my husband trailing me. Have courage now, oh, my friend! and
help me. Hasten! Be quick! Go cut basswood poles, three in number, and
you must sharpen them. You must be quick about it, too, for if he shall
overpower us we two must perish.” The hunter’s wife ran out as swiftly
as possible, and having cut the basswood poles and sharpened them,
returned to the lodge. The other woman then said: “You must harden
[425] their points in the fire by turning them over carefully; let them
be burning. As soon as we meet at the doorway we shall fight, and we
shall fight on the outside of the lodge. And, of course, there can be
no doubt that he will overpower me, for he is very powerful. When he
throws me and falls on the top of me, you must quickly take one of the
burning poles from the fire and thrust it in anum ejus, turning it
around therein vigorously, and then withdraw it. You must quickly do
likewise with the other two burning poles. Thereupon, he will soon
become weak, and then I shall overcome him. Just at present you must
keep still and must watch carefully those poles, for they are our only
hope of success. Now he is coming on the run close at hand. Have
courage and aid me, oh, my friend!”

The stranger had barely uttered these words when she and her husband
met in a death struggle at the doorway of the lodge; they fought
outside so as to have more room in their struggles. In a short time the
man tripped his wife, and they fell to the ground with the man
uppermost. At once the hunter’s wife swiftly ran into the lodge, and
seizing one of the burning poles thrust it in anum ejus, and having
turned it round and round violently a moment withdrew it. Then she did
likewise as quickly as possible with the second and third burning
poles. This terrible treatment had its effect, and in a moment the
strange woman was able to free herself, and struggling from under her
weakened husband she strangled him to death. All this time she kept
saying to her friend, “Have courage, oh, my friend! Stand near by and
wait.” Then returning to the lodge, she said: “Oh, my friend, I am
thankful indeed that you have helped me in my trouble.” Having
recovered her breath, she added: “Now I will cast the body far away
yonder, as far as one can see.” So saying, she dragged away the body of
her husband, disappearing with it in the distance; but it was not very
long before she returned to the lodge, whereupon she said: “I have left
the body far away. Now we two unfortunate ones—myself and my child—will
return to our home, departing from this place. All that I desired was
that she should see her father. I thank you for what you have done for
us. Our kinsfolk dwell far away from here in the forests; thither we
two shall return. Now we depart.”

In a short time the strange woman and her child had disappeared into
the forest. They had been gone a long while when the hunter returned to
the lodge. He had nothing to say to his wife. Thereupon she resolved
not to tell what had taken place while he was away hunting until she
reached home. At first the husband and wife did not converse at all.
But finally the former said: “Tomorrow we will start for home.” So the
next day he made the necessary preparations for their journey, putting
their belongings into two packs. When all was ready for their departure
he placed the smaller pack on his wife’s back by means of the forehead
strap, and the larger on his own back in the same way. Then they left
their hunting camp for home much sooner than they had expected to do.

They kept traveling the entire day, and when the sun was low in the
west they arrived at the place where the hunter was accustomed to camp
when making his hunting trips in past seasons. Here they kindled a
fire, and warming up cold meat and boiled corn bread, they ate their
meal and then retired to rest. Early in the morning, as soon as they
had eaten their meal and repacked their belongings, they continued
their journey, arriving just before sunset in the lodge of the
husband’s mother. She was very thankful for the meat which they had
brought home in their packs.

It was not long after their return before the bride’s mother entered
the lodge. After the usual greetings she said: “Let us two revisit our
own clan.” The bride answered: “So let it be; we may go as you
suggest.” They finally reached the bride’s former home, where her
kinsfolk welcomed her. She then began at once to relate in great detail
all that had befallen her during the time she had been absent on the
hunting trip with her husband. Among other things she told them that
her husband already had a child by some unknown mysterious being, whom
he was accustomed to feed with raw meat; and that, when the strange
woman had come to their hunting lodge, her husband did not share her
couch, but that he lay alone at the feet of his wife and child. The
young wife narrated, too, all that occurred in connection with the
attack on his wife made by the strange woman’s husband at the doorway
of the hunting lodge.

When the bride’s kinsfolk had heard all these things they said: “It
seems certain that he has begotten a child by a woman Genonsgwa
(sometimes erroneously called “Stone Coat”). You should separate from
him lest you become enchanted by some evil power should you return to
him again.” The bride and her child therefore remained with her own
clan and kinsfolk, as they had advised her to do under the
circumstances. This astonishing report soon spread among the tribe. All
soon knew what had occurred on the hunting trip in the forest to the
misogamist hunter and his bride. It produced a great sensation among
the people. So it happened that all the women, as if by mutual consent,
shunned the misogamist hunter, and would have nothing to do with him,
privately or socially. This is what befell the man who was too proud
and selfish to consent to marry any woman of his own people. Now, in so
far as his standing is concerned, he is held as despicable beyond
measure and of no account among men.





116. THE ACTS OF THE SEVENTH SON, DJĔÑGOʹʻSEʻ

In the olden time there stood in a certain land a lodge surrounded by a
dense forest, in which lived a very old man, his seven sons, and a
daughter. The youngest son was very small, and he possessed a cur which
was not larger than a gray squirrel and a very small bow and arrows to
match it; the bow, it is said, was a half span in length.

This small boy and his diminutive dog played together daily, hunting
fleas around the fireplace. The cur would track a flea, and just as the
flea would leap up from its hiding place the small boy would shoot it
with an arrow from his diminutive bow. Thus he amused himself all day
and far into the night.

Now, the old man, the father of this family, forbade his sons from
going to hunt in a certain direction from the lodge. In time, however,
the eldest son, wearying of this seemingly unreasonable restraint,
determined to hunt in the forbidden direction, in order to learn, if
possible, what it was that caused his father to prohibit his brothers
and himself from going into that region. So, following his resolve, he
started for the region, but never returned home. Then the second son
resolved to follow his elder brother, so he also started for the
forbidden land; and he, too, never returned home. Finally, when six of
the brothers had gone away and none had returned, the aged father said
to his youngest son that he himself was going in search of his six lost
sons. After carefully instructing his youngest son what to do for
himself and his only sister in his absence, he started away. He, too,
failed to come back, and the two young persons in the lodge became
anxious about their own fate, as they were then dependent on
themselves.

At last the youngest, the seventh, son informed his sister that she and
he would have to follow the path of their father. The time was winter,
but they started, following the trail in a light snow. As they set out,
the young boy, seizing his diminutive cur, dashed it against the
ground, whereupon it immediately arose in the form of a very large dog.
At this the boy sent the dog away, as it was of no further use to him.
The brother and sister traveled the entire day, and when they were
nearly famished with hunger they came to a lodge just as it was growing
dark. In this lodge they found, to their great delight and comfort,
embers still burning and before the fire, which was nearly out, a large
piece of broiled venison still attached to the sticks and skewers. By
adding fuel to the fire they succeeded in building it up so that it
would last during the night. Having eaten the broiled venison, and
being very tired, they lay down near the fire and were soon fast
asleep.

In the morning they ate the remainder of the venison and at once
resumed their journey. They had no provisions to eat on the way, but
they traveled onward until the darkness made it difficult for them to
proceed farther, when, tired, hungry, and ready to drop from
exhaustion, they reached another lodge. In this they found dying embers
and a substantial piece of broiled venison. As on the previous night,
they rebuilt the fire, and when they had eaten the venison they lay
down to sleep beside the fire.

Next day the remains of the venison furnished their breakfast. Just
before starting the boy found a flint and a stone ax, which he took
with him. Toward nightfall a blinding snowstorm set in, but the little
wanderers kept on their way. When it was quite dark they came to a rude
covert formed by the interlocking of fallen trees, the united limbs of
pine and cedar holding the snow in such wise as to form a very rude
shelter. Under this retreat the two little wanderers found a place full
of dry leaves. Outside of this shelter the snow had fallen to so great
a depth that it overtopped their heads in many places. In this refuge
they decided to remain for the night, although they had nothing to eat
and no hope of getting anything. Nothing daunted by the cheerless
prospect before them, the boy and his sister kindled a fire with dried
twigs and other fuel. As soon as the fire began to radiate its heat a
covey of quail came out from under the branches of the trees forming
the shelter. The boy at once killed several of these, which he dressed
and cooked for himself and his sister. After eating their supper the
boy added to the fire enough fuel to keep it until morning; then they
retired for the night, burrowing among the dry leaves, not far from the
fire, for covering. Next morning the fire was built up again, after
which the boy found and killed more quail for breakfast. After cooking
and eating these, they awaited the abatement of the storm before
starting out on the trail.

During the day an old woman, who lived alone in the vicinity and quite
aloof from her people, left her lodge to look for hickory bark to keep
up her fire in order to prevent the cold from freezing her to death.
Noticing smoke issuing out of a great bank of snow at some distance,
she went to see what kept the fire from going out, and she was
astonished to find the small boy and his sister. Moved with pity, the
little old woman took the children from their uncomfortable place and
brought them to her lodge, where she placed before them what little
food she had. They ate their fill. The children were indeed very glad
to be with a friend. The little old woman told them that she desired to
have them remain with her as her own children.

Next morning the little boy, having spat upon one of his arrows three
times, cast it out of the lodge through the smoke-hole, saying to it:
“Go thou, then, hunt for a deer and kill it for our food.” Obeying him,
the arrow flew out of the smoke-hole and disappeared. After being
absent for only a short time, it returned through the smoke-hole. The
boy seized it, and, finding on it traces of fresh blood, he turned to
the little old woman, saying: “Oh, grandmother! go out and look for the
dead body of a deer; it lies not far from here.” Not far from the lodge
she found, indeed, the body of a deer, which evidently had been
recently killed. Having brought it to the lodge, she dressed it. Then
she cooked some of the venison for herself and her adopted
grandchildren, and while they were eating the little old woman
continually uttered words of thanksgiving to the Master of Life [426]
because she was again able to eat venison.

Every day thereafter, in the same manner, the boy sent out his arrow to
hunt game animals for the food required by him and his little sister
and their adopted grandmother. Sometimes the arrow would kill a bear,
sometimes a deer; it killed game of all kinds, and the small family had
plenty to eat and some to spare, in addition to their constant
feasting. Thus they lived several years, and the boy grew to young
manhood. During this time the youth did not go beyond the immediate
neighborhood of the lodge in which he lived; and he had no friends
except a certain young man, one of the people of the region, who came
to see him frequently and who was his close friend.

At this time the presiding chief of the settlement offered to give his
comely daughter to the best bowman and hunter among the young men of
his people. So he appointed a day when all the young men should go out
to hunt deer and bear to provide a suitable feast for the occasion. Now
the friend of our future hero came to the lodge to tell him of the
occasion, but he did not tell him, however, that the prize for the
winner would be the chief’s daughter; he merely asked the young man to
accompany him as his partner. So they started out together to hunt, but
they did not exert themselves very much in killing game animals. The
young man with the enchanted arrow occasionally sent it out to hunt for
them. When finally they resolved to start for home, the arrow had
killed in all twenty-four deer, so the share of each was twelve; but
five or six deer apiece was the average of those who went out singly to
win the prize for marksmanship. On the return of the hunters to the
village they learned of the great success of the two youths who had
gone as partners, and they could not repress a feeling of envy toward
them. Notwithstanding the result of the hunt the chief said, still
withholding his daughter from the winner: “I will fulfill my promise
after we have made many feasts with all the deer which have been killed
for this occasion.” Our future hero, however, still did not know what
he had justly won as a reward of the efficiency of his enchanted arrow.

During the festivals the envious young men conspired to put this
unsuspecting youth out of the way. In carrying out this resolution they
invited him to accompany them to an island on which they assured him
there was an abundance of game, and that they would return in time for
the festivities on the morrow. So he consented to go with them to this
place, in which they had agreed among themselves to leave him to die of
hunger and exposure. On leaving the village they went to a large lake
containing an island, from which the mainland was not visible in any
direction. After landing on the island the party dispersed, ostensibly
the better to hunt. Having previously agreed on their method of
procedure, the conspirators waited until they saw that the youth had
gotten some distance into the forest. Thereupon they returned at once
to the landing place and stole silently away, leaving their victim to
die from hunger or to be devoured by unknown monsters which, it was
said, infested the island.

Their intended victim kept on hunting, however, and finding only two
partridges, killed them and carried them along with him. When it became
so dark that he could not see, he returned to the landing place to seek
for his supposed friends, only to find that they had gone off, leaving
him to his fate. Seeking the tallest pine tree that he could find, the
young hunter climbed very high, to a point where the limbs were closely
interlocked. Having cut off a number of overhanging branches, he placed
them on the top of those on which he desired to rest, thus forming a
fairly comfortable resting place. Seating himself on this perch of
boughs, he soon began to doze.

Some time during the night he was roused from his slumbers by the
barking of dogs, which were following his trail. These belonged to a
Son of the Winter God, who was hunting for human flesh to eat. Finally
the dogs came up to the tree in which the youth was concealed,
whereupon he threw down to them at once one of the partridges which he
had been fortunate enough to kill. Seizing this, the dogs went off
fighting for it. Shortly they returned to the tree and began to bay at
him. At this he threw to them the other partridge, with the result that
they again went off as before. Seeing the dogs eating what he believed
they had treed, the Son of the Winter God called them off to another
part of the island, and they did not return hither.

In the morning the youth, descending from his lofty perch, went to the
shore of the island at the point where the party had made a landing.
Finding no boat there he struck his breast several smart blows, which
caused his stomach to give up a canoe no larger than a plum pit,
provided with a pair of oars. Several sharp blows on the diminutive
canoe with his enchanted arrows immediately caused it to assume the
proportions of an ordinary canoe. The same treatment made the pair of
oars assume the size of ordinary oars. Placing his canoe in the waters
of the lake and boarding it the young hunter soon rowed his way to the
shore whence he had been kidnaped by the envious young men. On landing
the young man drew the canoe ashore, and then striking it several sharp
blows with his enchanted arrow, it quickly assumed its former
diminutive size, and he in like manner restored the pair of oars to
their former dimensions, after which he swallowed them again. Thereupon
he wended his way at once to his own home with his adopted grandmother.

It was not long before it became village gossip that the young man had
returned home. Then his friends sent for him, asking that he attend the
shooting match and feast of venison given by the chief, whence he had
been kidnaped and taken to the island to die. Notwithstanding this
treatment, the young man consented to go to the chief’s entertainment.

Now, the tutelar deity of the presiding chief was a hen harrier called
ʼnwiʻʹʼnwiʻ in the vernacular. This the chief caused to float in the
air at double the height of the tallest tree, as the mark at which all
must shoot who were invited to the feast.[427] All the young men who
knew the nature of the prize that the chief had offered as the reward
for the best marksmanship kept shooting daily at this bird floating in
the air; but they were all shooting to no purpose, for some of the
arrows would not attain the altitude of the hen harrier, while others
which did so flew wide of the target.

Finally, the chief said to the Master of Ceremonies: “Now, after this,
let each man try only once more and then let those who have failed to
hit the target retire ... from the group of candidates, and place them
in a separate place from those who have not made this last attempt.”
This was ordered, and as quickly as a man took his last shot he was
placed at a distance from those who had not yet made the trial, lest
some mistake be made and someone be unwittingly given two or more
chances. Finally, when all the candidates had shot, it was suddenly
discovered that Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ had failed to take his chance. All had
failed before him to hit the hen-harrier hawk, so his friend urged him
to make the attempt, but he as steadily refused, saying, “I do not want
to kill it.” Notwithstanding his positive refusal, his friend placed
his bow and arrow in his hands, and with Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ resting his hand
upon it, he pulled the arrow to its full length and then let it fly.
The arrow shot upward and transfixed the body of the hen-harrier hawk,
which fell to the ground. Then the chief himself informed Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ
that in winning the contest for marksmanship he had also won his
daughter as the prize of the victor in this contest.

Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ informed the chief that he had not known until then that
there would be a prize for the winner in this contest for marksmanship,
and that as he himself had been adjudged the winner of the contest and
also of the chief’s daughter, he felt constrained to thank him for thus
considering him worthy of these great honors. The chief replied by
bidding him to repair to his lodge to claim his bride. This Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ
did.

When the competitors and suitors saw that Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ had won the prize
for which they had striven for so many days, they were greatly
chagrined, and, moved by jealousy and malice, they went forth and
secured the aid of sorcerers to compass the death of their more
fortunate competitor. The sorcerers were asked to permit Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ to
live with his wife until the dawn of the following day, when a
messenger of death should pierce his heart so that he should die.

With a light heart Djĕñgoʹʻseʻ repaired to the nuptial bed of his newly
won spouse and they two were very happy. But at the dawn of day on the
morrow he expired in his wife’s arms. Stricken with grief, the widowed
bride, divining the cause of her affliction, went out of the lodge to
see how near daybreak it was and lest her lamentations would disturb
the repose of the spirit of her dead husband. She was not afraid ...
for she was alone in the yard adjoining the lodge. Presently she heard
the door, which she had just closed after her, open, and looking back
again she saw her husband come out of the lodge and walk briskly past
her without speaking to her. At once she followed him as rapidly as she
could, but she could not overtake him. She did not become weary in her
pursuit, feeling no fatigue nor hunger. She kept up her pursuit all
that night, all the next day, and all of the following night. Thus, for
three nights and days she kept closely on the trail of her husband. He
had, of course, outwalked her, and so she could not see him on the
trail ahead of her.

At dawn on the fourth day she suddenly came to a narrow passageway
[428] in which stood two men, who accosted her, saying: “What do you
here? What brings you into this place, seeing that you are not dead?
This is not the land of the living.” She quickly answered them: “I am
following the tracks of my husband, which appear to lead through this
passageway; I am seeking him.” As they seemed to be not satisfied with
her reply, she related to them in detail what had happened to her and
her husband. When the men had learned her story they decided at once to
aid her, for no one who had not seen death could pass without their
permission freely given. They informed her that some distance farther
on there was another passageway, guarded by two fierce panthers, which
would rend her in pieces unless she was provided with the usual toll.
So they gave her two roasted pheasants, of enormous size, saying: “When
you reach the next passageway throw one of these to each of the
panthers and you may pass safely through. When you arrive at the third
passageway you will there find a man who will instruct you as to what
you must do further to accomplish your purpose.”

Taking the two pheasants and thanking the two men for their kindness,
the woman again followed the trail of her husband. When she had gone a
long distance she saw the couchant panthers guarding the way of death
and the dead. Following the instructions of the two men, and throwing a
pheasant to each, she quickly passed them. After following the trail a
long time, she finally came to the third passageway. The man who
guarded it said to her: “What do you here? What brings you to this
place, seeing that you are not dead?” She answered him: “I am following
the trail of my husband, which leads through this passageway.” Then she
briefly related to him the events which had caused her to undertake the
journey hither. The warder replied: “I will assist you in recovering
your husband. You must take with you this gourd, which is closed with a
tendon, for in this receptacle you will have to bring back the soul of
your husband, carefully shut up. You must take also this small gourd
bottle, which contains the fat or oil of man; you must take it with you
for you will need it. When you reach a very large strawberry field
stretching on both sides of the path, you must rub some of this oil on
the palms of your hands. In this field you will see an elderly woman
picking berries; she is the hostess of this country, and she will aid
you in all things, telling you just what to do. After anointing your
hands with the oil you must hold them up with the palms turned toward
the berry picker. Now start on your way.”

With a light heart the woman again took up the trail of her husband,
with the firm resolve to follow the instructions of the warder of the
last passageway. Finally she reached the large field of strawberries,
and taking oil out of the small gourd bottle and rubbing it on the
palms of her hands, she held them up toward the elderly woman, whom she
hailed in a loud voice. The woman, who was picking berries, heard her
call and stood attentive until the other woman came up to her,
whereupon she said: “What do you here, seeing that you are not dead?”
Answering the Mother [429] of Ghosts, the woman said. “I come here
seeking my husband, whose trail comes into this place,” and so saying,
she gave the two gourds to the Mother of Ghosts. The latter replied: “I
will put your husband into this empty gourd bottle, so that you may
take him back with you. Come then to the lodge.” The widow followed the
elder woman to her lodge, which stood a short distance from the field
of strawberries. When they reached it the elder woman concealed her
guest under some bark in one corner, at the same time saying: “Now,
keep very quiet, for all the people come here to dance every night, and
they will flee from me should they discover that you are here.” So the
woman lay quiet under the bark cover.

When night came the approaching whoops of the gathering ghosts could be
heard. Finally, one by one they began to enter the lodge of the Mother
of Ghosts. At once the hostess began to sing and to beat on the drum
used in the Great Feather dance. Then the concealed guest heard the
ghosts begin to dance. The ghost of her husband, however, had not yet
entered the lodge. When they had danced through a number of songs there
was a short recess, to give the dancers an opportunity to rest and to
readjust their apparel and ornaments. At last, the hostess asked the
bystanders: “Where is the newcomer?” They answered that he was outside
of the lodge, being still bashful among so many strangers. The hostess
then said: “Bring him into the lodge; let him, too, dance and be
merry.” So they persuaded him to enter the lodge, and when the hostess
again began to sing and beat the drum he joined in the dancing.

After dancing a short time the dancers, sniffing the air, said: “What
now? We smell the odor of a human being!” At once they started to flee
from the room, but the hostess chidingly said: “Oh, pshaw! It is only I
that you smell, for I am now getting very old again.” So they did not
leave the room, but began to dance again. When the ghost of the newly
arrived husband approached quite close to the hostess, she attempted to
grasp him, but he deftly eluded her hand, and the dancers all fled from
the room. But the hostess remonstrated with them, saying: “Oh, pshaw!
It is only I scratching myself. Why do you flee from me?”

The ghosts were finally persuaded to reenter the lodge and resume the
dance. Before long another opportunity presented itself, and the
hostess succeeded in seizing the ghost of the newly arrived husband,
while all the other ghosts escaped from the room. Quickly uncorking the
gourd bottle, the hostess soon compressed the ghost therein, and
securely closing it with its tendon stopper she called the embodied
guest from her place of concealment and hurriedly gave her the gourd
containing the husband’s life, and also the small gourd which contained
the oil of the body of man. Then she said to the now highly excited
woman: “Be you gone now! Be quick, lest they see you; the man at the
first passageway will fully instruct you what to do to have your desire
fulfilled. So go.”

Hurrying from the lodge into the darkness the woman followed the narrow
trail. When she reached the first passageway, its warder said: “When
you arrive at your home stop up with fine clay the nostrils, the ears,
and every other opening or outlet of your husband’s body, and then rub
the oil of man over his body. When you have finished this task,
carefully uncork into his mouth the gourd bottle containing his life,
in such manner that his life can not escape, but will reenter his body
and so reanimate it again.” The embodied woman agreed to follow these
instructions. Then the warder, giving her two roasted pheasants, which
were to serve as sops to the two couchant panthers guarding the middle
passageway, wished her a safe and auspicious journey home, and bade her
start.

The woman thereupon departed from the first passageway, walking as
rapidly as possible. She hastened along until she came to the middle
passageway. There she gave one of the roasted pheasants to each of the
panthers, and, quickly passing through the passageway, continued her
journey. Finally she came to the first passageway, through which she
went, and then, after traveling for three days and nights, she safely
reached home.

Here she quickly prepared the body of her husband as she had been
directed to do, filling every opening and outlet with fine clay mixed
with deer fat to soften it, and then she carefully rubbed it with the
oil of man. As soon as she had completed the preliminary work she
carefully and anxiously uncorked the gourd bottle containing the life
of her husband into the mouth of the body thus prepared. In a few
moments she was elated to see her husband’s body come to life again.

This experience rendered the body of the husband invulnerable to the
spells and incantations of sorcerers and wizards. The faithful wife and
her resurrected husband dwelt together in peace and health and
happiness until, in the fullness of years, they died and went to the
land of the Mother of Ghosts.





117. THE LEGEND OF HODADEÑON AND HIS ELDER SISTER

It is said that once there lived together all alone in a very long
lodge an infant brother and his elder sister. The only remaining fire
burned at the end of the lodge. In this place for some years abode
these two, undisturbed by any unusual event.

One day the brother said to his sister: “Oh, elder sister! what truly
is the reason that we two live here alone in a lodge which is so very
long?” In answer his sister said: “Indeed, we have been quite numerous
in the not distant past; our relations, who have lived and are now
dead, filled this lodge on both sides of the fire pits, to the
doorways. The sorcerers have caused them all to perish; and this
explains why you are called Hodadeñon, for you are the last one not
under enchantment.”

It was evident that the young boy would become powerful in the exercise
of orenda (magic power). It happened one day that he said: “Elder
sister, you must make me a bow and an arrow.” She had great compassion
for him, so she answered: “Let it be so.” Then she made a bow and an
arrow, using on them her best skill. Having completed her task, she
gave them to him. “Thank you, elder sister,” he said; “now I will hunt.
Hereafter you and I will regularly feed on meat. Now I will go to
hunt.” She said: “Let it be so.”

Then the boy went out of the lodge. His voice continued to break forth
as he went murmuring right there round about the lodge. He did not go
far away. In the evening he entered the lodge, saying: “Ho, my elder
sister, I come, having killed nothing. Tomorrow, very early in the
morning, you must arise and prepare food for me. Then I will go to
hunt, for very early in the morning game wanders about in the
clearings.” In the evening they became quiet and slept.

At the dawn of day the boy spoke, saying: “Elder sister! come now,
arise. You must prepare food for me. As soon as I finish eating I will
go to hunt.” Arising, she prepared food, which was soon ready for him.
As soon as he finished eating, he said: “Now, elder sister, I will go
to hunt.” “Let it be so,” she said in reply, thinking that he would not
go far away, as he was still so very small.

He went out of the lodge early in the morning. After a long time his
voice was no longer heard. Thereupon his sister went out, wondering,
“Where has he gone?” She looked around, going from place to place, but
nowhere was he to be found. Then she thought, “He will get lost.” Soon
after she had reentered the lodge, the sun being nearly set, it
happened that all at once a noise again arose, as if something had
struck the door—then suddenly Hodadeñon pushed his body against it and
entered the lodge. He said: “Elder sister, it is a fact that I have
been to hunt for game. I have killed a something, I know not what [it
is]. Blacklegs, perhaps, it is called; banded-tail, perhaps, it is
called, this thing that I have killed. So to the spot you and I must
go, and you must take along the ‘burden cradle,’ for in that will the
body be brought, as it is of great size.” “Let it be so; go on,” she
said. “You would better take the burden cradle,” he said again. “Wah, I
will carry its body easily,” she said. “Wah, you must be very strong,”
he replied. “Go; let it be so,” she admonished him.

Then the two started. Having arrived at the place, he told her: “Right
there I stood, and there it walked. Thus [I did] with my arrow, saying,
‘sî, sî, sî, sî, stop thou, first.’ So it did stand, forsooth. From
here I shot, so that I hit it right in the center [of its body],
whereupon it fell backward, saying, ‘daʻ, daʻ, daʻ, daʻ.’ Toward it I
ran, crying, ‘Do not break my arrow that I prize so highly,’ while it
rolled itself about in the dust.” While they slowly made their way
along Hodadeñon did not cease telling what had happened. At times his
sister would say: “Come, go thou on.” Suddenly he said: “Right there it
lies. Do you think you can indeed carry it back?” “Wah,” she said,
seizing it by the neck and starting homeward, adding: “Come; go thou
on.” “Goh, it is true, thou art strong, elder sister,” he said.

“What thing is it named, the thing that I have killed?” “Djoqgweyani
[430] it is called,” she said. “Djoqgweyani is it named, elder sister?”
he asked. “That is its name,” she replied. “Does it taste good?” he
asked. “It tastes good,” she answered. “Dumplings are what it requires,
for dumplings are what people put with it.” After reaching home she
plucked the game, after which she “set up” the kettle and put in
dumplings [with the meat]. Constantly did Hodadeñon stand around about
the fire saying, “So it will indeed taste good to us?” “Ho, it
certainly does taste good,” she said. When it was done she removed the
kettle [from the fire] and placed the mess on pieces of bark, and the
soup and dumplings in a bark bowl. Then they ate. Hodadeñon kept saying
constantly, “It is so good, is it not, elder sister?” “Oh, yes! it is
good,” she would reply. “Djoqgweyani—is it not true that is the name of
the thing I killed?” he would say. “That is its name,” was her answer.
When they finished eating, he said, “Tomorrow again will I go to hunt.
Then indeed a large game animal will I kill.”

It was a usual thing in the evening that this boy did not go to sleep
at once. Continually in the dark noises were heard here and there;
then, again, under the bed these noises were heard. What he was doing
was not known. So the elder sister said: “My younger brother, what are
you usually doing making noises in the dark, yes, even under the bed,
for long periods; and, too, you go about laughing?” “Well,” said he, “I
will tell you. It is this. I am engaged in hunting fleas. They are very
palatable, tasting good to me. I have now told you. Whenever one
escapes I laugh. So never ask me this again.” He added, “Now again I
will go to hunt.” “Let it be so,” she said in reply.

Thereupon Hodadeñon went out. For a short time his voice was heard
around about outside the lodge; then again nowhere was his voice heard
by his elder sister. On going out of doors and looking around without
finding traces of him, she reentered the lodge. Not very long after,
all at once she heard approaching footsteps; then something struck the
door, which opened, and there stood her younger brother, Hodadeñon. He
said: “My elder sister, get the burden cradle right away; forsooth, I
have killed a large animal, and you are not able to bring it without
the burden cradle. I wonder what the animal is called. Perhaps
Baldheaded is its name; perhaps Snot-nose is its name; perhaps
Tasseled-with-Hemlock-bough [431] is its name.” “Come, go on! let us go
back there,” she replied. “But you will take the burden cradle,” he
added. She answered: “Oh! I am fully prepared to bring it. Go thou on.
Let us then start.”

Thereupon the two started. She followed him a long distance, when at
last he stopped and she did likewise. He said: “Right here I stood when
suddenly yonder there walked a very large animal, and when I said,
‘Tci, tci, tci, tci, tci. Stop thou first.’ Just this way [indicating]
I did with my arrow. I shook my arrow. The animal stopped. Then I said,
‘What, indeed, is thy name? Bald-head, it may be, you are named;
Snot-nose, it may be, you are named.’ Then I shot it there so that the
arrow fixed itself just in the center of the body, making it fall
backward, saying [with its wings] du, du, du, du; it fluttered loudly
its wings as it fell backward. Thereupon then I ran thither, saying as
I went, ‘Do not break my arrow’; which I prize so much. Then I went
near the place where it lay. So right there it lies.”

Hodadeñon then asked: “Gwe. What is its name?” She replied: “O’soont it
is called.” Seizing it by the neck and throwing it on her shoulder she
started homeward bearing the body, and said: “Come, go thou on; let us
go home.” So they started homeward. They had not gone far when he said:
“O’soont, is it not the name of what I have killed?” “That is it,” she
said. Soon afterward he again said: “O’soont, is it not the name of
what I have killed?” “That is it,” she again replied; “go thou onward;
so be it.”

Once more they started forward. It was troublesome to answer him as
they went along, for every little while he would stop again, saying:
“My elder sister, what is the name of what I have killed?” Her answer
was always: “O’soont is its name. Come, do you go on.” She became
thoroughly provoked with him because at short intervals during the day
he kept asking her the same question over and over.

When finally they reached their home, he asked: “Does it taste good?”
She replied: “Hoh, it tastes good. It must be accompanied with
hulled-corn mush.” After plucking the animal and cutting it up, she
boiled it in a kettle over the fire. While it was cooking she
exclaimed: “Hoh, how fat it is,” for the oil came bubbling up in the
kettle. Again Hodadeñon stood around and kept saying: “My elder sister,
does it taste good?” She would reply, “Woh, it does, indeed, taste
good.” Then she hulled corn and made meal, from which she prepared mush
to go with the boiled meat. Having removed the kettle from the fire and
skimmed off the fat, she mixed it with the corn-meal mush. Next pouring
the meat into a bark bowl and the corn-meal mush into another, the
sister said: “Come now, let us two eat together.” While they ate the
boy still kept saying: “Elder sister, I do think that the thing I
killed tastes good. It is called O’soont, and it certainly does taste
good.” They finished their meal, whereupon the boy said: “Tomorrow
again I shall go to hunt. This time perhaps I shall kill something
which will indeed be much larger than what I have killed already.” Soon
it became night, and they lay down to sleep. But as for Hodadeñon he
spent the night going about hunting fleas, laughing when one would
escape him.

When morning dawned the boy said: “Come, my elder sister, arise now.
The game animals habitually go about the open spaces very early in the
morning.” The sister having warmed up things [to eat], they ate their
breakfast. When they were through the boy said: “Now I shall go out to
hunt.” With these words he went out of the lodge. After going around
the lodge murmuring for a long time, all of a sudden his murmurs
ceased. He was now nowhere about the lodge, for he had gone to some
unknown place. It was a long time before the sister heard the footsteps
of a person who was approaching—the sounds, dih, dih, dih, dih. Again
Hodadeñon struck the door, making it fly open, at which the boy leaped
into the lodge, exclaiming: “Elder sister, let us go back right away. I
have killed a very large game animal, but I do not know what animal it
is. It may be that its name is Great Eyes; it may be that its name is
It Has Two Long Ears; it may be that its name is White Tail. Now it is
that you must take the burden cradle; otherwise you can not bear its
body, for it is so great in size.” Answering, she said: “So be it. I
will take the burden frame.”

Then the two started, and having arrived at the place, the boy suddenly
stopped, saying: “Just here is the place where I was when I was
surprised to see this animal running along there. Only my arrow I held
out and said to the animal, ‘Tci, tci, tci, tci. Stop, first,’ and it
stopped. Thereupon I asked it: ‘What is thy name? Perhaps
Thy-Two-Eyes-are-Large is thy name; perhaps Thy-Two-Ears-are-Long is
thy name; perhaps Thy-Tail-is-White is thy name?’ Then I shot, hitting
the animal in the very center of its body. It ran along farther, and I
pursued it. At a long distance from here I suddenly found its body
lying there, with the arrow protruding very little, so deep had it
penetrated into the middle of the creature’s body.” The two went on to
the place where the game animal lay, and on reaching it, the boy said:
“Here it lies.” His sister was surprised to see the body of a deer
lying there, and she exclaimed: “My younger brother, I am thankful that
now you have killed a large game animal. I have been in the habit of
pitying you, hoping that perchance by the risks you have taken you
might grow up to be a good hunter. Now I think you are immune to the
orenda (magic power) of the neogen, for you have killed an animal
bearing this name.” In a short time the boy exclaimed: “Oh, elder
sister! does it taste good?” She answered: “Yes; indeed, it tastes
good, and I shall now skin it.” When she completed this task she
quartered the deer, after having cut off the legs, which she placed
aside in a pile by themselves. Then she proceeded to arrange a package
of the meat on the burden cradle, securely binding it with cords of
bark. Having finished her own load, she next proceeded to make a load
for the boy of the four legs of the deer. Deftly fashioning a pack
strap of bark, she fastened the load on his back, saying: “Come now,
you take the lead.” At this he started ahead, and kept on while she
gathered up her utensils and made ready to follow. Her load being very
heavy, she could hardly manage it. In order to get it on her back she
had to place it first on a log, from which she was able to raise it to
her back. Then, with the sister following the lead of her younger
brother, both went along with their burdens. A long distance was
covered when she saw him sitting on a log with his burden resting on
the log, too. He said: “I am resting because the load is so heavy.
Come, do you also rest yourself here.” So, setting her load also on a
log, she, too, rested. Again the boy asked: “My elder sister, what is
the name of the thing that I killed?” She answered: “Neogen is its
name.” He asked: “Does it taste good?” “Hoh, it tastes good,” she
replied, “if it is cooked in the right way. Come now, let us go on
homeward.” Of course she helped him get his burden on his back. When
she readjusted her own load, she followed her brother. On reaching
home, she found that he forsooth had arrived there too. As she entered
their lodge her forehead strap broke, letting her burden fall, with the
sound, pumh! It was very heavy.

Unwrapping and untying the packages of meat, the sister hung the
various pieces around the interior of the lodge; the meat nearly filled
the small room. Next she stretched the skin. For this purpose she made
a large hooplike frame, telling the boy to watch her carefully while
she did so. Then she attached the skin around the edges to this frame
by means of bark cords. “In this way do people generally do this thing,
which is called ‘stretching the hide,’” said the sister, “and you must
ordinarily do it in the same manner, for I believe that you will live a
very long time.” “So be it,” said the boy, “I will follow your
instructions. Come now, do you prepare the food. I will try it to learn
how good it is.” The sister answered: “So be it. I will make a dish of
meat cut into small pieces boiled down. I will prepare it.” So she set
up the pot [over the fire]; and around the place the boy hung,
continually saying: “Perhaps this will taste exceedingly good to us. It
tastes good indeed, I suppose.” “Oh! it tastes good,” she replied. So
things went on until the food was cooked, when the sister removed the
pot from the fire. Then she put the meat into a bark bowl, and the soup
also. The deer’s liver had become by this time of the consistency of
bread, so the brother and elder sister began to eat. While at their
meal the lad exclaimed three times: “Ho, my elder sister, what I killed
tastes exceedingly good.”

When the two were through eating the boy said: “My elder sister, I
shall now take a rest because I am tired out. Just now we have an
abundance of meat.” Then he rested. Indoors he walked around, and
indoors, too, he seated himself at times, and for a long time he went
about hunting fleas. The sister went to fetch wood for fuel, taking the
burden frame with her, so the boy was left by himself.

Suddenly he was startled by the sound of some one singing in the loft
above: “My younger brother, tobacco. Once more I want to enjoy a smoke,
my younger brother.” Climbing up into the loft, the boy was surprised
to find a male person lying there, having a very large head and an
enormous suit of hair. Hodadeñon said: “Gwe, what ails you?” The man
replied: “My younger brother, I desire to smoke. Yonder lies a pouch
made of skunk skin; in it there is a very small quantity of tobacco and
there is also a pipe.” Having found the pouch as said, Hodadeñon took
out of it a very small piece of tobacco; also a pipe. Next he proceeded
to cut up all the tobacco, and kept saying, “I shall use it all, as it
is my custom to do, for it is abundant seemingly.” Having completed his
preparations, he took from the pouch the fire flint and the punk, and
struck off sparks that set fire to the tobacco. Then, placing the pipe
in the man’s mouth, he said: “Now you shall smoke.” Replying, “I thank
you, my younger brother,” the man drew in the smoke, and smoke settled
all over his head. Thereupon mice in large numbers came out of his hair
because of the tobacco smoke that settled into it. Hodadeñon then ran
away because he was choking with the smoke.

Just then his elder sister returned and said in a loud voice: “What are
you doing? What are you doing?” Hodadeñon replied evasively: “My elder
sister, what is the reason that you have not told me that a man lay in
the loft who is your elder brother? You have constantly said that we
two were alone, and that that was the reason I am called Hodadeñon.”
The elder sister replied: “The reason why I have not told you before is
because you are inattentive.” The younger brother answered: “I cut up
the tobacco because my elder brother kept saying that he desired to
smoke, and I used all of it, for there was only a very small piece
left, and it would seem there is an abundance of tobacco growing. As
soon as I placed the pipe in his mouth he drew in the smoke and blew it
out, whereupon his hair became filled with the smoke and many mice came
forth from it. The room was filled with smoke. I was choking from the
effects of it when I descended from the room. That is what you heard
and led you to say that I was doing mischief.”

The sister retorted: “I do say that you are careless and inattentive.
You used up all the tobacco. At all times it was my habit to scrape
only a very small quantity, which I put into his pipe, and he would
smoke. The times that he smokes are a year apart. But now you have used
all the tobacco. This is the reason that I say you are careless and
inattentive. Moreover, you have killed him, for I think there is no
more left of that on which he must live.” Hodadeñon answered: “How far
away is the place where that thing abounds?” She replied: “It is
distant.” He persisted: “Come, tell me in what direction it grows.” She
answered, “It is of no use for me to tell you. You could never have the
power to accomplish the task of getting some.” “Guʼúʻ!” he exclaimed;
“you seem to have a great contempt for my ability. Come, tell me,
please.” Thus they spent the entire day disputing about the matter. The
sister kept on saying: “It is of no use for me to tell you.”

Finally the lad stopped talking. It was a long time before the elder
sister spoke again, saying: “Now my mind is troubled. I shall now tell
you and make you understand, too. Look at this lodge of ours, which is
a long lodge. It was full of our kin and relations, who are no more.
Your brothers were many. They have all been lost in the region where
the tobacco abounds. That place is full of what are called female
sorceresses. So it is impossible for you to accomplish the task of
getting the tobacco. The lad replied: “So be it. I shall make the
attempt. I shall succeed in this matter, as is known [that I can]. Just
look at what I can do; no matter how dark it may be I can slaughter the
fleas, a task which no one else has been able to do.” The sister
responded: “Do the best you can.” To this the lad said: “Tomorrow you
must prepare provisions for me; I shall start then.” At once she began
preparing food for the journey. The lad added: “You must make me a
pack—one that is called a wrapped bundle.” So she made such a bundle
and placed meat and bread in it. In the morning the two arose,
whereupon the lad said: “I shall start. You and I are now to eat
together for the last time.” When they had finished their meal the
sister exclaimed: “My younger brother, do your best.”

Then he set out on his journey. Around the lodge he walked with his
pack, murmuring as he went from place to place. Thus he spent the day.
In the evening he reentered the lodge, with the words: “Oh, elder
sister! I did not start. Tomorrow, I think, I shall surely start.” So
saying, he laid his pack down. In the morning he said: “My elder
sister, I am about to start. You say that the path leads directly
south?” She replied: “That is what I have said. In certain places there
are yet visible spots where fires have been kindled and where forked
rods or crotched sticks are set in the earth, on which are fixed pieces
of bread which are of many degrees of staleness. You also shall affix
bread there to such rods. Such is the custom.” [432] The lad replied:
“So be it. You shall be suddenly startled; the ashes where you have
kindled a fire shall be scattered because a measure of tobacco will
fall there, causing the ashes to fly up. Then you shall think that I am
still alive. I believe this shall come to pass.”

Taking up his pack, the boy said: “My elder sister, I am starting—you
say that the path leads directly south?” She replied: “That is what I
said.” Thereupon he went out of the lodge. For a long time she heard
his voice around the lodge, as he went about murmuring. After that she
heard it no more. Then she said: “Now, I suppose he has started. Oh! he
is to be pitied, for he will become wretched. It is doubtful whether we
shall ever see each other again.” The lad followed the path, and in the
evening he suddenly came to a spot where it was plain that fires had
been kindled and people had spent the night. The remains were of many
times. Having decided to spend the night there, he kindled a fire, by
means of which he warmed the bread and the meat which he took out of
his pack. When he had finished his meal, he was startled to see near by
forked or crotched rods set in the ground, on some of which were fixed
pieces of bread, and on others pieces of meat. These had been there for
widely varying periods. At this sight he exclaimed: “Oh, how wretched
did they become! Those persons who have left these remains are indeed
all dead, and they were brothers to me. So I, too, shall do the same
thing.” Then he set up in the ground a rod with a crotch, on which he
fastened a piece of bread among the other fragments of all ages—some of
them quite old. Then he lay down and went to sleep, with his body
supported against his pack. In the morning, finding everything as it
should be, the lad said aloud: “I am thankful that I am still alive. My
elder sister said indeed that it was doubtful that she and I would see
each other again, because the path I must follow passes through all
manner of difficulties.”

Having said this, he set out along the path. When he had gone a long
way he was startled to hear at some distance the sound, “doʻʹ, doʻʹ,
doʻʹ, doʻʹ,” which one would suppose was made by a woodpecker loudly
pecking on a great hollow tree. Going to the tree whence the noise
came, he saw fluttering from place to place and pecking holes in the
trunk a cuckoo of enormous size. A sight that caught his eye and
conveyed a more serious warning was the great number of arrows stuck in
the tree near the spot where the cuckoo was fluttering about. He
concluded that these arrows had belonged probably to those who had been
his brothers, and that therefore this bird was possessed of great
orenda (magic power), which it exerted with evil purpose only.
Thereupon the lad exclaimed: “It shall see its doom, for now I will
kill it.” Aiming at the cuckoo, his arrow struck in the very center of
its body, whereupon it began to beat with its wings against the tree to
which it was pinned.

Thus leaving the bird, the boy went on until evening, when he again
came to a spot where there were still traces of the former fireplace.
There he stopped for the night. After taking his pack from the forehead
strap and laying it aside, he kindled a fire, by which he warmed up the
meat and the bread he had brought. When he finished his meal he set up
a forked or pronged rod to which he fastened a small portion of bread.
The spot was literally covered with rods carrying bread of all ages,
which had been set up by persons at widely varying times. Having
completed his offering, the boy retired for the night, resting on his
pack. Soon he began to be troubled with dreams, so that he rolled and
tossed from side to side and could not sleep.

Suddenly he was startled by the barking of a small dog, which had a
very shrill bark, such as he had never before heard. The sound drew
nearer. The night was very dark. Quickly arising and taking with him
all his things he ran to a near-by stream and ran up the trunk of a
tree that slanted far out over the water. In a short time he became
suddenly aware from its barking that the dog was near and that it was
rapidly coming nearer still. When the animal was very close the boy
heard the sound of rattles [of deer knuckles] and a woman’s voice
approaching, too, saying to the dog: “Do your best, my slave. Just
leave me the head of Hodadeñon.” Now he was startled by the barking of
the cur directly under the tree in which he was seated. Carefully
fitting his arrow, he released it, whereupon the arrow flew with the
sound “thum!” and he heard the cry of the cur, “kwĕñʻʹ, kwĕñʻʹ,
kwĕñʻʹ,” so he knew that he had struck it. There the woman turned back,
saying: “Aha! It is true, I think, as all people are saying, that
Hodadeñon is without a peer in sorcery.”

In the morning the lad descended from his perch on the slanting tree
and went to the place where lay the cur, stark dead. The arrow had
struck the body fairly in the middle, where it still remained. He drew
his arrow out of the dog’s body, when he suddenly found that there was
a very small knuckle rattle tied to its neck. Having removed this
rattle bell, he cast the body of the dog, which was indeed very small,
into the water. In doing this he remarked, “Now will begin the period
in which my mind is to be disturbed by serious difficulties, it would
seem. I think those women whose minds are evil do not live far from
here.” So saying, he started on his journey.

The lad had not gone far when all at once he saw a man coming toward
him. As they met, the stranger said: “I am thankful that you are in
health and peace, Hodadeñon.” Hodadeñon answered: “It is true in the
terms of your greeting to me. It is now my turn, too, to greet you. I
am thankful that you are well and in peace.” The man replied: “This is
certainly the truth.” Then the two smiled, and one asked: “Is it not
true that you and I are friends?” Whereupon the other answered: “Indeed
it is the truth we are friends. Whence did you come?” Then the lad
said: “Ho, far from here have I come. Whence did you come to this
place?” The stranger replied: “I, this self of mine, came from far from
here, and I have left no relations, and this is the reason why I am
called Hodadeñon (Sʻhodadeñon [433]). It is known that I myself am the
last one. The lodge whence I came was very long and, it is said, was
full of my relations, now dead, and of my own brothers. They were
destroyed on the way to the place where dwell those women of evil
minds. We are friends, so let us go together. You can aid me, and we
shall be able to rob them of tobacco.” The stranger’s answer was, “Be
it so,” whereupon the two at once started off along the path.

After going a long distance they found the remains of a fire; there
they stopped for the night. As soon as they had warmed up bread and
meat they ate their evening meal. When they had finished eating the
stranger said: “It is a fact that these portions of bread affixed to
the top of the rods are the cause or occasion for which all our kinsmen
died. Moreover, it is for us to make this a feast of Reunion of the
Living, which we must use as the means of thanksgiving and prayer. We
must make an offering of tobacco by casting tobacco on the fire. It is
called the ceremony of making an offering of tobacco. I have tobacco
with which to do this.” Hodadeñon answered: “So be it. How shall we do
it?” The stranger: “All provisions that you have brought with you we
must lay in a circle around the fire, and a portion we must place aside
in the dark (i.e., conceal it).” Saying, “So be it,” Hodadeñon began to
take the things out of his pouch and to lay them in a circle around the
fire. He also hid far away in the dark some meat and bread.

Standing beside the fire and holding the tobacco from the pouch in his
hand, he said: “Come now, listen to me, you, all kinds of animals and
you, too, who have formed and made my life.” With these words he cast
the tobacco into the fire, exclaiming: “Now do you listen; now the
smoke of tobacco arises. Moreover, he and I ask you to give us
assistance, all of you who inhabit the forests and who are immune to
enchantment, and you who have made my life and that of my friend, who,
too, has no relations left, and myself who have no relations left, for
which reason I am called Hodadeñon. We shall fetch all these from the
place where they have perished. These are the things for which I pray.
So thus we here fulfill our obligation by placing this tobacco in this
place, and we have laid away food in the darkness.” Having completed
this invocation, Hodadeñon said to his companion: “Come, now, let us
go.”

At midnight the two started and had gone very far when daylight came.
As they traveled they suddenly heard ahead of them the sounds “duʻʹ,
duʻʹ, duʻʹ, duʻʹ.” Thereupon Hodadeñon said to his friend: “Show your
courage now, my friend. We have arrived, it seems, in the place where
those who have evil minds dwell. Closer let us go.” At last they
reached the place in which the lodge stood, and they halted some
distance from it.

All at once they heard a man singing and beating a drum. As he sang, he
said: “Here I am making tobacco; here I am making tobacco; here I am
making tobacco; he who has tobacco prepares tobacco.” Hodadeñon said to
his companion, “Now is the time,” and his friend replied: “So let it
be.” Then they two entered the lodge, where they came face to face with
an old man, who held a mallet in his hand with which he was pounding
the tobacco all over. He was so old that his eyebrows hung down far
over his eyes. Hodadeñon said to him, “Oh, my uncle!” but he did not
notice him and kept on pounding the tobacco. At this, Hodadeñon,
drawing his war club, struck him a blow on the forehead, causing the
blood to gush forth. After a long while the old man said, “Oh! I am
sweating,” at the same time wiping the blood off his forehead. Next,
upraising his eyebrows and looking at them, he said: “Oh! my two
nephews, you have now arrived. Take courage, my two nephews, because I
myself am a slave working in tobacco.” Hodadeñon answered: “I have come
after tobacco and nothing else, because my elder brother, who is far
from here, desires to smoke.” The old man answered: “He is, I suppose,
my own brother. So be it. Take some back with you.”

So Hodadeñon, taking up a twist of tobacco, threw it, saying: “Go hence
to the opening of the chimney of the lodge where my sister abides and
drop in the ashes [at her feet].” The sister, greatly surprised to see
the ashes of the fire fly up, exclaimed, “I am thankful that my brother
Hodadeñon, it would seem, is still alive,” and she picked up the
tobacco.

Next the young men asked the man with the long eyebrows where stood the
lodge of the very wicked women. He answered the spokesman: “Have
courage. There stands the lodge yonder, on the farther side of the
lake. It is doubtful whether you two can cross the lake. As we know,
the ice on it is very slippery. No matter who it is that goes there, as
soon as he steps upon the ice a man speaks out, saying: ‘Let it rain
bones; let it be nothing but bones.’ And at once he becomes a pile of
bones. Such will happen to you if it be that you two are sorcerers.”
Hodadeñon said in reply: “Come, my friend, let us start.” Then they set
out at once. Arriving at the lake, they found that the ice that covered
it was very smooth and that the lodge stood on the farther shore. There
a number of people were walking about. One would think that they were
expecting something to happen, for they were looking around. Hodadeñon
said to his companion: “Come, let us start.” Unstringing their bows,
they started on their journey over the ice, in the course of which they
used their bows as walking sticks, striking with them upon the ice.
Everything went on all right as they made their way over the frozen
surface. All at once the people on the shore saw them coming, whereupon
they came at once on the ice to meet the bold visitors. At once the
people shouted, “It is raining bones,” and they came on, while the two
kept on their way. At last one of the people of the shore exclaimed:
“Aha! Now I believe it certain that Hodadeñon, the great wizard, has
arrived, and they have indeed crossed the lake.” Then all returned to
their lodge on the shore. Having crossed the lake, the two went at once
to the lodge on the shore. With bravado they entered it, finding all
the occupants at home. One there was who was an old woman.

One of the inmates said to the strangers: “It is a custom with us that
when anyone visits us we amuse ourselves, and generally for this
purpose we bet our heads.” Hodadeñon asked: “How is it customary for
you to do this?” The reply was: “We run a race here on the ice. We
usually make a circuit of the lake and we use the snowshoe.” Hodadeñon
answered: “So be it, then; let us bet then.” He then made very fine
snowshoes, which were very small. When he had completed his task, he
announced: “I am now all ready.” Thereupon all went to the ice, and one
said: “Now we must go around the border of the lake on the ice, and
whoever comes in ahead to this scratch line shall win.” Then the
runners went to the scratch line, where they stood awaiting the order
to go. Hodadeñon said: “I shall run alone on my side.” But the
lake-dwellers pitted four men against him.

The order to go (Oʹnĕⁿʻʹ) was given—at which the contestants started to
run around the lake. When they had run half the way around it Hodadeñon
was in the rear of the others. Removing his snowshoes and setting them
side by side, he got upon them, saying to them: “Take courage, pass
him; yes, pass them, and go directly to the scratch line. The other
runners were suddenly made aware of the fact by the furious sounds they
heard that Hodadeñon was overtaking them very fast. In a short time he
passed them, and, easily keeping ahead of them, he soon arrived at the
place whence they had started. When his opponents arrived at the
scratch line he was standing there awaiting them. Addressing them, he
said: “I have now won from you; I have outrun you. Come on, my friend,
let us behead them now, one and all.” So the two destroyed all the
wicked people.

Next they went aside to a long pile of bones and proceeded to lay them
in order, side by side, working at this task for a long time. When they
had finished, they began to push against a great elm tree, while
Hodadeñon shouted: “The great elm is falling on them who are sleeping
here.” Bravely they arose, all mingled together, men and women, some
with one arm or one leg longer than the other. Then Hodadeñon said:
“Take courage, my friend, it seems you must aid me in restoring the
defective limbs of the people here.” At once he went to work amending
the arms and legs of the people who had received the wrong limbs in
their resurrection. This work having been finished, Hodadeñon said:
“Let everyone go home to the place whence he came,” but all replied:
“We do not know whence we came to this place.” Hodadeñon answered: “So
let it be; then you must accompany us home. We will go back to that
place where my brother and sister abide, because that lodge in which
they dwell is very long, so you can live there. Come, now, let us
start.”

So all departed from that place, with Hodadeñon in the lead. They were
many nights on the way before they reached home; they were many in
number when they reached their destination. Once there, Hodadeñon said:
“Oh! my elder sister, we have now returned home, and you must assign
them places in the lodge, for I do not know all.” Thereupon she told
him to make the assignments himself, so when the large party entered he
walked back and forth in the lodge, dividing it among them. But before
making the assignments he said: “Now, it is not right that one man
should live by himself and one woman by herself; hence it shall be that
a man and a woman shall dwell together, and they shall sleep together,
and they shall whisper together; they shall love each other, and thus
they shall be happy.”

Thus they dwell today according to the labors of Hodadeñon.

This is the length of the legend.





118. THE LEGEND OF GĀDJISʹDODOʻ AND SʻHOGOⁿʻʹGWĀʼS

It is said that in ancient times there lived together in a very long
lodge two male persons. They were related one to the other as uncle
(mother’s brother) and nephew. As such, according to the custom of the
times, they occupied opposite sides of the fire in the long lodge.

For something to eat, as he grew, the nephew, who was a very little
boy, shot birds and other small game.

It came to pass one day that Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs said: “Oh, my nephew! I am
thankful that now you are growing into manhood. It is a long time since
I began to care for you. It will happen that a little later on you will
kill larger animals.”

In time this did happen, for one day he killed a partridge, which he
carried home. On entering the lodge his uncle exclaimed: “Wuʻ, my
nephew! I am very thankful you are returning home, having killed a
large game animal. What is the name of the animal you have killed? What
kind of animal is it? Do you know?” In reply the youth said: “I do not
know.” The old man, going toward his nephew, grasped the partridge so
quickly that he raised the young boy off the ground, saying: “Hand me
at once the body of the thing which you are bringing back killed, for
you, of course, do not know what kind of thing it is.” Then the old
man, going aside and taking a seat, began to pluck and dress the
partridge, saying at the same time: “This thing requires, of course,
nothing but dumplings.” Setting a kettle over the fire, he made
dumplings which he put into the kettle with the partridge. The old man
kept on saying, as he watched the bird cooking: “Perhaps this will
taste exceedingly good to us two.” The grease floated on the top of the
water, for the bird was very fat. Then the old man, removing the kettle
from the fire, set it aside. He put into a bark bowl or dish a share
for his nephew, saying: “Oh, my nephew! this is what you may eat,” but
he held it just over the fire. When the young boy arose to receive his
portion and reached out for the dish, his uncle, grasping his hand
along with the dish, pulled the nephew over the fire, wherein he fell
on his elbows. At once he arose covered with hot coals, and took a seat
aside on his own side of the fire. Dissimulating his evil purpose, the
old man said: “I am in too much of a hurry, for I thought that I held
it aside from the fireplace.” The nephew was greatly astonished at what
his uncle had done to him, for he never had illtreated him before; and
the lad began to weep, saying to himself: “I wonder why he has done
this thing to me.”

The next morning the old man said: “Oh, my nephew! arise. Game animals
usually go about the clear places very early in the morning. So arise
and go out to hunt.”

After arising and making needed preparations, the nephew started out to
hunt in the forest. He kept on thinking: “My uncle has indeed abused me
very much.” As the boy went from place to place he was much surprised
to hear a man at a distance say, Tcĭt! and he directed his steps toward
the spot whence he believed the sound came. Soon he was surprised to
see the skull of an old man protruding out of the ground. As the boy
approached the skull said to him: “Oh, my nephew! you are much to be
pitied now, for affairs have taken a turn which will cause you
misfortune. Exert yourself with all your (magic) power, for he will
indeed outmatch your orenda (magic power) if it so be that you do not
learn to remember the things which you have killed.” Thus spoke the
skull of the old man.

But he continued: “You shall do this in your defense. I will assist
you. I am the brother of your uncle, who has outmatched to the utmost
degree my orenda. I will tell you, moreover, that that lodge, so long,
was at one time full of our relations and kindred, who are now no more.
This is the reason it is so long and empty. Now go yonder, not far from
here, to an old rotten log, lying prone, and in which you will find a
raccoon, as it is called. You must kill it, and you must pass by this
place on your way home and I will give you further instructions.” Going
to the place indicated by the skull of the old man, the boy killed the
raccoon, returning at once to the place where the skull protruded from
the ground. Thereupon the skull said to him: “You must not forget the
name raccoon, for this is the name of this animal which you have
killed. On your way home you must keep on saying, ‘Raccoon, raccoon,
raccoon.’ So return home now. And he will again ask, probably, as is
his custom, ‘What is it that you are bringing home killed?’ So do not
get into the habit of forgetting. Exert yourself as much as possible.”

Thereupon the young boy started for his home in the long lodge, saying
as he trudged along, “Raccoon, raccoon, raccoon.” At first he whispered
it, but when nearing the lodge he uttered it loudly. Just as he pushed
aside the door flap and stepped inside the lodge he stubbed his foot,
and his burden, the raccoon, fell inside and he beside it. At that
moment his uncle, the old man, said: “Oh, my nephew! now you are
bringing back, killed, a large game animal; what is its name and what
kind of animal is it?” Now, after his mishap at the doorway, the boy
had entirely forgotten the name of the animal, so he reluctantly
answered: “I do not know the name of it.” At this his uncle demanded
the game, saying: “Hand the body to me, then, for you do not know what
kind of thing you are bringing home killed.” The nephew did as he was
told, whereupon his uncle, taking a seat aside, began to skin the
animal, at the same time saying: “The name of this animal is raccoon.”
The nephew took a seat on the opposite side of the fire.

Then the old man set a kettle over the fire, with the remark: “The only
way to prepare this game is to cook it with corn-meal mush, which
should be eaten with it. I shall skim off the grease and pour it over
the mush.” The youth did nothing but watch his uncle. When the meal was
cooked the uncle kept saying: “This will indeed taste very good to us
two.” Then he took out a share for his nephew, putting into a bark dish
some of the mush and a portion of the meat. Going to the edge of the
fireplace, he said, “Oh, my nephew! here is a portion for you to eat,”
again holding it over the fire. The youth arose quickly to receive it
and took the bark bowl in his hands. Just as before, the old man
grasped his hands and drew him into the fire, at the same time saying:
“What is the use of my holding it somewhere else when I myself am
hungry.” Of course the youth fell into the fire on his elbows, and on
jumping out he was all covered with hot coals and ashes. Going aside,
he took a seat there. Then Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs began to eat. When he had
finished, he remarked to himself, “I think I will save some of this for
another time”; so he put some of the food in a high place. The youth,
his nephew, began to weep, saying: “Perhaps he will kill me; I think it
possible.”

The next morning the old man again spoke to his nephew, saying: “Oh, my
nephew! do you arise. It is the custom for game animals to be found in
the open places very early in the morning.” Quickly arising from his
bed, the youth at once made the necessary preparations, and after
finishing these, he started out to hunt. Once more he directed his
course toward the place where the skull of his uncle protruded from the
ground. On arriving there, his uncle addressed him: “Well, my nephew,
what came to pass?” The youth answered: “I kept repeating the name
‘raccoon’ as I went along, and when I had reached a point quite near
the lodge I just whispered the name to myself, saying ‘Raccoon,
raccoon, raccoon.’ But at the very doorway I caught my foot in an
obstruction, and the body of the animal fell into the lodge and I with
it. At that moment my uncle asked me, ‘What is the name of the game you
are bringing home killed?’ Of course, I did not remember anything
whatever about the name of the animal, so I answered him, ‘I do not
know.’ To this the old man replied, ‘Quickly hand me the body of the
animal, for you do not know its name; and it is well known that raccoon
is its name.’” Then the man whose skull protruded from the ground said:
“Oh! how unfortunate it was that stumbling against an obstruction and
falling down caused you to forget the name of the animal. Exert
yourself to the utmost. Be brave. Your only safety consists in
remembering the names of the animals that you may kill. You must
remember at all times these names. Now, then, go to that place there in
the distance where turkeys abound. One of them you must kill; and when
you have killed it, you must pass by this place on your way home.” As
directed, the youth went to the place designated by his uncle, and
there he killed a turkey. Then he returned to the spot where his
uncle’s skull protruded from the ground. To encourage him his uncle
said: “Be brave and exert yourself to the utmost. This time you must
remember the name of this game bird. It is called a turkey. As you are
going along homeward, you must keep saying, ‘Turkey, turkey, turkey’;
and as soon as you arrive near the lodge you must set your feet down
carefully as you walk, and must go along whispering the name to
yourself, ‘Turkey, turkey, turkey.’”

So the youth started for home, and as he went along he kept saying,
“Turkey, turkey, turkey.” On arriving near the lodge, he began to
whisper the name, “Turkey, turkey, turkey,” and he set each foot down
carefully and securely. In this way he reentered his home without
mishap. And the old man, his uncle, was surprised and said: “Oh, my
nephew! you are bringing back a large game animal, killed. I am
thankful for it. What is the name of it?” The youth replied: “Oh! the
name of it is turkey—just turkey.” The old man, his uncle, merely
exclaimed, Wuʻʹ, and, going aside, took a seat there. In the meantime
the youth dragged the body of the turkey aside to pluck and dress it.
While engaged at his task he remarked: “The only way to cook this is to
boil it down to a pot roast.” Next he proceeded to pluck and then to
quarter the bird. When he had finished his task, he started the meat to
cooking in a kettle over the fire. As he saw it begin to cook he kept
saying: “It will certainly taste good to uncle and me.” The uncle on
his part said: “I have been thinking generally that he [my nephew]
would become perhaps a fine hunter; for it has been a very difficult
task for me to raise you, and I have worked hard to do it.”

When the turkey was cooked the youth said: “I will not act in the
manner my uncle acts on such occasions.” Thereupon he set aside a
portion of the boiled turkey in a bark bowl, which he offered to his
uncle by holding it directly over the fire, which was burning briskly,
saying: “This is what you will eat.” The uncle, exclaiming, “Oh! I am
thankful for it,” arose to receive it. As he grasped the bark bowl, the
youth, seizing his hands along with the bowl, drew the old man over so
that he fell into the fire. At this the youth said, excusing himself:
“I am so hungry, indeed, that perhaps I was holding the bowl in an
unintended place.” The old man answered, “Now my nephew, you have
abused me. It has been my habit to think that you would not treat me in
this manner, for I have raised you from childhood to youth.” The nephew
was eating, but he answered his uncle: “I just thought that that was
perhaps the custom on such occasions, for you were in the habit of
acting in this manner.” So saying, he kept on eating. Finally he said,
“I believe I will save myself a portion for a later time;” and he laid
aside some of the boiled turkey.

The next morning the old man did not say, as was his custom, to his
nephew: “Come now, arise, my nephew.” On the other hand, the young
nephew said to himself: “So be it. I will now arise, I think. My uncle
is accustomed to say that the game animals go about in the open country
very early in the morning.” So the young man arose then, and proceeded
to make his usual preparations before going out to hunt. After eating
his morning meal he started from the lodge. The uncle spoke not a word.
It would appear, one would think, that he was angry. The youth went
directly to the place where his other uncle’s skull protruded from the
ground.

Having arrived at the spot, the skull addressed him, saying: “Well, my
nephew, what happened?” The youth answered: “I remembered the name all
the way home, and when my uncle asked me, ‘What are you bringing home,
killed?’ I answered him, ‘Only a turkey.’ My uncle replied, merely,
Wuʻʹ. Then I prepared the bird and cooked it. As soon as it was cooked
I kept saying: ‘I shall not act in the manner in which my uncle acts.’
Then I put a portion for him on a bark dish and held the dish directly
over the fire, saying: ‘Oh, my uncle! eat this portion.’ He replied,
‘Hoʹ, I am very thankful,’ and grasped the dish, whereupon, gripping
his hands, I pulled him down into the fire. I may have held it in the
wrong place because I was very hungry, but the real reason I did so was
because I was angry with him on account of the many times he scorched
and burned me. My uncle said: ‘I believe that you have now begun to
abuse me.’ I replied that it seemed to be the custom when one was
giving food to another. He walked to and fro, and one would think that
my uncle was angry.”

The skull of the uncle at once replied: “It was just right for him.
Now, indeed, this is about to come to pass. It is impossible that in
the future he will ask you for the name of the things which you may
bring home killed. Oh, my nephew! It is known that your uncle is making
preparations. He is gathering logs and burning them on the fire, and
when night comes he will have a great fire, as is well known. So, be
brave, careful, and watchful. You must not go to sleep. An evil dream
will cause him to arise suddenly, as is well known. Then you must
quickly take down his war club and strike a blow with it on your
uncle’s head, at the same time saying: ‘What is causing you to see
marvels?’ And if he does not answer at once, ‘It has ceased,’ you must
again strike a blow on his head with the war club. Then it will come to
pass that he will say, as is well known, ‘The thing that the dream
spirit has commanded me is baleful.’ Whereupon you must ask him, ‘What
did the dream spirit command you to do?’ In answer he will tell you
what he has been commanded to require you to do. Then you must return
to this place, as I do not know what he will say.”

Now, the youth returned to the lodge which he called his home. Night
came on them. The fire was a brisk one. It so happened that the old
man, the uncle, said: “The reason I have put these large logs on the
fire is because it seems likely that we two will have a very cold time
tonight.” The two lay down as usual, but the youth kept awake as he had
been warned to do by his uncle’s skull. There was a hole worn through
his skin covering through which he kept a strict watch on his uncle.

About midnight, perhaps, suddenly the old man began to moan and groan,
muttering strange words very loudly, the sounds increasing in
intensity. Interspersed with these mutterings were the sounds ʼĕñʻ,
ʼĕñʻ, ʼĕñʻ. Suddenly arising from his couch, he moved about on his
knees, meanwhile uttering the same sounds and words as the youth had
first heard. Then, with one great cry of ʼĕñʻ! he cast himself on the
fire and pushed with his feet and hands the huge firebrands that had
accumulated over toward the place where lay his nephew. Seeing this,
the nephew, quickly uncovering himself, leaped up just in time, for the
great pieces of burning logs fell blazing where he had just lain.
Running over to the opposite side of the fire, he took down from its
resting place the war club of his uncle. His uncle then being close to
him, groping around on his knees and uttering dark words, the youth
struck him a blow on the head, saying at the same time, “What is
causing you to see marvels?” and again raised the war club to deliver
another blow. But the dream of the old man ceased at that time, and the
uncle took a seat at one side of the fire, and the youth took a seat on
the opposite side. Thereupon the uncle said to his nephew: “Compliance
with what the dream commanded me is of the utmost difficulty.” The
youth answered: “Well, what did the dream command you to do?” The uncle
made reply: “It commanded me, saying, ‘You two shall hazard your
lives’; it said to me that we two must ‘take the roof off the lodge.’”
The youth replied: “So let it come to pass. What it has commanded
amounts to nothing.”

Then the two men returned to bed for the remainder of the night. Very
early the next morning the youth went to the spot where the skull of
his uncle protruded from the ground. When he reached the place, the
uncle addressed him: “Well, what happened during the night?” The young
nephew answered: “Well, he says that he and I shall hazard our lives by
trading objects this very night which is approaching.” To this
statement the uncle replied: “I have been saying all along that he is
determined to outmatch your magic power (orenda), as is well known. It
is his manner of doing things. He will request something which you do
not possess, and if it so be that you can not obtain it at once,
something direful will happen to you—you die, paying the penalty by
your death. Now I know that he will request the entrails of a bear from
you, for the very reason that you have them not. Then you must proceed
in this manner: You must go out and find a wild grapevine. When you
have found it you must unwind the vine and cut off a sufficient
portion. This you must rub between your hands and blow on, and
instantly the vine will become the entrails of a bear. You must say, ‘I
want the fat entrails of a bear.’ Make haste in what you are about to
do, for I know that he has completed all his preparation at the lodge.”
So the youth went forth to hunt for a wild grapevine, and found one
which was wound around a support. Cutting off at once what he required,
he began to straighten out the length. Next he fastened the coils
together by means of bark cords, and by rubbing it with his hands and
blowing on it he soon transformed the vine into the fat entrails of a
bear.

Returning to the lodge, the youth addressed his old uncle thus, “Oh, my
uncle! I return fully prepared,” to which the uncle answered: “So be
it; you just go to the end of the lodge.” The nephew replied: “So be
it.” Thereupon the uncle added: “It is not certain whether I shall go
now or later. But you must be in an expectant mood there.” Then the
youth started, passing along on the inside of the lodge, which was very
long. When he reached the end of the lodge he was surprised to see
there the signs of a fire, one which had burned perhaps a long time in
the past. He took a seat there, for he was ready for the work ahead of
him. It was not very long afterward when at last the old man began to
sing in his own place: “Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering;
yuʹʻhĕñ, thou Gādjisʹdodoʻ, thou who art a nephew, yuʹʻhĕñ.” This he
repeated in a loud voice, and the song was heard by all the wizards and
sorcerers dwelling along the borders of the land, all of whom said one
to another: “Now again his intended victim is his own nephew.”

Making his way up to the place where his nephew was sitting, the old
man said: “Now, I am come to barter.” He carried in his hand a piece of
bark on which lay several pieces of meat. The youth answered: “What
shall I give you?” The old man, in accordance with the custom on such
occasions, replied: “I can not tell what it shall be. Perhaps you have
the flesh of the raccoon?” The youth rejoined: “I will give it to you.”
The uncle answered: “No; not that.” The youth then said: “Turkey meat;
that I will give you.” The uncle replied: “No; not that.” Then the old
man again began singing, “Yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering; yuʹʻhĕñ,
yuʹʻhĕñ, thou Gādjisʹdodoʻ, thou who art a nephew; yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.”
At this moment flames burst out all around the place where Gādjisʹdodoʻ
was sitting. In defense, the youth said: “Djiʹ, djiʹ, djiʹ. Oh, my
uncle! verily, you mean the entrails of a bear, the very fat entrails
of a bear, which I have.” As soon as he had ceased speaking, the flames
went down. Drawing forth the entrails of the bear (which he had
prepared), the youth gave them to his uncle. They exchanged the pieces
of meat for the bear’s entrails. The old man said: “I am thankful for
these.” The youth then thought to himself: “I will go back to my place
as soon as I think he has returned to his own seat on his side of the
fire.” As he started, the old man again began to sing: “Yuʹʻhĕñ,
yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering; thou Gādjisʹdodoʻ, thou who art a
nephew; yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.” Believing that his uncle had resumed his
seat, the nephew returned to his couch, where he found the old man
sitting, smoking. The old man said merely: “We, oh, my nephew! have now
finished this task.”

The next morning the youth again went to the place where the skull of
his other uncle was protruding from the ground. When he arrived there
his uncle asked him what had taken place last night. In answer, the
youth related in great detail just what had come to pass between the
old man and himself. He told him all very carefully. Thereupon this
uncle said: “Now, it is a fact that he is collecting more logs and
putting them on the fire and near it, for he will again make a large
fire this very night. And it is, too, a fact that when he has his dream
tonight, he will say in his own mind that he desires the liver of a
bear. This you do not possess. Be brave and do your very best. This
time you must hunt for fungi that grow on old rotten logs. These you
must procure—two in number—and you must treat them in the same manner
as you did the grapevine, and at once they will become bear’s livers.
So, now, go out hunting for these things.” The youth at once started on
his quest for fungi in the forest. He was not very long in finding the
two that he required for his purpose. At once he rubbed them with his
hands, saying at the same time: “Let these soon become bear’s livers.”
Immediately the transformation took place as he wished.

Then he started for the lodge, where dwelt his uncle. Arriving there,
he said: “Oh, my uncle! I have now returned.” He saw that the fire was
a great one. Night came on at last, and the two lay down to sleep, but
the youth did not fall asleep. It was perhaps midnight when suddenly
the old man began to moan and groan with increasing force and loudness;
all at once he arose and crawled around there on his knees. Finally,
with a loud cry, ‘ĕñʻ, he threw himself on the fire. At once large
pieces of wood, all ablaze, fell in every direction, some in the
direction of the youth’s bed. Quickly arising and crossing over to the
opposite side of the fire, he took down the war club of his uncle, and
seeing the head of the latter close to him, moving from place to place,
he struck it a blow with the club, at the same time saying: “Oh, my
uncle! what is causing you to see marvels?” Then quickly he raised the
club for another blow. Suddenly, however, the dream ceased, and the old
man exclaimed, to avoid another blow of the war club: “It has stopped
now.” Having said this he drew aside and took a seat. The youth did
likewise. Addressing his nephew, the old man said: “Oh, nephew!
Compliance with the command which the dream gave me is very difficult
indeed, yea, dangerous.” The youth asked: “What did it command you?”
The uncle answered: “Why, it commanded me, saying you and he must
barter by exchange, you and your nephew; and it commanded also that
this must take place early in the morning, and that a calamitous thing
would happen to you if it should come to pass that the barter by
exchange failed to take place before midday.” The youth replied: “So be
it; we will attend to this matter in the morning.” Then the two
returned to their respective beds.

Very early the next morning the old man, having arisen, again addressed
the youth: “Now you must go once more to the end of the lodge.” Having
gone there, the nephew kindled a fire. All at once the old man in his
place began to sing again, as before: “Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are
bartering by exchange; thou Gādjisʹdodoʻ, thou who art my nephew,
yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.” As he sang the youth saw that he came toward him.
Having arrived at the end of the lodge occupied by his nephew, the old
man said: “Oh, my nephew! I come to barter by exchange.” The latter at
once replied: “So let it be; what, then, shall I give you?” The uncle’s
answer was: “Oh! you have it certainly. You have what I desire.” At
this, then, the youth began to offer his uncle the things which he
ostensibly guessed the old man desired. When he had consumed sufficient
time to mislead his antagonist, he finally exclaimed: “Oh, my uncle! I
believe that you indeed want the liver of a bear—the fat liver of a
bear.” Quite deceived as to the mental acuteness of his nephew, the
uncle replied: “I am very thankful for this.” Then they two made the
exchange, and the old man returned to his own end of the lodge,
carrying on his back the package of liver. As he went along he sang his
song: “Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering by exchange, yuʹʻhĕñ,
yuʹʻhĕñ; thou Gādjisʹdodoʻ, who art my nephew, yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.” Thus
the uncle returned to his seat. When the youth thought that the old man
had reached his own part of the lodge, he returned to his own bed. When
he had reached it the old man said to him: “Now, what the dream
commanded me has been fulfilled. I am thankful, too.”

Then the youth, having made the necessary preparations, departed, going
to the place where the skull of his other uncle protruded out of the
ground. On his arrival there, the uncle said to him: “Well, what
happened?” The nephew answered him: “Oh! we completed the exchange, and
I passed through the test without mishap.” To this the uncle rejoined:
“Now you must hasten to return to the lodge. It is your turn to have a
dream of that kind. You, too, must kindle the fire by gathering great
logs, so that you may have a great fire. As soon as midnight comes it
is for you to do just as your uncle did, and as soon as he strikes you
a blow with his war club, you must say: ‘It is now ceased. Difficult
and sinister is what the dream commanded me to do.’ Then your uncle
will ask: ‘What did it command you to do?’ In reply you must say that
it commanded you to have your uncle seek for the wish [word] of your
dream; and it said, too, that a direful thing should happen to your
uncle should he have failed to divine your dream’s desire by midday. A
small round squash, which is growing on a vine planted by your uncle
beneath his bed, is what you must desire in your dream. He prizes this
squash very much, believing that his life depends on it. You must say,
‘Yes’ only when he names this squash as the thing desired for you by
your dream. So now quickly return to the lodge and get ahead of him in
making the preparations for kindling a great fire tonight. You must
make the fire, and you must gather large logs to maintain it in full
blaze during the night, for you must have a fine fire.”

So the youth returned to the lodge, and when he arrived indoors he said
to his uncle: “It is now my turn to make a good fire, and I will kindle
it well, because I think we shall have a very cold night.” Then
gathering together many large logs and pieces of wood, he proceeded to
put them on the fire in order to have a fine blaze for the night, as he
had been told to do. Nighttime having come, they lay down to sleep. No
word of conversation passed between them. About midnight the youth
began to moan and to groan, saying, ʼĕñʻ, ʼĕñʻ, ʼĕñʻ. In a short time
he arose from his bed groaning then very loudly, and without further
act, he cast himself on the fire, scattering in all directions with his
feet and hands the blazing firebrands, some of which went in the
direction of the bed of his uncle. The latter, having been awakened by
the groaning, quickly arose to avoid the firebrands. Then saying, “What
has happened to you?” took down his war club, and seeing the head of
his nephew moving about close to him, struck it a blow with the club,
which resounded with a băʼʻ, very loud. Immediately he raised the club
to strike another blow, but at that moment the youth said: “Oh, uncle,
it has now ceased.” After regaining his composure, he continued: “Now,
what the dream commanded me to do is very difficult of fulfillment,
although a severe and cruel penalty is the price of failure to perform
its mandate.” Thereupon the old man asked: “What did it command you to
do?” The nephew replied: “It ordered me to have my uncle seek for the
desire of my dream, to divine its word in other terms; and if my uncle
is not able to divine the word of the dream by midday, something cruel
and sinister will befall his body.” The uncle’s answer was: “So be it.
It has no great significance.” Then the two lay down again to sleep.

Very early in the morning the youth arose and, after making his usual
preparations, said to his uncle: “The time has now come for us to
begin.” The uncle replied: “So be it; I am ready.” While they were
taking their places the old man remarked: “Verily, you must give me a
clue to the ‘word’ of your dream.” But the nephew answered: “That is
not at all the custom in such cases, and it is certain that the reason
it is called ‘the seeking of one’s dream word’ is that no clue shall be
given.” At this reply the old man exclaimed with mock surprise, “Wuʻʹ!
this is indeed an astonishing thing”; but he failed to make his nephew
agree to give him a small clue to the thing he had dreamed.

Thereupon the old man began to ask the questions necessary to ascertain
the dream desire of his nephew. He asked: “It may be that you desire my
pouch?” His nephew answered: “No; that is not what I desire.” The old
man continued: “It may be that you desire, possibly, my raccoon-skin
robe?” The answer came: “No; that is not what I desire.” The next
question was: “It may be that you desire flesh of the bear?” In disgust
the nephew answered: “Wāʻʹ. No, no! I do not want that.” The uncle
ventured: “It may be, it is probable, you desire the flesh of the
raccoon?” The youth answered: “No; that is not what the dream
indicated.” Another question from the uncle: “It may be, perhaps, that
you desire the flesh of the turkey?” His nephew said: “No; that is not
what is required.” Again the uncle asked: “It may be, perhaps, that you
desire the flesh of the deer?” The nephew rejoined: “No; that is not
what the dream indicated.” Meanwhile the uncle and his nephew kept
walking up and down in their respective places. Again the old man
asked: “It may be, perhaps, that you desire my war club?” But his
nephew replied: “No; that is not what I desire.” At last the old man
spoke, saying: “Well, what, indeed, will take place? I moreover have
the thing, but I would like to know what I have asked?” The nephew
answered in disgust: “Wuʻʹ, you know that it is not the custom that
there should be a lot of talk about such things when one is seeking the
‘dream word’ of another.” He did not give any intimation to his uncle
as to what his dream had indicated to him, but he kept looking up at
the sun to see how near midday it was. On resuming the struggle of
questioning and replying, the uncle said: “It may be, perhaps, that you
desire what I prize very highly—my fetish, which is very fine and with
which I hunt,” at the same time showing it to his nephew to cause him
to desire it. But the nephew answered merely: “No; that is not what my
dream indicated to me.” It was then nearly midday. The old man, going
to and fro and stopping now and then to ask the questions, would hang
his head, saying to himself: “I wonder what can be the thing that my
nephew desires.” Addressing the youth, he said: “It may be, perhaps,
that you desire what I have prized highly, too, for a long time,
namely, the otter fur which is white in color?” But the nephew replied:
“No; that is not what I desire as answer to the demand of my dream.”
Again looking up at the sun to see how near midday it was, and finding
that it was very near the time for the contest to close, the old man
said: “It may be, perhaps, that you desire what, too, I have prized and
kept carefully in divers places, namely, my marten fur?” The nephew
impatiently answered: “No; that is not what I desire at all.” At once
he began to sing, for the time was about up. He said as he sang,
“Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering by exchange; yuʹʻhĕñ,
yuʹʻhĕñ, Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs, my uncle, yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.” Now the uncle was
moving around on the opposite side of the fire. Suddenly, after the
singing had commenced flames burst up all around the old man with the
sound dauñʻʹ! At once he protested to his nephew, saying, “Go slow, go
slow, with that, oh, nephew!” As the time had not quite expired, the
nephew permitted the flames to go down again, whereupon the uncle said,
“Oh, my nephew! you have been exceedingly rude with me.” But the nephew
replied: “I can do nothing in this matter, for this has all been
planned for me in advance. So I can do nothing.” As the time (midday)
was soon to expire, the nephew again began to sing the song he sang at
first, “Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering by exchange; yuʹʻhĕñ,
yuʹʻhĕñ, Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs, my uncle, yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.” As before, flames
at once burst all around the uncle as he stood on the opposite side of
the fire. At once he exclaimed, “Oh, my nephew! do not be so hard in
this thing.” But the youth again began singing: “The time is now up.
Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering by exchange; yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ,
Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, my own uncle, yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.”

Thereupon the old man fled to the top of his bed, on which he jumped
around in an effort to avoid the pursuing flames. From that spot he
spoke to his nephew, saying, “Oh my nephew! I have now overtaken your
‘dream word.’ You indeed desire—I have thought so all along—what I have
planted, native squashes called djisgoñtʼăʻ, which has now its fruit.”
At once the youth said, “Kuʻʹ, I am thankful for this fulfillment of
what my dream word required.” Thereupon each resumed his seat in his
wonted place, and the uncle said, “Do you know the history of the
custom of ‘seeking for one’s dream word’?” The youth replied, “Yes, I
know it—one shall give up at once what the dream has indicated when he
shall have divined what it desires.” The old man, in an attempt to
outwit his nephew, said, “It is customary too, I know, for me to make
something identical with what you demand as your dream word.” But the
youth could not be moved, saying, “Now; that is not at all right.” The
old man persisted, however, saying: “It is, nevertheless, customary
that one should make an object resembling the thing desired. So I will
do this, and that, too, I will give to you.” The youth did not agree to
this, but answered, “That is not in the remotest sense what the dream
commanded, that you should give me something artificial.”

With these words the youth again arose and began to sing again,
“Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are bartering by exchange; yuʹʻhĕñ,
yuʹʻhĕñ, Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.” With a loud dauñʹ! the
flames once more burst forth around the old man, and a scene similar to
the former took place. Finally the old man was forced to surrender,
saying, “I shall now give you what your ‘dream word’ desired.”
Thereupon both resumed their seats. The uncle then said to his nephew,
“It is, indeed, a fact that I live by it; so now I shall give it to
you.” With these words he uncovered the plants by raising and removing
his bed. The nephew on his side was watching intently what was going on
in the apartment of his uncle. He was surprised to see planted there
under the bed a patch of squashes, and he saw his uncle gather a
squash. Covering the plant again, he gave the squash to his nephew,
with the remark, “You must carefully preserve this thing.” The youth
answered: “So be it. Now, the matter which was at issue has been
settled.”

After making his usual preparations the nephew went to the place where
his other uncle’s skull protruded out of the ground. When he arrived
there the skull said to him, “Well, what happened?” The nephew
answered, “Everything that you said came to pass just right, and I have
brought here what he gave up to me.” Drawing it forth, he showed it to
his uncle, who said: “That thing, in fact, is what I meant. There is
still another thing. It is a fact that a sister of yours is there too,
inclosed in a bark case which is set up under his bed whereon he is
accustomed to lie down—under your uncle’s bed. That, also, you can
remedy by overcoming him in this matter; so you must set your desire on
this thing. This must be what your ‘dream word’ shall command you to
obtain for your health and welfare. So return home at once and make the
necessary preparations for having another great fire tonight. You must
collect large logs and place them on the fire. Hasten and do not permit
him to be quicker than you are. Be brave. Have no pity on him, for he
will overmatch your orenda (magic power) if you fail to exert it to the
utmost.”

The youth hastened back. Having arrived in the lodge, he said to his
uncle, “Now I think I will again kindle a good fire, because we may be
going to have a very cold night.” So, gathering together a number of
logs and large pieces of dry wood, he placed them in a pile, and with
smaller pieces of wood he kindled a great fire for the night.

Night having come, the two retired to rest, each on his own side of the
fire. About midnight the youth again began to moan and groan loudly,
and the moaning became louder and louder. In a short time he got off
his bed and crawled around on his hands and knees. Next, without
further warning, he threw himself on the fire, scattering the
firebrands over the place where lay his uncle, who at once arose,
saying, “What has happened?” Taking down his war club and seeing the
head of his nephew close to him, he struck it a blow with the club,
which resounded with a very loud băʼʹ! As he raised the club for a
second blow, the youth exclaimed, “Oh, my uncle! it has now ceased,”
whereupon the uncle addressed him, saying, “What is causing you to see
visions?” His nephew replied, “What it commanded me to do is baleful
unto death if not fulfilled.” The uncle asked further, “What did it
command you to do?” The nephew answered: “The thing it commanded is
that you shall again ‘seek to divine the word of my dream’ tomorrow;
and if you shall not have divined the ‘word of my dream’ before the sun
shall have reached the zenith evil shall befall your person.” The old
man mockingly retorted, “Let it be so,” drawing out the expression.
Thereupon they both returned to their beds, on which they again lay
down for the rest of the night.

The next morning the youth arose, and after making his usual morning
preparations, said to his uncle, “The time has now arrived for what I
have been commanded to do; so let us begin.” As before, the uncle
mockingly said, “So let it be,” once more drawing out the expression to
indicate his contempt for his nephew.

After a moment of silence the old man said, “Oh, my nephew! you will
just give a small clue to the ‘word of your dream.’” His nephew
replied, “You know that is not the custom on such occasions, for the
reason that it would be of no use to make ‘seeking the word of a dream’
a test if one should furnish a clue. Come, then, let us begin.” This he
said with some impatience, knowing full well that the uncle was only
seeking to cause him to make some error in the test.

So the old man began by asking, “Perhaps you may mean in your desire,
suggested by the ‘word of the dream,’ the flesh of the moose?” But the
youth replied, “No; that is not what is desired.” The old man asked
again, “Perhaps you mean in your desire, suggested by the ‘word of the
dream,’ the flesh of the bear?” And the youth answered, “No; that is
not what is desired.” The uncle once more asked, “Perhaps you may mean
in your desire, suggested by the ‘word of the dream,’ the flesh of the
raccoon?” But the youth answered, “No; that is not what is desired.”
Then the uncle asked the same question regarding the flesh of the deer,
the turkey, the fat entrails of the bear, the liver of the bear, and
various other substances, receiving from his nephew in each instance a
negative answer. Finally, he asked, in an attempt to throw the youth
off of his guard, “Oh, my nephew! what can you mean? What is it you
desire?” But the youth, alert and crafty, replied, “Pshaw! are you not
seeking to divine the ‘word of my dream,’ and still you want me to give
you a clue to it?” The old man replied, “But I have now named all the
things that I own.” He kept walking up and down in his own part of the
lodge. Again the time was nearly up—it was almost midday. So the old
man said, “Well, so be it; perhaps you may mean in your desire,
suggested by the ‘word of the dream,’ my leggings?” His nephew
answered, “No; that is not what is desired.” Once more the uncle
suggested, “My breechclout?” The nephew answered as before, “No; that
is not what is desired.” Then the old man, seeking to gain time,
remarked, “I am wondering, Oh, my nephew! what it is that you desire?”

Then the nephew, becoming wearied with the dilatory tactics of his
uncle, began to sing, as before, “Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he and I are
bartering by exchange; yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs yuʹʻhĕñ,
yuʹʻhĕñ, he is my uncle, yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.” Again the flames burst up
out of the ground all around the place where the uncle was standing,
with the sound dauñʻʹ. Thereupon the old man exclaimed, “Oh, my nephew!
do not be too hasty with that thing.” As the time had not yet fully
arrived to end this test, the youth willed that the flames subside, and
with the sound dauñʻʹ they quickly subsided.

Then the old man resumed his questions, saying “Perhaps you may mean in
your desire, suggested by the ‘word of the dream,’ my otter-skin robe?”
The nephew replied, “No; that is not what is desired.” Next the old man
named “my bow and arrows, which I so dearly prize?”

The nephew, Gādjisʹdodoʻ, was walking to and fro in his own part of the
lodge, looking every now and then to see whether the sun had reached
the meridian, for he knew well that the time was almost up. Finally, to
test the endurance of the old man, he again began to sing, using the
words of the song for this kind of a ceremony: “Yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, he
and I are bartering by exchange; yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs
yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ, and he is my uncle, yuʹʻhĕñ, yuʹʻhĕñ.”

With a loud dauñʻʹ the flames again burst forth from the ground all
around the old man, who now climbed up the bark wall of the lodge to
escape them, at the same time crying out, “Oh, my nephew! do not be too
hasty with that thing.” Knowing his mastery of the old man, the youth
willed once more that the flames should subside, and they did so.
Whereupon the old man descended from his place of refuge on the bark
wall.

The old man said to his nephew, “At no time must you lay the heavy hand
of punishment on me;” but he would not admit defeat. The youth
answered, “The time is now nearly up, and I can not change in any
manner the command given me by the dream.” With these words he again
began to walk to and fro, singing his wonted song, at which the flames
burst forth once more from the ground all around the place in which the
old man moved, burning his hair and even his eyelashes.

At this moment the old man cried out, “I have now divined the ‘word of
your dream.’ I have thought all along that perhaps what you desired is
the small woman in a bark case standing under the bed whereon I usually
rest. She is, indeed, very small. That is, perhaps, what you desire?”
The youth replied: “I am thankful. Set her in the place where people
usually sit in the lodge.” For answer the old man said: “You would
agree, perhaps, that I make a bark case, a very small one, and also
make a small doll which I should fasten in the bark case. This is just
the way they do when they ‘divine the dream word’ [434] of anyone.”

Combating his uncle’s attempt to have the command of the dream changed
and therefore made entirely void, the nephew said to him, “The dream
did not tell me that the command should be carried out by means of an
artificial thing.” At this he again began to walk to and fro in his own
part of the lodge, singing, as before, the potent song, which caused
the flames again to burst out of the ground and completely cover the
old man, Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs, as he sat on his bed. At once he exclaimed, “I
will now give up what you desire.” The flames went down with a roar.

Still attempting to thwart his nephew by sly cunningness, the old man
said: “It is the custom to make something resembling that which the
‘word of the dream’ commanded to be produced and which customarily is
given to the one who has dreamed; and it is now my purpose to make a
bark case resembling the one which is lying under my bed, and in which
shall be the representation of a woman. I shall make it fine and
beautiful. I will give it to you.” The youth replied: “You know that
now the time is up for you to do your part, and yet you delay, although
you have asked me not to be too heavy handed with you. So at once give
me what is required by the ‘word of the dream.’”

Seeing that it was of no use trying to outwit his nephew, the uncle
went over to his bed and, raising it up on one side, drew from under it
a small bark case, in which was the small woman. She was indeed very
small. As he drew her forth she was winking her eyes, and as she saw
her brother she smiled pleasantly. The old man gave the case to his
nephew without further resistance. Then the youth prepared her to take
her away. It was very cold, being winter, so he wrapped her up in furs
in a close bundle and replaced her in the bark case, which he carried
on his shoulder out of the lodge.

The youth directed his course toward the place where the skull of his
other uncle protruded out of the ground. He arrived there bearing on
his shoulder the case of bark. His mysterious uncle said to him, “Well,
nephew, what has happened since you were here the last time?” The
nephew replied, “Everything you said has come to pass as you desired.”
The uncle answered: “Now it is your other uncle’s turn to kindle the
fire, and he is gathering the necessary fuel for it. This is what your
uncle is now doing. So perhaps you will return there never to come back
here alive. When you reach your lodge he will have completed his
preparations, and the fire too will be a great one. It shall be your
duty to watch him carefully during the night. Just at your back—behind
you—shall stand the case of bark containing your sister. At midnight
your uncle will be suddenly roused again, I know, by an evil dream, and
will again scatter the firebrands in all directions. Some will fall
over your bed, and so you must be up and out of the way. At the first
symptoms of his dream you must leap up and, going over to the opposite
side of the fire, you must take down his war club and strike him a blow
with it; then at once raise it for a second blow. When he shall say,
‘Now it has ceased,’ you must ask, ‘What thing is causing you to see
marvels?’ Then he will answer, ‘The thing that the dream has commanded
me is baleful and difficult of accomplishment.’”

The nephew asked, “Well, what did the dream command you to do?” The
uncle replied, “It said that when daylight came again I must haul you
around in a sledge made of green, fresh-peeled bark, ten times around
this lodge, and that you must be entirely naked. You know that this
lodge is very long. It said also that something evil would befall you,
should you, my nephew, fail to see that this desire is carried out as
the dream has declared it.”

The nephew, Gādjisʹdodoʻ, answered, “Let it be so.” The two thereupon
returned to their respective beds, and there they lay down to rest and
sleep.

Very early the next morning Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs arose, saying to his nephew,
“Oh, my nephew! I am now going to fetch the bark sledge required for
our purpose.” To this the youth Gādjisʹdodoʻ replied, “So be it.” The
old man went out, and it was not long before he reentered the lodge,
saying, “I have now completed my preparations out of doors; now we two
will go out there.” They went forth, and the old man at once began to
wrap the youth in the newly stripped bark which he had prepared for the
purpose and to bind him very closely with bark cords. After coming out
of the lodge the old man had said, “Now undress yourself fully,” and
there in front of the doorway the youth undressed himself. There stood
the bark sledge. On coming out the old man had told him, “You must lie
down upon this thing.” It was winter and very, very cold. The wind was
severe, and the snow was blustering. When the youth lay down on the
bark sledge the old man wrapped him up with the bark sides and tied him
therein securely, saying as he did so, “I am doing this lest you should
fall when I start to run.” Finally he said, “Oh, my nephew! I am now
ready.” The nephew, Gādjisʹdodoʻ, answered, “So be it.”

Next the old man drew a starting line and began drawing the sledge
around the lodge very swiftly. While running, the old man sang: “I am
dragging him in a sledge, I am dragging him in a sledge, I am dragging
him in a sledge. He is Gādjisʹdodoʻ, you who are a nephew. I am
dragging him in a sledge, I am dragging him in a sledge,” etc. Having
gone around the lodge once and having returned to the doorway of the
lodge, Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs said, “Oh, my nephew! are you alive?”
Gādjisʹdodoʻ answered, “I am alive.” At this the old man said, “This is
once around,” and started again drawing the sledge around the lodge,
singing, as before, while he ran.

Having gone around the lodge a second time, the old man said, “Oh, my
nephew! are you alive?” The nephew replied, “Hōʹ, I am alive.” Saying,
“This is the second time,” the uncle again started around the lodge.
The weather was indeed very cold, and no one who was entirely naked
could possibly live in weather so severe (except he be a very great
sorcerer).

Having returned to the doorway of the lodge, the old man again asked,
“Oh, my nephew! are you alive?” and the youth replied as before, “Yes;
I am alive.” Every time the old man started to drag the sledge he began
singing the same song with the same words. Thus they made a circuit of
the lodge nine times, when the youth in his reply to his uncle’s usual
question pretended to be nearly dead, answering in a very feeble voice,
that he was still alive. To this his uncle exultingly rejoined,
“‘ĕñʻʹhĕñ!” meaning by this exclamation, “I thought you would not
last.” So the old man gleefully started dragging the sledge around the
lodge again, and he sang the same song with the same words. When they
had returned to the doorway of the lodge they had completed the tenth
circuit of the lodge, as decreed by the old man’s ‘dream word.’ Again
the old man asked, “Oh, my nephew! are you still alive?” With a strong
voice the nephew answered, “I am alive.” To this the old man rejoined
in surprise, Wuʻʹ! (an exclamation of wonder).

Then the old man proceeded to unfasten the youth from the sledge and
from the bark wrappings with which he had so closely secured him,
ostensibly to keep him from falling off the sledge. As they two
reentered the lodge the old man said, “Oh, my nephew! now that which
was commanded me by the dream has been fulfilled.” The nephew replied,
“So be it,” and taking up the bark case in which was his sister, he
placed it on his back, carrying it by means of the forehead strap. He
then went directly to the place where his uncle’s skull protruded from
the ground. When he arrived there bearing his sister on his back, his
uncle of the skull asked him, “Well, my nephew, how have things gone?”
The nephew replied, “Everything that you advised me to do has been
satisfactorily accomplished.” Thereupon the uncle said to him: “You
must hasten back to the lodge, for it is now your turn to kindle a
great fire. You must say to your uncle, ‘I am gathering wood and fuel
to build a great fire, for I think that tonight we shall have a very
cold night.’ And tonight about midnight you must dream and groan; then,
quickly arising, grope on your hands and knees, and finally cast
yourself on the fire, scattering the firebrands in all directions,
especially toward the bed on which your uncle lies. When he arises and
strikes you a blow on the head with his war club, you must quickly say,
‘It has now ceased,’ for he will raise the club at once to strike a
second blow. He will then ask you, ‘What is it that is causing you to
see marvels?’ You must answer, ‘Compliance with what my dream has
commanded me is most difficult, and the command is accompanied with
evil portent.’ When he asks you, ‘What did it command you to do?’ you
must say, ‘It commanded me to draw you, my uncle, in a bark sledge 10
times around this lodge, and to require you to be naked, entirely so.’
This is what you shall tell him when he asks what you have dreamed.”
The youth replied, “So let it be.” Continuing his advice, the uncle
said: “You must carefully guard the person of your sister. Be brave and
do not waver; do not agree to his proposal that he may not undergo the
test entirely naked, claiming this exemption on account of his great
age. This is what he will say, but do not consent to this proposition.
Now hasten back to the lodge.”

Having returned to the lodge, the youth said to his uncle, “It is my
turn to kindle the fire today, for we shall have a very cold and stormy
night.” The uncle merely said, “I will care for your sister, of course,
for it is very cold.” But the youth replied, “Carrying her along with
me will in no wise interfere with what I am about to do.” So, carrying
his sister on his back by means of the forehead strap, he went forth to
gather wood. He kindled a great fire for the night and did not leave
his sister alone for a single moment.

When night came, they all retired to their beds. The sister of the
youth remained in the bark case, which the youth placed between himself
and the bark wall of the lodge. About midnight he began to groan and
moan and utter incoherent words. Then, having arisen, groped around on
his knees, and finally cast himself into the fire, scattering the
firebrands in all directions, especially over the bed of his uncle.
Thereupon the old man leaped up, and seizing his war club, went across
the lodge and struck the youth a blow on the head, at the same time
asking, “What is it that is causing you to see marvels?” The youth
quickly answered: “It has now ceased. Compliance with what my dream
commanded me is most difficult, and the command is accompanied with an
evil portent.” The uncle at once asked, “What did it command you to
do?” The youth answered, “It commanded me to drag you, my uncle, in a
bark sledge 10 times around this lodge very early tomorrow morning. The
evil portent is that if this be not accomplished before midday some
great calamity shall befall your person.” The uncle merely replied, “So
let it be.” Then they retired to their respective beds.

Very early the next morning the youth, Gādjisʹdodoʻ, arose and said in
a loud voice, “Oh, my uncle! I am now going after the bark sledge.” The
uncle answered, “So be it; it is well.” The youth went out, and soon
returning to the doorway, said, “Oh, my uncle! I am now ready; let us
go out and begin at once.” With these words he laid his bark sledge
down in front of the doorway. When his uncle came out the youth said,
“You must undress yourself.” But the old man said, “Just let me remain
dressed, for I am so very old.” His nephew, Gādjisʹdodoʻ, replied: “I
did not say that. So come, undress yourself.” And he began at once to
undress the old man. When the old man was undressed he lay down on the
bark sledge, and the youth quickly bound him fast to it with bark
cords. The old man kept saying, “You are binding me too closely; you
have made the cords too taut.” But his nephew replied, “Oh! I am a
swift runner, you know, and I fear that you may fall off. Oh! uncle, I
am now ready.”

Then the nephew started dragging the sledge very swiftly around the
lodge, singing as he ran, “I am dragging him on a bark sledge, I am
dragging him on a bark sledge; Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs, who is my uncle, I am
dragging him on a bark sledge; I am dragging him on a bark sledge.” The
uncle kept saying, “Oh, my nephew! the sledge is now going too fast.”
The youth did not slacken his terrific pace, however, and the sledge at
times turned over and over. Meanwhile the old man kept saying, “Oh, my
nephew! do not be so rude in this matter; it is going too fast.” But
the youth only answered, “That is, however, my speed.” When they got
back to the doorway the youth asked, “Oh, my uncle! are you alive?” The
uncle answered, “I am alive.” At this the youth at once started on the
run, singing the same song as that he used on the first trip.

It now came to pass that all the great sorcerers and past masters in
wizard craft who dwelt on the borders of the land of this old man said,
“He has now overmatched his orenda, or magic power,” meaning that the
youth had overcome the orenda of his uncle. Thus spake the great
wizards.

Having returned the ninth time to the doorway, the old man’s nephew
asked again, “Lo, my uncle! are you still alive?” Receiving no reply,
he looked down on the upturned face and saw that his uncle’s eyes were
frozen hard. Thereupon, he exclaimed, “Now, Oh, my uncle! you will
enjoy the bark sledge,” and without any hesitation he started on the
tenth circuit. Exerting all his speed and strength, he sped to the end
of the lodge, the sledge flying high in the air with the great speed,
turning over and over in its course. Turning away from the lodge, the
youth with a mighty effort swung the sledge far off to one side and let
it strike the ground, where he left it. It was so cold that when the
sledge struck the ground there was only a crackling of ice.

Then the youth, Gādjisʹdodoʻ, returned to the lodge in which his sister
was still fastened in her case of bark. When she saw her brother
entering the lodge she smiled, and said, “Oh, my elder brother! I am
thankful that we both are still alive, having gone through what we
have.” The brother, taking up the bark case, placed it on his back,
carrying it with the forehead strap. Then the two went to the place
where their other uncle’s skull protruded from the ground.

Having arrived there, this uncle said, “Well, my nephew, what came to
pass?” Gādjisʹdodoʻ replied: “Verily, I have overcome his orenda—the
evil potency of my old uncle, who is now no more. Let us all go back to
the lodge.” Reaching down, he drew his uncle up and caused him to
stand, and he stroked his body in order to restore his flesh, which had
been withered by the magic power of his evil-minded brother. When he
had accomplished this task, the youth said, “Now let us return to the
lodge.”

Having arrived there, the youth unbound his sister and disengaged her
from the bark case. Then he stroked her body to restore it to its
normal size—to the size of a normal woman. When this task was
accomplished Gādjisʹdodoʻ said: “We now are again united in our full
number. We shall remain here in our lodge in peace and contentment, for
he who was in his time a mighty sorcerer has departed.”

There, in that lodge, they dwell to this day. This is the end of the
legend of Gādjisʹdodoʻ and Sʻhogoⁿʻʹgwāʼs.





119. THE LEGEND OF DEODYATGAOWEN

In the long ago, in the times of the elder people, there lived in the
land toward the place of sunrise a wonderful tribe of human beings, at
a place called Dyohnyowanen (at the Great Lowland).

It so happened that one of the young men dwelling there resolved to
make an expedition into the distant West, into the region through which
lay the path of the sun. The name of this young man was Dehaenhyowens
(He-Who-Cleaves-the-Sky-in-Twain).[435] To promote his design, he
persuaded his friends to prepare a great feast, to which all the people
should be bidden and at which, as was the custom of the country, he
should announce to the public his purpose of making an expedition into
the West to the end of the earth, in order to slaughter unknown men and
to obtain the scalps of the alien peoples whom he might encounter,
since the scalps would serve as tokens of the victors’ prowess and
craft in warfare.

The feast having been prepared, the people were bidden to it. When they
had all gathered together in their ganonses (long lodge of public
assembly), and while they were enjoying the good things provided for
their entertainment the host, Dehaenhyowens, arose to make the speech
in which he announced his purpose with respect to the expedition, at
the same time calling for volunteers from among the young men to
accompany him and share his fortunes. He asked only for young men,
those who had just arrived at manhood (at the age of puberty). Further,
he informed those who might volunteer to accompany him that they would
have to renounce their lives, their kith and kin; that they must agree
on adherence to a unanimity of purpose and to continue their journey
forward no matter what kind of obstacles might present themselves; that
his own brother, Gaenhyakdondye (Along-the-Side-of-the-Sky), had
already volunteered to go with him; and that they two in the capacity
of war chiefs would lead the party should one be formed. Beside the two
brothers 28 others volunteered to share the lot of the two reckless
adventurers. So Dehaenhyowens appointed a time to start and a
rendezvous for the party, earnestly urging all to be prepared to depart
at the appointed time.

When the day arrived, Dehaenhyowens notified by a messenger all the
volunteers, who eagerly presented themselves at the rendezvous. When
they had completed all their preparations, they set out, directing
their course toward the place of the sunset.

As these warriors traveled on they finally came to a place in which
they found the habitations of a people whom they did not know. These
unoffending people they ruthlessly killed and scalped, and after this
bloody exploit they continued their journey toward the West.

Having journeyed a short distance farther, they suddenly came to the
settlement of another people. At the dawn they attacked these people,
slaying all the males who did not escape in the darkness, and, having
scalped the slain, they passed on, still following the course of the
sun.

A day’s journey farther on they came to the dwelling place of a third
people, whom they dealt with as before. Next morning they resumed their
march. They repeated their bloody exploits wherever they found a
village on the line of their march, continuing this slaughter for many
moons.

After pursuing this course for a long time, the packs of scalps which
they carried on their backs became so heavy as to be burdensome. Of
course, a number of the band had been killed by the people whom they
had attacked, so it now happened that those who remained began to
complain of the weight of the scalps. One and all said, “It seems
advisable that we should now leave our packs of scalps here in some out
of the way place for safekeeping.” Finally their chief, Dehaenhyowens,
said: “It is probable also that we may now see what we are seeking—the
scalp of all scalps. This we could use to cover all we have. Moreover,
the kind of thing(s) which we bring with us would not spoil.”

It was about this time that they fell in with a man so tall that
one-half the height of the tallest trees was the measure of his
towering stature. Then it was that Gaenhyakdondye
(Along-the-Edge-of-the-Sky, i.e., the Horizon) said: “Our good fortune
has brought about the accomplishment of the purpose of our expedition
upon which we had agreed—namely, that we should see in our hands a
large quantity of scalps. I think the next thing to be done is to
resolve to kill this man, whom we have met in this place. We shall then
become possessed of the large scalp about which my brother has already
prophesied. So let us attack him at once.” Immediately deploying, they
began to assault him, shooting arrows at him, and struck him with their
war clubs and stone hatchets, but they could make no impression on him
and failed to harm him in the least. At last the strange man said to
them, kindly: “What is it you desire to do? Do you imagine that you can
kill me?” They answered, “That is indeed our purpose, as it has been
our purpose on the journey hither to kill all who fall in our way, no
matter who they may be.” To this frank admission the strange man
replied: “The purpose for which you are banded together is not good.
From this time forward you must utterly renounce it and carefully
refrain from carrying it out. Know that it is quite impossible for you
to kill me. The reason I came to meet you here was to give you this
counsel. I watched you as you made your way to this place, and saw with
grief that you killed many people. I want you to know that the reason I
have come to meet you is that you have now committed wrongs enough on
innocent people; and I want you to know further that if you do not
cease from doing these wrongs you also shall die.” To this the leader
of the band, Dehaenhyowens, answered: “We are very thankful to you for
this good counsel, and we will try to abide by it. We will pass beyond
this point, as we have bound ourselves by a vow to attempt to reach the
place where the sun regularly sinks from view—the spot where the sun
goes to and fro.” Then the stranger said merely, “Do you, then, start
on your journey.” While they listened to him with bowed heads he
vanished, and they did not know nor see whither he went.

When they realized that they were again alone they departed from that
place. After traveling a long time, finally they saw before them a very
large lake, which barred their progress straight ahead. When they saw
that there was apparently no means of crossing the lake, Dehaenhyowens,
the leader of the band, said, “What should we do to pass over this
lake?” Thereupon one of the band, who seldom uttered a word, said: “We
have made an agreement bound with a vow that no matter what the
circumstances or the obstacles might be, we would nevertheless pass
through them as we have done in the past. Now the time has indeed come
for us to fulfill our agreement.” Dehaenhyowens answered, “It is indeed
even as you have stated it. Come, then, it is thou who must take the
lead.”

Then the man addressed started ahead, going out alone on the surface of
the lake. Thither did he go unflinchingly. Thereupon in turn each of
the others started in his wake, and crossed the lake safely.

When they reached dry land on the farther shore, they stood still,
looking around and examining the new country. They were surprised to
see that the visible sky rose and fell at regular intervals.[436] As
they conjectured, it rose to the height of the tallest pine tree known
to them, and they saw, too, that the place from which it rebounded was
so smooth that it glistened. While they watched the rising and falling
of the sky they saw a large number of pigeons, which flew out from the
other side of the sky, and after flying around returned whence they had
come.

Then Dehaenhyowens, the leader of the band, said: “What manner of thing
shall we now do? To be sure, here seems to be indeed the end of the
earth. It is evident, of course, that there is another country beyond
this sky barrier which is thus continually rising and falling.” Again
that member of the band who was never in the habit of speaking much
said, “You are of course well aware of the nature of the agreement by
which we bound ourselves together before we started away from home;
moreover, you know that those of us who are still alive number only
five. The opportunity now presents itself for us to do that on which we
all agreed; its fulfilment is now demanded of us; it is for us to act
in accordance with our agreement.”

Thereupon the leader of the band, Dehaenhyowens, said, “Come, then; let
us now lay aside our burden of scalps in this place for safekeeping
until our return.” So each of the band carefully concealed his pack of
scalps in such manner that he would be able to find it should he ever
have the opportunity of passing that spot again. When they had
concealed the scalps Dehaenhyowens, addressing himself to him who had
last spoken, said, “Now, it is thou who must take the lead in passing
this obstacle in our path, for our path leads directly into that
farther country. We must pass so quickly under the sky as it rises that
we shall not be caught by it when it falls back again.”

So the man who had been designated to take the lead, having reassured
himself, selected a favorable starting point for his dash under the
sky. Carefully timing the rising and the falling of the sky, he finally
dashed forward as swiftly as possible. His friends watched him run
onward until he had disappeared from view on the farther side of the
barrier. As the sky kept on rising and falling a second man, making
like dispositions, dashed forward, clearing the barrier as the first
had done, and disappearing from view on the other side. The third and
the fourth man had like success in clearing this obstacle. The sky,
however, did not cease from rising and falling back on its resting
place.

It was then the turn of the fifth and last man to make the perilous
attempt. His four companions anxiously watched him making his
dispositions to clear the danger which they had safely passed. They did
not see him start, but as the sky arose they saw him still far from the
passage, and just as he entered it the sky fell back crushing him to
death. He had miscalculated the distance he had to run to reach the
passageway, and thus his career ended.

Then the leader of the band, Dehaenhyowens, said: “Let us be thankful
that we have been fortunate enough to go through this danger, which has
taken one of our number. We now number only four, and we are without
arms or other means of defense. We know not whether we shall require
them or not. Now, I believe that we must depart hence and go forward.
It is very evident that we have arrived in a land quite different from
the one known to us. The light of this world is unequaled in its
brightness; the daylight of the land whence we started is like the
light of a starlight night compared with it. Now, let us depart hence.
We will go, seeking to find human beings, if there be such, who may
have a settlement here.”

Without further parleying they started forward. As they traveled along
they saw that the trees of all kinds were very large and tall, and that
they were in full bloom; these trees were of surpassing beauty. The
travelers were greatly surprised to learn that the flowers supplied the
light of that world, and they also observed that all the beasts and
animals and birds possessed exceptionally fine bodies and presence.
They remarked, too, that they had seen nothing during their journey
thither so wonderful and strange. They saw with astonishment also the
exuberance of the growing grasses and plants, among which they beheld
in rich profusion the fruited stalks of the strawberry plants, which
were as tall as the grasses. During their entire journey thither never
had they found such large, luscious berries.

Having gone some distance into the new country they were surprised to
see in the distance a great multitude of human beings, who were
assembled on the heath, which was the playground of that people; they
appeared to the travelers to be occupied with games of amusement.
Dehaenhyowens, the leader of the band, said, “What is to be done now,
my friends, seeing that we have arrived at the dwelling place of
strange human beings, and that we have nothing with which to defend
ourselves should they attempt to do us harm?” Thereupon, Gaenhyakdondye
said: “We have indeed made an agreement, as you know, that we should
forsake our kindred and our lives in order to accomplish the purpose of
this expedition. You know that each of us volunteered by ‘notching the
rod’ to carry out that agreement. If we are to die here, we can do
nothing to avoid such an end; we must not break our resolution and
compact to follow the path of the sun to the last. The only thing that
is certain in the case of our death is that our careers would end
here.” His brother, Dehaenhyowens, replied, “The matter stands even as
you have stated it; so then let us go forward to meet this people.” At
this they started toward the place where they saw a great multitude
assembled. In a very short time the anxious travelers came to a
standstill not far from the others. Looking around, they saw that the
inhabitants of the settlement were in readiness to witness a game of
lacrosse, and that the players were even then standing in their
accustomed places.

In a short time the game commenced, and the vast multitude drew near as
interested spectators. As soon as it was fairly under way there arose a
great tumult; there was shouting and loud cries of excitement and
approbation caused by the varying fortunes of favorite players. The
great multitude rejoiced, and the new arrivals were greatly delighted
with what they saw.

At this time one of the players exhibited great rudeness in his manner
of playing, striking right and left with his netted club without regard
to other players who might be injured by his recklessness. Thereupon a
person from the crowd, going up to him, said: “Do thou cease acting so
rudely; thy manner is too violent, because one who is rejoicing does
not act thus. So do not act thus again.” Then the players at once
resumed the game, playing as they never had played before. In a short
time, however, the player who had been cautioned to be more mild in his
methods of play exhibited again his violence toward his playmates. At
once the man who had before reprimanded him went up to him again and
said, “Assuredly, I forbade thee acting again so rudely as thou hast
done, yet thou hast disobeyed my request. Now thou shalt rest for a
time. Thou art too unkind and headstrong.” Thereupon, seizing the ball
player by the nape of the neck and by the legs and lifting him up
bodily, he bore him away. Not far distant stood a very large tree.
Thither the man carried the ball player, and having arrived near the
tree, he cast the youth against its trunk. Headforemost his body
penetrated the trunk, part of his head coming out on the opposite side,
while his feet still protruded on the nearer side. Then the man quietly
returned to the ball ground, and play was resumed. The game was
continued until one of the sides had scored the number of points
requisite to win, and then the players again mingled with the crowd.
Then the man who had imprisoned the rude player in the tree released
the prisoner, with an admonition to be more mild in his methods in the
future. On his return to the multitude the man told them that it was
time for them to return to their several homes, and they dispersed.

It was then that this man, who seemed to be one of the chief men of the
settlement, came to the place where stood the traveling company of
Dehaenhyowens. As soon as he joined them he asked familiarly, “So you
have arrived, have you?” Replying to this question, Dehaenhyowens said,
“We have now arrived.” The man answered, “Assuredly, the reason that
you have arrived safe in this land is that one of your number began at
the very time of your departure from home to think, repeatedly
soliloquizing, ‘Oh, Thou Master of Life, Thou shouldst have pity on us,
so that we may pass through all the dangers which beset the
accomplishment of the purpose of our solemn agreement. But, if it so be
that we shall die on this earth, grant that we may also arrive in that
other land that is extant, where Thou thyself abidest, Thou Master of
Life.’ Every day, every night also, such was his mind. It was that
which was able to bring your bodies into this land—this elder country.
Moreover, you have fully accomplished that which I promised you when I
met you on your way hither. So now, let me ask you, who among you is
willing that I should restore his life; that is, refit his being?”

Then one of the four travelers answered, “I am one that is willing; you
shall begin on me.” Then the man of the settlement, going to a tree
which stood not far distant and seizing it, bent it down to the earth;
he then stripped the bark in one entire piece from the trunk. Placing
this piece of bark on the ground, he said to the volunteer, “Now, do
thou come hither to me.” Thereupon the man who had consented to have
his body and being refitted went forward to him. Then the host placed
the man on the outspread piece of bark, while the latter’s three
companions intently watched him in what he was doing to their
companion; and they saw him begin his work. Having taken apart the
fleshly body of their companion, and unjointed all his skeleton, he
laid each several piece aside. And then he took each of the pieces,
each one of the joints of the bones, and wiped it very carefully. He
soon completed his task, washing all.

He then began to join together all the bones and all the portions of
flesh in their proper relations. As soon as he had completed his task
he said to his guests: “Now I have refinished this work. What is solely
of the other world has been removed, for what is of the earth earthy is
out of place here. Now, my friend, arise again.” Then the man whose
body and being had been remodeled arose, and he stood erect and cast
his eyes around him. His host said to him, “Like unto what is your life
as you now feel it? Do you feel different from what you were before I
remodeled your body and being?” To this the renewed man replied: “The
conditions of my life are such that I feel immeasurably better, and
happier than I did before.” His host said to him, “If this be, indeed,
true, make the attempt to overtake and seize that deer standing yonder
in the distance. When the remodeled man started toward it the deer at
once fled in terror. The man ran swiftly in pursuit, and the deer had
not gone very far before he overtook and seized it. On bringing it back
to the place where his host stood, the latter said to him, “Now,
assuredly, your life has become a new thing—you have acquired the life
of this country.”

The remaining three of Dehaenhyowens’ party, seeing how desirable was
the change brought about in the body and life of the other by having
him remodeled, said, “We, too, wish to have the same changes made in us
as were brought about in the body and life of our companion. So we ask
that the same be done for us, too.”

Then the host of the band of Dehaenhyowens proceeded to renew and
remodel the bodies and the lives of the three who had last requested
him to do so. When he had completed this task he said to them as their
friend, “Now, I have recast all your lives; I have finished everything
that concerns and fits them for this country. We will now start to go
to the lodge, where you shall remain while you are in this country as
your home.”

So the band of Dehaenhyowens and their host started. They walked
leisurely along, noting the many strange things which attracted their
attention on every side. They had not gone far before they reached a
very large lodge, into which their host led the party; here they saw a
very old woman who presided over the lodge. On entering, the host of
Dehaenhyowens and his friends said to the old woman: “I have brought
here those persons who, I said, would take up their abode here when
they arrived in this country. They shall remain here under your care
and keeping.” The aged woman, the mistress of the lodge, replied: “It
shall be even as you have said. These, my grandchildren, shall be one
with me here in this lodge.” Then, the man who had brought the visitors
there said: “Now I will go away. Make yourselves at home.” And he left
the lodge at once to attend to his own affairs.

The mistress of the lodge said to her guests, to make them feel more at
home: “I am not quite alone, you see, in caring for the lodge, which is
very large. The male persons who dwell here are absent hunting; they
will soon return for the night. I will now prepare something for you to
eat.” Thereupon she set before them what was ready cooked in the lodge.

When they first entered the lodge the band of Dehaenhyowens noticed
that the old woman was busily engaged in making a mantle for herself;
at intervals she held the work up at arm’s length to note the effect of
her labor. The visitors discovered also that human hair was the
material out of which the old woman was making her mantle. They saw,
too, that their aged hostess possessed a very small cur, which lay near
by on her couch. They were astonished to see that, when the old woman
left her work for a few moments, the cur quickly arose and, going over
to the place where the old woman had left her hair work, began to
unravel hurriedly but steadily all the work that the old woman had done
on her mantle. When the dog had nearly unraveled all the work the old
woman returned to continue her task.

While the visitors were eating what the old woman had set before them
the male members of her household returned, each bearing a bundle. On
entering the lodge they said to the old woman: “We have returned. We
were fortunate throughout the entire expedition in killing much game.”
The mistress of the lodge said in reply: “Verily, be it known that a
short time ago Teharonhiawagon brought to this lodge the human beings
(oñgwe), who, he said, were coming to this country, and who, he said,
would abide in this lodge when they should arrive. They have arrived,
and these men here are they. Talk with them and become acquainted with
them.” Thereupon the men who had just returned to their lodge drew near
the visitors and conversed with them, saying: “We are, indeed, thankful
that you have arrived here safe. It is now a long time that we have
kept watching you on your way hither. Moreover, be it known, now that
we have seen one another, we are greatly rejoiced.” Then they mutually
stroked one another’s bodies, as was customary on such occasions, and
greatly rejoiced to become acquainted.

Then the old woman began to prepare food for the returned hunters; and
when it was cooked the old woman called the men, saying, “Now, of
course, you will eat the food which I have prepared for you”; and the
men began to take their nourishment. Their manner of doing this seemed
most peculiar to the band of Dehaenhyowens; hence they intently watched
the hunters, who did not eat the food set before them. Instead, they
merely absorbed the exhalations of the food, it being the odor or
effluvium of the food that satisfied their hunger. When they had
finished their meal the old woman said to them, “It is now time,
perhaps, that you should go out to hunt game which our human guests can
eat, for you know that they do not eat the same kind of things that you
do.”

Accordingly, the hunters started out of the lodge to seek game for
their guests. As soon as the men were gone the old woman took from the
headrest of her couch a single grain of corn and a single squash seed.
Going to the end of the fireplace, there she prepared in the ashes two
small hills or beds, in one of which she placed the grain of corn and
in the other the squash seed, and carefully covered them with rich
soil. In a very short space of time the visitors were greatly surprised
to see that the seeds had sprouted and shot out of the ground small
plantlets, which were growing rapidly. Not very long after this they
saw the cornstalk put forth an ear of corn and the squash vine a
squash. In the short space of a few hours these plants had supplied the
old woman with ears of corn and squashes. These she prepared to cook.

By this time the men who were out hunting returned to the lodge,
bringing with them the carcass of a fine deer which they had killed.
This they speedily set to work to skin and quarter. As soon as they had
finished this task, the old woman set the venison, corn, and squashes
over the fire to cook in kettles on stone supports and hastened the
cooking by putting hot stones into them. When these things were cooked
she placed them in fine bowls of bark, which she set before the
visitors, bidding them to eat heartily. So Dehaenhyowens and his
friends ate their fill.

It now came to pass that the aged woman said, “It is time, you will
agree, I think, for you to go again to hunt.” This she said to the male
members of her family. Then the visitors saw something very strange.
They saw the old woman take from under her couch a large quantity of
corn husks and carry them to what appeared to be an added lodge or
separate room and there push aside the door flap. In that room the
visitors saw what seemed to them a lake, round in form. The old woman
made a circuit of the lake, heaping the corn husks around its edges.
When this task was finished she set the corn husks on fire and they
quickly burst into flames, and these flames consumed all the water of
the lake. Next she said to her men folks, “Now, I have again completed
the preparations. Do you start now. You must be careful. In the course
of your excursion you must not injure any person.” These words she
addressed to the men of her lodge, and they departed on their usual
trip through the land.

It came to pass that the band of Dehaenhyowens remained in the lodge of
the old woman during the entire time they were in that country.

Furthermore, it happened that when they took a stroll in the country
while the men of the lodge were absent they came on a spring of water
which formed a large pool. One of the party, using his bow as a rod,
thrust it into the pool to see whether he could find any living thing
in it; but he saw nothing to attract his attention. When they returned
to the lodge they again stood their bows in the usual place, in a
corner of the room. When the men of the lodge had returned home from
their excursion into the country one of them said, “There is something
in this lodge that has the smell of game (i.e., something to be
killed),” and he at once began looking around from place to place. Then
the others after sniffing the air exclaimed, “It is true; there is
something in here that smells like a game animal.” At this one went to
the place where the bows belonging to the band of Dehaenhyowens were
standing and, taking one of the bows in his hand, said, “It is, indeed,
this bow that has the scent.” Turning to Dehaenhyowens, he said: “To
what place have you been? What is the place like where you touched
something with this bow?” Answering, Dehaenhyowens said, “Yonder, not
far away, you know, there is a cliff, and on the farther side of it
there is a spring of water, forming a deep pool.”

Thereupon the men of the lodge exclaimed, “Let us all go to that place
right away,” and all started out of the lodge and ran swiftly to the
spring. When they arrived there Dehaenhyowens said to his companions,
“There, in this spring and pool, I thrust my bow to rouse whatever
might dwell therein.” One of the men of the country answered: “It is
certain that some mysterious creature abides herein. We shall see what
it is. Do you, our friends, stand yonder, a little aloof, and then you
shall see the thing done, when we shall kill it.”

Heeding this admonition, the band of Dehaenhyowens drew back a short
distance and watched the men of the country make their dispositions for
the attack. They did not wait long to see a wonderful phenomenon, for
the men of the country at once began their task. One touched with a rod
the bottom of the pool whence flowed the spring of water. Thereupon
began to be heard loud sounds, even such as are heard when the voicings
of thunder fill the air with a deafening din. Such was the tumult and
confusion at this time that the now thoroughly frightened human beings
fled from the spot to seek safety. There were also flashes of lightning
followed by loud crashes and deep rumblings of the thunder. This uproar
continued for some time, when suddenly it ceased and one of the hosts
of Dehaenhyowens said, calling his guests back: “Oh, come back! We have
now killed this creature.”

Thereupon, when they had again assembled, they departed, going back to
their lodge. When they reached it they said to the old woman: “We have
now killed that uncanny creature, that Otkon. Indeed, we do not know in
what possible way it happened that this creature took up its abode so
very near this lodge. We had never before noticed it. It may have been
there a long time, since it had grown so large. We have barely escaped,
perhaps, some great misfortune.” The old woman replied gratefully,
“What a very remarkable affair it is, in which our visitors have been
of assistance to us.” In a moment she asked: “What is the Otkon?[437]
What is the form and kind of thing you have so fortunately killed?” The
men answered: “It is the Great Blue Lizard which we have destroyed.” So
they rested for the night.

The next morning the old woman said to the men of her lodge: “For
myself, I am thinking that it is just the time of the year when you
should again make mellow and moist all the things that grow on the
earth. What do you say?” One of the men replied, “It would seem well,
perhaps, that you should ask him who is the principal one to be
consulted in regard to our duties in this matter. It is possible that
he may say: ‘It is now the proper time of the year in which you should
again make mellow and moist all the things that severally grow on the
earth.’” So saying, he ceased talking with her.

Arising from her seat and pushing aside gently the door flap at the
entrance to the adjoining room, the aged woman made the inquiry just
noted. The person addressed answered: “For myself, I too think that it
is time, perhaps, for doing that about which you have asked me. So let
it be done as you wish.”

Allowing the door flap to fall back, the old woman withdrew to her own
apartment in the lodge. In order to make the needed preparations for
carrying out the purpose of her inquiry she gathered a quantity of corn
husks and, again entering the place in which the lake was situated, she
heaped once more the corn husks along the shore. When she had placed
the corn husks around the entire circuit of the lake she set them on
fire. When the fire had become brisk and bright the old woman, turning
to the men of the lodge, said: “I have now again made the necessary
preparations for the performance of your accustomed task, and you shall
start on your journey to make all things that grow on the earth moist
and mellow and the soil as well. They who are visiting us shall
accompany you wherever you may go; you must carefully keep them from
harm, and you must show them all things of interest on your journey.”

Taking up their implements and weapons, the men of the lodge and their
guests departed. During the course of their long journey one of the
hosts of the Dehaenhyowens and his men said: “You shall now see the
things over which we have charge. He whom you are wont to call
Hawenniyo (the Ruler) is the person who has charged us with all these
matters, and we shall continue to have the care of them so long as the
earth endures. We shall tend all those things which he has planted on
the earth; we shall habitually cause water to fall on them; we shall
keep all the water in the several rivers on the earth fresh at all
times; and we shall water all those things upon which you and your
people live, so that all things which he has made to be shall not
perish for the need of water. And you, you human beings, shall then
live in health and contentment. Such are our duties from day to day.”

Then it was that Dehaenhyowens and his party, looking beneath them, saw
another earth far below. As they proceeded they heard loud noises, like
the voicings of Thunder when he draws near on earth; and there began to
be bright flashes of lightning, and next there began to be rain; and,
finally, raindrops fell to the lower earth.

As they moved onward they saw a huge serpent, which had formidable
horns protruding from its head. Then one of the hosts of Dehaenhyowens
and his friends said: “Look at that creature moving along swiftly
yonder. It is known that were it to emerge permanently from the
interior of the earth it would bring great misfortune to the things
that dwell on the earth; in fact, it would bring to an end the days of
a large multitude of you human beings. To see that it never comes forth
permanently out of the ground is one of the duties with which we are
strictly charged.” In a moment the speaker continued, “Now you shall
see what will take place when we will kill it.” As the party of
Dehaenhyowens watched, their hosts began to pursue the serpent. The
voice of the Thunder was exceedingly loud and the flashes of lightning
amazingly vivid. Finally, the huge serpent was hit by its pursuers and
began to flee from them. It sought unsuccessfully to hide beneath
standing trees, but these trees were struck and riven into splinters;
then it fled to the mountains, seeking to conceal itself beneath their
shelter; but this also was in vain, for it was repeatedly hit by the
men of Thunder, and, finally, was killed.

As an explanation of this phenomenon the hosts of Dehaenhyowens and his
friends said: “It is verily true that beneath the surface of the ground
whatever is otkon (i.e., malign by nature) moves to-and-fro from place
to place. It would, indeed, be most unfortunate for us all should this
species of being be permitted to travel from place to place upon the
earth. Hence such beings are doomed to abide beneath the surface of the
ground in the interior of the earth.

“And now concerning the origin of these beings: It was he whom we call
the Evil-minded One [438] that formed their bodies; and it came to pass
that he whom you call Hawenniyo (i.e., the Disposer, or Ruler) decided
that so long as the earth endures these beings shall abide under the
surface of the earth. Furthermore, we ourselves believe that He who
charged us with the performance of this task of keeping them beneath
the surface of the earth will cause it to come to pass, perhaps when
the earth is nearing its end—then, and not until then—that these beings
shall be permitted to come forth upon the earth. So is it, indeed, to
come to pass that when the event is not distant—the end of the earth—He
will bring to an end the duties with which we are severally charged, to
be performed for the benefit of the things that live upon the earth.
Not until then shall the waters which are held in their several places
become polluted; finally all other things shall likewise become old and
decayed upon the earth; and all things that grow out of the ground,
too, shall grow old and sear; indeed, all things shall become withered
and decayed. Now let us turn back homeward.”

Then the party, turning homeward, retraced their steps. On reentering
their lodge the spokesman of the party said to the old woman who
presided over the lodgehold (household), “We have now completed the
task of making moist and mellow all things that grow upon the face of
the earth.” Arising from her seat, the aged matron went into the
adjoining room of the lodge and said to a person who occupied that
room, “Now, they have, indeed, returned.” With these words the old
woman withdrew and resumed her accustomed seat.

In a short time the door flap separating the adjoining room was thrust
aside and a man (hĕñʹgweʻ [439]), thrusting his head through the
doorway, asked the men who had returned, “Have you now, indeed,
completed the work? Have you made moist and mellow all things that grow
on the earth beneath this one?” The men replied in unison, “We have
indeed accomplished our task as we were charged to do.” Thereupon the
person from the adjoining room said, “Now you must rest until there
shall be another day; then you shall again recommence the performance
of the duties with which you are severally charged.”

This conversation gave Dehaenhyowens and his party the opportunity of
seeing the speaker. They were convinced that he was human; that he was,
in fact, a hĕñʹgweʻ. But they were amazed to see that while half of the
body of this strange person was in all respects like that of a human
being, the other half of his body was crystal ice. They felt, too, a
breeze that was chilling strike them from out of the doorway; but at
this moment the strange man withdrew the door flap, concealing the room
from further observation.

The aged matron of the lodge, addressing her guests, said: “That person
whom you have just seen is, in fact, the principal one of all those who
are charged with duties to perform in the economy of the earth. He is
called by us Dehodyadgaowen (i.e., the Cloven-bodied Man); he is named
also Owisondyon (i.e., Cast or Falling Hail). It is this feature that
you saw when he showed his face at the doorway, and that explains why
there came forth from him a cold breeze. This act will immediately
cause the prospective days and nights on the earth to become cold and
wintry. However, when the day again dawns he will again show his face
and the other side of his body, and immediately there will blow hither
a hot breeze.”

Then the members of the lodge said one to another: “We have paused in
our labors in order to rest. Tomorrow it will come to pass that we
shall take you back to the place whence you departed, for you have been
here now many days. This is, of course, what you human beings call
springtime.” Having said this, all the members of the lodge fell asleep
in their several places. When morning came the door flap separating the
room from the adjoining one was again thrust aside, and the strange
man, Dehodyadgaowen, showed himself in the doorway, and called out
aloud, “Now then, all you people, awake and arise; it is time to do
so.” At this all the sleepers awoke, and as they awoke, they
outstretched their arms and bodies, yawning and uttering loud
vociferations, as are heard on earth in the voice of Thunder. There
arose a warm breeze, and then the men of the lodge went out. It was but
a short time after this that the men reentered the lodge and said to
their guests: “You should accompany us on our intended journey, so that
you may see an Otkon which inhabits certain trees near the place whence
we returned. It is a long time that we have been making attempts to
kill and destroy this being, for it is possessed of very powerful
orenda.” Thereupon Dehaenhyowens replied, “It is of course right that
we should accompany you to learn what manner of being that may be.”

So all the men of the lodge started on their journey, going directly to
the place where the being that was otkon had its lair. Having gone a
long distance, the men of Thunder finally said to their guests: “There,
indeed, is the place in which the Otkon abides. You must stand in
yonder place, quite removed from any danger from this being, and you
shall see it as we shall cause it to come forth from the lair.”
Thereupon the party of Dehaenhyowens withdrew to the designated
position. They saw one of their hosts go forward and hit one of the
trees several sharp blows with his club; they saw the being come forth
from its lair and concluded that it was what they called a squirrel.
But the being, or squirrel, thrust its body only partially out of its
hiding place; at once the men of Thunder hurled their shots at it;
there were loud thunderings and the lightning flashes were vivid, and
there arose a great tumult and a terrific hurricane. In a short time
the men of Thunder ceased for a moment, having failed to hit the being.
At once the squirrel (or being) quickly descended the tree on which it
then was, and running to another tree, climbed it in an effort to
escape its tormentors. But very soon the men of Thunder shivered this
tree, whereupon the squirrel, having fled back to the first tree,
swiftly climbed back into its lair. Then the men of Thunder said: “Now,
indeed, you have seen what we call Otkon. The time is long in which we
have been making vain efforts to destroy this being, this great Otkon.”

In replying, Dehaenhyowens said: “It is now our turn; we will attempt
to kill the Otkon.” But the men of Thunder answered, “We fear that the
attempt will not result favorably; you may be injured, for, indeed,
this is an Otkon beyond measure.” Dehaenhyowens replied assuringly, “We
know that we can accomplish this task.” “If you are determined to make
the attempt, we will assist you should you fail,” said the men of
Thunder. Going up to the tree in which the squirrel had its lair, one
of the party of Dehaenhyowens tapped on it with his club. Forthwith the
squirrel again thrust out its body and gazed at the men. Taking a
knob-headed arrow from his quiver, Dehaenhyowens shot at it, hitting
the squirrel fair in the head and causing it to come tumbling to the
ground.

Thereupon the men of Thunder, taking up the body of the squirrel,
started for home, with their guests. When they reached their lodge the
men of Thunder said to the old woman, “Now, in fact, our visitors have
killed it; they have indeed killed the Otkon, which for a very long
time we have failed in our attempts to kill.” Answering this, the old
woman said: “I am very thankful to receive this news. This then shall
be done: the skin of this Otkon shall belong to me; as it is so
precious, it shall be the robe of my couch.” So Dehaenhyowens carefully
skinned the squirrel; after doing this he neatly prepared the skin,
which he spread on a suitable frame to dry. When it had thoroughly
dried Dehaenhyowens presented it to the old woman, assuring her that
was the method his people employed in preserving the skins of animals.
The old woman received the skin with many thanks, for she felt that she
had come into possession of a skin which was very precious to her.

Then, addressing the men of her lodge, she said: “Our visitors are the
ones who have accomplished this thing for us. In token of this one of
our visitors shall remain here as one of us. He shall be a coworker
with you for the reason that he and his kindred were able to accomplish
that which you yourselves were unable to do.” In giving assent to this
the men replied: “Let that, too, be done; let him who is foremost among
us say it, and it shall be done.” The old woman replied: “That is so;
his consent is all that is required to accomplish this desirable
thing.” At once arising from her seat, she went to the doorway leading
to the adjoining room and, pushing aside the door flap, said: “Behold!
Will you confirm the proposition that one of the men visiting us shall
remain here as one of us, while his companions shall return hence to
their own homes? The reason for this is that he was able to kill the
squirrel (the Otkon), and since the men who live in this lodge had
failed for so long a time to do so, I desire that he shall assist them
at all times and be a coworker with them.” Answering the old woman,
Dehodyadgaowen said: “I willingly confirm this proposition, if it be
that he himself is freely willing, and that of course he will volunteer
to have his life pounded (in a mortar). Then, as you know, it will be
possible for him to help them continually.” With this he ceased
speaking.

Returning to the group comprising the party of Dehaenhyowens, the old
woman said: “Hatchʼkwĭʻ! (Behold!), wilt thou confirm the proposition
that thou shalt remain here alone while thy companions return to their
own homes? If thou wilt be willing to agree to this, I will give thee a
new name. This shall be the name by which they shall hereafter
habitually call thee, namely, Dăgāʹĕⁿʻʹdăʼ (i.e., the Thaw, or the Warm
Spring Weather).” This member of the party of Dehaenhyowens replied, “I
willingly agree to this proposal; I am quite willing to be an assistant
to them in their work.” To this the old woman answered: “I am much
pleased that the matter is now settled. We indeed have become of one
opinion, having one purpose in view.”

At this time Dehodyadgaowen interrupted by saying, “Now, then, do you
bring his person (body) in to this room, and let him at once be
prepared for his duties.” The old woman, addressing the visitor who had
consented to remain, said, “Come! The time has arrived for doing what
you have agreed to do for us, what you require to fit you for your new
duties.” Accordingly, the man entered the room which adjoined the one
in which he and his friends were, and in which abode Dehodyadgaowen. As
soon as he had entered Dehodyadgaowen said to him: “Here stands the
mortar. Thou must place thyself in it. Now, verily, thou shalt change
thyself, thy person, as to the kind of its flesh.” Obeying his
instructor, the man at once placed himself in the hollowed end of the
mortar wherein the grain was usually pounded, whereupon Dehodyadgaowen
drew near, and taking up the pestle, pounded him in the manner in which
grain is pounded, striking three blows. Having done this, he said to
the visitor: “Thy flesh has now changed in kind. The task is
accomplished. Thou mayst sing to try thy voice.” The transformed man
began to sing, and Dehaenhyowens and his one remaining friend heard the
singing, which sounded to them exactly like the voice of approaching
thunder, only that the volume was somewhat less, as it seemed to them.
They said one to the other, “Now it is known that he, Dăgāʹĕⁿʻʹdăʼ, is
approaching,” and soon their transformed friend reentered the room.

In a short time thereafter the old woman said to the men of the lodge,
now including the newly transformed person: “You shall now start on
your journey, and you shall begin to make mellow and moist anew all the
things that are growing on the earth beneath. And this, moreover, shall
be done. Dăgāʹĕⁿʻʹdăʼ shall take the lead. So it shall be he whom they
who dwell on the earth below shall name first in the spring of the
year. Of course the human being will say, ‘Now the warm wind has come
down; now the hot spring wind blows again; and so now the spring season
will come upon us.’ They shall never forget, indeed, each time the line
of demarcation between the snowtime and the summertime arrives, for
Dăgāʹĕⁿʻʹdăʼ shall continue to change the days and nights of the
future. You men must start to accompany part of the way homeward those
who have been visiting us for so many days.”

Before they got started she resumed her discourse, saying: “Now I will
tell you, who are human beings of the earth, that it is even I whom you
call the Nocturnal Light Orb (the Moon). And He it is whom you and your
ancestors have called Deauñhyawagon, sometimes Hawenniyo (the Master or
Ruler), who has commissioned me. And this is what He has commissioned
me to do: When it becomes dark on the earth it is I who shall cause it
to be in some measure light and warm on the earth, so that it become
not too cold nor too dark; so that all the things which should grow may
grow unharmed on the earth, including all those things on which you
human beings live, dwelling as you do on the earth beneath. Until the
time that the earth shall stand no more He has commissioned me to act
and to do my duty. It is thus with us all. He has commissioned us only
for the time during which the earth beneath shall endure. Moreover, I
will now impart to you the following information so that you oñʹgwe
(human beings) living on the earth shall know that they who abide here
in this place are those whom you call Hadiwĕñnodaʹdye’s (the
Thunderers); and so that you shall know that He who established this
world is One whom you call Deauñhyawagon and also Hawĕñniʼyo (the Ruler
or Disposer). It was He who decreed that these men shall customarily
come to the lower world from the west and that they shall move toward
the east.

“So let this be a sign to you who dwell on the lower earth that when it
comes to pass that these men of Thunder come from the east you shall
know at once its meaning, and shall say one to another, ‘Now it seems
that the time is at hand in which He will take to pieces the earth as
it stands.’ Verily, such is the strict manner in which He has
commissioned us, charging us with definite duties. It is well known
that the Diurnal Light Orb (the Sun) customarily comes from one certain
direction; in like manner, it is also true of me, for I too must appear
to the lower world from one certain direction. This obligation on our
part is fixed; and our coming shall never occur in a different manner
as long as the earth endures—at least until that day in the future when
He himself, whom you call sometimes Hawĕñni’yo, shall transform what He
himself has established.

“Now the time has arrived for you to start for your home; but first,
before you depart, you must journey about this upper world to see
everything that may be beneficial to you and to your people in the days
to come. By the time you return from this journey of observation I will
have made ready what you shall take with you when you shall go again to
make mellow and wet the earth beneath. This, too, upon which I am at
work is something about which I must tell you something. I am engaged
in making myself a mantle, and the material out of which I am weaving
it is, indeed, what you think it is—human hair. You have observed as
well that each time I lay my work aside for a moment my small cur as
often undoes quite all that I have done. I will now tell you by what
means I obtain the human hair of which I am making myself a mantle.
When some human being dies on the earth below one hair from his head
detaches itself and departs thence, coming directly to me. It is such
hairs that I am using in making my mantle. This serves as a sign to me
that one has ceased to be on the earth below, and that that person is
traveling hither. This shall continue as long as the earth beneath
shall endure and have form. Moreover, mark this well, that when He
shall cause the death of human beings on the earth below, it shall then
and not before be possible for me to finish the mantle on which I am
working; and the number of hairs in this mantle will then bear witness
to the number of persons who have visited the earth below while it
lasted. Now you may take an observation trip.”

Thereupon the men of the lodge and the entire party of Dehaenhyowens
started out to view the notable things in the vicinity of the lodge.
They went to that place where for the first time during their visit
they had seen the beauty and pleasantness of that upper world; they
admired the strawberry plants, bearing luscious berries, as tall as the
high grasses among which they grew; these were in bloom, for their
bearing season was continuous. They saw, too, the growing trees full of
fine blossoms; never before had they seen such beautiful flowers, which
supplied the light of that upper world; and they saw the plants and the
shrubs and bushes full of fruits of all kinds, all growing luxuriantly.
Never before had they seen paths so fine leading in various directions;
and they beheld along these paths the trees whose overhanging boughs,
loaded with blossoms, were scented with all manner of fragrance.

They beheld all figures of human beings (oñʹgwe) promenading along the
paths from place to place, but they realized that these were shades (or
shadows), and that consequently it was not possible to hold
conversation with them. Farther along in their ramble they came to a
village which was inhabited, there being many lodges in different
places in the manner of a village of human beings. In passing through
the village one of the hosts, addressing Dehaenhyowens, said: “In this
lodge, standing here apart, your mother dwells. She was still on the
earth below when you and your party left on this journey; but she
started for this country soon after you had departed therefrom. Here
also dwell your relations—all those who were able to observe the
customs of their ancestors during the time they dwelt on the earth
below.”

Then they went back to the place where the old woman awaited their
return. On entering the lodge they said to her: “We have now returned
from our ramble,” to which she replied: “I have quite completed my
preparations. Now you must start on your journey homeward, and the men
of the lodge will accompany you part of the way. In going home you must
pass around by the place where abides the Light Orb that travels by
day. Let them see Him too. May your dreams foreshadow your safe arrival
home.”

Thereupon they departed from the lodge of the old woman. Not far
distant from the home of their hosts there stood a lodge. One of their
hosts told Dehaenhyowens and his friends that that was the lodge of the
Sun. “Thence,” they said, “he starts to give light to the world beneath
this one.” Having reached the lodge, they entered it, and within they
saw the Sun engaged in cooking chestnut-meal mush. One of the men of
Thunder said: “We are now on our journey, accompanying these human
beings part of their way home. We are taking these men back to the
earth below this one. The reason that we have come around this way is
that we desired to have you and them see one another.” Then the Master
of the lodge, raising his voice, said to his visitors: “It is I,
indeed, who has met with you. and it is I whom you habitually call in
your ceremonies, ʻHoʻsgĕⁿʼägeʻʹdăgōwā, He-the-Great-War-Chief, and our
Elder Brother, the Diurnal Orb of Light. I have just completed my usual
preparations for the journey on which I am about to start. Furthermore,
just as soon as you depart hence I will start on my journey to make the
earth below light and warm again.”

In a short time, the visitors having seen all that was interesting in
the lodge, said: “Let us now go hence on our journey,” and they at once
resumed their own course. They had not gone very far when the men of
Thunder said: “It is now time for us to begin; Dăgāʹĕⁿʻʹdăʼ shall be
the first one to act.” Dăgāʹĕⁿʻdăʼ, the former member of the party of
Dehaenhyowens (Light Rays?), began to sing in a loud voice, thus
setting his orenda to work to carry out his function. Then the two
human beings who were to return to the earth below saw the earth in the
distance beneath them, and they heard, too, the people dwelling on the
earth say: “Now the beginning of the Spring Season has come upon us.
Indeed, the Spring Wind is blowing warm and hot, and now, too, the
Thunders are singing in the distance.”

Then the party moved on. Looking down on the earth from above the sky
and the clouds they saw the effect of the singing of the Thunder men.
At this time the voices of the Thunder men sounded loud and angry, as
it were, as they moved along the sky, and on the earth below fell
torrents of rain with great force, and they saw the creeks and rivers
swell and overflow their banks.

To the human beings of the party they had not gone very far, as it
seemed, when they were startled by alighting on the earth. Thereupon
one of the Thunder men said to them: “Now, indeed, you are again at
your homes whence you departed, so we have fully discharged our
obligation to bring you safely back. Moreover, we will now tell you
something regarding another matter. It is a long time since the former
inhabitants of this country withdrew from here and went to another
settlement. You will find them in the place where they are now living.”

Having conducted their friends some distance on the ground, one of the
men of Thunder said: “We will now separate one from another. You must
keep us in remembrance. For this purpose you shall employ the native
tobacco, making an offering thereby in words and in acts. This will be
quite sufficient for the purpose, for we shall hear the thanksgiving
and accept the offering at once. In like manner shall it be done to all
those, and only to those, who are charged by Him with duties and
important functions. If you should think of Him or of them, that is the
chief and essential thing—the employment habitually of native tobacco
by you in this important matter. Such is the method which you who still
live on the earth here below must regularly employ in forming your
messages of thanksgiving. Such is the regulation and decree ordained
and promulgated by Him whom you call Deauñhyawagon, familiarly as
Hawĕñniʹyo (He, The Master). These are the words which we thought it
necessary for you to hear before we separated one from another. May you
have good dreams.”

Then the two parties separated, the one from the other; and the men of
Thunder departed from the earth, going back into the cloudland to their
own lodge.

In turn Dehaenhyowens and his lone companion started from the place
where they had been left. They were not long in finding the traces of
the former home of their friends. They found that the place had become
thickly overgrown with large trees to so great an extent that one
unacquainted with the facts would be in doubt whether or not any person
had ever lived in that place.

On seeing this, Dehaenhyowens said to his companion: “Verily, it seems
that we must depend on ourselves to find our people. We must,
therefore, go to seek the place where they now dwell.” Thereupon they
started, directing their course eastward, as they had been instructed.
At no great distance they saw the smoke from a village and made their
way to it. On entering the first lodge they reached, Dehaenhyowens
said, “We have now returned home.” In reply the master of the lodge
said: “Whither did you go, and who are you? As for myself, I do not
know you.” Answering him, Dehaenhyowens said: “Have you not at any time
heard the tradition which says that a number of men (three tens)
started on a journey along the path of the Sun—a party formed by
Dehaenhyowens and Gaenhyakdondye, two famous war chiefs, of men who had
thoroughly habituated themselves to warlike exercises? They undertook
while going toward the sunset to kill and scalp all the peoples whom
they might encounter on their way.” The master of the lodge said to
them in reply: “I myself know nothing of the matter about which you are
speaking. When such a thing may have taken place I do not know. It may
be that the old woman living in yonder lodge may know about this
matter. You should go over to consult her concerning it.”

So Dehaenhyowens and his companion passed on, going to the lodge
pointed out to them. On entering the lodge Dehaenhyowens said to the
old woman: “Do you know the circumstance in the history of your people
when in the long ago some men—warriors, three times ten in number—went
on an expedition from which they never returned? The party was formed
by war chiefs, Dehaenhyowens and Gaenhyakdondye. They went toward the
sunset, following the path of the Sun.” Answering his question, the old
woman said: “It is indeed true that such an event took place. I have
heard my deceased grandmother say many times that when she was still a
child men to the number of 30 started out on an expedition, but they
never returned to their homes.” After some moments of thought she
added: “Probably the man who dwells yonder in that lodge not far away
from here remembers the whole matter, for he has had an exceedingly
long life, and so is probably familiar with the tradition about which
you speak. Therefore you would better visit him and seek further
information from him.”

Thereupon Dehaenhyowens and his companion again started on their quest
for some one who knew them. On reaching their new destination they
found the very old man of whom the old woman had spoken, and they asked
him: “Do you remember an affair, which took place many years ago, in
which warriors to the number of 30 departed hence on an expedition
along the path of the Sun?” After a few moments of reflection the old
man replied: “I remember the matter full well. This is what happened:
There lived a people yonder, some distance away, where this affair took
place. There were a number of young men who had grown up together, all
about 16 years of age; 30 of these organized themselves into a war
party, binding themselves together by means of an oath or vow. Having
fully organized their troop, they caused the people of the entire
community to assemble at the Long Lodge of public gatherings, whereupon
Dehaenhyowens arose and said: ‘Now then, it shall be made known to you
who have assembled here that we have indeed completed our preparations.
We young men, who are three tens in number, have enlisted by “notching
the stick” to go on an expedition along the path of the Sun. We have
made the agreement strong, for we have commingled our minds. Now it is
as if we had only a single head, only a single body of flesh, only a
single life, and we shall bleed as one person. Moreover, we renounce
our kindred, and we also forswear our lives. We shall now depart hence,
directing our course toward the West, for we desire to make a journey
to the place of the sunset—to the place where the Diurnal Light Orb is
wont to make his way to and fro. Our band have appointed me and my dear
brother to be their chiefs to lead them. We, too, have made a solemn
vow that no matter what the situation confronting us we will
nevertheless pass onward in our journey. We have indeed enlisted in
this matter seriously by “notching the stick.” This is, of course, as
you well know, the pledge that each one of us will do what we have
agreed to do one with another.’ Thereupon, they departed from us, and
they have never returned.”

Dehaenhyowens, replying to the old man, said, “How long ago may it be
since that event took place?” The old man answered, “It is now three
generations ago—that is, three generations have passed away since that
time.” Then Dehaenhyowens asked, “Who were the chiefs of those who
departed?” The old man said, “Dehaenhyowens and his brother,
Gaĕⁿʻhyakdoñʹdyeʹ; these two persons were chosen as the chiefs of the
party.” To this Dehaenhyowens responded, “Verily, grandsire, we are the
remaining members of that party—my brother, Gaĕⁿʻhyakdoñʹdyeʹ, our
friend Dagāʹdyeʹ, and I; so many of the number have now returned home.
It was, verily, our party that departed from the place where your and
my people formerly dwelt, at that place yonder not far away.” But the
old man, still doubting what he had heard, said: “It is probably not
you who went away, because it appears from your youthful aspect that
you have just reached manhood, and that event occurred a very long time
ago.” Dehaenhyowens, however, answered: “Nevertheless, we are the very
persons who started, at least those of us who still are left alive; and
we have now arrived home again.” On hearing this, the old man said: “If
possible, then, do tell me the name of the chief of our people when you
departed.” Dehaenhyowens quickly answered, “Dăgäidoñʹdyeʼ was the name
of the chief of our people at that time.” Now convinced of what he
doubted, the old man answered: “That statement is, indeed, also true.
The fact that he was my grandfather is the reason why I am so fully
acquainted with that matter. Now, I admit that I am convinced that it
is indeed you and your friends who departed so many years ago, and that
it is you, too, who have returned home; and as it is meet so to do, our
present chief shall now be made cognizant of this matter. So remain
here in this lodge, and I will now send him word of your return, to
await his pleasure.”

Accordingly the chief was made acquainted with the matter at once.
Forthwith he sent out runners, giving notice to all the people to
assemble immediately in the Long Lodge of public meetings to hear news
most startling and important; he set the following day for the assembly
of the people. When the morning of the next day dawned all the people,
having made the necessary preparations to attend the great council,
hurriedly gathered in the assembly hall. Dehaenhyowens and his two
companions went there in company with his host, the old man, whose
grandfather was a former chief of his people. The assemblage was large,
for everyone who could possibly leave home attended. When all were
seated the chief arose, and ceremoniously greeted the newly arrived men
in these words: “We have learned only a hint of what occurred during
your expedition, and we desire fervently to know more of the events
which took place while you have been absent. So now we shall listen to
the whole account, and we will hear the leader of the party.”

Thereupon Dehaenhyowens arose, amidst deep silence, and spoke briefly,
as follows: “There were 30 of us who started on the expedition along
the path of the Sun; but only three of us have returned. It is I who
bear the name Dehaenhyowens. On this hand sits my brother,
Gaĕⁿʻhyakdoñʹdye’ʹ, for such is the name that he bears; and on this
hand sits our friend, Dăgāʹdye’ʹ, for such is the name that he bears.
So many only are we who survive. It came to pass during the time of our
expedition along the path of the Sun to the skyland that one of our
number remained there as an assistant to the people in that far-away
land. It is quite impossible for him to return again to this earth to
live.” Then Dehaenhyowens related at great length all that had occurred
to him and his party and all the things that they had seen from the
time they had left their homes until their return. After speaking thus
Dehaenhyowens resumed his seat.

The chief then said: “It was in fact a marvelous thing that was done by
your party. It is a very long time since you departed from your homes;
but now you have returned, only you three persons. Of course, one of
the most essential things about this matter to be remembered is that
Deauñhyāwaʹgon, sometimes called Hawĕñniʹyo, forewilled that you, and
only you, should be enabled to return home safely. Preparations have
been made so that we may now exchange greetings, and this shall be
done. You, the surviving ones of the party, three in number, will take
a suitable position, and I will take the lead in a ceremonial greeting
to you; for I, of course, stand in the stead of the one who was the
chief of the people when you departed. My name is Dagäʹidoñʹdyeʼ. Then
we will do this: We will mutually and severally stroke one another’s
body in greeting. This ceremony shall be for all persons, including our
children—we will all greet one another in this ceremonial manner, for
this was the custom of our fathers on such occasions.”

Accordingly Dehaenhyowens and his two friends took suitable positions
in which to receive the greetings of the people, and the people with
the chief in the lead came forward and cordially stroked their bodies
according to the custom. All the men, women, and children arose and
greeted them. When the ceremony was over the chief said: “We will do in
the future all the things that we have today learned should be done.
This, too, you shall know—you who have just returned home—that we shall
be equal with you in the enjoyment and disposition of the things that
we possess, so that our minds and yours shall think in peace. Here, you
know, dwell the people, and now, of course, we again shall commingle
and associate together. Everything is in readiness for us to rejoice
and be happy, seeing that you have returned home in safety and health.
The first thing to be done is to make merry by a game. They whose
bodies are strong will play at a game of lacrosse ball; thus shall they
amuse your minds, and you may rejoice. When that shall have passed we
shall dance, beginning with the Pigeon Song, or Song of the Pigeons.
When that is passed it will be time for us to disperse to our homes.”
Thereupon Dehaenhyowens, arising, said: “It is marvelous to know that
we have been absent from our people during three generations; and we
are rejoicing that we have, though much fewer in numbers, returned to
our homes. We are indeed very happy that we are again one people with
you.”

Then the young men went to the public gaming grounds and there engaged
in an exciting game of lacrosse ball. When this game was over the
people assembled in the Long Lodge of public meetings and there they
performed the ceremony of the Song of the Pigeons. They danced all the
songs of this ceremony, which is quite long and exciting. Even the
children danced to show their pleasure at seeing the returned men.

(This is the end of the story.)





120. AN ADDRESS OF THANKSGIVING TO THE POWERS OF THE MASTER OF LIFE
[440]

We congratulate one another this day because we are still alive in this
world.

Besides this act we give thanks to the Earth, and we give thanks also
to all the things which it contains. Moreover, we give thanks also to
the Visible Sky. We give thanks also to the Orb of Light that daily
goes on its course during the daytime. We give our thanks nightly also
to the Light Orb that pursues its course during the night.

So now, we give thanks also to those persons, the Thunderers, who bring
the rains. Moreover, we give thanks also to the servants of the Master
of Life, who protect and watch over us day by day and night by night.

And now, furthermore, we send our thanks also to his person, to the
Finisher-of-our-lives. To him our thanksgiving we offer in fervent
gratitude.

And now a ceremony shall begin, a ceremony which was given to us, to
mankind, by the Finisher-of-our-bodies—namely, the ceremony of the
Great Feather Dance.

So let everyone be enthusiastic, then, in this ceremony. We must enjoy
ourselves as much as possible during this ceremony. It was given to us
for the purpose of benefiting us in its performance in honor of him,
the Master of Life, who gave it to us, and we must all do what is right
and just one to another, and we also must continue to give thanks to
the Master of Life for the good things which we enjoy at his hand.

So now will begin the singing of the songs of the Ritual of the Great
Feather Dance. So let each and every one share in it, then. [At this
point the singers on the song bench begin singing the songs of this
ceremony. All who take part should be arrayed in festival attire. The
faces of the dancers should be painted, and their heads should be
adorned with feather headdresses. When this ceremony is ended the
Master of Ceremonies, arising, makes the following statement:]

“So now, moreover, in such an assembly of people as this is, another
ceremony is about to begin, one other that the Finisher-of-our-lives
has ordained for our performance. So, then, let us be thankful,
moreover, that our lives and persons are still spared in the affairs of
this world.

“So now, moreover, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving
thanks for the bounties it has received from the Master of Life.

“So now, moreover, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving
thanks. The Master of Life has willed that there be officers among the
people whose duty it is to promote the celebration of the Six
Ceremonies. So we give thanks, too, that you who are officials among
the people are still spared your lives.

“So now, moreover, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving
thanks for the bounties it has received. He, the Master of Life, willed
that there shall be certain persons among men who shall be called
chiefs (because their renown is great), and that upon them,
furthermore, shall rest the grave responsibility of promoting peace and
health among the people, and also that upon them shall rest the
responsibility of making addresses of thanksgiving at the celebrations
of the Thanksgiving Ceremony, in which they shall direct their words to
the Maker-and-finisher-of-our-lives, at the same time earnestly urging
all persons to enjoy themselves there and to be happy.

“So now, moreover, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving
thanks. The Creator-of-our-lives willed that there shall be in life two
varieties or kinds of life, one of which shall be called Female and the
other shall be called Male. He willed that by this means mankind shall
see the coming of humanity (through the birth of children). So,
therefore, we give thanks that this ceremony or rite of the union of
two kinds of life is going on, just as he decreed that mankind should
live in pairs—male and female. So, therefore, we offer up thanks
because we have our eyes on our offspring who are coming, differing in
size, to us.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there be an earth continually. So let us give
thanks that the processes of the earth go on in accordance with his
rule, and that we human beings are traveling about over it.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall be springs of water, and that
there shall be waters that flow. So, too, we give thanks because there
are waters that flow as ordained, and because there are springs of
water likewise, which are for our comfort as we go to-and-fro over the
earth.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed, too, that ‘I will bestow that on which they shall
live—corn, and that it shall grow in its seasons.’ So then, let us now
give thanks because we have again set our eyes on all those things upon
which we live. We are thankful that we again see all these things.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall continue to grow on the earth all
manner of herbs, and, too, that these shall be for use as medicines,
which shall be, each and every one, a succor and support to the people;
they shall be for medicine.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall grow various kinds of flowers on
the earth, and that among these shall grow continually strawberries.
So, too, let us give thanks because these are for our pleasure and
contentment.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall grow shrubs on the earth
continually, and that all these shall be for medicines for mankind at
all times. So, too, let us give thanks that these are giving us perfect
satisfaction and comfort, and because these shrubs are our own aid and
sustenance.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that other shrubs and trees in groves shall ever
grow to maturity on which various fruits and berries shall ever hang in
abundance. So, too, let us give thanks because these fruit-bearing
shrubs and trees grow continually, giving us at all times abundantly
contentment and pleasure.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall be forests that shall continually
reproduce themselves by growth, which shall continue to be at all times
helpful to mankind, ‘whom I have placed on the earth.’ So, too, let us
be thankful that our minds are contented for the reason that the
forests grow.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that in the forests which shall continue to grow
there shall live and increase all manner of game animals in utmost
variety. So, too, let us give thanks for this bountiful provision,
because in full measure and number the game animals are abundant in the
growing forests, as intended by him, and they are ever the full means
of giving us pleasure and contentment while we dwell on the earth.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall be growing forests in which there
shall be certain trees from which (maple) sap shall habitually fall in
its season. So, too, let us give thanks because there still grow here
and there maple trees, for we still can look upon maple sugar.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall be brakes of great herbs on which
shall grow sunflowers continually in their season, and that these shall
serve to give pleasure and contentment to mankind dwelling on the
earth.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed, ‘I shall place a duty on certain persons to care
for and watch over the earth, and they shall cause rain to fall
habitually, and the rain shall prosper all the things that grow out of
the earth, and these persons shall habitually approach from the west,
and people will call them Our Grandsires, whose voices are heard from
place to place—the Thunderers.’

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall ever be a Sky, on which there
shall ever appear a Light Orb which will go about from place to place
as day succeeds day, and people shall call this orb of light the Sun.
So, too, let us be thankful that we see each day that the light orb
moves on in its course.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall be darkness by periods of a
certain length, and that in the sky there shall ever appear a Light Orb
which shall ever go from place to place, and which human beings will
call the Nocturnal Orb of Light—the Moon. So, too, let us be thankful
because night after night we see this orb of light holding to its
course, and know that our Creator so decreed it.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall ever be a Sky, and that in it
there shall be Stars fixed from place to place. So, too, let us be
thankful, because we see these stars night after night, just as our
Creator has decreed that it shall be.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall be Persons who shall guard mankind
from harm by day and by night. So, too, let us be thankful that these
Four Persons protect us daily and nightly.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks.
He willed that just and righteous acts shall be the means of making us
true men and women. So, too, let us be thankful because his words are
being carried out on earth.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that in thanksgiving addresses the celebrant must
offer thanks to all things, beginning with these on earth and ending
with the person of the Master of Life. So, too, let us be thankful that
we have now rendered to our Maker our thanks for the bounties of life.

“So now, too, this assembly of people, such as it is, is giving thanks
this day. He willed that there shall be persons who shall have the
ability to sing the songs of the Great Feather Dance, which were
bestowed on us by our Creator. So now we thank you, Singers, who have
this power and who have so well again performed your duty, a duty which
is not an easy one.

“May all the people here enjoy peace and health until the time for the
next celebration of this ceremony, which is fixed at a future day.
Live, then, in peace and health. I end.”





121. A CORN LEGEND AND A FLOOD STORY

There is a story that in ancient times there occurred a great calamity,
which was caused by a rain that lasted three months. The result of this
long rain was that the waters rose high and soon flooded the whole
extent of the dry land. Only one man was saved. He climbed a tree to
save himself from the waters.

The waters rose high in every place except on one tract of land on
which stood a village of about six families, from which all the game
had disappeared; so the people of these families had nothing to eat.
This village was situated on the bank of a small stream where grew a
large number of slippery-elm trees. The absence of all other food
compelled the miserable wretches to strip the bark from these trees to
use as food. They dried the bark and then pounded it into a kind of
coarse meal, which they mixed with water to make a sort of bread to
satisfy their hunger.

During this terrible time of scarcity, one night when all others were
fast asleep one of the young men of the small village, being awake,
heard some person walking with very heavy tread. He was not moved to
fear by this experience, so he decided not to inform his companions of
what he had heard. For 30 successive nights he heard this tramping and
walking to and fro, as he surmised. But the young man had been thinking
deeply on the meaning of the sounds he had been hearing night after
night, and on the morning of the day following the thirtieth night he
informed his companions that some person was about to pay them a visit.
The sounds of the walking had appeared to him to come from the east.

Not long after this the people realized the truth of what he had told
them, for a strange woman [441] came to their lodge. No one knew whence
she came, for they were surrounded by water, and there was no land in
sight. The strange woman did not remain at this lodge, but went
directly to the lodge of the brother of the young man who had heard her
walking. When the brother, who had been outside the lodge, reentered it
he found the woman seated. He had never before seen another woman like
her, for she was beyond measure attractive in person, in manner, and in
her words and actions. The brother questioned her, asking her whence
she came and whither she was going. The woman replied: “I have come
from the south to assist you and your people in obtaining food for your
needs. I came because my mother sympathizes greatly with her people,
and it is she who has sent me here to become the wife of your elder
son.” Answering her, the man said: “It seems very strange that your
mother should send you here, but of course she probably knows that we
are in despair, expecting nothing but death from hunger and
starvation.” By way of reply to this the young woman asked: “Will you
grant me the pleasure of having my mother’s request fulfilled?” The
man, whose mind had already begun to hope for better things for his
people, replied, “Yes; her request will be granted, and you will become
the wife of my son.” She did become his wife, and they lived as husband
and wife.

The bride wife the next morning said to her brother-in-law: “You must
have the corn bins cleared out and ready, just as if you expected to
use them for storing corn.” The brother-in-law at once told his sister
to clear out the corn bins just as if they expected to store corn in
them. Having done this, the sister informed her sister-in-law that they
were ready. The younger brother exclaimed: “I am glad that our family
has increased.” At the dawn of day the next morning the people,
awakening as if they had been frightened, heard sounds which indicated
that corn was falling into their corn bins, which had been empty so
long. Some hardly believed their ears, and doubted that they had
received so much corn freely. So when the bride wife asked that corn be
prepared and cooked, her husband told his sister to make it ready,
although in his mind he felt that his wife had said this just because
she knew well that they had nothing to eat and nothing with which to
prepare anything.

Then the bride wife said to her brother-in-law: “You go to the river
and catch for us some fish, so that we may have fish to eat with our
corn bread.” But the young man replied: “It is strange that you should
think that there are fish in the river, for I have not seen one there
for many months.” But the woman insisted that he should go, saying:
“You will, however, find fish there.” He, in some doubt still,
answered: “Very well, I will go, although I know that I shall not find
any fish there.” Finally he went, as she had asked him to do, for the
sake of his people. On reaching the stream he saw a fish; it was indeed
the first he had seen since the great rainstorm had begun. He planned
his measures so well that he caught the fish, which was very large, and
at once started for the lodge. Arriving there, he said that it was the
only fish he saw. The bride wife said: “This is the fish I meant. Now
your sister will clean it and place it in the kettle to cook it.” When
the sister was told to get some corn and to prepare it for cooking, she
said: “I have indeed cleared out the bins; all are empty, and not a cob
is left on the poles on which hung the corn strings. Before this
terrible rain came we had an abundance, but now we have not even a
kernel for seed; all has indeed strangely disappeared.” The brother
insisted, however, on her going to the bins, saying: “Go to see what
you can. I heard a strange sound at dawn this morning, the sound of
falling grains of corn.” To satisfy him the sister went to the bins
where she was so fortunate as to find enough to fill both hands full.
Delighted at finding even this small quantity, the girl returned and
set to work preparing the corn for pounding into meal. It was not long
before she had prepared and cooked a loaf of corn bread about two spans
of the hand in circumference.

When the bride wife was informed that the loaf and the fish were ready
to eat she said: “You must invite all your neighbors, so that each may
have a portion of what you have cooked. You will cut the loaf into as
many portions as there are persons in this village, and you must divide
the fish in the same manner.” This was done. When the people who had
gathered together in response to the invitation were all seated, the
elder son of the family, the bridegroom, arose to speak. He said: “The
Master of Life has gladdened our hearts with this loaf of bread and
with this fish, the kind of food we ate before this water surrounded
us. It must indeed be the will of the Master of Life that we should
live. Before this young woman came to our lodge we expected to starve
to death, and it is she who has invited every one in this village to
come here to eat this food. In the future, therefore, it shall be the
custom that when anyone shall have good fortune in his hunting or
fishing he shall prepare a feast to which all his neighbors shall be
made welcome.” His sister was told to serve all the people who had
come. It seemed impossible, however, that even a small mite of fish or
bread could be given to each of so many persons. But after she had
begun to serve out the bread and the fish, she found that she could do
this with what she had; and all were satisfied. There indeed seemed to
be only a spoonful of broth in which the fish was cooked, but all were
given a drink out of it and grew strong. The woman received the thanks
of the people for the food which she had brought to them. What they had
received seemed enough, and it was their opinion that this was an
example for them to follow, so they declared: “Hereafter, if we obtain
anything good to eat, it shall be shared equally by all. Such shall be
our custom.”

Then the bridegroom’s brother informed the people that the bride
desired the people to go to their homes and clear out their corn bins,
just as if they were expecting to fill them with grain, and that they
must act at once in this matter. So the people quickly returned to
their lodges to carry out the bride’s request. During the following
night the young man who had first heard the walking of the still
unknown woman again heard the sound made by falling corn grains. In the
morning the people of the several lodges found their corn bins well
supplied with corn, and they were greatly rejoiced at this good
fortune. Then an old woman, one of the near neighbors of the bride,
said: “I will ask the young woman whence she came to us, so that we may
know who it is that has been so kind and merciful to us.” So going to
the lodge of the newly married couple she addressed the bride, saying:
“I have come to ask you to tell us whence you came to us?” The bride
willingly replied: “I came from the south, where my mother lives. She
knew of your destitute condition and felt very miserable about it,
hence she sent me to marry this young man. He indeed knew that I was
coming before I arrived here. My mother sent me on this errand so that
I could protect you by providing for your most pressing needs.”
Replying, the old woman said: “I am thankful and so are all my
neighbors that your mother was moved to pity us by seeing our
distressing condition and destitution; it is through her that we shall
live. We are indeed grateful to her and to you for fulfilling your duty
in the matter.” Thus it was made clear to all the people to whom they
owed their good fortune. They saw then that it was through the bride
and her mother that the bare corncobs that hung in the corn stacks were
again filled with grains of corn, and that their corn bins were again
full of grain.

After this there came a time when the bridegroom’s younger brother
began to dislike his sister-in-law, and he sought in many ways to abuse
her, saying rude things to her at times. At first the sister-in-law
paid no attention to his abuse.[442] One day she made bread from corn
grits, and she gave a loaf of it to her hostile brother-in-law, saying:
“I have made this for you.” But he seized it rudely, exclaiming: “Do
you mean to insult me? I will not eat such bread as that; it is not fit
to eat.” With these words he tossed the loaf of bread into the fire.
Without a word of remonstrance the young woman cast herself down on her
couch and covered her head in sorrow; and she remained thus until her
husband returned. At once he asked the cause of her sorrow. At first
she refused to tell him. Finally, however, he prevailed on her to do
so. She said: “Lately your brother abuses me at every opportunity. I
made him bread of the best material I had, and he sneeringly threw it
into the fire. So I will go home to my mother. If you desire to
accompany me, you may do so. It will require as much time for me to
return to my home as it required to come here. When my mother sent me
she did not expect me to return to her home again. But I must go, and
all that I brought with me shall go back with me. All is due to your
brother’s fault. This is why I am sorrowful.” Her husband was deeply
grieved at the prospect for his people, and he sought to persuade his
wife to change her resolution, but he could not induce her to remain.

In the evening, having completed her preparations, she started on her
return journey, saying to her husband: “When you are hungry, follow my
trail. You shall encounter many difficulties, but you must not falter
by the way. At all times keep in mind that you are going to your wife.
You must not stop to rest either day or night. So take courage and do
not falter. Now I go.”

During that night all the people heard the sound of falling grains of
corn, which dropped from the cobs hanging on the strings of ears. The
next morning the bridegroom asked his sister to go for corn. She went
as directed, but found the corn bins empty and the corncobs bare. This
was true, indeed, of all the lodges of the village.

The night following the morning which showed the people that all their
corn had mysteriously disappeared the old woman who had asked the
strange young woman whence she had come visited the lodge of the lone
bridegroom and asked him where his wife was. He told her that she had
returned to the lodge of her mother because of the abuse which his
brother had heaped on her, and that all the good things which she had
brought with her had gone away with her; and he told the old woman
further that it was all due to his brother’s fault. He said that his
wife could not punish the culprit without punishing all the
people,[443] and that he could do nothing in the matter.

The direful plight of the village caused the bridegroom to resolve to
follow his wife to her home to learn whether it were possible to
relieve the distress of his people. After making some necessary
preparations, he started out on the trail of his wife. As he followed
it he found that there was a well-defined path on the waters which
entirely surrounded his people. When he started on this perilous trip
the husband remembered what his wife had said to him about the
difficulties of the journey, and what he must do to overcome them; so
he kept on his way by day and by night without stopping. At all times
he could plainly see her trail, which appeared as if it had just been
made.

In the meanwhile, when he started his mother-in-law said to her
daughter, who had returned home: “Your husband is coming to you and to
us; he has now left the home of his people.” It is said that his
mother-in-law could hear his footsteps as he followed the trail.

As his wife had told him to give no thought to the great difficulties
of the way, he kept them out of his mind; he did not realize the great
length of time he was on the journey. After many days he reached a
cornfield, and by this sign he was delighted to know that he was very
near his journey’s end. Stopping for a moment and looking around he saw
a column of smoke rising from the middle of the cornfield, and he at
once decided that it must come from the lodge of his mother-in-law;
thereupon he went directly toward it.

Having arrived in front of the doorway he was gladly surprised to hear
the voice of his mother-in-law from the inside saying to him: “Come in,
my son-in-law.” On entering the lodge he saw his wife and was made
welcome by her and his mother-in-law. His wife said to him: “You have
done my bidding, and I am pleased that you have. Is it not good to see
our cornfield so exuberantly filled with rich ears of corn? And is it
not pleasant to think that we can live here in peace and comfort? Being
faithful, you shall be prosperous.” The mother-in-law, who knew that he
was approaching, had ready, cooked and prepared, a large bark bowl full
of oniasont (crook-necked squash), which she hastily set before him
without reserving any portion of it. When he had eaten his fill he
thanked her and the Source of All Life. He remained in the lodge of his
mother-in-law until the growing corn had ripened. Then he said: “I
think that it is time for me to be going back to my people. I can now
be of some service to them.” His wife said to him: “Your brother, who
found pleasure in abusing me, is dead; he died, indeed, of hunger and
starvation. It is, indeed, too bad that he had so evil a disposition.”
The husband replied: “I do not mourn for him, for he knew well what he
was doing when he heaped abuse on you.” The wife answered: “You will
find your people still without food. You must be very cautious on the
journey. I am afraid that you may be overcome on the way.” Thereupon
she told him of a number of animals which he would find along the path,
and which did not exist until after the second creation. The waters of
the great flood had then gone down, and the earth had become new. She
gave him food for his people; also, for seeding, one ear of corn of
each variety, some beans of each variety, and one squash, which his
people must use for seeding their land. The wife gave her husband also
provisions for his journey, ready cooked for eating cold. She cautioned
him not to stop on the way, lest he be overcome by the evil powers
which infested the pathway to his home. Then they parted
affectionately.

The husband started homeward. He encountered many obstacles and unknown
beasts and animals on the way; but at last after many days of travel
without stopping to rest, he safely reached his home. He found there
only low timber and bushes and weeds growing. On arrival at his own
lodge he gave a few kernels of corn to each family, saying: “This corn
shall be the chief source of sustenance of the people hereafter.” In
like manner he did with each of the several kinds of seeds which he had
brought back with him. It is from these seeds that were propagated all
the food plants which the human race had in ancient times.





122. THE LEGEND OF MAN’S ACQUISITION OF CORN

(A SENECA-TUTELO LEGEND)

In ancient times there was a village situated on the banks of a river.
The chief source of subsistence of the people was the natural products
of forest and stream—that is to say, game and fish, berries and various
edible roots and tubers.

There came a day when the people dwelling in this village were told by
an old woman that she heard the voice of a woman singing on the river;
and she told them further that the words used by this strange singer
were: “Luxuriant and fine are the planted fields where I dwell, going
to and fro. Luxuriant and fine are the planted fields which we have
planted. My grandmother and my ancestors have planted them.”

After hearing this singing for 10 nights the old woman said to her
family and neighbors: “Let us go out to see what this singing means;
perhaps some woman has fallen into the water, and it may be she who is
singing in the middle of the river.” They did go to the river bank, but
saw nothing, and they returned much chagrined at their failure to
discover the singer.

On the tenth night following, the woman again began to sing, seemingly
from the middle of the river not very far from the village. Again she
sang: “Luxuriant and fine are the planted fields (of corn) where I
dwell, going to and fro. Luxuriant and fine are the planted fields (of
corn) which we have planted. My grandmother and my ancestors have
planted them.” Then the women of the village, going to the river bank
for three nights, sang songs of welcome and recognition, and on the
third night these women perceived that the singer on the river had
drawn nearer to them. On the fourth night the women watching with their
children on the river bank, and singing in response to the singing on
the river, were surprised to see coming toward them a large number of
women. Thereupon one of the girls exclaimed: “Oh, grandmother, do not
let these women seize us,” and the children fled from the place. But
the spokeswoman, who was the eldest person present, said: “I alone
shall remain here to await whatever may befall me, and I do so because
my granddaughter, who is coming, is in need of pity and aid.”

At this the woman, the midstream singer, exclaimed: “Oh, my
grandmother! take me hence. I am not able to go there (where you now
are).” Then the grandmother (so called by the courtesy of clan kinship)
placed her canoe of birch bark in the stream and soon by rapid paddling
reached the side of the young woman who had been singing in midstream.
She found her granddaughter lying on the back of a beaver, which
mysteriously held her above the water. The granddaughter was the first
to speak, saying: “Oh, my grandmother! take me hence.” The grandmother,
replying: “Oh, my grandchild! your wish shall be fulfilled,” at once
proceeded to place her granddaughter in the canoe, after which she
headed for the shore of the stream, paddling to the landing place in a
short time. When they had landed, the young woman said: “Oh,
grandmother! now leave me here. I will remain here, and you must come
after me in the morning. Nothing shall happen me in the meantime.” The
grandmother at once returned to her own lodge, where, of course, she
related in detail what had taken place.

Early the next morning she returned to the landing place where she had
left her granddaughter (by courtesy). There she saw only the growing
stalk of a plant. Drawing near to this she found growing on the stalk
an ear of corn, and breaking it off she carried it back to her lodge,
where she hung it up on a roof-supporting pole hard by the fireplace.

It came to pass during the following night that the grandmother, so
called, had a dream or vision, in which the young woman who had been
singing in midstream said to her, “Oh, my grandmother, you should
unhang me from this place, for it is indeed too hot here. You should
place me in the ground—plant me—and then leave me there; for I will
provide for you and your people, you human beings. So kindly place me
under the ground.” This dream came to the old woman three nights in
succession. So she took down the ear of corn, and after shelling it she
planted the grains of corn in the ground just as she had been
instructed to do by the dream.

But on the following night the grandmother again dreamed, and the young
woman in the dream said to her, “You and your people must care for me.
You must not permit weeds to kill me. You shall see me sprout and grow
to maturity; and it is a truth that in the future all the people who
shall be born will see that I will provide for their welfare. So you
must take great care of me. You will see, you and your people, a great
multitude of people who are about to arrive here. You will see, I say,
that I will provide for all during the time the earth shall be in
existence. You shall now learn what is a well-known truth—that is, that
I am corn; I am native corn; I am sweet corn. I am the first corn that
came or was delivered to this earth.” For three successive nights the
grandmother, so called, had this same dream or vision, hence she came
to regard it as a direct intimation to her regarding the disposition to
be made of the corn on the ear which she had found on the bank of the
river. So forcibly did the injunctions impress her that she planted the
corn in the ground as directed; and she carefully followed the
directions of the Corn Maiden as to the care required by the growing
corn to enable it to mature and to prevent it being choked to death by
weeds.

In the autumn the old woman [444] harvested her corn, and taking it
into her lodge she divided it into as many portions as there were
families in the village of her people. Then she gave a portion to the
chief matron in each lodge, telling each that the corn should be used
in the spring for seed and also how it should be planted and
cultivated. Afterward she returned to her own lodge. She was greatly
rejoiced at the prospect of her people having something which would
supply them with a staple food, if they would only properly care for
it.

In a short time after reaching her own lodge she lay down on her couch
to rest for the night; but she had hardly fallen asleep before she had
another dream, or vision, of the Corn Maiden. In this dream the Corn
Maiden said to her: “You must tell my children (the human beings) that
they must not waste in any manner the corn which shall grow to maturity
in the future. It is well known that those who do not honor and
properly care for me invariably come to want and destitution; for
unless they act so toward me when I leave I shall take all the corn and
other seed away. And, grandmother, you must tell all these things to
your people and kindred.”

Some time after this event the old woman said to her nephew (?): “Do
not travel around from place to place, for it is a well-known fact that
there are beings roaming about which have the disposition to overcome
and destroy men by the exercise of their orenda.” But the nephew (?)
replied: “Oh! there is nothing going about from place to place which
has the power to kill men.”

Then there came a time many days after this that the Corn Maiden saw
her brother arrive there. He was a human being, tall beyond measure,
and in other respects of corresponding size. He said to her: “Do you
now come forth (out of the lodge).” She obeyed him by leaving her
lodge, whereupon he took her up in his arms. He saw there a stone ax
and an arrowhead of flint. After carefully examining these he asked:
“Have these things, simple as they are, the power to kill a person?”
She made no reply to this question, and the giant departed, carrying
away captive his youngest sister. On the way she began to sing: “Oh,
elder brother! have you not been in the habit of saying that there is
nothing that roams about which has the power to kill persons? How do
you explain this?” Now the name of the person who stole this woman is
Doōdĕⁿnĕñyāʹhoⁿʼ [445] (Ga-mĕñ­dji-dāʻ-kăʻ is the Tutelo name), (The
refrain of the song she sang was the Tutelo words, Daʻhĕñgeʻ,
daʻhĕñgeʻ, wāʻhoyăʼ ĕñ gi lo yot.)

Another brother of the Corn Maiden (of the lodge of the old woman)
taking a stone ax and a bow and arrows, and asking his grandmother to
follow him, said: “Let us two go fetch home my younger sister.” So
saying, he started in pursuit of Doōdĕⁿnĕñyāʹhoⁿʼ, the so-called Stone
Giant, and his grandmother followed him on the perilous journey. His
pursuit was vigorous and tireless, and he was not long in overtaking
Doōdĕⁿnĕñyāʹhoⁿʼ. Coming up to him, he shot him with a flint arrow,
saying at the same time: “I have come to bring back home my younger
sister.” Doōdĕⁿnĕñyāʹhoⁿʼ, weeping with pain, said: “I confess my
guilt. I did a great wrong in stealing this maiden from her home.” Then
he surrendered her to her brother, who, taking his sister by the hand,
started with his grandmother for their home.

When they had arrived at their own lodge the young woman who had been
kidnaped by Doōdĕⁿnĕñyāʹhoⁿʼ said to her grandmother: “You will now
prepare some food (bread). You will take one grain of corn from the cob
and pound it into meal. This alone will suffice, it is well known, to
provide us (all human beings living) with food enough to satisfy our
appetites at this banquet held in celebration of the return of the
Maiden captured by Doōdĕⁿnĕñyāʹhoⁿʼ, the Stone Giant.” When the corn
had been procured and prepared, the Maiden again spoke, saying: “I am
about to give a feast, which shall be held in my honor, and in which
you women shall dance the Corn dances.”

The feast was held in accordance with her wishes, and the women danced
the Corn dances as she directed them, and all the people rejoiced with
her. When the feast of thanksgiving was ended the Maiden said: “Now, as
for me, I am starting on my return to my home. I shall go back to the
place whence I came. It shall be an established thing in the future
forever that corn shall exist, and that mankind shall never again die
from starvation. I now go to my home.”

Thereupon she started away, going back on the river on which she had
come; and as she went along she sang a song, the words of which were
“We, the varieties of corn, beans, and squashes, are the mothers of the
peoples of the whole world.” These words she sang to teach the people
what to sing in their Corn dances.

After she had returned to her home she received a proposal of marriage
from Oʻstawĕⁿʼsĕñʹtoⁿʼ (Sumac Tree?). She accepted his suit and the two
were married. When they were together the Corn Maiden said to her
husband, “You must love me (that is, regard me as a precious thing);”
and her husband assured her that he would indeed comply with her
request and his duty.

Then they returned to the lodge of Mother Bean, which they reached by
traveling on the river a long distance. Mother Bean said to them: “You
two must carry back with you some beans, which you must take to that
distant land, where you shall leave them.” On their return to their own
lodge the bridegroom carried the beans to that other land in which his
wife had left seeding corn, and after performing his mission returned
to his own wife and lodge.

Afterward the bride wife heard her sister singing beside a planted
field: “Is there perhaps anyone who will marry me again? Let him ask
me.” She had not been singing long when Tʻhăʻhyoñʹnĭʻ (Wolf) replied:
“I will marry you if you will accept me.” To this she answered: “If I
marry you, what will be my usual food?” Tʻhăʻhyoñʹnĭʻ replied: “You
shall have meat for your usual food.” Her answer was: “I shall die if I
am compelled to eat that kind of food.”

Thereupon the maiden resumed her singing: “Is there perhaps some one
who will marry me again? Let him ask me to do so.” Nyāʹgwaiʼ (Bear)
answered her: “I will marry you if you will accept me.” The maiden
answered: “If I marry you what will be my usual food?” Nyāʹgwaiʼ said
in reply: “Your usual food will be various kinds of nuts.” She said:
“In the event that I am compelled to eat that kind of food I shall
surely die.”

Again she began to sing: “Is there perhaps anyone who will marry me
again? Let him ask me.” While she sang Neʹogĕⁿʼ (Deer) answered her: “I
will marry you if you will accept me.” The maiden said in reply: “If I
should marry you what would be my usual food?” Neʹogĕⁿʼ replied: “Your
food would be buds and sprouts and the moss growing on trees.” The
maiden’s response was: “In the event that I am compelled to eat that
kind of food I shall surely die.”

After thus refusing each of these proposals of marriage, once again she
began to sing: “Is there perhaps anyone who will again marry me? If
there be one such, let him ask me.” While she sang, expressing the
impulses of her heart, a man named Corn answered her challenge, saying:
“I will marry you if you will accept me, for I know that you are
circumspect in making your selection of a husband.” In reply the maiden
asked: “If I should marry you what shall be my usual food?” Corn
answered: “If you will marry me your food shall be corn; corn shall be
your sustenance.” The maiden replied: “I accept you, and I am thankful
for my good fortune in finding just what I want. For a long time I have
been lonely, for I desired to see a human being, to be in a position to
mingle with mankind.” With these words she ran forward, and throwing
her arms around him fondly embraced him, saying: “I will share with you
your fortune or misfortune, whichever it be, wherever mankind shall
have charge of your welfare and needs, for my grandmother has appointed
me to care for mankind during the time that this earth shall endure. So
it shall be that they shall plant us always in one place. So from one
place you and I together shall depart when the time during which we
shall provide (food) for mankind, as has been appointed for us, shall
expire. We must teach them our songs and dances, so that mankind may
express their gratitude when they shall gather in their harvests of
corn and beans and squashes.”

Continuing, she said to her husband: “We must instruct mankind with
care in this matter, so that they shall do the essential things and
sing the essential songs of the Aʻkoñwiʹʻsĕⁿʼ,[446] (the ceremony of
the Corn dances). The women and the young maidens of both the Father
and the Mother side in beginning this ceremony shall stand on their
respective sides of the fire, forming in orderly lines with the matrons
of their several clans as leaders. One side shall first sing the song
which is in order, and then the other side shall sing that song; then
they shall sing it alternately, while the several leaders in taking the
lead must carry the turtle-shell rattle. It is important that this
shall be done in order, and that the rhythm of the songs be not broken.
When the song has been sung by both sides then the two lines of women
shall encircle the fire and dance around it three times. This shall be
done in the case of each song of the Aʻkoñwiʹʻsĕⁿʼ.

“Now, the words of the essential songs are as follows:

“(a) ‘Coming hither I heard them; I heard them sing and dance the
Aʻkoñwiʹʻsĕⁿʼ.’

“(b) ‘We have now arrived—we who are about to sing and dance the
Aʻkoñwiʹʻsĕⁿʼ.’

“(c) ‘Among living, growing, unplucked flowers I am walking reverently
(silently, slowly).’

“(d) ‘I am now dancing among living, growing, unplucked flowers
(blossoms).’

“(e) ‘We have now returned—we who are corn dancers and singers—we who
are women.’

“(f) ‘You two cousins,[447] do you now get the bark bowl (for sprouting
the seed corn). You two cousins, do you now get the bark bowl.’

“(g) ‘Oh! the berries have ripened. Oh! the berries have ripened—on
stalk and stem.’

“(h) ‘I see (in vision) a beautiful Spring season.
       “‘I see a fine field of growing corn.
       “‘In the middle of this field of corn there stands a lodge of
       bark.
       “‘There I see a profusion of drying poles and racks.
       “‘Thereon I see fine fat strings of corn hanging.
       “‘On these fine fat strings of corn I see rich lively seed
       corn.’

“(i) ‘Now, I am walking along. I am walking along giving thanks to the
Life God.’

“These are the essential songs which mankind shall sing.”





123. THE BEAN WOMAN [448]

(A FRAGMENT)

In ancient times a people dwelling near a river bank were startled by
the sound of singing, which came apparently from downstream. The voice
was that of a woman, and tradition says that it was indeed the
Bean-Woman who was singing.

The Bean-Woman sang, it is said, “Who shall marry me again? Let him ask
me in marriage.” The Panther-Man, answering this challenge, said: “I
will marry you if you will accept me for your husband.” Pausing in her
singing, the Bean-Woman asked: “If I marry you what shall be the food
which I shall regularly receive from you to eat?” The Panther-Man
replied: “You shall always have meat in great plenty to eat.” The
Bean-Woman answered: “In that case it is very probable I should die,
for I do not eat that kind of food under any circumstances.”

Thereupon the Bean-Woman resumed her singing: “Who will marry me again?
Is there one who is willing to marry me again? If so, let him ask me.”
Then the Deer-Man approached the Bean-Woman and said: “I will marry you
if you will accept me for your husband.” The Bean-Woman asked him:
“What food will you regularly provide for me to eat?” The Deer-Man
replied: “Browse and buds and the tender bark of trees, for these are
the things which I regularly eat.” The Bean-Woman answered: “Such a
marriage would not bring good fortune to me, because I have never eaten
that kind of food.” So the Deer-Man departed.

Then the Bean-Woman resumed her song: “Is there not some one who is
willing to marry me? If there be, let him ask me.” As she sang she
heard the Bear-Man say to her: “I will marry you if you will accept
me.” Whereupon she asked him: “What kind of food will you regularly
provide for me to eat?” He replied: “I will provide you with nuts of
various kinds, for even now I have many bark receptacles filled with
nuts for food.” The Bean-Woman replied: “In this event I should most
certainly die, for I have never been in the habit of eating that kind
of food; so I can not accept you.”

Without feeling disappointed she resumed her singing: “Is there not
some one who will marry me again? If so, let him ask me.” Then the
Wolf-Man approached her, saying: “I am willing to marry you if you will
accept me.” Once again the Bean-Woman asked: “If I should marry you
what kind of food would you regularly provide for me to eat?” The
Wolf-Man answered: “I will provide you with meat and venison.” At this
the Bean-Woman said with scorn: “It is, indeed, quite proper for you to
offer me meat and venison for food, but I have never had the desire to
eat meat which has been stolen.” Thereupon the Wolf-Man departed.

The Bean-Woman resumed singing, as before: “Is there any one who is
willing to marry me again? If there is, then let him ask me.” Then the
Corn-Man, drawing near, said: “I am willing to marry you if you will
accept me.” In reply she asked: “If I should marry you what will you
give me for my regular food?” The Corn-Man’s answer was: “You shall
have sweet corn to eat at all times.” In reply the Bean-Woman said: “I
pray that it may so come to pass. I am, indeed, thankful for this
offer, for it is a well-known fact that I am in need of it.” When the
Corn-Man had heard her answer, he said to her: “Come to me.” Rushing
forward, she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him, saying:
“This is, indeed, a condition established by Him who sent us, by Him
who created our bodies, beginning with the time when the earth was
new.” They dwelt together contented and happy.

This is the reason that the bean vine is at all times found entwined
around the cornstalk.





124. THE LEGEND OF ONENHA (THE CORN)

The event related in the following legend came to pass in ancient times
in the land inhabited by the Tuscarora; and Corn-Woman herself declared
this event to men.

In that ancient time there lived in that land a man who was alone, and
who had no kindred or friends in that place. He became very ill; so ill
that he was no longer able to leave his mat on the couch. Of course
there was no fire in his abode for he was unable to obtain fuel to keep
a fire burning; besides there was nothing for him to eat. He began to
be very sorrowful, expressing his grief thus: “Verily, I have become
poor and miserable indeed. I am hungry, too, and, perhaps, I shall die
by starvation.”

While he was ill it was usual for him to lie with his head covered.
There came a day when he heard the sound of voices, which he inferred
were those of women. Uncovering his head he listened intently to learn
something about the voices he heard. Then he heard one woman addressing
another: “What do you think of this matter? The man who dwells with us
is very ill; truly he is in a wretched condition, and he lacks care and
attention.” Then he heard the reply: “It is befitting, it would seem,
that we assist him at once to recover his health, for we know that
while he enjoyed good health it was customary for him to respect and
honor us in his travels. This is, indeed, what he was wont to do: In
whatever place he was traveling, on finding along the trail one of our
sisters who had strayed or become lost, and so had become the victim of
want, he would take her up and speak to her words of pity, saying:
‘Thou art in need and in distress; thou art lost on thy way, and there
is no possibility for anyone except me to have mercy on thee.’ Then he
would care for her. For this reason we should now repay him for all
these acts of kindness by aiding him, since now it is he who is
forsaken and in need of care.” The man who was ill now sat up with
uncovered head, thinking, “I shall see them; I shall have a look at the
two women who are conversing.” But he saw no one, and so was
disappointed. For several days he overheard these two women talking,
but he was not able to see any person around him.

There came a night, however, when the ill man had a dream, in which he
saw a woman of low stature but of fine appearance, with beautiful long
hair. In the dream she said to him: “I have been requested to come to
you (do you know it?) to tell you that we will now aid you in your
illness. We desire to have you stop thinking that you are about to die
and that you are poor and wretched because you have no kindred or
friends. Moreover, be of good courage, for you shall be well again
before long, and shall again travel much. This, too, shall come to
pass: A shower of rain shall come, whereupon you must arise and place
some receptacle where the raindrops may fall into it, and all the water
that falls into this receptacle you must drink. This shall suffice to
cure you of your illness. It is we who are making a repayment of an
obligation which is due you from us. We are merely doing our part in
aiding you at this time, because you have so many times had compassion
on us during the long time you have been traveling over the earth. For
it was your wont when you were traveling on whatsoever paths they were,
when you saw lying on the trail ‘Corn,’ ‘a Bean,’ or the ‘Seed of the
Ancient Squash’—we are of course sisters—to take her up and have pity
on her, saying: ‘Thou art lost and forsaken even on the trail.’ It is
for these acts of kindness that we shall now, I say, repay thee.[449]

“Moreover, it shall come to pass that you will hear us when we sing and
dance the Corn dances to give thanks that you are again to travel over
the earth, for such is, indeed, our custom when we are happy.

“Know this, too, that when mankind give attention to us, when we are
born (sprout) out of the earth, and when they till the ground whereon
we stand, we give thanks for this attention. Again, when they form the
hills of earth around us, we also rejoice; then, too, when they enlarge
the hills to accommodate our growing bodies we regularly give thanks by
singing and dancing the Corn dances; and when they pluck the ears of
corn, gather them in heaps in the middle of the field, husk them, and
braid them into osteⁿʼsaʼs (corn-strings), and hang these on frames or
lintels of poles, we also give thanks in like manner; and as soon as
these strings have dried and they bring us into the lodges we give
thanks and rejoice by singing and dancing Corn dances.

“Now, I bid you do this. Tell all human beings whom you shall meet that
they, too, must sing and dance the Corn dances when they wish to
express their thanksgiving at the time they are pleased to see us come
to maturity again; and this is the reason that they must perform this
ceremony. It is we, of course, who continue to assist you by furnishing
that on which you human beings subsist. So be of good courage and
cherish my words.”

Then the ill man awoke and verily he saw a rainstorm on the horizon
which was approaching. He arose, and taking a bark bowl he set it
outside of the lodge where the raindrops would fall into it. In a short
time it began to rain and the raindrops soon filled the bowl. He
proceeded at once to drink the rain water and began to recover his
health.

The following night as he lay on his couch he heard the voices of women
singing. He noticed that there had come on the drying poles in the
lodge several strings of ears of corn and further that these strings
swayed slightly to and fro, and that the singing proceeded from the
grains of corn, in the guise of women, on the ears. Some of the words
employed in these songs were: “Among the Flowers I am moving
reverently,” “Among the Flowers I am singing and dancing;” and the
women’s voices he heard saying: “The Fruit or Berries are ripe, the
Fruit or Berries are ripe,” and many other songs of the Corn dances.
Thereafter the sick man rapidly regained his wonted health and again
traveled over the earth.

In time the man returned to his own people and related to them all his
experiences, and he sang for them the songs that he had heard sung by
the Corn women. It was at this time that the Council of Ancients—the
Elders—of the people said publicly: “We are indeed fortunate to learn
of this matter; and we must regularly perform this ceremony in the time
to come.”

Not long after this event the man who had been ill again heard the
singing of the Corn women; he heard them singing in the place where the
corn had been planted. Moreover, he saw them—a great company of Corn
people, Bean people, and Squash people, and so far as he could see they
were in all respects perfect human beings. They danced in a slow,
gentle manner in imitation of the waving of the corn stalks as they
stand in the ground. Women and girls took part in the dance.

The man again heard all the songs and so learned them. At once he told
his people what he had seen and heard. Again the Council of Ancients
said: “We must perform this ceremony, too, for this is part and parcel
of the other.”

From this time the Corn dances and Corn songs were known and used, and
these are the songs that are in use at this day on the anniversaries of
the various seasons, beginning with the time the people plant the corn
grains and ending when the strings of ears of corn are stored in the
lodges—the corn harvest. This ceremony is called Goñdăʻgoñwiʹsas.





125. THE ORIGIN OF WHITE CORN, OR KANĔÑHAGĔÑÄT

In ancient times there lived a community of people at the foot of a
very high, steep, and rugged cliff. There came a day when they heard
the plaintive singing of a woman, who seemed to be on the top of this
almost inaccessible mountain. The mysterious woman directed the words
of her songs to a very old but highly respected man of this small
community. The burden of the songs was expressed by the words: “Oh!
kinsman of my father’s brother, come up here; I indeed desire greatly
to become your wife.” These words gave much anxiety to the people who
heard them, but the old man paid no attention to them.

The woman, seemingly on the mountain top, continued to sing daily,
however, and finally some of the people urged the old man to go up to
the summit to learn the designs of the persistent singer. But he
excused himself, saying: “The mountain is so steep and rugged, and I am
now become so aged that I do not feel able to make the attempt to climb
its side.”

But the woman on the height, continuing her singing from day to day,
and the anxiety of the people becoming very marked, the chiefs of the
community in council finally requested the old man, whom they highly
respected, to go to the mountain top to unravel, if possible, the
meaning of the mysterious singing. They represented to him the
importance of this mission, since the persistent singing might have
some relation to the welfare of the community at large.

After long meditation he replied to the request of the council, “Oh, my
chiefs! at your request I will go to the mountain top to learn, if it
be possible, the meaning of this woman’s singing.”

Having made the necessary preparations the old man started, and after
overcoming many difficulties he finally reached the summit of the
mountain. There he saw a young, fine-looking woman, who stood not far
from the brink of the cliff. She had been standing in that position
while he was painfully wending his way up the mountain side and urged
him to have patience and courage to persist in his attempt to climb the
mountain. Seeing that he had reached the top of the mountain, the young
woman beckoned him to her side, at the same time saying: “Do thou come
to me, Oh, my friend! I desire to share my mat with thee.” Drawing near
to the young woman, the aged man said kindly to her: “I am
unfortunately past the age when it might have been in my power to
comply with your request.” But the young woman replied: “Fear not, but
draw near me. I will endow thee with the power which will enable thee
to comply with my desire. So come close to me. Now, mark my words and
carefully cherish them. Out of the ground at the spot whereon I have
lain a plant shall sprout and grow. Care tenderly for this, for it
shall be a boon to your people, a chief source of food to them; and it
shall be called Kanĕñhagĕñät; that is to say, White Corn. In five days
from now you must return to care for what you will find growing out of
the ground, as I have already told you. As for me, I shall die.” The
aged man drew near the woman and embraced her. Time passed and he
swooned. When he finally recovered his senses he discovered that the
young woman had disappeared—vanished into thin air—and he believed that
he had embraced a vision. Arising from the ground, he returned to his
people at the foot of the mountain.

Remembering the words of the young woman to the effect that he must
return to the mountain top to obtain a mysterious plant, at the end of
five days the old man returned to the summit. There he found on the
spot whereon the young woman had lain a growing corn plant. He
carefully pruned away from it all weeds and placed rich, fine earth
around its rootlets, and also watered it from a neighboring spring.

Taking great delight in caring for this corn plant, the aged man came
frequently to the mountain top to attend to it. In course of time it
had grown to maturity, bearing three ripened ears of white corn. These
he carefully husked and carried back to his lodge. In the spring he
assembled all the people of the community and divided the corn among
them equally, a few grains to each family; and he instructed them in
the method of planting and caring for the corn, telling them that in
time it would become one of their staple food plants. Such is, it is
said, the manner in which the white corn originated among the
Tuscarora, who have generously shared the seed with neighboring tribes
and kindred.





126. THE ORIGIN OF THE PORCUPINE PEOPLE OR CLAN [450]

In ancient times, it is said, a people dwelling in a certain country,
having become very numerous, decided to divide into equal parts their
hunting grounds and the game animals living on them. This division of
lands took place at a public assembly.

It was solemnly agreed that all persons should respect the boundary
marks separating their own lands from those of their neighbors; that no
person should cross such boundary lines for the purpose of hunting game
animals; and that any person violating this agreement would be guilty
of trespass. The part assigned to every family (ohwachira) was, indeed,
very large, being considered sufficiently extensive to provide
sustenance for that family. It was still further agreed that when the
trespass should be discovered the aggrieved people might, after
learning all the facts in the case, exterminate the family of the
transgressor, unless a suitable expiatory recompense were offered and
accepted from such clan and family. This compact was solemnly kept for
many years and the several contracting clans or peoples lived in great
harmony.

There came a day, however, when a hunter from one of these neighboring
clans deliberately violated the compact of his clan with their
neighbors by crossing the boundary line into the territory of an
adjoining people and there killing some game animal. His act, which was
soon discovered, led to a long and bloody war between the two families,
resulting in the virtual extermination of the clan of the offender.

Only one man escaped the vengeance of the offended family. He saved
himself by flight from his home and succeeded in avoiding his pursuers
by dropping into a deep cavern in a rocky cliff far from his land.
Having passed through the entrance of the cavern, the man saw that the
passage led to a very large open space, which he found to be well
lighted. In the center of a spacious field he saw a lodge, which
attracted his attention. While watching for some sign of life in the
lodge, he was gratified to see a woman emerge therefrom and then
reenter.

Going back into the passageway to the cavern, the man kept a close
watch on the lodge. In a short time another woman came out, followed by
the woman he had first seen. The two walked splay-footed toward the
place where the fugitive had concealed himself. On reaching the opening
of the cavern they stopped, and one said to the other: “Let us go back
home, for I smell the smoke of a fire.” Thereupon the two started back
down from the entrance. So they quickly returned to the lodge and at
once reentered it. Shortly afterward a man came out of the lodge. He
shook himself as a dog shakes himself after coming up out of the water,
and it seemed to the fugitive that the place became lighter.[450a] The
man came directly to the mouth of the cavern and then returned to the
lodge. He told the women that the scent in the entrance was not that of
smoke but of a human being.

Again the two women came forth, this time to find the source of the
human odor that scented the cavern’s mouth. They were not long in
discovering the man, who had seated himself near the entrance.
Approaching him, the elder woman said: “Whence have you come, Human
Being?” In reply the man said: “I came in here to conceal myself from
my enemies. All my people have been killed in a day.” The elder woman
answered: “We invite you to our home. Will you not come home with us?”
The man replied: “I willingly accept your invitation. I will go home
with you. Let us start now.”

In a short time they reached the lodge, and on entering it the brother
of the two women greeted the man, saying: “Be of good cheer. Fear not.
No harm will come to you. You shall not suffer any want. You shall
marry my elder sister, and there is plenty of food in this lodge and in
our store-cache.” The fugitive was greatly delighted with his
reception, and he informed the man that he agreed to the proposals made
to him by his host, and he took up his abode there with these three
people.

The bridegroom was indeed very happy, for he kept saying: “I am very
happy, for my wife loves me. I am indeed glad to be here in this place
with you.” It was not long before he and his loving wife were blessed
with an infant son. They all lived in comfort and amity.

When the man had lived in this place about 15 years and had become the
father of a number of interesting children, his brother-in-law one day
said to him: “The time has now arrived when you should return to the
place whence you fled to this cavern home; and when you depart you
should take back with you your wife and your children. They are now
your own people, although they are of our blood too.”

After making the necessary preparations by packing up their small
belongings, the man with his wife and children bade their kindred
farewell and started for their future home. Passing through the mouth
of the cavern they emerged into a dense forest of large trees, in which
there were here and there bare tracts. In this region the husband and
father found much game, consisting of deer, bear, wild turkeys,
partridges, quail, rabbits, elk, moose, and many other animals which
served as food. When they had erected a camp in a sheltered place in
the forest the father spent his time in hunting to support his family.
As he went from place to place through the forest he met a number of
other hunters, whom he invited to visit his camp. These visitors
brought their wives along to see the newcomers. They were greatly
surprised to find that the wife and the children spoke a strange
language, which was not understood by any of the visitors, although
easily comprehended by the husband. At last one of the visitors asked:
“Of what clan are you?” directing his question to the wife of the host.
The host replied for her: “She is of the Porcupine clan of the Wañʹdat
tribe. I am of the Wañʹdat tribe, too.” After a long silence one of the
visitors said: “How did you receive such a name?” The host replied,
“The Porcupines gave me that name.” Then the visitors exclaimed: “We
have found a new people, who are called Wañʹdat, and we must love them
as we do our own peoples and tribes. Let us greet them as our friends.”

From this time the family of the Porcupine clan of the Wañʹdat had many
friends and before a long time had passed they had become very
numerous. The children of the women were called the Porcupine people.
Their numbers made them powerful and influential. They were well fed
and strong physically. They were fine hunters, knowing well where to
find game of all kinds, where to gather nuts of all edible kinds and
various kinds of berries and small fruits, and they knew also just
where the wild pigeons had their roosts.

They noted the whereabouts of these places, and when the season was
fully come their leaders and chiefs would call to their people in a
loud voice: “Come! Let us go to feed ourselves abundantly where the
wild pigeons have now prepared their roosts for the purpose of
breeding.” At this time the wild pigeons were so numerous that many
flocks stretched over large tracts of territory, darkening the light of
the sun and making with their wings a loud rushing sound resembling
that of an approaching tornado. Giving heed to the call of their
leaders, the people would make the necessary preparations to go to the
roosts of the wild pigeons. Having reached the designated place, the
people quickly put up temporary camps and then went out at once to kill
the squabs, which they brought to their lodges to broil and eat with
boiled corn bread and corn soup. All were delighted with the bounty of
nature—the gift of the Master of Life.

Having thus spent part of the summer killing wild pigeons, after the
birds had departed, a leader among the people would say: “Oh! friends,
cousins, and kindred, the deer have gone in this direction and are now
fat and in good condition to be killed for food and for their skins.
Let us then decamp now and go to the place where they may be found. Up
and let us be going. Let us lose no time in delay.” So leaving the
grounds of the pigeon roost early in the autumn, they would journey to
the lands where the deer were accustomed to feed and to raise their
young. There they would erect temporary camps and make ready for the
deer hunt. Then the good hunters led out small parties in quest of the
deer and in this manner usually succeeded in killing large numbers of
them. The venison they dried for their winter supply of food, and the
skins they tanned into fine buckskin for leggings and moccasins and
other garments; and so these people were warm and contented during the
winter months. They shot the deer with bows and arrows and caught some
with traps, in the setting of which they were adepts. Thus they made
the natural food supply of their home country contribute to their
welfare and comfort, and being well fed they were strong, alert, and
resourceful.

These people were very observant of the phases and phenomena of nature,
and had signs by which to foreknow coming events. Should they wish to
know the degree of the cold of an approaching winter they would watch
carefully the muskrats as they prepared their winter quarters. If the
lining of the winter home of the animal was made thin the people would
conclude that the coming winter would be mild; but if thick, that it
would be severe.

Another sign from which they judged the severity of an approaching
winter was the condition of the deerskins which they secured. If these
were thin and if the hair on them was short and not close, the people
would conclude that the coming winter would be mild. If the people saw
the bears making their winter quarters of leaves early in the autumn
they would infer that the approaching winter would be very severe.

If much hail fell during the autumn and winter the people concluded
that there would be much fruit and many nuts the coming season.

Again, should a person traveling through the forest lose his way he
would notice on which side of a tall straight tree trunk moss was
growing. Assuming this to be the north side he would thus get his
bearings.

Should a person see a rock damp from the humidity in the air he would
forecast rain for the following day.

If a person observed wild ducks and wild geese disporting themselves
actively in the water he would anticipate showers for three days.

The foregoing are some of the signs and omens which the Porcupine clan
taught to their neighbors, and through these they were able to forecast
coming events with great success. These things made the Porcupine clan
of the Wañʹdat tribe noted for wisdom and foresight.





127. THE ORIGIN OF THE BEAR SONGS AND DANCES

Concerning the origin of the Bear songs and dances the following legend
is told by our ancestors, said a Seneca shaman. This is what took place
when these songs and dances became manifest on their human side, or
rather, became manifest in their relation to human beings in their
quest of happiness.

In the past, it is said, a boy was kidnaped from a temporary camp of
some hunters. It happened in this manner. A woman of the hunting party
was left alone at the camp while the hunters were out in the forest for
the day; it was her duty to keep the fire and to have food cooked when
the hunters returned in the evening. The woman had a child, a boy, who
was then nearly 2 years of age. The little fellow played outside of the
lodge while his mother was busy around the fire or with her other
duties inside of the lodge, feeling that her child could take care of
himself in the meantime.

One day, when the men had gone on their usual hunting trips in the
forest, the woman fell asleep while the child was outside of the lodge
playing by himself. Suddenly he was surprised to see a strange man
coming toward him. This man, whom the child did not know, came directly
to the place where he was at play. When he reached the child he said:
“My child, I have come for you. You shall go with me to our lodge. My
children desire that you should visit us, and you and they shall play
together regularly. The reason for this is that you are entirely alone,
and they will amuse you so that your mind will be contented.” Then they
two started away. They arrived at the lodge of the strange man, where
they found two small boys of the same size who lived there. On entering
the lodge the father said: “I have now brought here the person whom you
two for a long time have desired me to bring to you, so now your wish
has been fulfilled. You two must love and be kind to him; you must
never hurt him; you two must not annoy or vex him; let there be peace
and pleasantness during the time that he shall be on a visit to us. So,
whatever happens, be kind to him.”

The three children went around from place to place and played together.
The visiting boy observed carefully all that he saw in and about the
lodge. He saw what these people were accustomed to eat; that they lived
on various kinds of nuts, on honey, and on huckleberries, mulberries,
and various other kinds of berries. All these things he understood. He
saw, too, that they had plenty of corn, on which they lived, as well as
on the berries and honey and nuts.

The visiting boy had been there for some time when it became the custom
for him to accompany the other two children around from place to place;
he would accompany them when they went out to seek for nuts. He learned
that they prized the chestnut above all other kinds of nuts; that next
to these they highly prized honey; and next to this they prized
huckleberries and mulberries. It was the custom of these people in
gathering these things to work independently to get for themselves as
much of these articles of food as was possible when they were in
season.

After the lapse of many days spent thus the headman of this lodge, who
had brought the child there, said to his little guest: “Now I am about
to tell you something. You must tell the human beings when you have
returned to your home what I will now reveal to you as our wishes. You
shall tell them that we have strong desires that there might be found a
way by which we could be enabled to give aid to mankind whenever they
may be forced into a critical situation by means of sickness, which is
wont to befall mankind. You shall know that we have observed in the
past that disease travels about from place to place; and it comes to
pass, as we have observed, that when it has selected its victim this
person at once realizes that he has pains in a certain part of the
body. It is well known that if they would remember to call on us we
certainly have the power to cause this evil thing to turn aside so that
it shall pass on one side or the other of the person, in such manner
that the person will not become very ill and he will soon recover his
usual health.

“Now look at what belongs to us and which it is our custom to use.
Examine this carefully. It is this that we use when it so happens that
a man while out hunting takes a course directly toward the place in
which we abide. This object is held up before us, and the hunter is
turned away from us.”

The young child, on looking at the object, saw a forked wooden rod in
the hands of the strange man. Thereupon the man said to the child:
“This is the way in which I regularly use this thing.” So saying, he
held the forked rod up before himself, and continued: “The support of
the forks must point toward the hunter, and as he follows the direction
of the rod he is bound to pass on one or the other side of the place in
which we abide. As he passes I guide the rod around past my side toward
the rear of our position. Thus we ward off the hunter from finding and
injuring us.

“It is this thing we shall use in giving aid to mankind in their
necessities if they will only appeal to us to aid them, and this is the
way in which we shall proceed to do so. In the first place, when the
people desire to make their appeal to us they shall prepare a drink
composed of huckleberries and of mulberries, into which they shall put
maple sugar. When they have prepared this drink they shall collect
native tobacco, which they shall cast upon the fire, at the same time
saying: ‘Oh, you Bears! do you now partake of this native
tobacco—tobacco which our Creator has provided for us, and with which
He intended that mankind should support their prayers to Him, no matter
to what object of His creation they wished to direct their appeals.’
So, now, you Bears, who move from place to place in the forest, and all
with whom you are united in bonds of mutual aid, we ask you to assist
in bringing about such conditions that we shall think in peace, and
that those who are being called away by death may recover health and
contentment of mind.

“Now the drink of berry juices has been prepared and sweetened with
maple sugar—the drink which you Bears so highly prize; and now mankind
are about to assume your bodily forms, and they will then touch you in
making their appeals to you. Then one shall cast native tobacco on the
fire, at the same time saying, ‘Now, be it known that there shall begin
the ceremony which is of you, Bears.’ Then the people shall be
exsufflated [451] by the masters of ceremony; and the people shall take
a drink of the berry beverage, and in taking it each person shall say,
‘I give thanks unto you severally, you Bears.’ This is all that is
necessary to be done. Then, verily, the duty devolves upon us to give
aid to mankind. But when we are engaged in giving the aid we shall not
be seen by mankind. Moreover, this shall be done. You must take back
with you the songs which we are accustomed to use when we wish to enjoy
ourselves in our dances.”

Thereupon, the strange man began to sing the songs, and these songs the
child learned and brought back with him to his own lodge. In the songs
the singer employs these words: “No matter what a human being may
desire to do this shall accomplish his desire.” “I know all the virtues
of the things that grow on plants on the earth.” These are the words of
the songs which the child heard the strange man sing to him.

This is what took place in the lodge from which the child was stolen
when the mother of the child awoke from her sleep. Finding that the boy
was missing, she hunted for him everywhere. When the men returned from
hunting they at once joined the mother in searching for the lost boy,
but they failed to find him. They sought for him even to the banks of a
river which flowed at some distance from the lodge; they even sought
for the tracks of the boy on both sides of the river. Then, boarding
canoes, they went up and down the river to learn if possible whether
the child had been drowned or not, but they were unable to find any
trace of him in the water. Next they turned their attention to the
neighboring forest, which they thoroughly searched, but they did not
find him.

By this time they were much troubled in mind because of the child who
was lost, indeed. Then the father of the child went out to hunt, and
when he returned he said to his wife: “It is, perhaps, the proper thing
for us to prepare a ‘reunion’ feast; for it seems true that our child
has perished.” Thereupon the mother set to work preparing the food.
When it was ready she placed it on the ground in the customary place
for eating, and they two sat down to eat. Taking a portion of the food
they were eating and setting it aside, the mother said: “As respects
this food thy and my child does now become its owner and disposer.”
Thus they finished their feast of “reunion of the living.”

After the lapse of some time the mother said to her husband: “Perhaps
we two should now leave for our home, going back to our own people,
because it is true that I am not at peace in my mind on account of what
has happened to us.” The husband consented to her proposition, and they
packed their meat and their small belongings and, boarding a canoe,
started for their home. After their arrival at home the news of what
happened to them spread among their people. After some days the mother
of the lost child said to her husband: “Is it not perhaps a good thing
for us to go back to the place in which our child was lost? It is now
nearing the anniversary of the disappearance of our dear child, and it
seems good that we two should be there when that time shall come again,
so that we may prepare food there again just as we did when he was
still with us.” Her husband replied: “Let it be done as you desire. I
am willing to go.”

After making their usual preparations they again started for their
hunting grounds. They went most of the way by canoe. At last they
reached the place where they had encamped when their child was lost,
and they kindled their fire in the same place again. Then the father
went out to hunt as usual.

One day the mother said: “The day has now come which is the anniversary
of the loss of our child. We two shall now have a feast of the ‘reunion
of the living,’ and we shall set aside a portion for our lost child;
and it shall come to pass just as if he were present with us.” So, as
soon as the food was ready, she set it on the ground in the usual place
and they two began to eat. She also took a portion of the food and,
setting it aside, said: “This food which I have set aside I give to my
child.” When they had finished this meal they gave thanks for life and
for the food which nature supplied to them.

Then the mother of the lost child said: “Now, there is nothing for us
to do but to start for our home. We will go back to the place where
dwell our own people. We will do this because this place is so
unpleasant, for indeed I can do nothing but think about the misfortune
which befell us two in the days which have past.” Her husband, agreeing
with her, said: “I see no reason why that, too, may not be done, for I,
too, am in the same frame of mind as you are. My thoughts are not at
all pleasant, so we will not remain here any longer.”

At that time they left the hunting camp and started for home, where
they soon arrived by canoe and a short land journey. On their way the
woman took her seat in the bow of the canoe, while the husband sat in
the stern and paddled. The woman wistfully viewed the banks of the
river as they moved along rapidly. When they had gone quite a distance
the woman noticed a mountain which stood on one side of the river, and
which was covered with a dense growth of small shrubs and undergrowth.
As she watched this mountain top she was surprised and agitated to see
her lost child walking there at the edge of the dense undergrowth. At
once recognizing him, she sprang up in the canoe, frantically
exclaiming, “Oh! I see my and thy child again. Look, there he is
walking along.” The father, too, recognized their son whom they mourned
as dead and hastened to bring the canoe to the river bank at the point
nearest to the place where the child had been seen. As soon as the
canoe reached the land they both alighted. The father then went
directly toward the child, who apparently awaited them; the mother was
following at her husband’s heels. But as they approached him the child
fled away into the shrubbery, and they pursued him. The father had some
difficulty in overtaking him. When the father had caught him the mother
came up to them. Then the delighted parents began to ask the child
questions, but he did not give any answer. He did not seem to be able
to make a reply, and they saw that the child was too much frightened to
be able to understand them. So the father lifted him in his arms and
carried him back to the canoe. They saw that his face and hands and
feet were all still natural in appearance, but that the other parts of
his body were covered with fine fur; in this respect he was just like a
bear. Again boarding the canoe and hastening home, they soon arrived
among their people.

After they had reached their home lodge the children of their neighbors
came to visit the newcomer, and they began to play together. At first
it was quite impossible for the recovered child to converse with the
other children; it was a long time before he was again able to talk
even a little. Gradually, however, he became able to carry on an
extended conversation with them.

There soon came a time when he voluntarily began to relate to his
father and mother the circumstances under which he had been lost to
them. He told them that a strange man had carried him away to his home.
The child carefully told what things he had seen that were strange to
him, what he had seen when he had traveled around with the strange
people, and what these people used for food. He said that the strange
man who had taken him away had instructed him to carry back a message
which he should relate in detail to his people. This gave all that was
necessary to enable them to perform the ceremony of the Bears, and he
also taught the people all the songs of the Bears, which he had been
taught by the Bear people expressly to be taught in turn to the people
of the stolen child.

The child told the people that he had lived with the Bear people during
the time he had been in captivity. He told the people the correct use
of the forked rod of wood in turning away from the people the course of
disease, by means of which the Bear people were able usually to cause
the hunter to pass by the hiding place of bears, for which he might be
on the hunt.

It was in this manner that the Bear ceremony was revealed to mankind,
so that it is possible for them to perform it. Such is the legend of
the origin of the Bear ceremony, as it is called.





128. THE ORIGIN OF THE PIGEON SONGS AND DANCES

This is the manner in which the origin of the Pigeon songs and dances
was disclosed to human beings in ancient times. These birds had formed
a nesting place, or one might say more properly that they had assembled
at a so-called pigeon roost.

Having received knowledge of this fortunate circumstance a great number
of men and women with their children, starting from their villages,
went to the place where the pigeons had formed their roost. In time
these people arrived at their rendezvous and they at once began to
build their temporary camps according to their ohwachiras and clans and
kindreds.

There went with this concourse of people a man who had just reached the
age of puberty and who had no evil habits. He was a very good person.
Then it came to pass that they began to travel from place to place
through the roost to kill such pigeons as they needed. At this time the
upright young man heard the tumult arising from the cries of the
pigeons holding converse together and he also saw the pigeons in vast
numbers wheeling in circles.

Suddenly he was greatly surprised to see flying among the pigeons one
white in color as to its body. He watched it for a moment flying in
circles, when, leaving the others, the white pigeon came flying toward
the place where the upright young man was standing and alighted very
near to him. At once the pigeon began to speak, saying: “Be it known to
you that we have selected you to tell your people what it is we desire
the most, what it is we most need. You must tell your chief that we do
not like to have so many among you who are in this place who do not
remember Him who has created us. There are indeed many whose thoughts
are only of evil things which they desire to do to please themselves.
We wish that those among you who have these thoughts should put away
evil longings and purposes, and we believe that whoever does not do so
will suffer some grave misfortune.

“We further wish you and your people to join with us as a custom in
offering thanksgivings to Him who created us when each day shall return
to us, and also when each evening comes upon us. We think it is
profitable that this should come to pass as I have suggested. You see
us when the morning comes making a great tumult, and you hear us all
talking while we circle around the place in which we have our roost.
The reason for this action is the giving of thanks. We are offering
thanksgivings to Him who has created our bodies. In the evening this
again takes place; we again offer up thanksgivings to Him; and you see
us then making circles around our roosting place, and there is the
accompaniment of sound and the confusion of voices which you hear. Now,
know this: We are performing the ceremony of the dance, and we are all
singing. This signifies that we are happy; we are full of joy.

“We have no remonstrance to make against your coming to this place
seeking to obtain the young growing persons of those whose bodies are
such as ours. Indeed, you wish that these shall become a source of
contentment and satisfaction—these, the offspring of the pigeons. So it
is that we have none but the kindest of feelings toward you in this
pursuit of your desires. You must know, too, that He who created our
bodies has ordained that this (flesh) shall be for the welfare and
contentment of human beings dwelling on the earth.

“You must know further that I, on whom you are looking, I, who am
speaking to you, am indeed the oldest person among my people, and it is
on account of my great age that they have chosen me to come to you to
tell you our wishes and to teach you our songs. You, too, are able to
sing them. It is needful that you shall enjoy yourselves; that you
shall dance in order to do this; and that all your people who are here
shall take part. In dancing you shall make circuits around the places
where you have kindled your fires. When you have finished the singing
and the dancing you shall go with your chief to make an offering of
tobacco at the very border of our encampment, where you two shall stand
to perform this ceremony. When you have kindled a fire you shall cast
native tobacco thereon, and while thus occupied you must pray our
Creator to permit you and your people to pass your period of sojourn
here in health and in prosperity. At that time your chief, too, shall
cast something on the fire—things of which you make daily use, and
these objects shall become the prayer (the word) [452] or message of
the people. Furthermore, we together, your and my people, must unite in
the performance of this ceremony, and we must also be of one accord
when we make this prayer and request of the Creator of our bodies. Now
it is for you to return to your people and tell them fully what I have
said to you. This is what I have to say.”

Then the upright young man replied to his pigeon friend: “Your
proposition is agreeable to me, and I will fulfill my duty in the
matter by telling my people all that you have said to me.”

Without further speaking the white pigeon mounted in the air and flew
away. The young man, while watching it fly off, saw a large number of
pigeons moving in a circle as they flew along; and he heard the birds
sing, making a very loud sound, a tumult of voices. He listened very
attentively for a long time and finally learned the songs which the
pigeons were so loudly singing. Then he returned to his lodge and his
own fireside.

At once he related in every detail all that the white pigeon had said
to him. A messenger was sent for the chief of his clan, and when he
arrived the upright young man again repeated all that the white pigeon
had said to him as to the duties of the people who were there to hunt
for squabs. When the chief had heard in great detail all that the young
man reported he at once said: “Let this be done at once by us as has
been proposed by the white pigeon. Let some one be detailed to make a
collection of offerings, and then we shall proceed with the remainder
of the ceremony.” Certain headmen were directed to make the collection
of offerings. Going from lodge to lodge, they made a collection of
various articles presented to them as offerings in the ceremony. Some
gave wristlets, some bracelets, some necklaces, while others
contributed articles of dress, moccasins, and tobacco of the native
variety. When they had visited all the lodges they returned to the
lodge of the upright young man, where he and their chief awaited them.

After they had properly arranged the offerings the chief said: “Let us
now start; we will go toward the place whereon borders the pigeon roost
or nesting place.” Then they two started, the chief and the upright
young man. When they had reached the border of the pigeon roost they
kindled there a very small fire, and the young man made an offering of
native tobacco by casting it into the fire, at the same time asking the
Creator for the health and welfare and contentment of all the people
while they were at that place. His prayer was long and earnest, and
when he ceased his invocation the chief stepped forward to begin his
prayer. Bringing all the articles which had been offered and standing
before the fire, he said in prayer: “Thou who hast created our bodies,
here lie all those things by which we support our message (by which we
support its head), all the words of our prayer. We offer these to Thee.
Accept them as a testimony of our faith.” Then he laid all the objects
which he had brought near the fire. Thereupon the two men returned to
the lodge of the upright young man.

When there they went at once from lodge to lodge to call a council of
the people. As soon as the people had come together and had seated
themselves according to their families and their clans the chief arose
and addressed them. He urged them to repent of their evil deeds through
self-condemnation and to offer up thanksgivings to their Creator in the
morning and also in the evening; he said to them that this custom
should continue forever, as it would bring health and prosperity and
happiness to all those who practiced it. When he had finished his
address on the need of observing faithfully the things which had been
taught them by the Pigeon people, he said: “Now let us severally give
thanksgivings to the Creator of our bodies, and, moreover, we will
dance to the songs of the Pigeon people. Every person should take part
in this ceremony.”

Thereupon the upright young man and the chief took their stations at
the head of the line of dancers. When all were in line and ready the
young man began to sing the songs of the pigeons, and all danced,
following the leaders. In dancing they made a circuit of the lodges,
moving slowly to the rhythm of the songs as they turned from the right
toward the left. When the young man had sung all the songs the head of
the line had reached the point of departure.

Then the chief, addressing the people, said: “We have now, indeed,
performed this ceremony as it has been taught to us by the people of
the pigeons; and when we shall depart from this place we must take back
with us this ceremony, which will be of great benefit to us. We have
learned these songs here from a superior people, and so we must cherish
this ceremony. We have learned, too, that in dancing we must always
make the circuit of the fires in one certain direction, namely, from
the right toward the left. The reason for this is that you use your
right hands either to seize or to release whatever you wish, so it is
necessary that the right side at all times be on the outside of the
circle of dancers, and that the part of the body in which lies our life
shall at all times be on the inside of the line of dancers. Let us now
make ready to start for our homes.” With loud shouts of approval and of
exuberance of joy the dancers returned to their lodges to make
preparations to depart for their homes.





129. THE LEGEND OF HAHADODAGWATʻHA

Once there dwelt together a brother and his younger sister in a lodge.

The brother had a rich suit of hair, half of which was red and the
other half black. It was the daily occupation of the brother to go out
hunting, and the younger sister was contented. They lived thus in peace
for a long time.

One morning the brother went out as usual to hunt. He had not been gone
long when seemingly he returned, laughing and looking at his younger
sister, it is said. He took a seat by her side as she sat on her bed
and embraced her, whereupon she said to him: “What has happened to
you?” He made no reply but attempted to throw her backward on the bed
while he tickled her. At this she exclaimed: “You are abusing me; you
have never before acted in this manner;” and she struggled with him as
he continued to grapple with her, until at last he went out of the
lodge.

Not long after this episode her brother entered the lodge. Having been
injured, she was weeping. Her brother said to her: “What has happened
to you? Are you, perhaps, ill?” She made no reply and would not give
him any food. Then she spoke to him, saying: “It is, indeed, an awful
thing, the manner in which you have abused me, your own sister.” He
answered: “What have I done to you?” She replied: “You abused me and
tickled me, and desired to throw me on my back. This is the reason why
my mind is troubled.” Answering, he said: “Not in the least could I
abuse you, for I have too much compassion for you.” But she did not
believe him. Then he continued, saying, “Now: it is, perhaps, my friend
who has visited you and who looks exactly like me, having hair like
mine, of which half is red.” Then she said: “That is not true; at all
events, it was you who came into the lodge.” Thereupon he added: “My
friend made this visit, because you have now arrived at womanhood. Not
far away stands the lodge where mother and son live; the son is my
friend.” She told him that she would not believe a thing he had said to
her. He answered that whatever happened to him happened also to his
friend.

The brother himself warmed up some food and ate his meal. In the
morning his sister would not arise, for she was still very angry with
him; so he himself prepared his morning meal and ate it. When he had
finished eating it he went out to hunt. Before going, he said to his
sister: “Do not think hard of the conduct of my friend, for he only
desires to marry you.”

Just after the brother had left he (as she supposed) returned and
seized her as she was walking along, and they struggled desperately in
the lodge. She succeeded in scratching him in the face, whereupon he
left the lodge and fled.

When the sun was nearly set her brother returned to the lodge. He said
to his sister: “Oh, my younger sister! I fell among thorns and
briers—that is why I am all scratched up.” She was indeed astonished at
what he had told her, for had she not herself scratched him in the
face? So she replied: “I for my part can not believe what you say.”
Then she began as usual to weep.

Finally, the brother said: “My sister, you believe that it is I who act
thus, but it shall be made evident that it is not I who am doing this.
To-morrow as soon as I depart the man will return and will enter the
lodge. As soon as he starts to leave you must seize his robe of skin
and pull it off, for it is exactly like mine in all respects.”

In the morning the brother started, as was his custom, on a hunting
trip. After he had been gone only a short time a man suddenly entered
the lodge and at once seized the lone sister, whereupon they struggled
fiercely. When he attempted to throw her on the ground she exerted her
whole might to free herself. Having failed in his purpose, he started
to flee from the lodge. As the ends of his robe were flying about,
catching hold of it, she drew it off, at which he went out of the lodge
leaving the robe in her hands, as its fastening broke.

It was not very long after this episode when her brother reentered the
lodge. He said to her: “Has he made another visit?” She replied: “Yes,
of course, he has; it is you yourself returning.” She did not believe
in the least what her brother was telling her, for she felt sure that
it was he who was tormenting her. By this time her mind had greatly
changed from normal, for she did not cease from lamenting her
situation, being so worried to think that it was her own brother who
had attempted to outrage her. She then handed him the torn robe,
saying: “Here is this robe.” Taking it, he said: “There, now! that is
certainly the robe of my friend. As to me, in hunting I had climbed a
tree on which a bear lived and fell from it, and in the fall my robe
was torn.” Laying the two robes together and finding that both were
torn, he said: “Now you see what I have been saying all along has come
true; whatever happens to me happens also to my friend;” and he added,
“Well, do you now believe what I have been telling you?” Then she
stopped her weeping and gazed at the robes as they lay together and she
saw that they were exactly alike in every respect. Again he asked:
“Well, now, do you believe what I have told you?” But she did not say
anything in reply.

Then the brother said: “Your mind is still unchanged that it is I who
am abusing you, so now this shall take place to-morrow. As soon as I
start again I shall hide myself in a place near by. As soon as the man
attempts to attack you again or to leave the lodge you must seize him
and not let him go. Thereupon I shall come in and kill my friend, and
then it may be that you will believe me in saying that it is not I but
my friend who is abusing you. We two, of course, shall be doomed to
death because of my act, for his mother has the power to transform
herself into a great bear, so potent in sorcery is she.”

Since the beginning of this trouble the sister had not prepared food
for her brother, and he himself made ready what food he needed and ate
his meals. She refused to do her duty because she was very angry at
him.

In the morning, when he had finished his meal, he again started out to
hunt, saying to his sister, “You must now carry out my instructions as
I have given them to you.” He did not go to his hunting grounds,
however, but hid himself near the lodge and kept a faithful watch on
his home. He had been there quite a long time when suddenly he
perceived his friend running toward the lodge, which he entered. After
waiting a few minutes the brother ran to the lodge and on entering saw
his sister and his friend struggling fiercely, the latter striving to
get out of the lodge. As the brother entered the man let go at once of
the sister, whereupon the former said: “My brother, my friend, now we
are doomed to die. I can do nothing in the matter.” Making ready an
arrow, with a twang it sped into the breast of the man, where it stuck
quivering, while the victim, reeling, fell backward to the ground. Thus
the brother killed the man who had been his friend. Drawing out the
arrow he exclaimed: “Well, do you now believe what I have told you in
this matter?” But his sister made no reply.

The strange man and the brother did indeed look alike. They were of the
same height; they had the same kind of hair, half of it reddish in
color; they had the same kind of raiment and their robes were alike,
even to both having been torn.

Then the brother said to his sister: “Now, I suppose we must hide the
body of this man, and, moreover, you must by all means aid me in this
matter, for now, of course, we are both guilty. It had been better had
you consented to what he desired, for he wanted to marry you. We will
dig a grave where the fire burns—that is, under the fireplace.” Then
they two dug a very deep grave under the fireplace, in which they
placed his body. They took great pains in covering the grave, so that
one would not know that a man’s body lay buried there. Over the spot
they rekindled their fire, and thus finished the task.

The brother then said: “My younger sister, now have the courage to do
the best you can, for we two in appearance at least must live as
husband and wife, as it is certain that in one, or perhaps in two days
the woman will come here. When she does it must appear that we are
indeed husband and wife in order to mislead her.” Then he said further:
“I shall not go to another place again; we shall remain here together.”

So they dwelt together thus until the next day. As soon as it was
morning they sat together, because they constantly expected that at any
moment the mother of the dead man would come in haste. Hence they lived
as husband and wife, and the brother kept saying to his sister: “Be of
good courage; you must do exactly as I tell you, for we must try to
escape in order that we may live until we reach the distant place
whence we two started.”

When the sun had sunk low in the west the door flaps were thrust aside
suddenly, and the old woman entered the lodge. They two who lived there
were indeed husband and wife (in appearance). The old woman thereupon
said: “Oh! I am exceedingly thankful that now for certain I have a
daughter-in-law.” At this they two smiled.

The old woman said further: “I have misgivings in my mind, caused by
the actions of your dogs. None of them will accept what I offer them
for food. You should go there again to feed them, and you two might
remain there once overnight.”

The young man replied: “So be it.” Just then the fire began to sing
unexpectedly, and the fire spoke too, saying three times: “He, my
friend, has killed me.” At this the old woman exclaimed: “Kyū-uʼ! It is
frightful. It is an astonishing thing that is happening in the
fireplace which you two have for yourselves; for it does not cease from
saying: ‘My friend has killed me, there in your fire.’” The young man
answered: “I do not know anything about the thing concerning which you
are perplexed.” Reaching for an arrow, he scraped it, saying: “It is so
that we two, I and my friend, use the fire for the scrapings from our
arrows;” and thereupon he threw the scrapings into the fire. At once
the voice from the fire pit exclaimed several times very rapidly: “My
friend has killed me!” The young man again said: “We use the fire for
the scrapings from our arrows.” The old woman exclaimed: “Kyū-uʼ. You
two have no sense,” and she then departed. The young man said to her as
she was leaving the lodge: “We will soon be there.”

When they were alone he said to his sister: “It is just as I have been
saying right along: we two are about to meet our death.” He believed
that she was in great fear, so he added, “Do you have courage; and do
not let it appear that you fear anything.” Just as the sun sank low in
the west they started for the place where stood the lodge of the old
woman. They arrived there just before night. As they entered the lodge
and sat down in the place where the friend of the young man was
accustomed to sit they were surprised to see standing on one side a
screech owl and on the other a horned owl. They were more distressed
when the screech owl sang out, “It is another, it is another, it is
another, it is another.” Then the old woman said: “Lo! This is
happening all the time, and it gives me a troubled mind.” The young man
answered her: “It is very strange that you pay any heed to the various
notes of the screech owl,” and he said to the owl: “Here, this is what
you eat,” giving it meat. It stopped uttering its warning notes and
merely repeated its usual note thrice, saying, “Ho-ho-ho-wāʼ.”

Then all lay down for the night, and the brother and sister lay
together in the place where the dead friend of the brother was
accustomed to lie. All of a sudden the horned owl cried out: “Hi, hi,
hi, hi; he takes to wife his younger sister.” This it repeated thrice.
At once the old woman arose, saying: “Why do you two not stop it
constantly saying, ‘He takes to wife his younger sister.’” But the
young man exclaimed: “Fie upon it! Why do you pay any attention to all
the notes made by a common horned owl?” With these words he again gave
it meat, which it greedily seized as he said to it: “Here, take this;
it is what you eat.” As soon as it had finished eating the meat it
resumed its regular note, “Hi, hi, hi, hi.” Then the young man said to
his suspicious host: “So let it be; now lie down again.” However, the
old woman continued to grow more and more suspicious, for she began to
believe that something had perhaps happened to her son and that he was
no longer alive. At midnight the brother said to his sister: “You must
lie as still as possible and I, too, shall do the same; we must pretend
to be asleep.” They at once began seemingly to snore, but of course
they were not snoring; they did not know what the old woman would do
should they fall asleep.

The old woman arose very stealthily while the notes of the owls
continued, the screech owl saying, “It is another, it is another, it is
another,” and the horned owl, “Hi, hi, hi, hi; he takes his younger
sister to wife.” Creeping slowly over to the spot where the two were
lying, and thrusting her hand under the coverings, the old woman made
an examination of their private parts, after which she exclaimed:
“Pshaw! Of course things are as they are with those who do as married
people are accustomed.” Then she went back to her part of the lodge and
again lay down.

In the morning the old woman prepared the morning meal, and all ate
their breakfast. When they had finished eating the old woman said: “I
have mysterious premonitions. I visited the place there where thy
friend has kindled a fire, and it says continually, ‘My own friend has
killed me; my own friend has killed me; my own friend has killed me.’”
The young man replied: “Pshaw! It is foolish to pay any attention to
that noise, for it is caused by our scraping arrows there.” As he spoke
he got his arrow and began scraping it, and cast the litter into the
fire, whereupon the fire said several times, “My own friend has killed
me.” He added, “Now cease paying any attention to such idle things.”
The old woman replied, “So be it, as you say.”

Then the young man said: “Oh, mother! We two will now go back to the
other place. I said that of a certainty we would remain here only one
night, and perhaps now my brother-in-law is anxious about us.” The old
woman replied: “So let it be as you have spoken.” He answered: “In two
days we two will return again.” So they started for their home, where
they arrived all right. Then the young man said to his sister: “The
only thing left for us to do is to make preparations to escape. You
shall take the lead and I will remain, and I shall overtake you if it
so be that I shall survive.”

The brother then drew from under the couch whereon he was accustomed to
lie a small case and took therefrom a very small black dog and a little
rod of red willow. He used the rod to tap lightly the dog, which
immediately began to grow in size. At first he said: “It is not yet
large enough,” although the dog was then of the size of ordinary dogs.
So he tapped it again and it continued to grow and had now reached the
size of the largest kind of dogs. Yet he said: “Still I do not think
the dog is large enough, for it is not yet large enough for you to ride
astride of it;” so he tapped it with still other blows, which caused it
to grow in size. It had become at last a very large dog.

Having done this, he said to his sister: “You two shall go together.
This shall be done on the way: As soon as you become wearied, the dog
will stop beside a tree, and then you must descend from his back; and
as soon as he becomes tired he will likewise stop beside a tree. You
must watch for this, and then you must descend from his back, and run
ahead as fast as it is possible for you to go. Thus you two must make
your way homeward. You must keep a course directly eastward without
fail. You two must remain in camp at night on the way; and you, my
sister, must lie down beside the dog’s body. You two must not get far
apart from each other, and you must take rests. He himself knows when
you should rest, and you must regulate your actions by what he does,
for it is a fact that he is our brother. You must know, too, that it is
uncertain whether you will see the old woman, who is immune to the arts
of sorcery and who, too, is able, it may be, to overcome our orenda
(magic power). It seems uncertain whether you shall again see
Hahadodagwatʻha; it is uncertain, I say, for verily, it is I who am
called Hahadodagwatʻha.” Then he added: “Now, you two flee;” whereupon
the younger sister mounted the dog’s back, and her brother again spoke
to her, saying: “Have courage. We shall have the good fortune of your
safe arrival in the place where our mother dwells.”

Thereupon, the two started away in great haste, the brother remaining
alone in the lodge.

As the sister rode the dog, he would stop beside a tree, whereupon she
would say: “Oh, now! my brother has become quite wretched, and I
suppose he is now very tired.” With this she would descend from his
back, and they two would go on. They kept a certain course directly
toward the east. Having gone a great distance, they two would stop for
the night, and the young woman lay down right beside the dog. In the
morning they would again start on their journey. After going only a
short distance, the dog would again stop beside a tree. Then the young
woman would say: “Oh! my brother is to be pitied; now he wants to bear
me again on his back, I suppose.” So saying, she would mount the dog,
which at once would start running with her. When at midday the dog
stopped beside a tree, the woman said: “I suppose he is now tired out,”
descending from his back. As the dog crouched down she decided that it
desired that they should take some rest. Then the dog lay down near by,
and she seated herself close to him, saying: “I suppose he is now
asleep, being very tired.”

Thus, she sat for a long time looking around. Suddenly a fine-looking
bird alighted near her, which she resolved to catch. When she was about
to seize it, the bird would fly away, but would usually alight again a
little way from its former perch. When the young woman would run up to
it with the intention of seizing it, it would fly away just in time to
foil her purpose. Thus she pursued it a little farther, still a little
farther, but could not catch it, although she was determined to do so.

Suddenly she heard the loud barking of a dog which was approaching,
saying, Wuʹ, wuʹ, wuʹ, and at once she ran toward the place, then quite
distant, where lay the dog. When she returned to this place the dog was
gone, for it had resumed its course and was barking as it went farther
and farther. At last it disappeared in the distance. Then the young
woman began to weep, indeed, and she repeated the words of her elder
brother: “You must not change your course, but you must keep going
directly eastward.” While she was so engaged her brother,
Hahadodagwatʻha, arrived there, having overtaken her.

He remained for two days, when the footsteps of some one were heard by
him, and suddenly the old woman, entering the lodge, said: “Lo! Where
is your wife?” He answered: “Did you not meet them on the way?” “I did
not,” she replied. He said to her: “It may be that while you and they
were gathering things by the way you missed one another.” The old woman
answered: “Oh, that is true, of course, I suppose. Without ceasing, his
pets are uttering notes. At times my mind is deeply troubled by this
state of affairs. So let it be. I shall now go back to the other place,
for they have probably arrived there now.”

In a very short time the old woman departed for her home. Running
through bypaths, the young man reached it ahead of the old woman, who
found him sitting there when she arrived. Her son’s pets were making a
great noise when she entered the lodge, whereupon she said: “Lo! Where
is my daughter-in-law?” He answered her sneeringly: “Pshaw! My
daughter-in-law, you say! Why, she has gone home. When she and I
returned there all the food was exhausted, so she longed for her
mother. I said that in two days’ time we would return here.” Thereupon
the screech owl kept saying: “It is another one, it is another one, it
is another one,” while the horned owl said: “Hi, hi, hi, hi; he has
taken his younger sister to wife; hi, hi, hi, hi.” Finally, the old
woman exclaimed: “I am beginning to give attention to what is being
said, for they have never before during the time you have had them as
pets acted in this manner.” In reply the young man said: “Pshaw! you
are all the time paying attention to what they are saying; instead you
must give them meat, and then they will stop as usual. This is all you
have to do to quiet them.” Then he started for his own lodge, saying:
“After two days’ time you must again go there.”

The only thing he did when he arrived at his lodge was to make
preparations for leaving, and when everything was ready he departed. He
followed his sister, keeping on the track made by the dog as it ran
along homeward. He had fled some distance when his body became very
weak.

At the end of two days the old woman went to the lodge of the young
people, where she found no one. Turning to the fire pit in her great
anxiety she was surprised by hearing the fire again say, thrice in
succession: “My friend has killed me.” Thus it spoke. Thereupon the old
woman said: “Oh! my son lies there where I have been thinking he lay
all the time. It is exceedingly dismal to think of.” Then she began to
dig up the fireplace; and she found him lying there with his face
upturned and an arrow sticking through the middle of his breast. At
this discovery she began to weep and lament, saying: “Oh, my dear
child! you have indeed become wretched. When I have killed them I will
return to pay the last rites to you.” So saying, she went out of the
lodge and started for her home.

Having arrived at her lodge, she took from a bark receptacle in which
it was kept hickory-nut meat and ate it, making the sounds, “Gaoñʼ,
gaoñʼ, gaoñʼ,” and saying, too, “I shall fortify my body with this
meat.” When she had finished eating her meal she went out of the lodge,
and going to a neighboring tree, by her great strength she tore off a
great part of it with her paws. Exclaiming, “I do not think that this
will suffice,” she reentered the lodge and ate more of the hickory-nut
meat. Then she exclaimed, “Now I wonder whether this will do.” Going
again to the tree she tore it into shreds, and then exclaimed, “This is
now sufficient; I have strength enough.”

Then she started away, running swiftly. She had become a bear of
enormous size and power. Going to the place where the tracks of the
fugitives showed the direction they had taken, and placing her paws on
the path along which they had fled, she exclaimed: “It is impossible
for you to escape even though you should have gone to the end of the
earth.” With these words she started in pursuit of the fugitives. As
she ran along she often placed her paws on the track made by the young
man, and this act caused him to reel and stagger, so potent with evil
orenda was the body of the old woman. They were at this time two days’
journey apart, but the old woman, who had transformed herself into a
huge bear, was rapidly overtaking the fugitives, every moment drawing
nearer and nearer to them, for she was indeed running rapidly.

Finally the young man overheard the old woman, who had resumed her real
character (that of a great bear), say: “Thou shalt surely die.” As he
listened to the words he drew from his fawn-skin pouch the feather of a
wild pigeon. Casting this back of him he made the invocation: “Right
away let there be a roost of pigeons here and let their numbers be so
great that their droppings shall form a rampart stretching across the
world and equal in height to half that of the tallest tree.” As soon as
he had finished speaking the air resounded with the sounds made by the
alighting of many thousands of wild pigeons; among these sounds one
heard, Gäk, gäk, gäk, gäk, and Dūm—m.[453]

There was no possibility for anyone else to possess more orenda than
that possessed by the young man; so he passed on, and behind him the
great bear came on a run. The monster arrived at the roosting place of
the wild pigeons. There was a rampart of their droppings extending
upward half the height of the tallest trees. The bear made an attempt
to force its way through the great rampart of droppings, but was unable
to do so, merely becoming thoroughly covered with the filth. It was not
easy for the monster to extricate herself from the great rampart, hence
she decided on another course of action.

She started on a run along the rampart’s edge, saying: “There has never
been a time when a pigeon roost extended across the world.” After
following the rampart for a long time she became tired and returned to
the place where the tracks of the fugitive seemingly entered the
rampart, where she lay down for the night. In the morning there was
nothing to be seen, for the rampart had disappeared. Thereupon the bear
exclaimed: “How exceedingly unfortunate this is; verily, he is a great
wizard.” Starting in pursuit again, she placed her paws on the track of
the young man, causing him to stagger and reel.

Not long after this he heard her speak again, saying: “Thou shalt
surely die.” At these words the young man took from his pouch a piece
of rock, which he cast behind him with the words: “Let a rock cliff
rise here at once which shall reach across the world and which nothing
shall have the power of clearing, nothing that has unusual orenda.”
With this the young man passed on, but as soon as he had ceased
speaking the rock cliff stood complete. In a short time the great bear
arrived at this cliff. She failed in an attempt to go through in
several places, as it was impossible for her to pass this obstruction.
Next she ran along the side of the cliff, saying: “We have never heard
of a rock cliff that extends across the world.” But after going a long
distance the bear, becoming weary, returned to the spot where the track
of the young man disappeared under the cliff. There she stopped for the
night. In the morning there was no rock cliff to be found, whereupon
the great bear said: “How exceedingly distressing this is.” At once
placing her paw on the track made by the young man, she added: “Indeed,
he is a mighty wizard.” At this the fugitive reeled and staggered, and
the old woman in the form of a great bear again pursued him.

He had not gone very far when suddenly he heard ahead the singing of a
man: Agadăʼädjoñʹⁿiga soʹdjĭʼ ĕñʼʹ ăgwasʹ deiodiʼäʹdet. When the young
man came up to him the singer said: “My dear nephew, have courage. I
shall detain the monster with difficulties. It has not been long since
your younger sister passed here, and now there is nothing intervening.
So have courage. Your mother’s lodge stands not far from here.”

So the young man passed on. The man who had been singing set up many
pikes, and when he had finished his work he was surprised to see coming
toward him a great beast. Soon the bear came up to the place where he
set his pikes and assaulted them with great force. These gave way to a
small extent, whereupon the two, the great bear and the man, who had
now assumed his true character, grappled. In their long struggle the
pikes were broken, and the great bear, at once freeing herself, again
ran onward.

Suddenly the young man saw running ahead of him his sister, who was
nearly exhausted. Overtaking her, the young man said to her after
seizing her arm: “Have courage, my younger sister. We are to die
perhaps, I think.”

They lost no time but at once fled. They went a long distance before
they stopped to camp for the night. In the morning he said: “We will
take this direction.” Having cut a rod of red willow he struck the dog
with it three blows. At once the animal became very small and he placed
it in his bosom.

At the point toward which they were running they suddenly saw what
seemed to be a rock cliff, in which was an open cavern. Out of this a
female personage was looking and saying: “Have courage, my children.
You two will live if you will come in here.” At that time the brother
was dragging his sister along, so exhausted had she become. As they
came to the entrance to the cavern the woman thrust out her hand, and
seizing the arm of the young woman, helped draw her into the cavern,
while the young man also entered. The woman exclaimed: “I am thankful
that you two have returned alive. That animal which is coming on the
run shall suffer for this.”

It so happened that there was a kettle of boiling oil over the fire;
this boiling oil was bear’s fat. The beast came on the run to the
opening of the cavern, and, crouching low, thrust in her nose. At once
the mother of the two fugitives cast a ladleful of boiling oil into the
face of the great bear. The pain caused made the bear fall over
backward some distance from the cavern, and she began to howl and
writhe around on the ground. But the relentless old woman carried out
the kettle of boiling oil to the spot and poured the remainder on her
enemy, which finally died there in great agony, just as the old woman
had threatened.

Then the old woman, their mother, said to the two returned children:
“You two who have been absent for so long a time have now returned home
again; and I suppose that you would have been made captives had you not
escaped. Now, you and I will dwell together again.” Thereafter the
mother and her children were again contented in their minds and dwelt
together happily.[454]

Suddenly he saw a man lying prostrate with his feet in the water, who
was groaning and saying, ʼĕñʻ, ʼĕñʻ, ʼĕñʻ. Hahadodagwatʻha said to him:
“Well, what is the matter with you, my friend?” The man replied: “I am
very ill; have pity on me and take me to a dry place and lay me there.”
Unsuspecting, the young man said: “So be it. I suppose that I can carry
you on my back.” When he knelt down, the strange man had great
difficulty in getting on his back and in securing a hold on the young
man’s neck.

Then Hahadodagwatʻha arose, and going a short distance to a dry and
pleasant piece of ground, said to his patient: “Now, you can lie here.”
But the stranger replied: “Oh! just a little farther.” But
Hahadodagwatʻha answered, “Lie down here.” The man would not consent to
dismount, however, but kept on saying: “Only a little farther.” So
Hahadodagwatʻha went some distance, when he said again: “Now, get off;
this is a fine place in which you can lie down.” But the man persisted
in saying: “Only a little farther.” Hahadodagwatʻha would not consent
to carry him any farther, saying: “You must now get down by all means.”
Thereupon he began to shake himself with great violence, saying: “Get
down! Why do you not get down?” But the man would not get off his back,
although Hahadodagwatʻha told him that he was very tired. Then, going
to a hickory tree standing near by, Hahadodagwatʻha said: “If you do
not get down, I will rub you off against this tree;” but the man
remained without making any reply. Hahadodagwatʻha rubbed his body
violently against the hickory tree standing there, saying the while:
“Why do you not get down?” But he himself was injured by the rubbing,
so he gave up the task. He said: “This man has caused me great
(prospective) trouble.” For a long time he continued bearing his burden
around from place to place. Finally he exclaimed: “It is very
distressing to me that you do not get off my back.”

At last Hahadodagwatʻha decided on more heroic measures. He kindled a
lot of dry fagots, and he made a large and very hot fire. Then he asked
the man again: “What have you decided to do? Why do you not get off my
back?” Making no reply, the man remained on his back. Thereupon the
young man proceeded to lie down with his back to the fire in an attempt
to burn off his tormentor. But the man, notwithstanding the great heat,
stuck fast. In a short time Hahadodagwatʻha himself was not able to
stand the intense heat, for his own skin began to scorch. Being thus
baffled again, he stood up. He said to his tormentor: “This conduct on
your part is very distressing to me; now you and I must die together.”
But he received no reply from the man. Hahadodagwatʻha was indeed very
tired from carrying this burden around from place to place. Finally he
decided on another course of action. Going to a very high and steep
cliff and lying down on the edge, he said to his tormentor: “I will
roll over the brink unless you get off my back.” There was no reply to
these remonstrances. The man merely kept on breathing. Lastly
Hahadodagwatʻha said to him thrice: “Now, get off my back;” but the man
remained silent, as before. Thereupon the former exclaimed: “We two now
die!” at the same time rolling over the brink. The two turned over and
over, but fell slowly, their bodies finally coming down very lightly on
the bottom of the chasm. Then the young man said: “Now, get off of my
back; I am very tired.” Still the man would not in the least heed this
pleading.

Once more the young man said: “You shall now get off my back.” Going
aside, he stripped off basswood bark, of which he made a noose.
Climbing an elm tree near by, he carried his burden to the very top,
where he fastened the rope to a large branch and the noose around the
neck of the man on his back and also around his own. When he was ready
he again said: “Look here! If you do not get off my back, we two shall
die now indeed.” But the man made no reply. Then the young man said: “I
will now cast my body down to that place yonder.” Before doing so he
again asked the man: “Shall we two live? It is for you to decide. Get
down from my back.” But still he received no reply to his pleadings.
Without further parley he said: “Now, we two shall die,” and cast
himself down. But the great branch broke off [455] and floated down
slowly until it rested on the ground. Arising, the young man said:
“This is exceedingly distressing to me. You have made me very tired,
and I am almost exhausted.” But he received no mercy from the man.

Suddenly he remembered that he had in his bosom a very small dog,
whereupon he started to find a red-willow rod, bearing at the same time
his burden. Soon he found the desired rod, which he cut off. Taking
from his bosom the dog, which was black in color, he began to strike it
with the red-willow rod. At once the dog began to increase greatly in
size; soon it became the usual size of dogs. Additional strokes caused
it to grow larger and larger until at last it attained the size of a
very large bear, one of the largest known. Then the young man said to
the dog: “My servant, remove from my back the body of the man who is
clinging there,” saying “Wăʹʼs.” At once the monstrous dog, seizing the
man by the back of the neck, began to shake him with great force. The
body of Hahadodagwatʻha was whirled about in the terrific struggle, in
which the gripped opponents fell and arose in many places; the struggle
lasted until the dog seized the man by the throat and began to choke
him. In a short time it was able to pull off the man and to fling his
body aside. Then Hahadodagwatʻha sat near by until his tormentor died,
for he himself was entirely exhausted.

Then he said: “Come here, my dog! I am thankful to you, for you have
saved me from destruction. You are the cause of my being now alive. Let
us two start for home and let us go to the place where dwell together
they who are your brothers.” So they started and went on for some
distance and then encamped for the night. Thereupon the young man said:
“As regards me, I am very hungry; so it behooves you to kill a deer.”
At once the dog ran afar off, and in a short time it returned, dragging
along the body of a fawn. This the young man skinned, and after
quartering the carcass he set pieces of it all around the fire to
roast. It was night, and when the roasts were done they two ate their
supper, the man and the dog, sharing the meat. In the morning they
again started for their home, and they kept traveling until they
stopped for the night. In turn the young man went hunting for raccoons,
climbing a tree in order to kill them. Having dressed and cooked a
raccoon, they ate it. When they had finished eating, they laid down
together, the man and his dog.

In the morning they two started, and they had not gone far when they
saw in the distance a lodge. In this they were surprised to find a man
half of whose hair was red, and there they found, too, the younger
sister of the young man. The latter said: “Now has returned our brother
who was lost, the Dog.” They asked him: “Where did you two meet?” He
answered: “We met at the place of high cliffs. It was he who saved my
life when I was in danger of death. This is the reason why we have been
able to return to the place where you two, his brother and sister,
dwell and where your mother also dwells. Now I give myself up here
where you dwell, and we shall all be together always, because he has
saved my life and is your brother. I, too, am a master of game and a
good hunter. So we shall be very contented in our minds.” Then the man
half of whose hair was red said: “So be it. I, too, am a good hunter,
and I will also help to make ourselves contented.” Thus did they make a
compact that they would all compose a single family for all time.

This is the length of the legend.





130. THE STORY OF HAHSKWAHOT [456]

In times past there was a boy who spent his time in hunting birds to
kill and in cooking and eating them.

On one of his expeditions he came to a large rock, beside which he took
his seat to rest, for it was drawing toward sunset, and began to make
arrow points.

While seated there a man spoke, saying: “I shall relate a story.” The
boy at once began to look around to learn who it was that had spoken.
He finally came to the conclusion that it was the rock beside which he
was sitting that had spoken for his benefit. In reply the boy said:
“What is the name of it?” The man answered: “It is called a fable
(tradition); now you must make me a present of a bird (for telling you
this story).” The boy, replying “So be it,” left one on the rock. Then
the man again spoke, saying: “You must return here; I shall relate a
legend, but as to us we remained at home in the world that was.” And
the boy went home.

In the evening the boy returned to the rock and seated himself upon it.
Thereupon the man said: “Well, now, I shall say that you must speak;
you must say, ‘What?’ I shall tell you what is called a legend. As soon
as I make an end of telling one legend I may go on with another. But if
you become sleepy, as you may, you must tell me, and we will take a
rest; and you can come again to-morrow evening.”

The boy hunted birds, and he had many different persons to accompany
him. He said to each: “You must accompany me (to hear) a man telling
legends, as I think they are called. In the evening they two would take
their seats on the rock and listen until they became sleepy, and then
all would take a rest for the night. The next day they two would again
return to the rock, and finally other persons followed them to the
place. In the evening they would again sit around, and the man would
relate another legend. On the following evening they would again repair
to the rock. There were now a large number who went to the place where
the great rock stood; and the man would again tell a legend. In this
manner did it come to pass that there are legends in the world, as
these stories are called.

Finally the man at the rock said to the boy: “You will grow old in
years. You shall use these legends to aid yourself in your old age (by
telling them to persons who will pay you for doing so). So it came to
pass that as the boy became old he did not cease telling legends.

It was in this manner. When in the evening he would tell a legend some
brought on their backs loads of wood for fuel; others brought meat;
others brought bread; and still others brought tobacco. These things
were left in the lodge of the old man who had been at the rock when a
boy. People gave him these things to repay him for telling them some
legend. Many times the lodge would be full of people who had come to
hear him relate the legends of their people.

So it was that legends came into being, for the people of the former
other world were people who possessed great and powerful orenda. The
stories of their acts have become the legends of this world. The scene
of this story was laid in the former world.

The end.





131. THE LEGEND OF GENONSGWA [457]

In ancient times this event came to pass as other like things had taken
place. A man went out to hunt on the game preserve of his people.

It so happened that he camped in the night in a large forest. He had
four hunting dogs with him. There he made his camp and kindled a fire
for the night, and in due time the hunter and his dogs fell asleep.
Some time after this the dogs began to bark, and one went to inform the
hunter of his danger. Shaking him to arouse him, it said: “I think that
we shall now die; near here are men who are very large in size going
about stealthily. They must be, I think, what are called Genonsgwa.”
Thus did the dog speak, and continuing, he said: “Perhaps there is
(time) yet in which you yourself may escape. As to the beast, as much
as lies in our power and opportunity we shall attempt to prevent it
from overtaking you. So you must do this: You must make three torches,
which you must carry and which will suffice, I think, for your purpose
in reaching the place where dwell other human beings. You must do thus
when you see a forked branch your height above the ground; you must
insert one of the torches therein as you pass along, when the torch is
nearly burned out; this will become a hindrance to the Genonsgwa, for
he will think that you may be near at hand taking a rest and will stop
without fail. This will be an aid to you, for you can then gain a good
start on him. Then at a suitable distance you must insert another one
of the nearly-burned-out torches.”

At that moment he heard the dogs approach, barking, from the direction
in which he had come, and he fled with all possible speed. When he had
only one torch left he heard the barking of the dogs quite near him,
for they had reached the place in which he had fixed the second torch.
When the man arrived there it became evident to him from the sounds he
heard that one of the dogs had just been killed in the distance.
Thereupon the hunter stirred up the firebrands to cause them to blaze
up and throw out more light. Soon they gave sufficient light to enable
him to see as far as the tree indicated by the dog, behind which the
strange man, or being, moved around stealthily; with great hands he
held to the tree and he had, too, very long legs. Having made the
needed preparations, the hunter at once fled from the place.

Having reached a point out of sight of his camp, when his torch that he
was carrying was nearly extinguished, he heard sounds which told him
that another dog had been killed, and he knew, too, from this that the
Genonsgwa was close at hand. Remembering the advice of the first dog
that informed him of his danger, he began to cry out the sign of
distress, Gōʹweʻ, gōʹweʻ, gōʹweʻ, for he was then aware that the
settlement of his people was not far away. They were still all awake
and, hearing the cries of distress in the distance, they at once ran in
the direction from which these came. Having reached the place, they
found the man. The Genonsgwa was then very close to the hunter, who was
nearly exhausted. The latter fell into the circle of his friends none
too soon, for the Genonsgwa, seizing him by the leg, tore off some
flesh. Then at once he turned, fled from the people, and disappeared,
and no one knew whither he had escaped.

The end.





132. THE LEGEND OF THE STONE COATS (GENONSGWA)

It so happened in times past that three warriors left their homes for
distant regions. They started away for the purpose of killing any
people whom they might find in order to obtain their scalps. So they
would travel for many days, and when they observed that they had
arrived near a settlement they would conceal themselves, and one or
more spies would be sent out by night to make a reconnaissance for the
purpose of learning when, where, and how to make the attack.

It was a custom with them for the chief or leader of the little party
to say: “Who will volunteer to go to investigate that light which
appears in the distance?” Thereupon one of the warriors would reply: “I
will go to reconnoiter that light,” and he would go, if alone, without
definite instructions as to how he might find his companions in case he
had to retreat; but if two decided to go, they would first agree on
some point as a rendezvous in case they should have to retreat in
haste. Then the spy or spies would go to the place whence the light had
appeared. Having arrived there, he would manage to crawl stealthily
into the shelters or lodges he might find, and he would also find the
inmates lying asleep and their garments hanging on the supports of the
structures.

In making such a reconnaissance one of the spies found the inmates
asleep, and he saw that their garments, which were of stone, were set
up against the trees which stood near by. He was surprised by one of
these sleepers arising and saying to him: “What are you doing here?
What do you want?” The spy replied: “I do not want anything; I intend
nothing; I want peace.” But the other person said to him: “You intend,
as you know, to kill all persons who may fall into your power; so you
and I shall fight. That is verily what you and your companions are
doing on your way here; you come with the intention of fighting all
persons whom you do not fear. To-morrow at midday you and I shall meet
face to face yonder in a place not far from here, in a valley which is
very deep and has very high cliffs. You shall enter it from one
entrance and I from the other, and there in the valley we shall meet.”
He said this and ceased speaking. The spy replied: “So let it be.”

Having returned to the camp of his companions, the spy told what he had
seen, saying: “I have seen a distressing sight. I saw beings who had
assumed human forms and actions but who were not human. I saw their
clothes, which were stone in material,[458] set up against the trees
about their camp. One of their number arose and said to me, ‘What are
your intentions?’ I replied, ‘Nothing; only peace;’ but he as quickly
said: ‘You desire to kill all persons who may fall into your power; so
to-morrow at midday in a valley that is near here, and that is very
deep, we, you and I, shall meet; you must enter it from the opposite
side, and I shall enter it from this side; then you and I shall fight.’
I do not think that we have the ability to overcome and kill these
people. They are numerous, forming a large body.”

The chief of the little party remained silent, thinking over the
situation. Finally he said: “By means of a sacrifice we must ask Him
who has made our lives to aid us in the coming battle. Moreover, we
shall use in the sacrifice of prayer native tobacco, which I shall now
cast on the fire.” Then he took from his pouch native tobacco, which he
cast on the fire with the following words: “Thou who hast made our
lives, give most attentive ear to the thing I am about to say. Now we
are about to die. Do Thou aid us to the utmost of Thy power. Thou,
ruler, it was Thou who gavest us this native tobacco; it is this that I
am now employing. Here, take it; it is offered to Thee. Thou hast
promised us that Thou wilt always be listening when we ask in prayer by
sacrifice. Now, it matters not whether Thou Thyself shall stand here,
or whether it shall come by the way of a dream, do Thou tell us fully
what we must do in this crisis which Thou knowest confronts us so
closely. Now I finish my tale. So it is enough. Now, moreover, we will
lie down to sleep.”

Then they lay down to sleep. At midnight the chief, who was awake,
heard some one speak there, saying: “I have heard your prayers asking
me to aid you; so now I have arrived here. In this manner you must do,
to-morrow. Verily, you two have agreed to meet in the deep valley at
midday. You must act in this manner. You must go along the top of the
ridge at the cliff’s edge, and you must lie prone, resting on your
elbows; this you must do before it is midday. You must remain perfectly
still, and you must not carry out your agreement with them. Then you
must watch the opposite cliff, and as soon as you see a bear on the run
there you must shout Pa—ʼa p-hu-e. Then you must retreat a short
distance and stop, whereupon you shall see how truly I will aid you.
You will hear them when they come into the valley, for the sound tau—u
which they will make will be very loud.”

The men followed the directions given them by their Creator, to whom
they had appealed in their extremity, and went to the cliff and lay
down just as they had been instructed to do. They had not waited long
before they heard their enemies coming along in the valley, with their
chief singing as they marched. The chief of the warriors was intently
watching the opposite cliff, when suddenly he saw a bear running along
on the edge of it. At this he shouted, as he had been instructed to do,
Pa—ʼa p-hu-e, and then, quickly arising and turning back, they fled;
but after going a short distance they stopped, and turning around, they
looked back to see what was taking place in the valley. As they
watched, the sound of the oncoming of the Genonsgwa increased in volume
and intensity; and when they had all got into the valley the sound of
their marching became a veritable roar, sounding like dōō-ō.

Now they saw what astonished them; they saw the earth from the sides of
the valley fall into it, carrying with it the forests which grew on it
in the region of the valley. At once the sounds of the marching of the
Genonsgwa died out, and the only sounds they then heard were the
breaking and crashing of the trees as they settled down under the
mountains of earth that fell into the valley. Then they heard the voice
of their Creator saying: “What you asked of me has been granted in
full. I am He whom you usually call Our Master. Verily, I continue to
aid you, who are called the Seneca people. I aid you in all things, in
ball-playing, in foot-racing, and in warfare. Now you shall go to your
homes, to the places where your dwelling-places are. Never in the
future must you do what you were doing. It is much better that you
shall settle all differences which you may have with all other peoples.
You must stop your present course, for if you do not do so, you
yourselves shall bleed in turn. So you must make peace with all your
neighbors, must bury deep in the earth the scalping-knife, the bow and
the arrow, and the battle-ax. All these you must bury in the ground,
and you must leave them there, and thus put them out of the world. Now
I am through.”

Then the warriors started for home and soon arrived at their dwelling
places. Immediately the chief assembled the people; he went through the
village, and as he walked along he said to them: “We will hold a
council, and we must assemble in the Long lodge; we must assemble there
early in the morning as soon as the morning meal has been eaten.
Everyone must be there—children and women; the entire body of this
people must be there to listen to the tiding which we have brought
back.”

Early the next morning the chief made a second announcement, saying:
“We will hold a council to-day.” So a large body of persons gathered in
the Long lodge in which was the council chamber, and when they had
taken their places the chief arose and addressed them thus: “You must
give strict attention to what we have to say to you. We have been
absent in distant regions, where we had intended to kill any people
whom we might find. There we saw people such as we had never seen
before, for their garments were of stone. It is probable that we never
could kill them; they were very numerous. It so happened that we
encamped very near them and that when they kindled their fire we saw it
in the distance. Then I, who was the chief of the band, said ‘Come, we
will go to reconnoiter in the vicinity of that light.’ One of the
warriors answered: ‘I will go there,’ but I went in his stead to the
neighborhood of the light to investigate. Having arrived there I found
persons lying around asleep, and I saw that their garments were of
stone, and that they were set up against the neighboring trees.
Suddenly one of the sleepers, springing up, said to me, ‘What are your
intentions?’ I said in reply, ‘I do not intend to do anything,’ for I
was afraid. He replied: ‘Do you not intend to kill anyone you can? Now
you and I shall fight. To-morrow when the sun is at midday, there where
the deep valley is, in the bottom of the valley, you must come from the
one side and I, for my part, will enter the valley from the opposite
side, and therein we shall meet; then you and I will fight.’ I replied
to him: ‘Let it be so,’ and departed thence and returned to our camp,
where I at once told my friends what I had seen. I said: ‘I have seen
an astonishing condition of things. When I arrived there I found the
people lying down, and near by, leaning against the trees, were their
garments, which were of stone, so it is probably impossible for us to
kill them. So let it be.’ I will make a sacrificial prayer to Him who
has completed the structure of our lives; I will cast on the fire
sacrificially native tobacco. At once I took tobacco, and holding it in
my hand, I said: ‘Thou hast promised to aid those who shall pray to
Thee with an offering of this native tobacco,’ and then I cast it on
the fire, and forthwith arose smoke from the burning tobacco. Thereupon
I said: ‘Now aid us; tell us what we must do; perhaps You may come to
us in a vision; perhaps You might send the advice to us through a
dream; at all events tell us what to do. Now, we will lie down to
sleep.’

“Just at midnight I was surprised to hear one speak, saying: ‘I have
come to aid you; I tell you that to-morrow just before midday you and
your men must go to the valley, and there overlooking it you must lie
down prone and rest on your elbows.’ And he said, too: ‘You must watch
carefully the opposite side of the valley, and when you shall see a
bear running along the opposite cliff you must shout Pa—ʼa p-hu-e, and
thereupon you must all arise and flee from the place a short distance
and must stop and look back toward the valley, and then you shall see
what shall happen, what shall happen to the persons of your adversaries
when they will enter the farther entrance to the valley—these
Genonsgwa.’ The noise made by these Genonsgwa as they came forward was
very great; the sound that they made was dū—ūm. As they came on, the
voice of their chief was heard singing; he chanted the war song of the
Genonsgwa, saying: ‘No one has the power to overcome me;’ this is what
he said in his singing.

“Just then the cliffs on each side of the valley with the forests
growing on them were upheaved with a deafening roar and crash and fell
into the valley upon the advancing Genonsgwa; this was followed by the
sounds of breaking trees and their limbs as they were crushed under the
weight of the overturned cliffs, and then all was silent. Thus did this
event come to pass.

“Now I shall speak to this assembly as it is here listening to what I
have related. He who aided us was the Master of Life. He told us to
return home, and He bade us never to undertake an enterprise such as
that which took us from our homes. He bade us to make peace with all
tribes of men, of whatsoever land or language they might be; for if we
should not follow His advice we ourselves might one day shed one
another’s blood; and He bade us to bury deep in the ground the
scalping-knife, the war bow and arrow, and the battle-ax and the
war-club. He bade us to put all these things out of this world, telling
us that if we do this we shall be contented and happy in the future, if
we consent to this and to inform all our people of this advice and the
chiefs, too. But as we do not know what the chiefs will do in this
matter we have called this council to ascertain this important opinion
of our chiefs. Now we have told you these tidings which we have brought
with us, and now you must take great pains in considering this matter
in all its bearings; I mean you, our chiefs. There, I am through with
my address.”

During the entire day they discussed this matter in all its bearings.
Some said that it would not be good for them to adopt this kind advice,
as many of their relations had been killed by the enemy, and they had
always intended to have revenge for their deaths.

Others spoke for and against the proposition which had been presented
to them by the returned warriors. The discussions took a wide range and
consumed the entire day. Finally one of the leading chiefs of the place
arose and said: “It is better that we take a recess until early
to-morrow morning, at which time we will again assemble here. I will
then speak, telling you my views on this question after having thought
on them during the night. For this reason all should be present again;
so you must come and hear what I have to say to you. So there.”

Then they dispersed and went to their homes. In all the lodges there
was much speculation as to what the chief would tell them in the
morning. All had different views as to what he would say, and they made
up their minds that they would go to the Long lodge at early forenoon.

So in the morning of the next day they again assembled in the Long
lodge, and there was present a very large body of people.

Then the chief arose to his full height and began to speak, saying:
“The time has now come. I said that to-day I should speak to you. My
mind is now made up; I have decided what to say to you, and now I will
tell you what I have thought best for us to do. I agree to the proposal
to make peace with our enemies; that to that end we must certainly bury
deep in the ground the scalping-knife and the war bow and arrow and the
battle-ax; and that we must leave these things there out of sight and
reach. You must put these things out of the world. So let this come to
pass. Let everyone who has come here carry out this resolution as I
have indicated it to you in what I have said. So there. Come, then, let
us now make preparations. I suppose that we must send an embassy of two
persons to that neighboring tribe, although we may not be certain
whether they will be at all willing to make peace with us and thereby
settle our difficulties. So we must commission our ambassadors to pray
them to cease waging war against us; and we, too, must stop fighting on
our part, and must cast away deep in the ground the scalping-knife, the
war bow and arrow, and the battle-ax. These we must throw away, and
thus you will put them outside of this world. When the two
(ambassadors) arrive in the country of our enemies they shall say: ‘We
have been sent by the chiefs of our people to know whether you are
willing to agree to settle our difficulties and to make peace with us.’
This is what you two shall say. This is all.”

After some deliberation the chief arose again and said, “Come, now. Who
will volunteer to go far away to the foreign land where our enemies
dwell?” Then a certain man said, “I am willing to go.” “So be it,”
replied the chief; “who else is willing to go? There is one lacking.”
Then another man said, “I am willing to go.” The chief accepted him by
saying, “So let it be.” Then the last volunteer asked the chief: “I ask
you, who art the chief, what must be done, should they perhaps kill us,
and you would not hear anything about it? Should we become angry should
they attack us there, even though by doing so we should probably lose
our lives? So there (is what I have to say).”

Then the chief arose, and addressing the two ambassadors, said: “You
have asked me a question. I shall tell both what you must do when you
discover that the people whom you are going to visit dwell not far
ahead of you. When you make this discovery you must leave there in
safety your scalping-knife and your bows and arrows and your
battle-axes; and you two must also carefully wash your faces so that
there shall be no more paint on your faces. Then you must go to the
village of the people; and according to custom they will not kill you
because you have not your scalping-knives, your bows and arrows, or
your battle-axes, and because you will not have your faces painted.”
[459]

Then the warrior answered: “So be it. I think that my friend and I may
perhaps start this evening just as soon as it becomes quite dark.”
During the entire day they made their preparations so they would be
able to start in the evening. In the early part of the evening they
came together, whereupon one said: “My friend, now let us start, and
you will leave directly from here in your own way, and I, too, will
leave here directly in my own way.” The friend replied: “Do you feel
that you have sufficiently potent orenda?” He answered: “I think so.”
The other continued: “What kind of thing does it (your body), usually
pretend to be as it flies along?” His friend replied: “Oh, just the
night owl, saying wu, wu, wu, wu, hŭ, hŭ-u.” At this the other,
laughing, said: “My friend, you are indeed a brave man (a male).” His
companion answered: “With regard to yourself, what kind of thing does
it (your body) usually pretend to be as it goes along? Now I have asked
you.” In replying the other man said: “As to myself, I shall be a fox,
and I will go along barking; and we shall keep apart just the distance
that I can hear the hooting of the night owl. How far do you say?” He
replied: “Let us be just so far apart that it will be possible for me
to hear the barking of the fox. And this, too, must be done. As
daylight approaches we must draw nearer to each other, and when it is
morning we will rejoin at some convenient place.” Then they started.

They observed their order of going, and when they had concluded that
they had arrived in the neighborhood of the people whom they were going
to visit, they were surprised to see the lights of a number of fires.
So they stopped and sat down on a log. Then one of the men said: “We
must leave our things, our weapons, here—our scalping-knives, our bows
and arrows, and our battle-axes—and we must remove the paint from our
faces, too. There, on that side of the log, you may lay your things,
and you must cover them with moss and earth very carefully; and I will
lay my things here on this side of the log, and I will cover them even
as you do.” Thus they completed this task of concealing their weapons.
Then one of them said: “My friend, it shall be that he who shall be
spared alive shall dig up these things, for we shall soon see them, and
when they see us there is no assurance that either of us shall be left
alive; but should one of us escape then let him dig up and carry home
both these buried outfits.”

Then they went toward the place where they believed the enemies lived.
They had not gone far when they were surprised to see in the distance a
temporary shelter made of corn husks, for this was at the time of the
corn harvest and the people were drying the strings of ears of corn.
Thereupon one of the men said: “I will do the talking when we arrive at
that temporary shelter; so do you not speak a word about anything. So
now, come, let us go thither to the lodge.”

When the two men had arrived near the temporary shelter the children
noticed their approach and fled into the shelter. On arriving at the
shelter the two men found that the doorflap was of deerskin. When they
had stepped inside they saw a woman sitting there; they noticed also
that the children had hidden themselves, and that the woman was greatly
frightened, for the color of her face had changed. One of the men at
once said to her: “Do not fear us; we do not come on an evil errand,
and you may know this to be true because we have not our
scalping-knives, bows and arrows, or battle-axes, and we have no paint
on our faces. So do not be afraid. We have come on a good errand; do
not fear us.” All at once the woman spoke, saying: “Oh, children;
verily, they will not kill us.” At this the children came forth from
their hiding places, and the mother, too, regained her composure. The
spokesman of the two visitors said, “Are you and your children here
alone?” The woman replied, “No; our old man has gone yonder into the
valley where in fact we dwell; he will soon return.” Then the man said:
“So let it be. We will remain here until he returns.” The woman
answered: “Let it be so.” So when the old man had returned the
spokesman of the two ambassadors said: “We come as messengers. Let us
talk together in peace. We are not thinking of evil purposes, and
these, our peaceful sentiments, are shown by the fact that neither of
us has a scalping-knife, a bow and arrows, or battle-ax, and is not
painted on the face. For this reason let there be peace while we talk
together.” It seemed at first that the old man was angry, but when he
had heard this statement his mind changed, and he said, “Come, then, do
you relate the message which you have been sent to bring to us. Come,
now, tell us.” The man replied: “So be it. We have come to you to
propose that we at once settle all our differences, because we have
slaughtered not only ourselves, but also our friends and kinsmen. Let
us stop this slaughter; and let us bury deep in the earth the
scalping-knife, the war bow and arrow, and the battle-ax; in the earth
we will put these weapons; so if you are willing to accept our
proposals you will put these murderous things outside this world, if
you are only willing to do so.” The old man replied: “So be it. Let us
go to the place where usually we assemble in council in the Long-lodge,
for indeed the chiefs dwell some distance from here. I will tell them
what you have brought as a message to us. I do not know what answer
they may give. I think you two should remain here, and I will go yonder
to the Long-lodge, where are the chiefs of our people. It would not
succeed well if you two should go there, for usually they are angry
when they see an enemy. I will prepare myself properly to tell them the
message which you have been sent to bring to us. Then I shall come for
you should their reply be favorable to a conference with them. Thus it
shall be done.” One of the ambassadors answered, “Let it come to pass
as you have suggested.”

Thereupon the old man started for the Long-lodge to confer with the
chiefs of his people. When he had reached a point near the village he
began to cry out: Gōʹweʻ, gōʹweʻ, gōʹweʻ. This is called proclaiming.
As soon as his cries were heard everybody came forth from their lodges
and at once went to the Long-lodge to hear what news the crier was
bringing them. So a large assemblage crowded the Long-lodge. Then the
old man, who was still crying out the cries of warning, entered the
Long-lodge, whereupon they set him down on one side. One of the chiefs
arose and said: “Now, you must relate the important news which you
bring to us, so tell us. That is all.” Arising, the old man said: “I
will tell you of a very important matter which has come to pass. I saw
two men who were in the lodge when I returned to my home. I was
astonished, but one of these men at once arose and said: ‘We assure you
that we are not intending anything evil, and this is proved by the fact
that we have no scalping-knife, no war bow and arrows, and no
battle-ax, and we have not our faces painted. We have been sent by our
chiefs to learn whether we can not settle all our difficulties. We have
been killing ourselves and shedding each other’s blood; so let us stop
doing this, and let us bury deep in the earth the scalping-knife, the
war bow and arrows, and the battle-ax; let us lay these very deep in
the ground. You must put these things outside the world. Thus it shall
be done, provided that you will agree to this proposition. So this is
the number of words which has been sent you by us.’ I am now through
with what I have to say. So, there.” In reply, the chiefs of the
village said to the old man: “Perhaps you would better fetch the two
men here and let them come into this place. You alone go back after
them. You must hasten your steps as you go, and you must bring them at
once with you.” The old man, replying, “So let it be,” at once went out
of the lodge and started on a run toward his temporary lodge, where the
two men were awaiting his return. On entering, he said to them: “I have
come after you.” Arising at once, they started for the place where the
council was being held, and having reached there, they entered the
Long-lodge. One of the ambassadors was in a frenzy of fear, seeming to
fear they would be killed, for before entering he kept saying to his
friend: “Have courage, my friend; one of us will certainly escape.”
When they entered the Long-lodge they made room for the two messengers,
or ambassadors, to sit. One of the chiefs of the village, arising,
said: “Is it true that you have been sent to come into our country? Are
the things true which our friend has told us in full? That is what you
two must tell us, for we do not know whether what he told us a short
time ago is the truth or not.”

Then the spokesman of the two ambassadors, arising to his full height,
said: “We two will now tell you that we were commissioned on a very
important errand by our chiefs. We come to you to propose that your
people and our people shall settle all the troubles which have caused
them to shed each other’s blood. What your chief has told you is an
important matter. I am through.”

Then one of the chiefs of the village, arising, said: “Lo! now do you
talk, everyone who has something to say, you who are the chiefs of this
village, whether we shall agree to settle our difficulties with the
people who have sent these two men to us, and to bury deep in the
ground the scalping-knife, the war bow and arrow, and the battle-ax.
Come, now, let each one say which side of the proposal he takes,
whether we shall make peace, or whether we shall reject these overtures
for peace. There are only two opinions that can be given; when one
speaks he must tell which is his opinion. So I am done.”

Then another chief arose to speak, saying: “I am next in order to speak
my sentiments. I am unwilling to consent to settle our difficulties
with the people represented by these two messengers, because the many
stains which have come from the blood of my own kinsmen, shed by these
two men who are sitting here, are scarcely dried. In my heart there are
constant passions arising which prompt me to take vengeance for this
cruel slaughter of my own kinsmen; and I am tempted to scalp these two
enemies who sit here in our presence.”

Then another chief, leaping to his feet, said to the one who was
speaking: “Do you stop at once. Do not say that again; you must stop
that kind of talk. I will say but a few words for my part. You two who
are sitting here must listen and must hear all that I have to say in my
own behalf and in that of my people. I think that we all realize that
what we are about to do is a very important affair. One person alone
has made us of one flesh and of one form, and of a reddish color. Now,
too, you shall hear me declare that I agree to accept your proposal for
an adjustment of all difficulties between your people and ours. We must
bury deep in the ground all those things with which we fight; and you
must put them out of the world; and this statement you must make when
you two return to your own homes.” The chief accepted this proposition,
saying: “So now we will meet in joint council at the river, which is
just halfway from here to our own country; we will meet there on one
side of the river, and there you may prepare your camps. You must all
go—children, women, and men—all must be present there. On the opposite
side of the river we will make our camps. After the tenth night from
now we must all be in camp there, and I shall bring all the
people—children, women, and the warriors. So there; thus it shall come
to pass. Then we shall lie down to rest and in the morning you and I
will talk together, as thou art a chief and as I, too, am a chief. So
you shall stand on the other side of the river, and I shall stand on
this side of the river. Then it shall be that you will tell me how you
and I may adjust our differences; and you shall accomplish this within
the time of 10 days. After 10 nights you will have arrived on your side
of the river, and I, too, shall have arrived on my side of the river.
So there is what I have to say. Come, now, make your preparations, and
when you have completed them we shall start to go to the river.”

In the meantime the two ambassadors had returned to their home and had
made their report, and their chiefs had given the people instructions
to prepare themselves to go to meet their former enemies at the river
that bounded their lands. On both sides the people and the chiefs kept
tally of the days that passed; the next day was one; the next, two; the
next day, three, and so on. On the eighth day the chief on each side
said: “Come now, let us start.” Thereupon they left their homes for the
place of meeting; none remained behind. They traveled a long distance
before they stopped for the night. In the morning they started again
and arrived at the river bank at a seasonable hour. The chief of the
opposite party said, too: “Come now, let us depart for the river bank
where we are to meet in council.” All started, not one remaining at
home. They, too, traveled a long distance before camping for the night,
and in the morning early they, too, continued their journey and in good
time arrived at the river bank, at the place of meeting. There was
assembled a large body of people.

Then one of the chiefs, standing beside the river, said: “Behold! now
tell me what your thought is as to how you and I may be able to adjust
our troubles in peace. Tell me this. So there is what I have to say.”

Then the chief on the opposite side of the river, standing near the
brink, said: “Now has come to pass what I think that He who alone has
made our lives, desires, but where He abides I do not know, for our
lives are alike, our forms are alike, and the color of our skin is the
same, for we are reddish in color. We have blundered. We have only
killed one another, and we have only shed one another’s blood. So let
us stop this evil work, and let it not come to pass again; and let us
bury the scalping-knife, the war bow and arrows, and the battle-ax; let
all these be left deep in the ground; and thereby we shall put these
out of the world. So this is my opinion. Let us be at peace in the
future; let us be at peace in our minds; and let the minds of our
people be at peace, those of our children, our women, and our warriors.
Such is my opinion, and I who speak it am a chief. So this is enough.
Now it is for you to speak, you who are a chief. I do not know whether
what I have said is pleasing to you. This will I do. I have finished.”

There was a great sound—dauñ—made by the assembled tribes, for there
were very many people. Then the chief on the opposite side of the
river, standing on the shore, said: “Now, you who are a chief have
ended your address, and I agree to all that you have said; hence you
and I will adjust all our troubles and difficulties so that they may
never return. Now, too, you and I will bury deep in the ground the
scalping-knife, the war bow and arrows, and the battle-ax; all these
things we will place in the earth, so that none of them shall come
forth again, and there they shall disappear from the earth. Thus let it
come to pass. So, there.”

Then, on the opposite side of the river, the other chief who had
proposed this conference, arising, said: “I am, indeed, thankful that
my desires have been fulfilled in this peaceful agreement. I do give
you many thanks for your part in this matter, and so now you and I will
bury in the ground all those things with which you and I have been
accustomed to kill each other, in such manner that they shall never
again come forth. We will put them out of the world, so that so long as
the earth stands such things shall not again take place. So, there.”

Then the chief on the other side of the river, arising in his place,
said: “I am thankful for the accomplishment of this great compact of
peace, and I congratulate you as well, you who are also a chief. So now
we shall prepare it; and it shall be very broad. You and I must set to
work so that we may make this good thing for our people; and this shall
be a level (peaceful and fruitful) country; and thereon we must, one
and all, take one another by the arm (hand)—all women, children, and
men; and by this means each one will bear testimony to the fact that
truly, indeed, we have made peace and have settled harmoniously all our
difficulties; and when we shall have taken one another by the arm then
we must dance to express our joy and good will and hope for the
continuance of this peace during time to come.”

Then all who were able to do something were set to work, and they
prepared a symbolical field of peace [460] whereon they and theirs
might enjoy life and might promote their welfare in such manner as
seemed to satisfy their desires. When they had completed the task they
cried to those across the river who had accepted the propositions of
peace: “Come now! Do you come across the river and let us enjoy
ourselves together.” Willingly obeying, the people soon crossed the
stream, and they soon were standing on the prepared field of peace,
whereon they ranged themselves in long files preparatory to taking part
in the dances. Then the leaders grasped each other’s arms, saying,
“Now, let us all take hold of one another’s arms, and then let us
dance,” and then they continued, “We must now dance all night long.”
Then they danced. Thereupon the singer began to sing: Häʼ ʹäʼ hoiāʹneʻ,
häʼʹäʼ hoiāʹneʻ; wăʹʻhu, wăʹʻhu, wăʹʻhu, hãʼʹäʼ hoiãʹneʻ. (The only
word in this line which has a clear meaning is the second, which is the
title of the highest order of federal chiefs.—Ed.)

When daylight had come, one of the chiefs made an address of
thanksgiving. He said: “I am very thankful that day has dawned in peace
on this assembly here present. So now we give our thanksgiving to Him
whose place of residence we still do not know but who has made our
lives. So now you and I have finished this work, which puts an end to
any bitter feeling between us that might in the future lead some one to
scalp another. So now we will separate again. So now we, for our part,
will start for our homes, and you, too, will return to your homes.”

So it came to pass that the two peoples arrived safe at their homes,
whence they had come forth to make peace with their enemies, and this
peace has lasted unto this day.

So this came to pass in this way. And this is the end of the legend.





133. THE STORY OF THE WHITE PIGEON, THE CHIEF OF THE PIGEONS

It is said that among wild pigeons the white ones are the chiefs of
their communities. According to tradition, a white pigeon once flew
into the forest lodge of a noted old man, the Wild Cat. The visitor did
not appear ill at ease but stood in the lodge wherever it seemed good
to him, and then without remark he flew away.

The old man, Wild Cat, somewhat amazed by the quiet conduct of his
visitor, related the incident to his neighbors, saying that this visit
portended that something out of the ordinary was about to happen. But
an entire year passed and nothing unusual had happened to old Wild Cat
and his fellows and neighbors.

But at about the same season the next year the same White Pigeon again
visited the old man’s lodge. At this visit the old man believed that
the White Pigeon was a man (i.e., one of his own kind of beings), so he
conversed with him on many subjects. During this visit White Pigeon
informed the old man, Wild Cat, that all the various tribes of birds
had held a council at which it had been decided that the wild pigeons
should furnish a tribute to mankind, because their Maker had selected
the wild pigeons for this important duty as most other birds had only
very little to give up because their mode of life required them to live
dispersed here and there, and so what they had to offer could be
obtained only with difficulty, while the others had nothing to offer
toward the support of mankind.

So, the pigeons being the only tribe of birds which built their nests
and reared their young in a single community, it was resolved by the
various tribes of birds that the pigeons should spare some of their
young to men for food. White Pigeon continued by saying that he had
come purposely to notify old man Wild Cat of this momentous decision,
and to tell him the young pigeons were to be taken at the proper
season, and the manner in which this must be done.

He said: “In the season of the roost, when the young pigeons have
attained a suitable size for eating, the people should select a
suitable person as superintendent or master of the hunt, and he should
give the needful directions to the people for making their preparations
for the hunt before starting for the hunting grounds in which the
pigeons have their roost in the forest.”

On such a hunting expedition the entire community was engaged, and so
it was not unusual to have a very large multitude of people moving
along a common path at this time. But to secure order and obedience
certain rules for the march must be observed by all. Of these, one was
that when the party halted to rest, to eat, or to camp for the night,
the leader would place a rod, suitably painted, across the path, and no
one was permitted to pass over it or to go around it for the purpose of
continuing the journey regardless of the rest of the party. It was held
that should one break this injunction some misfortune would inevitably
befall the party. When the party was ready to proceed the leader would
take up the rod and then the journey would be resumed.

Upon nearing the roosting place of the pigeons it was customary to make
a collection of gifts from the people, consisting of various articles
of ornament and trinkets of all kinds, for an offering to the pigeons.
These freely given gifts were placed in a bark bowl and this was borne
solemnly into the forest to some swampy place where tall weeds were
plentiful, and these gifts were spread out on a piece of elm bark while
native tobacco was burned and an invocation to the offering was made to
the pigeons and their Maker.

Tradition reports that for the first hunting expedition the people as a
whole did not observe the rules of the master of the hunt, which he had
learned from the White Pigeon. So some went around the painted rod
placed across the path when the party halted for any purpose; others
withheld presents from the offering, and many accidents happened to
them; some broke their legs, others their arms, some fell sick, and
some died. A great number of misfortunes befell the expedition.

After the expedition had returned to the home lands this fact aroused
much discussion. So the old man, Wild Cat, questioned his people as to
their conduct, and they informed him. He declared that they had brought
these ills upon themselves and urged them to observe strictly the rule
which the White Pigeon had given them for their guidance if they wished
to avoid these misfortunes. So the following season the people went out
to the hunt, but they carefully observed the rules laid down for their
guidance and all went well, and so every spring for 20 years they
continued to go out on these expeditions without any marked untoward
events taking place.

But toward the end of this period many factions had arisen among the
people. The young people asked, What is the need for these things?
Pigeons may be killed at any time of the year. They are fit for food at
all seasons of the year. What can pigeons do with these offerings of
ornaments and trinkets which they are not able to wear or make any use
of? Another faction of the people killed the pigeons wherever and
whenever they found them, killing both the young and the old pigeons.
Another faction boasted that its members had no faith in what was done,
and so they had no desire to engage in pigeon hunting, even refusing to
eat any of the pigeon meat when it was offered to them. But it was not
long before misfortune began to assail these seditious factions. The
members of the faction which had refused to eat any of the pigeon meat
died off one by one. Before the visit of the White Pigeon they never
died, they seemed to be immortal; but now disease and death abounded
among them because they had failed to obey the regulations prescribed
by the White Pigeon for their guidance.

These conditions continued for some time, becoming more and more
distressful as time elapsed. Then, for the third time, the White Pigeon
visited the old man, being just 20 years after the second visit. The
old man did not know that he was talking to the chief of the pigeons,
for he appeared to him in all respects as a man.

The White Pigeon informed the old man that thereafter as long as the
world should last men and women would die because they had disobeyed
the rules proclaimed by the Pigeon people. And, further, that in the
future people must not kill any white pigeon, and that they must
observe the rules for the hunting of pigeons, and that this was his
last visit to him. And immediately he flew away.

The conditions among the people did not change for the better; the
several factions still existed, and there seemed to be no common
purpose in the community; some of the factions observed the rules for
hunting, some only in part, while still others paid no attention to
them, even mocking those who did. Some years passed when a stranger
came among this people and finding his way to the lodge of the old man
he said to him, “You must accompany me.” Without any question the old
man followed him, for he regarded him as a man like himself.

They traveled for a number of days until finally they came to the place
in which lived the tribe of the stranger, which was a place situated on
the top of very lofty mountains. The stranger’s friends received the
old man with every mark of respect and kindness. This people were the
Donyonda (i.e., Eagle people), although to the old man they appeared to
him as men like himself.

There were among the old man’s people persons without faith in the
teachings of the old man which he reported he had learned from the
White Pigeon. And there came a day when a man of the Crow tribe of
people told one of these disbelievers that the old man, their chief,
was at that time living among the Donyonda, or Eagle people, and
offered to conduct him to the land of the Donyonda people. The
disbeliever accepted the proposal of the Crow man and so they set out
together. The Crow man and his companion finally reached the land of
the Donyonda people on the top of a very lofty mountain.

The old chief recognized the man from his home, but he would have
nothing at all to do with him either by word or act. He even went so
far as to say to his adopted friends, “This man has come here for no
good purpose; the working of his mind is very different from that of
ours.” Consequently, the chief man of the Donyonda people ordered one
of their warriors to take this man away and to throw him onto the moon.
So on the following day the warrior placed the man on his back and bore
him swiftly away; and when he reached the side of the moon he cast the
man onto the moon’s side and left him there, and he remains there to
this day.

But old Chief Wild Cat lived with the Donyonda people for a number of
years. As time passed, however, the mind of the old chief became
affected and he became morose and despondent, which resulted in his
becoming obnoxious to the people of his adoption. Things went from bad
to worse, and so finally the Donyonda people held a council, where it
was stated that because the old chief could or would not think the
things which harmonized with their thoughts they would send him to a
tribe of people who agree with no one, not even with their own people,
and who were hostile to all other tribes of people. So they chose one
of their principal men to take the old chief the next day to the brink
of the mountain and to roll him down the mountain.

This was done, and the old chief rolled swiftly down the mountain side.
He went down so swiftly that he screeched with fear; but finally he
reached the foot of the mountain and the level ground. Upon reaching
the foot of the mountain he was transformed into the bodily form of a
wolf and also found that he was in a swamp in which the Wolf tribe
dwelt. They welcomed him in a most friendly manner. So he lived here
among the Wolf people for some time.

But the old man had not lived here long before trouble arose between
him and the Wolf people. The lapse of time only emphasized the
disagreements and the hostility of the Wolf people against the old man.
Finally the Wolf people began to be very angry with the Wild Cat for
his provocative acts, and then it was not long before the Wolf tribe
fell upon the old man, Wild Cat, and tore him in pieces and devoured
him. They left his bones gnawed clean on the ground.

At the time that the Eagle man visited the old man, Wild Cat, the old
man had a grandson who was a mere boy—a child. But at the time the old
man was devoured by the Wolf people the grandson of old Wild Cat had
grown up to be a young man. And he still remembered his grandfather,
Wild Cat, and at times he would wonder where his grandfather had gone
and what had become of him.

So there came a day when the grandson said, “I will now travel to see
what has become of my grandfather. I will seek for him in the lands
toward the sunrise.” So, after making suitable preparations, he started
on his quest for his grandfather.

He journeyed eastward for many days, when finally he met a man who
questioned him, asking, “Where are you going? Where are you from?” The
grandson replied, “I am traveling in search of my grandfather.” After
this conversation each went on his way. The grandson continued his
journey for some time when he met the second man, who asked, “Where are
you going? Where are you from?” The grandson replied, “I am traveling
in search of my grandfather.” Then the man said, “I have seen your
grandfather living among the Eagle people.” The grandson continued his
journey eastward until he finally came to the dwelling place of the
Eagle people on the mountain. Here he was informed that his grandfather
had been expelled from these people, and that he had been rolled down
the mountain to the Wolf tribe. “What am I to do?” asked the grandson.
“You had better go home,” said the old chief of the Eagle people, “for
if you do not return home you shall lose your mind and the mind of your
people; you shall become something else, someone else.” Then the
grandson asked, “Can you change me now so that I may go to the place
where my grandfather is?” They replied, “Yes; we can change you so that
you can go thither with perfect safety.”

The grandson having given his consent to this proposition, he was soon
changed into a panther and then rolled down the mountain into Wolf
swamp, where many Wolf people lived. The presence of the panther
aroused the bitter hostility of the Wolf people, who attacked him
savagely in an attempt to kill him. But owing to his great strength
they were unable to accomplish their purpose.

So he traveled from place to place in the Wolf country, where he was
regarded as an open enemy, although he was engaged only in looking for
his grandfather. There came a day when he found his bones, and placing
together the bones under a large hickory tree he pushed against the
tree, shouting “Arise, oh, grandfather. The tree is about to fall on
you.” His grandfather heard his warning and at once sprang up. He
recognized his grandson.

But the grandfather would not agree with his grandson as to how to
live, where to go, or what to do. So, after much bitter fighting, they
finally separated. The grandfather went in search of his own people and
the grandson in quest of his.

When the grandfather met the acquaintances of his early life he was no
more able to agree with them than he was before he left them; so, after
much strife and fighting, the people finally became so enraged at him
that they fell on him and for the second time he was killed and eaten
up, and his bones were left bleaching on the ground where they had
devoured him.

The grandson journeyed from place to place for a long time, and he
encountered many difficulties and disappointments in his quest for
people of his own tribe.

But one day he was pursued by a hunter with three dogs. When the dogs
came within reach the grandson killed them one by one before the hunter
could come to their assistance, and thus he escaped from death at the
hands of the hunter.

So, passing beyond this place, he met one day a woman of his own tribe.
He addressed her pleasantly and she replied in the same mood. This
woman finally agreed to marry the grandson. As the years passed they
became possessed of a large family, consisting of several boys and
girls. It was not many years before these children were large enough to
look out for themselves. In the meanwhile the father and mother
quarreled bitterly, then these boys and girls quarreled among
themselves, and lastly with their parents. The result of this condition
of affairs was that the family dispersed, each one going off alone.

Again, the grandson was left alone, having no friends or family of his
own. He was left completely to his own resources for providing the
means of his living and for protecting himself from his enemies. He
traveled many dreary days in solitude. But there came a day when he met
a woman of the Panther tribe of people, who was cooking some deer meat
for herself. As the grandson was very hungry he asked this woman to
share some of the deer meat with him, but she refused absolutely to
spare him a morsel.

So, hungry as he was, he had to pass on without anything to eat. Some
time afterwards he was fortunate enough to kill a deer. So, after
dressing it and preparing it properly and cooking it, he sat down to
eat. And while he was enjoying his venison the woman who had refused
him a portion of venison boldly came up and asked him for some of the
venison. He showed his teeth and growled and snarled so fiercely that
he finally drove the old woman away.

When he had finished his meal he packed up his belongings and departed.
He traveled several days from place to place. Suddenly he became aware
that several hunters with three dogs were pursuing him. So he fled from
that place until he became wearied and then he climbed a very tall
tree. There he hoped to escape his pursuers, but the dogs tracked him
so well that soon the hunters were under the tree. Whereupon one of the
hunters shot him, mortally wounding him, and he fell to the ground in a
dying condition. The dying Panther man said to the hunters, “This, your
act, shall cause bitter hostility between your people and my tribe, and
many of both tribes will die in consequence.”

As the hunters were bearing the body of the Panther man homeward, a
Panther man met them and saw the dead body of the Panther man—one of
his own kindred. At once he returned to his people, telling them what
he had seen. So with two other Panther men he retraced his steps to
find the guilty hunters.

The three Panther men were not long in finding the camping place of the
hunters and they quickly succeeded in killing the dogs and the hunters
and in devouring them, leaving their bones to bleach on the ground.

The friends and kinsmen of the hunters waited many days for the return
of the hunters and their dogs, but they waited in vain. So a number of
them formed a party and went out in search of them. They found their
bones on the path and also the dead body of the Panther man. In the
thickets near by they also found other Panther men asleep. These
discoveries were reported in the village of the dead hunters, and there
was aroused a bitter feeling against the Panther people; and so all who
were able to go out to hunt Panther people started out to destroy the
Panther tribe.

This resulted in a bitter strife between the people of the village and
the Panther tribe, and many of the bravest on both sides were killed
without bringing any satisfaction to either side. During this struggle
the bones of the grandson lay bleaching on the path in the forest. But
it so happened that one of his sons one day passed along that path, and
he recognized his father’s bones. So by gathering them together under a
large hickory tree and setting them in order the son of the Panther man
brought his father back to life by pushing against the hickory tree and
shouting, “Father, arise lest the tree topple over on you.”

When the father arose he had the form which he had when he left his
home in the village in search of his grandfather. This transformation
frightened the son so much that he fled through the forest away from
that place, and the grandson made his way home to the village of his
own people. He entertained his friends and kindred with the recital of
his adventures.

There came a day when the old Eagle, who had enticed away old man Wild
Cat, was in a reminiscent mood, and so he wondered what had become of
the old man whom he had left among the Wolf tribe. So he finally
resolved to pay a visit to the country of the Wolf people. He left his
home and traveled along toward the Wolf country. At last he was greatly
surprised to find scattered around the bones of the old man, his
friend. So he decided to aid his old friend by bringing him to life
again. He therefore collected together the bones lying about and placed
them in order under a great elm tree, and when he had gathered all the
bones he stepped up to the elm tree and suddenly exclaimed, “Be quick,
friend, arise, lest the tree fall on you.” At once the old man, Wild
Cat, leaped up in his original shape and condition in form and mind, a
man. So, after the usual greetings, the old Eagle chief led his friend
home to his own people, whence he had taken him so long ago. Having
arrived there, old man Wild Cat found his grandson, and to him he
related all his adventures while away from his people. He declared, “We
must highly esteem the Pigeon tribe of people.” (Then I left there.)





134. THE WEEPING OF THE CORN, AND BEAN, AND SQUASH PEOPLE

There was in the olden time a village of the Iroquois which was
situated in a very fertile and beautiful country. They raised corn and
beans and squashes, and for many years they were contented and
prosperous. But there came a time when their crops began to fail
them—the corncobs were bare of grains, the bean pods were empty, and
the squashes would wither away before the time to harvest them. The
people went hungry, for they had no food from their fields and game was
very scarce.

One day a very old woman, who was Matron and Chief of her clan, was
walking near her planted field, meditating on the misfortune of her
people. As she walked she heard bitter weeping out in the field, and
she at once decided that some one must be in deep distress. So, walking
into the planted field, she was surprised to find that it was the corn
that was weeping; and the beans were weeping too; and the squashes were
weeping also. The old woman had great compassion for the corn and the
beans and the squashes for their weeping. She stopped beside a hill of
corn and asked, “Oh, you dear Corn, why do you weep? Tell me the
reason.” The Corn between sobs said, “You place us in the ground to
grow, but you do not perform your further duties to us. You do not
cover us with sufficient earth as you know you should; and you do not
hill up the earth about our feet so that we can stand firm; and you
fail to dig up the earth sufficiently around us to give us water; so it
is that many of us have remained only a few hours or a day or two and
then have gone home; only a small number of us remain and now we are
all dying because of your neglect. You even permit our enemies to
strangle us to death.”

As the old Matron listened to this pitiful story she was bitterly
grieved. She then went to the Bean people and to the Squash people, and
from both she heard the same painful story of neglect by her people.
She was deeply moved, and so she went to her lodge and wept along the
path homeward. Having seated herself on her couch in her lodge, she
kept on weeping. Her people having heard her sobbing were much puzzled
by it, and they being moved by sympathy also began to weep with their
Matron. Soon many persons had assembled at her lodge, and they all were
mourning with the old woman.

Finally, the chief of the clan came to the lodge and addressing the
people he told them to cease their weeping and to be of good cheer; and
that he would ask their Matron what had caused her to return from the
planted field with such grief. So the people ceased their weeping, and
then the chief, addressing their Matron, who was still sobbing
bitterly, asked, “Mother, what caused you to weep while you were in the
planted field?” After somewhat composing herself she replied to this
question by saying that she had heard bitter wailings in the planted
fields and that on going there to learn the cause the Corn people, and
the Bean people, and the Squash people had complained to her that she
and her people had not properly cared for them by not covering them
with sufficient earth to enable them to live and by permitting their
enemies to grow up around them so that they had no more ground on which
to stand. Then the Matron ceased talking, but kept on weeping.

Upon hearing this statement the people assured the chief that this was
the first information they had received as to the reason why their
Matron had been grieving so bitterly.

Thereupon the chief called a council of his clan and laid before it the
remarkable statement of their Matron. The council upon hearing this
recital resolved that in the future whoever planted either corn or
beans or squashes must cover the grain with sufficient earth to give it
sustenance, and must care for the growing plants by properly hilling
them and by digging around them to loosen the earth to make it mellow,
and lastly, by destroying their enemies (the weeds) who grew about them
so luxuriantly.

So, in the following spring, when planting time returned, they were
again admonished as to the proper methods of planting the corn, the
beans, and the squashes. The people all agreed that they would follow
the advice of the council in this matter because of the statement of
their Matron as to the real cause of their withered crops.

So, in accordance with this resolution, the next springtime they did
place the seed corn and beans and squashes sufficiently deep in the
ground to give these grains sufficient covering of earth to grow well.
The old chief stood by the planters while they were seeding their
fields to see that the work was properly done. Later, when the tender
sprouts of corn and beans and squashes had reached such height that
they required more earth to support them, the people were called
together and urged to hill up their growing crops and to destroy
thoroughly the enemies (weeds) of these useful plants. These plants
were growing luxuriantly and were strong, but toward harvest time
something came and destroyed these growing crops. A certain nation of
people came and carried away the corn and the beans, leaving only some
squash shells. Again the people mourned their loss, confessing that
they must have been guilty of some other form of negligence.

So the following spring they again took great pains in their planting
and in their care for their crops; but just as soon as the green corn
was becoming fine and fit to eat a certain nation of people began to
steal the corn and beans and squashes. The people suspected what people
had come and carried away their corn and beans and squashes.

So the chief of the people called a council to discuss the situation
and to suggest means to meet it. It was finally resolved that several
stout and alert warriors should be set to watch the planted fields to
see who might come to steal the ripening crops. These watchmen went
into the fields in the evening. Toward the dawn of day they discovered
a number of persons who were tearing off the ears of corn and the bean
pods, and also others who were stealing the squashes. These thieves
they captured and held as prisoners. These prisoners were taken in the
morning to the council lodge before the clan chief.

The chief, after looking the prisoners over, remarked that these
thieves were their enemies because they had stolen their corn and beans
and squashes. Then he asked one of the corn thieves, “Where do you
live?” “A long way hence in the forest,” came the reply. “Are there
many of your people?” continued the chief. “We are a large nation,”
came the answer. In like manner he questioned the squash thief and the
bean thieves, and these made replies similar to those made by the corn
thieves.

They bound the corn thieves and daily they took them out of the lodge
and all the chiefs and the people came to see them, and everyone was
privileged to strike these thieves a blow with a staff, and the thieves
would weep bitterly at this treatment. Then they would be taken back
into the lodge. The bean thieves and the squash thieves were also daily
punished in this way.

Daily the corn thieves wept loudly. After a long time had elapsed these
thieves were told that if they would conduct the people to their own
nation they would be set free. The corn thieves agreed to this
proposition and the old chief selected a party of his warriors to lead
the thieves back to their own nation.

The corn thieves led the warriors a long way into the forest. But at
last they came to a settlement, and the thieves said this is a village
of our people. The warriors killed many of the people, and then they
set free the thieves whom they had brought back to their country. The
people whom the warriors had killed were carried home.

Then some warriors were sent to the squash stealers with an order to
split their upper lips so that they would not be able to eat squashes
again.

It is said that the warriors whipped the corn thieves so much during
their captivity that they wept so much that their faces were striped
and their backs were striped and their tails were ringed, from the
blows they received; and these marks have remained to this day. The
corn thieves were raccoons. The squash thieves were rabbits (hares?),
and their lips have remained split to this day from this punishment.

Tradition says that the ancestors of the Seneca thought that all trees
and shrubs and plants were endowed with human life and were divided
into families, having brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers. And
that in like manner the Corn, and Beans, and the Squash have human
lives, and that if one offended them they would grieve and would depart
and would leave the people without food.





135. SʻHAGOWENOTʻHA, THE SPIRIT OF THE TIDES

In the long ago an uncle and his nephew, his sister’s son, dwelt
together in a lodge. It so happened that the uncle, the elder man, had
to keep a recumbent position. He had lain so long that the roots of a
tree standing near their lodge had overgrown his body, so it was quite
impossible for him to arise.

As time passed he called his nephew to him and said to the youth: “Go
yonder in the distance to the clearings, where the logs are lying one
on the top of another, and plant there beans, corn, and squashes. They
make good eating, I assure you. And if these things should grow under
your cultivation they will furnish us with something to eat in the
future.” Thus spoke the old man.

In a short time he continued: “Bring forth from under the couch yonder
a basket in which there is some seed corn, as it is called.” The youth
brought the basket and placed it beside the old man. With the seed corn
were the beans for seed and the squash seed.

Then the old man said to the youth: “Bring me from under the couch
yonder the small baskets, 10 in number; I need them; for you must make
a girdle of baskets around your body.” So the nephew brought the
baskets to his uncle, who with his own hands placed in each of the
baskets some of the several kinds of seeds, thus dividing the seed
corn, the beans for seed, and the squash seed. He carefully completed
his task.

Having done so, he addressed his nephew, saying: “Come, now! go yonder
to the clearings where the logs are lying one on the top of another,
and there you must plant these seeds.” The young nephew replied: “So be
it, my mother’s brother. I will place beside you all the things which
may be necessary for you while I shall be absent planting the seeds.”
So the nephew placed beside his uncle a bark dish containing hominy, a
fire poker and a knife, and a cake of boiled corn bread. Then he said
to his uncle: “I am now going to plant the seeds.”

Having arrived at the clearings he set to work preparing the ground for
planting the seeds which he had brought. He had been at work a
considerable time and had already planted a number of hills when he
heard the voice of his uncle singing. The words of the song were: “Now,
now, now I believe that I have arisen, now indeed.” At this the
youthful nephew ran back swiftly to the lodge to prevent his uncle from
arising. Having arrived there the young man seized his uncle and
repressed his desire to arise, asking him, “What has come to pass that
you began to sing?” The uncle replied: “I became thirsty, and so I
began to sing.” The young man brought his uncle water to drink, and
after the latter had quenched his thirst the youthful nephew said to
him: “You must now lie quiet, as I ask you to do.” The uncle answered:
“Return again to the clearings to plant the seeds. As there are no more
left in the lodge you must pick up those which you dropped from your
baskets.” He referred to the 10 small baskets in which he had himself
placed the various kinds of seeds.

So as soon as the young man had gathered up all the seeds which he had
spilled along the path as he had hastened toward the lodge he again
began to plant them in hills. Again, as he had nearly finished seeding,
he heard the voice of his uncle singing: “Now, now, now I believe that
I have arisen, now indeed.”

The nephew at once started on the run for the old lodge, but when he
had gone only half the way he heard a loud report, băʹʻ! caused by the
breaking of the roots which had been holding his uncle down. When he
arrived at the lodge he found that his uncle was not there. This
grieved him greatly, for he felt that he would become very wretched and
poor without the aid and advice of his uncle. So he began to weep and
mourn for his uncle, but at last he ceased to do so. He then entered
the lodge to think upon his situation, and finally came out to see
whether he could not learn whither his uncle had gone by noting the
tracks he had left on the ground. For this purpose he went carefully
around the lodge, examining the ground as he went. At last he found his
uncle’s tracks, which showed the direction he had taken, for they had
made very deep impressions in the ground as he fled in haste. From the
tracks he learned that his uncle had taken a course directly westward.
The young nephew then said: “So be it. I suppose it is for me to go to
the place whither my uncle has gone. I will follow the tracks of my
uncle, my mother’s brother.”

Thereupon the young nephew, having gotten his bow and arrows, at once
started on a run on the trail of his uncle. He kept the trail in the
forests for three days, when he reached the shore of a lake, and there
indeed the trail ended so far as the nephew could see; so he stopped
there and stood looking around; thus he stood for some time.

At last he was somewhat startled at seeing not far away a canoe,[461]
which was being paddled toward him quite swiftly, and which contained
what appeared to him to be a man. The canoe stopped at some distance
from the spot where the young nephew was standing. He saw that a number
of wild geese supplied the propelling power for the canoe, six wild
geese being attached to one side of the canoe and six to the other
side. Then he overheard the man who was in the canoe address the geese
with these words: “My servants, you may now go forth to seek something
to eat.” The wild geese at once obeyed and flew upward, making the
sound stūmʻ.

The young nephew stood there silent for some time. Then the man in the
canoe said to him: “Come hither.” The youth, replying, “So let it be,”
went to the place where lay the canoe, in which stood the strange man.
The stranger, addressing the youth, said: “I am thankful that you are
well. Is it not true that Okteondon is your uncle? He is my uncle also.
I am thankful, too, that you and I, who are brothers, have seen each
other at this time. It so happens that you and I resemble each other
and are of the same stature. It would be still more convincing if we
should put this to proof by trial. As I have been saying, our bows and
arrows are alike and are of the same length. Let us test my statement
by a trial.” Thereupon the man took his bow and arrows out of the
canoe. Held up together, they were found to be of the same kind of wood
and of the same shape; their arrows were of the same kind of wood and
of the same length.

Then the stranger said, “Come; let us see. We have the same speed, I
believe.” He continued: “Let us now string our bows, as I am now
stringing mine; let us stand here side by side.” While the two stood
side by side again the stranger spoke, saying: “This we do in order
that there may be a race between us and our arrows. Let us shoot our
arrows, and as soon as we let fly our arrows then you and I must start
to run.” Then they let fly their arrows, at the same time starting to
run swiftly. They ran evenly, keeping well together. All that could be
heard was the sounds made by the passage through the air of small
stones picked up by their swiftly moving feet, for they were running at
a rapid pace. Looking upward, the youth saw two arrows flying along
together. In this trial of their fleetness of foot they caught the
arrows before they fell to the ground, each one catching his own.

After this test the strange man said to his young companion, “Now, let
us return to the place whence we started.” So they went back to the
spot where the canoe lay. Then the strange man repeated what he had
been saying again and again: “Have I not been saying that you and I are
indeed brothers? We have the same fleetness of foot; we are of the same
stature; our bodies are alike in form and condition; our bows are
exactly alike; our arrows are also alike. These things indicate that
truly you and I are brothers and that Okteondon is your uncle, as he is
my uncle. Come, then, let us go hence. We will amuse ourselves. We will
go to a distant place where I am in the habit of playing.”

The young man replied unsuspectingly: “So let it be.” Whereupon the
strange man said: “Come, come hither, my slaves, you wild geese. Do you
come hither at once.” He had hardly ceased speaking when the wild geese
alighted beside the canoe and attached themselves to it. Then the
strange man again got aboard of the canoe and invited his friend, the
young man, to accompany him. When the latter had also boarded the canoe
his companion said to the wild geese: “Come, now, do you go to the
place where the island floats in the water.” At this command the geese
began paddling, thus propelling the canoe very swiftly toward the place
designated. Then the strange man began to sing: “Now, now, now, it
seems true, I have started, indeed.” This song he kept singing as the
canoe sped along toward the island of his promised sports.

They finally arrived at the island, and the two men having landed the
strange man said to the wild geese: “Come, now, my servants, go now to
find something for food for yourselves”; thereupon they flew away. He
continued: “Whenever I say to you ‘Come hither’ you must return here at
once. But it must be I who shall say this.”

Drawing the canoe up on the shore he said to his young companion: “Now,
we will go to the place where I am accustomed to amuse myself,” and
they two started. Having arrived at the spot, the young man saw lying
there a very large white stone. His companion said: “It is, indeed,
here that I have my playground; and now you shall see what I will do.”

Then the stranger undressed, making himself entirely naked. Then
raising the great white rock he cast it into the water, which was very
deep. Down it went with the sound bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ. The strange
man next dived into the lake after the rock and remained under water
for a long time. The youthful nephew of Okteondon was watching
anxiously what his strange companion was doing. Finally, the youth was
surprised to see his companion come to the surface of the water bearing
the great white rock in his arms. When he had got on dry land he set
the rock down, saying to the young man: “Thus now you, too, must do as
I have shown you.” The latter replied: “So be it. I will try at once.
After removing all his raiment and being naked he took up the great
white rock and going to the edge of the lake he cast it far from shore
into the depths. Again the rock sank with the sound bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ,
bubʻ, as in the first instance, and the young man dived after it.

As soon as the young man had plunged into the waters of the lake the
strange man, taking up not only his own garments but also all those
belonging to his companion, returned to the point where the canoe had
been left. Arriving there, he called out: “Come, now, my servants. Come
you hither,” and shoving the canoe into the water he boarded it. The
wild geese soon alighted alongside of the canoe and attaching
themselves to it began to paddle it along. Their master merely said to
them, “Go directly back to the place whence we started,” and the geese
obeyed him, causing the canoe to move swiftly thither.

In a short time thereafter the young nephew of Okteondon rose to the
surface of the water bringing with him, as did the stranger, the large
white rock, which he cast aside as he came out of the water. He found
no one around and he saw that his garments were missing, so he ran to
the place where he remembered the canoe had been beached. When he
arrived there he found that the canoe, propelled by the swift feet of
the wild geese, was far out on the lake. As he reached the shore he
overheard the strange man in the canoe say in a loud voice: “To you who
feed on flesh and who dwell in the waters of the lake I offer this
flesh to eat.” These flesh eaters were highly pleased with the idea
that they would soon have more flesh to eat. By flesh the stranger
signified the flesh of the young man whom he had entrapped on the
island. The name of the strange man was Sʻhagowenotʻha.

Then the youthful nephew of Okteondon started away, going from place to
place in a hopeless effort to find some way of escape. When he found
that he had been victimized by Sʻhagowenotʻha, he began to cry, and he
went about crying and saying to himself, “Now I know that I am about to
die.”

In his wanderings around the island he found, scattered in numerous
places, many bones of human beings in different degrees of
decomposition. Among these decaying bones he was surprised to find the
half-decayed body of a man lying on the ground, and he was still more
astonished to hear this half-dead man say to him,[462] “My sister’s
son, Oh, nephew! come to me.” The youth, in his surprise, obeying the
voice, went to the spot where the man lay stretched out; there he
stopped and stood waiting the pleasure of the man who had addressed him
as “my sister’s son.”

Then the man continued to address him, saying, “Oh, my sister’s son,
you will now become very wretched, for Sʻhagowenotʻha has now shut you
in on this island. Take new courage and exert yourself, for, though you
may not know it, you are endowed beyond measure with orenda. You must
now put it forth by taking courage to overcome these deceptions of
Sʻhagowenotʻha. Moreover, you must take the following measures for this
purpose. When the sun is near setting you must run to and fro all over
the island, from one end to the other. You must cover it with your
tracks. As soon as it becomes night and darkness is here, then you must
return to the place where the canoe was beached at the canoe landing of
Sʻhagowenotʻha. When you have arrived there you must dig a trench in
the sand sufficiently large to hold your body. In this you must conceal
yourself by covering yourself with sand, but you must leave a small
aperture for your mouth. Your enemy, of course, will come to visit you,
as is well known; he will come at about midnight. Do not under any
circumstances become impatient and do not fear at all. He will bring
with him his dogs, and as soon as he lands he will urge them to find
you by saying, Twūʹăʻ, twūʹăʻ, twūʹăʻ. They will then begin to follow
your tracks from place to place, smelling and sniffing as they run, and
ever at their heels will be Sʻhagowenotʻha. Just as soon as you know by
the faintness of the sounds of these pursuers that they have gone to
some distant part of the island, you must come forth from your hiding
place.

You must also make out of rough bark and soft wood three dolls or
figures resembling the human body. When you have completed these you
must make for each one a bow and arrows suitable for their size. When
you have finished this work you must place one of these figures high up
in some convenient tree crotch, and you must fix in the hands of the
figure, in the attitude of shooting, the bow and the arrows. This you
must do with the three figures.

After taking breath, for he was, indeed, very weak, the man who lay
there a mere pile of bones said: “Yonder in the distance under that
prostrate old rotten log you will find my skin-pouch of fisher skin,
which do you bring me at once.” The young man brought the pouch of
fisher skin to his uncle, who took from it a knife, a flint for
striking fire, and a piece of punk. The knife he gave to the young man.

At once the young man began to fashion the three dolls which his uncle
had advised him to make. He made also the three bows with arrows, to be
held by these dolls or counterfeit men, which he had been counseled to
fix in the crotches of trees to deceive the great man-eater
Sʻhagowenotʻha, when he should come looking for the young man to devour
him.

When the youth had completed this task he began to run over the island
in such manner as to mislead the enemy and his dogs. The elder man
cheered him in his undertaking, saying: “Have courage, my nephew; if
you will perform my instructions with care you shall live, as I have
said.” The young man replied: “So shall it be as you have instructed
me.”

Then, going forth with the three dolls, he selected for each one a
suitable place in which to secure the doll, choosing invariably a tree
standing far from the landing place of the enemy. With some difficulty
he fastened the doll in a fork of the tree in such manner that from the
ground one might be misled into thinking that a person was hiding in
the tree.

When it became dark he started for the spot near the landing place
which he had selected for his own hiding place. Having arrived there he
began to dig a trench large enough to hold and fully conceal his own
body, and in time he had quite effectively concealed himself in the
sand. When night came he lay there quite still, awaiting the return of
his enemy, Sʻhagowenotʻha. He lay in such a way that his mouth was not
entirely covered with the sand, so he was able to breathe without much
difficulty. He thus waited patiently many long hours, knowing from his
uncle’s counsel that he had to contend with a crafty old cannibal, who
was a past master in deluding his victims into a false feeling of
security, the more easily to destroy them at his leisure.

It was some time after midnight when the alert young man heard peculiar
sounds approaching the island. He was not long in recognizing the
voices of the wild geese that had propelled the canoe which had left
him a prisoner on the island. He heard also the then distant yelps of
impatience of the dogs as they hungrily anticipated a bloody meal when
they should reach the island. They were eager to pursue their prey, for
they well knew the habits of their master. Finally the attentive ears
of the young man heard the sounds which told him of the landing of his
pursuers; and it was not long before he heard Sʻhagowenotʻha saying to
his dogs: “Go you to find the person of the man. It may be that he lies
now somewhere a heap of bones.” Then after releasing the dogs the old
man shouted, “çtuäʻʹ, çtuäʻʹ, çtuäʻʹ” signifying, “Go, go, go ye”
(usually applied only to dogs, much like the familiar “sick’em” in
English).

With their keen noses the dogs soon took up the tangled trail of the
young man, and followed it from place to place over the entire island.
Sʻhagowenotʻha was overheard by the young man to say to the wild geese:
“My servants, do you now go to seek for your food,” at which command
they flew away. Thereupon Sʻhagowenotʻha followed his dogs in the
direction they had taken. Just then he heard in the distance the
barking of the dogs, Wau, wau, wau, as they seemed to say. When the old
man arrived near the place where the dogs were barking, he heard one of
them burst out, crying, Kwĕñʻ, kwĕñʻ, kwĕñʻ. Having arrived there, he
found one of the dogs lying dead from the effects of an arrow which had
fallen down its throat. Sʻhagowenotʻha was grieved to lose one of his
dogs, which he highly valued, and he exclaimed: “Oh! it is
discouraging. It would seem that his body is, indeed, in a measure
possessed of orenda.” In a short time he again heard in the distance
the barking of his dogs, and he at once started on the run toward the
place. On drawing near the place he again heard one of the dogs utter
loud cries, Kwĕñʻ, kwĕñʻ, kwĕñʻ. Once more he found one of his dogs
lying there, also with an arrow protruding out of its mouth, into which
it had fallen from the second doll in the tree. Again the old man
loudly exclaimed, “Oh! discouraging, discouraging, is this. He is, I
think, somewhat of a sorcerer.” By that time the last dog was heard
barking in the distance and the old man started on the run for the
place. As he neared the spot, he heard the last dog crying Kwĕñʻ,
kwĕñʻ, kwĕñʻ. Thereupon fear came over the old cannibal, who exclaimed:
“Now I shall flee from this place, for he has now killed them all, my
dogs. He is indeed a great sorcerer.” At once Sʻhagowenotʻha ran toward
the canoe landing, which was some distance away.

In the meanwhile the young man, who was on the alert, saw his
opportunity, and arising from his place of concealment in the sand, he
went to the shore of the lake. Pushing the canoe into the water, he
called loudly, “Do you come hither, my servants, you wild geese.” The
geese with the sound dauñʻʹ all came to the side of the canoe and at
once attached themselves to it. Then the young man, boarding the canoe,
said to the wild geese, his servants: “Let us go back to the place
whence we started, and you start at this time.” Obeying his command,
the wild geese at once began to paddle and the canoe moved swiftly in
the water, the paddling of the wild geese sounding sŭʻ, sŭʻ, sŭʻ, sŭʻ.

When Sʻhagowenotʻha reached the shore and found the canoe moving away
with the young man in it, as its master, he called out to him: “Oh, my
brother! Turn back hither. I had come back here after you, be it known
to you.” To this appeal the young man paid no attention, for he had
been thoroughly informed of the character of his enemy by his uncle. So
he kept on his way. He tauntingly said, for the benefit of his enemy,
to the monsters of the deep: “I devote food to all of you who live on
meat—to you who live in the depths of the lake.” Hearing this, these
watery monsters rejoiced and were happy, for they desired meat, on
which they fed. In their glee they uttered the sounds, Hĭst, hĭst,
hĭst, hĭst, hai, hai, hai. Then Sʻhagowenotʻha again called to the
young man: “Oh, my brother! have mercy on me; take pity on me and turn
back. Is it not possible for you to agree to turn back and come to me?
I am indeed not Sʻhagowenotʻha; I am only a servant to him. He, of
course, is at his home.”

The young man, however, did not answer this appeal of his great enemy,
but said to the wild geese which were propelling his canoe: “Go
directly to the place whence you started.” The young man and his geese
arrived at the landing place, at their home, just as day was dawning.
After landing, he said to the wild geese: “My servants, you may now go
to seek for your food.” Thereupon they flew away with the sound dauñʻʹ.
He had already said to the geese: “Hurry back as soon as I recall you.”
Drawing the canoe ashore, he departed. Climbing the steep bank and
going aside a short distance, he came to a lodge, which he entered.
Within he found a very young woman. As he entered the lodge, without
his garments, the woman arose, and going forward, embraced him, saying:
“You are indeed in a wretched situation here. I am your younger sister,
for verily your uncle is one who is called Okteondon.” The young man
answered her: “He is, indeed, my uncle, as you say.” She continued: “He
is, too, my uncle, this Okteondon is; for this reason you and I are
brother and sister. Very long ago he stole me from our lodge. Now dress
yourself again; your garments hang yonder where he hung them when he
brought them back.” So the young man dressed himself again in his own
garments. Then his sister said: “Here are your bow and your arrows.”
The young man took them, for they indeed belonged to him.

Thereupon the young woman said to her brother: “You and I must now
return home. I will lay down bark in strips, and on these you must step
to conceal your tracks until you reach the canoe; for you and I shall
surely die if my husband should meet us before we reach the canoe. They
carried out faithfully this precautionary device for concealing the
brother’s footprints. When they reached the shore the brother pushed
the canoe into the water and then called out to the wild geese: “Come
hither, my servants.” When they arrived he continued: “You must go
directly to the place where my racing ground is.” Having said this, the
brother and sister boarded the canoe, and the wild geese began to
propel it rapidly through the water, making the sounds sŭʻ, sŭʻ, sŭʻ,
sŭʻ as they propelled it. Then the young man began to sing his song of
triumph: “Now, now, now, I am certain that I am on my way homeward.”
Turning to the wild geese he said: “Have courage [463]; be brave and do
your duty, my servants.”

After going some distance it seemed to the two that the canoe kept the
same position, although the wild geese were paddling with great vigor,
making the sounds sŭʻ, sŭʻ, sŭʻ, sŭʻ. Turning her head, the young woman
saw a fishhook attached to the end of the canoe, and she saw also that
her husband, who sat on the opposite shore, was steadily pulling on the
line, causing the canoe to move backward toward him. Taking up a stone
hatchet from the bottom of the canoe she struck the hook a blow which
broke it. At this the canoe again shot forward very swiftly, and they
went a long distance, while the young man kept saying: “Have courage,
my servants. Exert yourselves to the best of your power.”

But in a very short time thereafter they again noticed that the canoe
was seemingly going backward, although the wild geese were still
paddling with all their might. Turning her head and looking back across
the lake the sister saw her husband lying prone on the shore, rapidly
drinking up the water of the lake, and the canoe was now moving swiftly
toward him. His mouth was enormous and his belly was likewise of
incredible capacity. His whole body had swollen to huge proportions,
owing to the floods of water he was drinking. The canoe and its
occupants were fast being drawn into his open mouth, although the geese
were paddling with all their might.

When they drew quite near to the point where Sʻhagowenotʻha was lying
the young man, stringing his bow, made ready to shoot at the great,
swollen body lying on the shore, which was indeed stupendous in size.
When within bowshot the young man, taking good aim, sent an arrow with
great force into the body, which caused it to give out a loud sound,
b-uʼʻ! as the waters burst forth through the wound. The outrush of the
waters sent the canoe flying back toward the shore whither it was
bound. Then the young man vehemently urged the wild geese to exert
themselves in paddling the canoe onward, and finally he arrived with
his sister at the place whither they were bound—at the racing place of
Sʻhagowenotʻha.

When they arrived there he said: “Now, you wild geese shall be free
henceforth. Sʻhagowenotʻha has made you his slaves and servants—an act
which was indeed, as you know, a great wrong. Now you are again free
and independent. It was not the intention of Sʻhoñgwadiĕñnuʼkdăʼon, our
Creator, that anyone should be a slave or a servant.[464] As is well
known, it was his intention that every one and everything among the
animals and the birds and the fowl should be in all things independent
and free. He did not will that anyone should hold any being in bondage,
even among the animal kingdom. Now you must depart hence and go your
ways. It shall continue to be your custom in advancing across the earth
to go to and fro in the form of a wedge. Thus you shall be seen by
those who shall be born hereafter howsoever long the earth may continue
its existence. This is all. So now depart, and when you go you must
follow one another.” Thereupon the wild geese started away in freedom.

Then, turning to his sister, the brother said: “Now, let us depart
hence.” Started on their way, they went along slowly as they two
traveled homeward. When night overtook them they would encamp; and in
the morning after breaking their fast they would resume the journey.
They camped for five nights before they reached their home. They were
unmolested on their journey by the sorcerers, who commonly infested the
way on such occasions.

When they had reached their home the young man said to his sister: “Oh,
my sister! I do not know you, because, perhaps, I was so small when you
went away. We have now arrived at our home. I know now that Okteondon
is your and my uncle. When I started away from this place I followed
the tracks of our uncle until they led me to the lake. I verily believe
that he was killed by the man with the great mouth. Now you and I must
love and respect one another, as we are brother and sister. I shall
greatly respect you, and you yourself must greatly respect me. Now I,
myself, will go to hunt, and you shall keep the camp.” The brother
proved himself a great hunter, and they had an abundance of meat for
food in their camp.

This is the length of the story.





136. SʻHAGOWEʹNŌTʻHĂʼ, THE SPIRIT OF THE TIDES


    Neʼʹ        ōʹnĕⁿʻdjiʻ           hodiʹnoⁿʻsot       neʻʹ        yadadīwăʹdĕⁿʼ         neʻʹ    ganoⁿʻsăʼoñʹweʻ.    
That (it is) ancient time-very their (an.)-lodge-stands the  they-two-uncle (and), nephew the  it-lodge, large-(was). 

   Neʼ ʹgwā      diiutʹgon        hayăsʹʻnĕⁿʼ     neʻʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ,         neʼʹ    diiuiʹwăʼ     
That-yet (But) always, (ever) he (an.)-lay-supine the  he (an.)-ancient-one (was), that it-reason (was)  

      neʼʹ hoʻ               gäʹit              gaĕñdăsʹdĕñʼ             okdeʹoñdoⁿʼ        neʻʹ   hayăʼdăʼʹgeʻ,    neʼʹ
there (in that place) it (n.)-tree-stands it (n.)-tree-large-(was) it (n.)-root-had-several the  his-(an.)-body-on, that

    nāʹeʻ          dăʼaʹoñʻ        wĕñʹdoⁿʻ        āatʹkĕⁿʻ.   
truly-(verily) not it-able (be) ever (sometime) could he arise.


   Neʼʹhoʻsʻhoñ        deʻhniʼʹdyoⁿʼ,        oʼyonisʻheʼt.   Dyĕñgwăʻsʻhoñ neʻʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ         neʻʹ 
There-only (alone) two-they (masc.) abode, it-long-time-was. Suddenly-just the  he (an.)-ancient one (was) the  

haoñwāʹdĕⁿʼ,   wooʻtʻhāʹhăs    waiʹĕñʼ,        “Hoñʹweʻ           hoʼʹse       heoñʹweʻ   
 his-nephew  he-him-talked to he it said “Yonder (over there) thither-thou-go there-where 

          tgayăʼsāʹoñnyoⁿʼ.           Neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ    ĕⁿʻsyĕñʹtʻhoʼ    neʻʹ   oʻsăeʼʹdăʼ,         neʼʹkhoʻ       
there-it-one- tiered-many (logs) has.  There  truly wilt-thou -it-plant the  it (neut.) bean, that-and (that-too) 

   onĕñʹoⁿʼ,     neʻʹ onyoⁿʻʹsăʼ-khoʻ.         Okăʼʹoⁿʻ              neʹʻhoʻ,         gaʹnyoʼ    
it (neut.) corn, the  it-squash-and .  It savory, delicious (is) indeed (in fact), (if it-rules) 

           ĕⁿwadoñʹnĭʼ                ĕⁿwatchiʻsʻăʼ-khoʻ.       Dāʹ         neʼʹ          ĕⁿʹhnik,       neʼʹ 
will it grow (will it-itself make) will it itself ripen and. So (there) that (it is) will thou-I-it eat, that 

       ĕⁿʻniʻnheʻʹgoʹoñk             gaʹnyoʼ            gowāʹnĕⁿʻ          ĕⁿʻsyĕñtʹʻhwakuʼ.&rdquo ;          Neʼʹ      
will thou-I-it use ever to live if (= if-it rules) much (great amount) thou will it harvest (= unplant).” That (it was) 

 waiʹĕñʼ   neʻʹ        hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ.       
he-it-said the  he-old-one (ancient one).


   Deʼaonisʻheʼʹoñʼ       oʹnĕⁿʻ     waiʹĕñʼ   neʻʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ,            “Dāʹ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   
Not-it-long-tim e-(was) now (then) he-it said  the  he (an.) ancient-one (was), “So (there) now (then) 

       hoʼseʹgoʻ              hoñʹweʻ         ganaⁿktāʹgoñ,    neʼʹhoʻ gaʹyĕⁿʼ neʻʹ   găʼăsʹʻhāʼ,   neʼʹhoʻ 
thence do thou-it-fetch (over there) yonder it (n.)-bed-under,  there  it-lies the  it (n.) basket,  there  

    igaāʼʹ      nāʹeʻ neʻʹ    ganĕñʹgweⁿʼ        gayāʹsoⁿʻ.”    
it is-contained truly the  it (n.) seed-grain one-it-has named.”


   Dāʹ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ          haksăʼʹgowā                  waāʹgoʼ         neʻʹ    găʼăʻsäʼ    neʼʹhoʹ 
So (there) now (then) the  he (an.)-youth (= great child) thence-he-it did fetch the  it (n.) basket  there  

  waāʹyĕñʼ     heoñʹweʻ       hayăsʹʻhĕⁿʼ     neʼʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ.        
did he-it lay there-where he (an.) lay supine the  he (an.) ancient one (was).


   Dāʹ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ          waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʹʼ”,    neʻʹ   găʼăsʻhäʼ    
So (There) now (then) the  he (an.) ancient-one (was) he-it-said “Go to, “Come the  it (n.) basket 

       hoʼseʹgoʻ           ganaⁿktaʹgoñ           niwăʼsʹʼā,           wăsʹʻhĕñʻ           niʹyoñ.      Dĕⁿ  
thence-do-thou-it fetch it (n.) couch-under so it-size-small (is), (it-hand-full) ten so-it-many (are). Wilt 

      satʹwāʻhāʼ        neʻʹ   găʼăsʹʻhäʼ.     Dewagadoĕñdjoñʹniʻ.”  
thou-self-it-gird with  the  it (n.) basket. I-it-in-need-of-stand. ”


   Dāʹ       neʼʹhoʻ       naāʹyeʼ     neʻʹ          haksăʼʹgowā.             Oʹnĕⁿʻ          haoⁿʻhaⁿʼ        neʻʹ 
So (There) thus (there) thus he-it did the  he (an.) youth (= great child). Now (then) he (an.) alone, himself the  

       hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ         neʼʹhoʻ   găʼăsʻhäʹgoñ        heʹ            niʹyoñ       neʻʹ   onĕñʹoⁿʼ.      Gagweʹgoⁿʻ    
he (an.) ancient one (is)  there  it (n.) basket-in thus (where) so many it numbers the  it (n.) corn. It-entire (All), 

heʹ        niʹyoñ          waoñʹdäʻ;         gagweʹgoⁿʻ        neʼʹhoʻ      naaʹyeʼ    neʼʹ       wăsʹʻhĕñʻ       
thus so many it numbers did he-it-put in it (n.) entire (is) thus (there) so he-it did that it (n.) handful = ten 

     niʹyoñʻ       neʻʹ   găʼăsʹʻhäʼ;   oʻsaeʼʹdăʼ-khoʻ  neʼʹhoʻ      waoñʹdäʻ,        gagweʹgoⁿʻ   
so many it numbers the  it (n.) basket; it (n.) bean-and  there  there he-it-put in, it (n.) entire 

    waadyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ.    
did-he his-task complete.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ    waiʹĕñʼ   neʻʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ,            “Hauʹʼʹ,      oʹñĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ  heoñʹweʻ   
Now (then) he-it-said the  he (an.) ancient one (was), “Go to, “Come, now (then)  there  there-where 

        tgayăʼsaʹoⁿʼ,         neʼʹhoʻ   ĕⁿʻcyĕñʹtʻhoʼ        gagweʹgoⁿʻ.         Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     săaʻdĕñʹdĭʻ.”  
there-one-clearings has made,  there  wilt thou-it plant it (n.) entire (is). So There, now (then) thou (do) start.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ           haksăʼgowā            waiʹĕñʼ,    “Nyoʻʹ.   Neʼʹ       gwāʻ        noñʹ   neʼʹhoʻ 
Now (then) the  he (an.) youth (= great child) he-it said, “So be it. That still, yet, too, perhaps  there  

      ĕⁿgegeʹoñʼ         heoñweʻ   neʼʹ       syăsʹʻhĕⁿʼ,        heʹ        niʹyoñ          gĕⁿsʹ    
will (shall) I it pile there-where that thou lying-supine (art), thus so many it numbers customarily 

     desadoĕñdjoñʹnĭʻ.”      
thou-it-in need of, standest.


  Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ           haksăʼgowā            waoʼsaiʹeⁿʻ.  Neʻhoʻ    waaksaiʹĕñʼ       găʹsnĕⁿʼ   neʻʹ 
So There now (then) the  he (an.) youth (= great child) did he-hasten. There  did-he-it-dish lay it (n.) bark the  

      gakʹsăʼ           ononʹdäʼ          igāʼʹ,       gadjisdoñiăʼsʻhäʻ-khoʻ, gaganʹiăʼsʻhäʼ-khoʻ,   oäʻkwăʼ-ʹkhoʻ   
it (n.) dish (bowl), it (n.) hominy it-contained (is), it (n.) fire poker-and,  it (n.)-knife-and,  it (n.) bread-and 

        gagaisdĕⁿʹdoⁿʼ.        
it (n.)-corn-hulled-by-boiling.


 Gaʹnioʼ       waadiĕñnuʹʼkdĕⁿʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ  nāʹeʻ  waiʹĕñʼ,              “Gnoʼʹsĕⁿ,              oʹnĕⁿʻ  
As soon as did he-his task complete now then truly he-it said “Oh, uncle, “Oh, mother’s brother, now then 

ĕⁿgiĕñtʻʹhwăʻsă& mlapos;  heʹoñweʻ            tgayăʼʹsaoⁿʼ.”              Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ      waaʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.    
shall I-it-(to) plant go there-where there it-one-clearings has made.” So (then) now (then) did-he (an.) start.


   Wăʼhāʹioⁿʼ     heʹoñweʻ          tgayăʼʹsaoⁿʼ,           oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  wooioʼʹdĕⁿʹ.        Waaeoʼdōʹgoʼ,      
There he arrived there-where there one-it-made-clearings, now (then) truly did-he-it-work. Did he-it-weeds-remove, 

    waaeʻdawĕñʹieʼ-khoʻ.        Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ   waayĕñʹtʻhoʼ       toʻkaʼʹăʻ        niʹ   
did he-it-earth-stir up-and. So (then) now (then) truly  did he-it-plant numbering few, few so many 

  ganăʼgĕⁿsʹʻhäge.       Dāʹ        diĕñgwăsʹʻhoñ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   hotʻhoñʹdeʼ      daʻhadĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ       neʻʹ 
it (n.)-hills-number. So (then) all at once, suddenly now (then) he-it-heard thence he his song-uttered the  

             honoʹʼsĕⁿʻ.                Gaĕñnagoñʹwăʻ  hotʻhyuʹwi,         hāʹdoⁿʻ,         “Oʹnĕⁿʻ,    oʹnĕⁿʻ,   
he-him-uncle. (mother’s brother). (is) It (n.) song-in he-it-tells, he-it-says, repeatedly “Now (then) now (then) 

  oʹnĕⁿʻ      giʹ     neʻʹ      oʼgatʹkĕⁿʻ,         oʹnĕⁿʻ     waiʻʹ.”  
now (then) I-it think the  did I-myself-raise up, now (then) certainly.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ           waiʻʹ          neʻʹ        haksăʼgōʹwa                  saaʻdĕñʹdĭʼ            
Now (then) certainly, (of course) the  he (an.) child-great (is) again-he-departed, (= went home) 

     waadiănōʹäd.                 Wăʼdjiʹăʻ             oʹnĕⁿʻ       saaʹyoⁿʼ      neʻʹ  heʹoñweʻ   
did-he-his-pace-hasten. (While-small) In a short time now (then) again-he-returned the  there-where 

         tʻhodinoⁿʹʻsot.             Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwa           wooyeʹnāʼ     neʻʹ 
there-they (an.)-it lodges stands. Now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) did he-him-seize the  

              honoʼʹsĕⁿʻ                   waiʹĕñʼ     khoʻ,    “Ānăʼawĕñʻʹ                 haknoʼʹsĕⁿʻ?”              
he-him-uncle (= mother’s brother) (is). did he-it say.  and  “What it happened he-me-uncle (= mother’s brother) (is)?” 

   Daāiʻwăʼsäʹkoʼ    neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ         waiʹĕñʼ,    “Oʼkhăʼdatʹʻhĕⁿ&t comma;  neʼʹ       oiʻʹwăʼ       
Thence he-it replied the  he-ancient-one (is) did he-it-say, “Did my throat become dry that it (n.) reason (is) 

    oʼgadĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ.”     
d id I song-utter, sing.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwa           waiʹĕñʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ         hoʼgeʹgoʼ        neʻʹ  oʻneʹgănos.   Hauʼʹ, 
Now (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is) did he-it-say, “Now (then) thence I-it (n.) fetch the  it (n.) water. Come,  

  oʹnĕⁿʻ              sneʹgihă.”           
now (then) thou-it (n.)-liquid drink (do).”


         Gaʹnioʼ                waaʻneʹgihăʼ      neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ        oʹnĕⁿʻ           waiʻʹ         
As soon as (= it-it-rules) did he-it-liquid-drink the  he-ancient-one (is) now (then) certainly (of course) 

      saādyăsʹʻhĕñʼ.         Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ     hăksăʼʹgōwa        waiʹĕñʼ,           “Gnoʼʹsĕñʻ,        hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ  
again he-self-laid supine. Now (then) the  he-child-great (is) did he-it say, “My uncle, “Oh, my uncle, Come  now (then)

   dĕⁿsadyeʹĕⁿk-sʻhoñ          ĕⁿʻsyasʹʻhĕñdăʼk .”     
shall-you quiet-just keep shall you-supine keep-lying.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hagĕⁿʹdjiʻ            waiʹĕñʼ,      “Giwāʹdĕⁿʼ,      neʼʹhoʻ          hoñsāʹseʻ        heʹoñweʻ  
Now (then) the  he (an.) ancient one (is) did he-it say, “Oh, my nephew, there (where) thither again go thou there where

          tgayăʼʹsaoⁿʼ           neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ    ĕⁿʻsyĕñʹtʻhoʼ    neʻʹ   onĕñʹoⁿʼ.    Tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ    ganoⁿsgoñʹwăʻ   
there one-it (n.)-clearings-made  there  truly shalt thou-it-plant the  it (n.)-corn. Not (it is) it (n.) lodge-in 

       deʼsgaʹyĕⁿʼ,                  gagweʹgoⁿʻ               oʼgāʹit        waiʻʹ;             gagweʹgoⁿʻ           
at all again it-lies (is), it (n.) all (= it-(n.) entire) did-it-spill out certainly; it (n.)-all (= it-(n.) entire) 

       dĕⁿtcʹhek.           Dāʹ              djaʹgoⁿʻ              diqʹ.”  
shalt thou it-gather up. So (then) do thou (be) brave = hurry up moreover.”


        Gaʹnioʼ          neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwa                  gagweʹgoⁿʻ                săasʹʼăʻt
As soon as (it-it-rules) the  he (an.) child-great (is) it (n.)-all (= it (n.) entire) again he-it-finished

     saasnoⁿʹkwĕñs       neʻʹ    oaāʼʹgeʻ         oʼgāʹit           tchisʻhădăkʹheʼ       neʻʹ   onĕñʹoⁿʼ.      Dāʹ
again he-it-gathered up  the  it (n.) path-on did-it-spill out as again he ran (homeward) the  it-(n.) corn. So (then)

  oʹnĕⁿʻ   āʹeʼ      sāāyĕñtʻhoʹʻsăʼ.
now (then) again again he-it to-plant went.


Agwasʹ       āʹeʼ          oʹnĕⁿʻ       tʻhoʹhăʻ              hĕñoⁿsʹʼăʻt             aāyĕñtʹʻhoʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   āʹeʼ
 Very  again (once more) now (then) nearly (close by) will he-it complete (finish) would he-it-plant now (then) again

       hotʻhoñʹdeʼ               daādĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ        neʻʹ      honoʼʹsĕⁿʻ,         hādoⁿʼʼ,       “Oʹnĕⁿʻ,
he-it-hears (= is hearing) thence he-his song uttered the  he-him-uncle of (is), he kept saying, “Now (then),

  oʹnĕⁿʻ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ    giʼʹ            oʼgatʹkĕⁿʻ.            Oʹnĕⁿʻ         waiʻʹ.”
now (then), now (then) I think did I-self-raise (= I arose). Now (then) certainly.” indeed.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwa          oʹnĕⁿʻ     waiʻʹ     hăʼdoñsāĕⁿʻʹdāt      heʹoñweʻ
So (Then) now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) now (then) certainly th ence again he ran there (where)

            tʻhodinoⁿʻsăgāʹioⁿʻ .
there their (masc.) lodge old (is) (ancient).


    Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ        oʹnĕⁿʻ           hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ            neʼʹhoʻ         wăʼhadākʹheʼ         oʹnĕⁿʻ
Suddenly, all at once, now (then) just it-half way, middle-(was) there (where) thither he running went now (then)

   waiʻʹ     hotʻhoñʹdeʼ         wăʼotʹkāeʻ              otkāeʼʹnī          “băʼʹ,”      neʼʹ     diioīʹwăʼ
truly indeed he-it-hears did-it-make a sound, noise it makes sound loud “băʼ&mlpr ime;,” that there it-it caused

   oʼdwadektēʹnyăʼk    neʼʹ   heʹʼoñweʻ       hayăsʹʻhĕⁿʼ     neʻʹ     honoʼʹsĕⁿ.
did-it (n.) root break that there (where) he (an.) lay supine the  he-him-uncle. (his)


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ nāʹeʻ   oʹnĕⁿʻ          hoñsaāʹyoⁿʼ           heʹoñweʻ         tʻhodinoⁿʻʹsot       tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ
So (then) that truly now (then) there again he-did arrived there (where) there it-them-lodge stood   not

        deʼsʻhĕⁿʼʹdyoⁿʼ                     noōnoʼʹsĕⁿ,              oʹnĕⁿʻ        deʼsgatgăʼʹhoʻ.
at all again he abides (at home) the-his-uncle (mother’s brother), now (then) not at all again anywhere.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwa            waoʹʻsĕⁿs;       oʹnĕⁿʻ        wāʹēʼ        oʹnĕⁿʻ     noñʹ
Now (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is) did it-him-grieve; now (then) did he-it-think now (then) probably

     ĕⁿwagidĕñsʹtʻheʼt,         awĕñdoñʹnyăʼt-khoʻ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   oʼwāʹdoⁿʼʼ neʼʹ     diioīʹwăʼ      neʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
will-it-me to be poor-cause, it-it-lonely has made and now (then) it became  that there it-it caused that now (then)

   deʼsgatgăʼʹhoʻ                 noōnoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.
at all again anywhere the-he-him uncle (mother’s brother).


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     nāʹeʻ    waăsʹdāĕñʼ   hoʼnigoⁿähetʹgĕⁿʼs-khoʻ     oʼyoʹnisʻheʼt.        Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ    nāʹeʻ
So (then) now (then) of course he (an.) wept i t-him-mind-grieves and it-it-to last caused. So (then) now (there) verily

 wāĕñniʹʻhĕⁿʼ   heʻʹ    hasdāʹʻhăʼ    hoʼnigoⁿähetʹgĕⁿʼs-khoʻ            ganoⁿsăkdăʹdieʼs.              Oʹnĕⁿʻ
did he-it-cease where he was weeping i t-him-mind-grieves-and, it (n.) lodge beside (here and there). Now (then)

      hoñsaāʹyoⁿʼ           ganoⁿsăʹgoñ       waĕñnoⁿdoñʹnyoⁿʼ-khoʻ    heʻʹ            nionăkdōʹdĕⁿʻ.
thither again he entered  it (n.) lodge-in did he think repeatedly-and where such-his-situati on-kind of (was).

   Dāʹ       oʹnĕⁿʻ      doñdāăyăʹgĕⁿʼt        wāēʹʼq      gatgatʹʻhoʻ kāʹweʻ    noñʹ        heāwēʹnoñ
So (there) now (then) thence he came forth did he-it-think let me look whither probably thither he has gone

     noōnoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.        Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹĕʻ            oʼtʻhādawĕñʹnyeʼ                  ganoⁿsăkdăʹdyeʼ
the he-him-uncle (is). Now (then) verily did he-self-move from place to place it (n.)—lodge beside (around)

       hokdoñʹdyeʼ         adeyĕñnoñʹniʼʹgeʻ,    heʹʻheʼ    adiʼʹgwă   noñʹ      neʼʹhoʻ
he-it-looked-closely along a way careful-in,  he-it-thought possibly probably there (where)

        hayanāĕñʹnyoⁿʼ          neʻʹ    honoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.
he-track-appeared-succe ssively the  he-him uncle (is).


   Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ       oʹnĕⁿʻ     wāaʹgĕⁿʼ      heʹoñweʻ           heodakhēʹnoñ,         neʼʹ neʻʹ
Suddenly all at once now (then) did-he-it-see there (where) thither he running-has gone, that the

            niyoʻcyosʹtoⁿ               heʹoñweʻ           heodăkhēʹnoñ.            Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     waāʹgĕⁿʼ
such it-it-deep-has gone (his tracks) there (where) thither he running-has gone. So (then) now (then) did he-it-see

 oʹnĕⁿʻ         hegääʻgwĕⁿʼsʹgwā                heodăkhēʹnoñ           noōnoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.
now then thither-it (n.) Sunsets towards thither he running-has gone the-he-him-uncle.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwa           waiʹĕñʼ,     “Niʹyoʻ.  Neʼʹ gwāʹ  noñʹ      neʼʹhoʻ     oʹnĕⁿʻ
Now (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is) did-he-it-say, “So be it. That just perhaps there (where) now then

     hĕñʹgeʼ        nĕñʹ     iʼʹăʻ      heʹoñweʻ         heawēʹnoñ      neʻʹ haknoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.        Ĕⁿeyanĕñʹauñʼ
thither will-I go this one I (myself) there (where) thither he-has-gone the  he-me-uncle. Will-I-him-track take along

nāʹeʻ    oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   haknoʼʹseⁿʻ.”
verily now (then) the  he-me-uncle (is).”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwa          oʹnĕⁿʻ     wăʼhāʹgoʼ   neʻʹ hoʼĕñʹnŏⁿʼ   găʼnoⁿʹ-khoʻ,
So (then) now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) now (then) did-he-it get the   his-bow   it (n.) arrow-and,

   dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ          wooyanĕñʹauñʼ        neʻʹ    honoʼʹ           sĕⁿʻ;           dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ
so (then) now (then) did-he-him-track take along the  he-him-uncle (mother’s brother); so (then) now (then)

 waaʻdĕñʹdĭʼ  oʼtʻhĕⁿʻʹdāt,   oʹnĕⁿʻ          wooyanĕñʹauñʼ.          Gaʻhădăgoñʹsʻhoñʼ       hădakheʼʹsʻhoñ    sĕⁿʹ
did he depart  did he-run,  now (then) did-he-him-track take along. It (n.) forest-in-only he running only goes three

       năʼōʹdăʼ           oʹnēⁿʻ      neʼʹhoʻ      waāʹyoⁿʼ         ganyodāʹeʼ,          neʼʹhoʻ    nāʹeʻ
so many it-night-passed now (then) there (where) did he arrive it (n.) lake-stood out there (where) indeed

   heʻʹhodyāʹnoʼk       noonoʼʹsĕⁿʻ,       neʼʹhoʻ    wooĕⁿʼʹheʼt   oʼtʻhatgăʹdoⁿʻ-khoʻ.      Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ
there-his-trail ended the he-him-uncle, there (where) did he stop di d he look around and. So (then) now (then)

   oʼtʻhāʹdăʼt        ganyadākʹdăʼ.
did he stand still it (n.) lake beside.


   Dāʹ         neʻhoʹʻ-sʻhoñʹ                hadāʹdieʼs                dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ         waāʹgĕⁿʼ      weʹĕⁿʻ
So (then) there (where)- just, only he stood in different places suddenly just, all at once did he-it-see  far away

     dăgagăweʼʹ        gaʻhoñʹwăʼ      oʻstoäʹdieʼ.     Neʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    dosgĕⁿʹhăgwă  dyēñgwăʻʹ siʹ neʼʹ neʻʹ
there it (n.)-paddled it (n.) canoe it (n.) swift went. That now (then) nearby-towards suddenly  lo! that the

  oñʹgweʻ          dăʼnoⁿʻdăkʹheʼ,        siʹ      niyōʹweʼ         neʼʹhoʻ       daăʼdīʹheʼt.
human being hither- he-aboard-was coming, lo! so it distant (is) there (where) there did-he-stop.


 Oʹnĕⁿʻ  neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwa        wāatgatʹʻhoʼ waāʹgĕⁿʼ-khoʻ     neʼʹhoʻ         gaʻhoñwăkdăʹdieʼ
Now then the  he (an.)-child-great (is) did he look  did-he-see-and there (where) it (n.) canoe beside along

   neʼʹhoʻ    neʻʹ    hoñgākʹ           wadiyăʼdănīʹyoñt,        neʼʹ neʻʹ yēʹiʼ       niwäñʹnandī        neʻʹ hoñgākʹ
there (where) the  goose (geese) they (f.) gender-body-attached, that the   six  so they many (n.) number the   geese

neʻʹ  sgagäʹdi,     hōʹgwā   yeʹiʼ-khoʻ       niwäñʹnandī               wadiyăʼdănīʹyoñt.
the  one-it side, other side  six-and   so they many (n.) number they (f.) gender-body attached.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwa        hotʻhoñʹdeʼ neʻʹ       hoñʹgweʻ          waiʹĕⁿʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ
Now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) he-it-hears the  he (an.) human being did-he-it say, “Now (then) indeed

     ĕⁿswadekhwiʻsākʹhăʼ       agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ .”    Dāʹ    oʹnĕⁿʻ  neʻʹ hoñgākʹ    wăʼdwādīʹdĕⁿʼ,     “Stūmʻ”
will you-self-food-to seek go my-servants-severally.” So then now then the   geese  did they (n.) fly up, “Stumʻ”

     oʼgiʹ.
it (n.) sounded.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwā           neʼhoʻʹsʻhoñ     īʹyadʻ       tʻhīodieĕⁿʻʹsʻhoñ.         Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
Now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) there (where) just he-stood just- he-remained quiet-only. Now (then) the

  găʻhoñʹwăgoñ      hăʼʹnonʻ        waiʹĕⁿʼ:          “Gādjiʻʹ,          dediadĕⁿʻnondäʼ.”      Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
it (n.) canoe-in he (an.)-was in did-he-it say: “Do thou come hither, thou-I-brothers (are).” Now (then) the

       hăksăʼʹgōwā           waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ,  nioʻʹ.”      Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   waaʻʹdĕñdīʼ    neʼʹhoʻ
he (an.) child-great (is) did he-it-say, “Come,  so be it.” So (then) now (then) moreover did he-start there where

      wāʹeʼ        heʹoñweʻ          tgăʻhoñwāʹiĕⁿʼ,         neʼʹhoʻ     itʻhädʹ          nōñʹgweʻ.        Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
thither-did-he-go there where there it (n.) canoe was lying,  there  there-he-was in the he-human being. Now (then) the

      hĕñʹgweʻ          waiʹĕñ,       “Niāʹwĕⁿ,                askĕñʹnoⁿʼ               tʻhiʹsonʻheʼ.  Isʹ    waiʻʹ
he (an.)-human being did he-it-say, “May it happen it (n.)-peaceful (and in health) is so-thou-livest. Thou of course

   iānoʼʹsĕⁿʻ     neʻʹ Okteʹoñdoⁿʼ. Iʼʹ       haeʼʹgwăʻ                    hāknoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.                Dāʹ
he-the uncle (is) the   Okteondon.   I  also, at the same time he-me-uncle (mother’s brother) (is). so (then)

  niāʹwĕⁿʻ      diqʹ   Iʼʹ      dediadĕⁿnoñʹdeʼ         oʹnĕnʻ               oʼdidiadădēʹgĕⁿʼ.
may-it-happen moreover we  both-thou-I-brothers (are) now (then) did-th ou-I-self-see (see one the other).

 Dōʹgĕⁿs-khoʹʻ         neʻʹhoʻ            dedjidiadieʹĕⁿʻ;      neʼʹkhoʻ  neʻʹ           sʻhăʼdedinĕñʹies.
It-true-and (is) as a matter of fact both-thou-I-self-resemble; that-and  the  equal-both-thou-I -stature-long (is).

  Siʹ       niʻhāʹăʻ        diadenäⁿʼʹgeäd,    neʼʹ neʻʹ     niwakʼnigoⁿoʼʹdĕñ.        Dāʹ    neʼʹ     naʹeʻ      neʻʹ
Behold, is it not better (let)-thou-I-it-test, that the  such-my-mind-kind of (is). So (then) that verily, truly, the

       dōʹgĕⁿs        neʼʹ neʻʹ        tcikāʹtoⁿ         neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ neʼʹ oñgiăʼäⁿʹnoⁿʼ
(it is) true, certain that the  as-I-it-have-kept-saying that-and the  that thy-my-bow(s)

         sʻhăʼdeʹioʼdäñ          neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ neʼʹ   oñgiăʼʹnoⁿʼ            sʻhăʼdeʹioʼdäñ          neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
alike-both-it (n.)-in-form (are) that-and the  that thy-my-arrow(s) alike-both-it (n.)-in-form (are) that-and the

           sʻhăʼdeʹioñs            siʹ      niʻhāʹăʻ.”
equal-both-it (n.)-in length (are) lo, so-is-it-not better.”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ          nōñʹgweʻ             waādăʻʹgoʼ     neʻʹ   găʻhoñʹwăgoñ   neʻʹ wăʼäñʹnoⁿʼ
So (then) now (then) the-human being (= man) did-he-it-take out the  it (n.) canoe-in the  it (n.) bow

  găʼʹnoⁿʼ-khoʻ.      Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ               oʼtiāäñnoñgäñʹis;
it (n.) arrow-and. So (then) now (then) moreover did-thou-I-bow(s)-compare (bring together)

         sʻhăʼdeʹioʼdäñ            găʼʹnoⁿʼ-khoʻ            sʻhăʼdeʹioʼdäñ,          agwăsʹ
alike-both-it (n.)-in form (are) it (n.) arrow-and alike-both-it (n.)-in-form (are),  very

              sʻhăʼgāʹdăʻ               găʻsĕñniăʼʹdĭʻ   neʻʹ       năʼʹot.
just-one-( they are) (one and the same) one-it-make-used the  such kind of thing.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ oiăʼʹdjĭʻ    tʻhāweʻʹdĭʻ        nōñʹgweʻ        waiʹĕⁿʼ    “Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ
So (then) now (then) the  elsewhere thence he has come the human-being did-he-it-say “Come,  now (then)

      diadenäⁿʼʹgeäd          iʹwi        sʻhăʼdediiănōʹweʼkho&t comma;           neʻʹhoʻ.”          Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ
let thou-I-it-attempt test I it-think equal-both-thy-my-pace swift (is) and as a matter of fact.” So (then) now (then)

   waiʹĕñʼ,     “Dediioⁿgwägäʹdāt;  iʼʹkhoʻ  dĕⁿgioⁿgwägäʹdāt.     Hauʼʹ,          gāʹdjĭʻ       neʹkhoʻ
did-he-it-say, “Let thou-I-it-bend;  I-and  will-I-it-bend-bow. Go to, Come, hither do thou come  here

      dedīʹdăt,       neʼʹ neʻʹ       dĕⁿdwĕñʹĕⁿʻdād       neʻʹ   oñgniʼnoⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ.       Hauʼʹ,      oʹnĕⁿʻ
doth let-thou-I-stand that the  will we (pl.) run (a race) the  both our arrow-several. Go to, Come, now (then)

     ĕnhniʼʹyāk.       Ganioʼʹ         ĕⁿdidiătʹkăʼ,        dāʹ   oʹnĕnʻ       dĕⁿdiĕⁿʻʹdād        oʹnĕⁿʻ.
will thou-I-it shoot. As soon as will-thou-I-it-l et loose, so  now (then) both-will-tho u-I-run now (then).


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ       nāʹeʻ            wāniʼʹyāk       oʹnĕⁿʻ-sʻhoñʹkhoʻ      oʼdiĕⁿʻʹdād.      Neʼʹ neʻʹ ăgwăsʹ
Now (then) verily, truly, they two (m.)-it shot now then just-and did they two (m.) run. That the   very

   sʻhăʼdegadaʹdieʼ;    neʼʹ weʹgĕñ  neʻʹ     otʹkāʻ     neʼʹ      găʼskwäʼʹsʻhoⁿʼă             deiodidĕñʹsʻhoñ
even-both-it-flew along that ?simply the  it (n.)-sounds that it (n.)-stone-several-small they (n.)-flying (are)-just

 heʹ   niioʻsnōʹweʼ  neʻʹ     deidăkʹheʼ.
where so-it-swift is the  both they ran along.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgowā         heʼʹtkĕⁿʻ   waātgātʹʻhoʼ   waāʹgĕⁿʼ     neʼʹhoʻ     degiʹdieʼ     neʻʹ
Now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) above upward did he look  did he-it-see   there  two they (n. an.) the

     hniʼnoⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼă          sʻhăʼdegadāʹdieʼ.     Neʼʹhoʻ   heʼʹtkĕⁿʻ          oʼtʻhinăⁿʼhoñʹniă&mlapo s;k
b oth-their-arrows-several even-both-i t-flew along.  There  above on high did-both-they (m.)-it-caught (on the fly)

    hniʼnoⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼă      ăgwăsʹ         sʻhăʼdiāʹwĕⁿʻ.
b oth-their-arrow-several  very  al ike-they-two (n.)-happened.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ     waiʹĕñʼ,        woōʹwĭʼ     neʻʹ     hăksăʼʹgowā,      “Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ
Now (then) the  human being did he-it-say did-he-him-tell the  he (an.)-child-great, “Come,  now (then)

    djidiăʻʹgēt.”               Oñsānīʹioⁿʼ            heʹoñweʻ        tkăʻhoñwāʹiĕⁿʼ.
let us two turn back.” There-again-both-they returned there where there it (n.)-canoe lies.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ      hāʹdoⁿʻ     neʼʹhoʻ      Iʹeʼs:          “Dāʹ    neʼʹ     tchigāʹdoⁿʻ.     Iʼʹ
So (then) now (then) the  human being he kept saying  there  he walked around: “So (then) that while-I-keep-saying. We

    nāʹeʻ           dediadĕⁿnoñʹdeʼ.                Sʻhăʼdediiănōʹweʼ;            sʻhăʼdediiăʼdoʼʹd&ebr eve;ⁿʻ-khoʻ;
verily, truly, both thou-I-brothers-(are). Equ ally both-I-swift of foot (are); alike both-thy-my-body-and shape (is);

        sʻhăʼdedinĕñʹies-khoʻ;          oñgiăʼäʻnoⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿ ʼ         sʻhăʼdeioʼʹdäñ,
alike both thy-my-height and long (is);  thy-my-bow-several  alike-both-it (n.)-inform (are),

oñgiăʼnoⁿʼsʻhoⁿʼ-kho&tcomm a;          sʻhăʼdeioʼʹdäñ.             Dāʹ    neʼʹ   waiʻʹ        gayĕndeʹi      neʼʹ
  they-my-arrow-several-and   alike-both-it (n.)-in-form (are). So (then) that of course it-it-knows (shows) that

  dōʹgĕⁿs      Iʼʹ           dedyadäⁿnonʹdēʼ.         Isʹ      yanoʼʹsĕⁿ     neʻʹ Oktēoñʹdoⁿʼ, Iʼʹ-khoʻ
true (it is) we (two) both thou and I brothers (are). Thou he-thy-uncle (is) the   Okteondon,   I-and

   hagnoʼʹsĕⁿ.       Dāʹ.    Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ          ĕⁿdyăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ            hōʹgwā
he-my-uncle (is). So (then). Come,  now (then) wi ll-both-thou-I-start (go) aside yonder

         hĕⁿdyatgāʹniēʼ.              Hoñʹweʻ          hĕⁿʻʻneʼ       neʼʹhoʻ niʼʹăʻ     gatgānieʼʹtʻhăʼ.”
there will thou-I amuse ourselves. There (where) hence will thou-I-go  there  I alone I-sel f-amuse-use-(it).”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgōwā             deʼāʹdokhăʼ      neʻʹ    năʼʹot         hotʻhiuʹwi
So (then) now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) not-he-it-comprehends the  kind of thing he-it-telling (is)

   waiʹĕⁿʼ,     “Nioʻʹ.”      Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹ    noñʹgweʻ        waiʹĕⁿʼ,    “Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ      gāʹsniʻ
did-he-it-say, “So be it.” So (then) now (then) that the-human being did-he-it-say, “Come, now (then) hither come ye

 hoñʹgāk    neneʻʹ      agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ ăʻ.     Gaʹoʼ       nondāʹsueʻ.”
wild geese the which it-my-slaves severally (are). Hither again-hither-come ye.”


 Ganioʼʹ     waādwĕñnoʼkdĕⁿʼ    oʹnĕⁿʻ  neʻʹ  hoñʹgāk   neʼʹhoʻ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    oʼdwĕñniʼdyoñʼdăʼt
As soon as did-he-his-word end now then the  wild geese  there  now (then) did they (n.) alight

    gaoñwăⁿkdăʹdie-khoʻ        oʼwĕñnäⁿdiăʼdaniioñʹdeⁿ&m lapos;.   Oʹnĕⁿ&tcomma ;   diqʹ   neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ
it (n.)-canoe-side-along-and did-they (n.)-own-body-affix (to it).   Now (then)   moreover the  human being

     saādeʼnoⁿʹdā      neʻʹ    gaoñʹwăkoñ    neʼʹhoʻ-khoʻ āʹeʼ  waādeʼnoⁿʹdā neʻʹ        hăksăʼgōwā.           Oʹnĕⁿʻ
again-he-self-embarked the  it (n.)-canoe-in  there-and   again did-he-self- the  he (an.)-child-great (is). Now (then)

neʻʹ    oñʹgweʻ      waiʹĕñʼ        woōʹwĭʼ      neʻʹ  hoñʹgāk,   “Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ  hoʼʹsweʻ    heʹoñweʻ
the   human being did-he-it-say did-he-them-tell the  wild geese, “Come, now (then)  there  hence ye-go there where

             tgāwēʹnot.”
there it (n.) island (is) protrudes.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ  hoñʹgāk      oʼwadīʹgăweʼ           osnōäʹdieʼ        neʼʹhoʻ        wāʹneʼ        heʻʹ
Now (then) the  wild geese did-they-it-paddle it (n.)-swift went along  there  thither-both they go there

           tgāwēʹnot.
there-it-(n.)-island-protrudes.


   Dāʹ,      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ       waādĕñnoʹdĕⁿʼ     neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ,        hāʹdoⁿk,        “Oʹnĕⁿʻ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ,
So (then), now (then) moreover did-he-his-song utter the  human being, he-it-saying kept, “Now (then), now (then),

  oʹnĕⁿʻ     gīʹ    neʻʹ   oʼgăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.”    Neʼʹsʻhoñ         hodĕñnodăʹdieʼ                 heʹniioweʼ
now (then) it seems the   did-I-self-start.” That-only he-own-song uttering went along there-so-it-distant (is)

        wāniʹioⁿʼ          heʹoñweʻ       hotʻhiuʹwi         hatganiesʹtʻhăʼ.
there-did-they-two arrive there where he-it-telling-kept he-self-(to) amuse uses.


 Oʹnĕⁿʻ        nāʹeʻ              hoʼgīʹioⁿʼ         neʼʹhoʻ,      hoʼwăʼdiʻʹheʼt       gwăʼʹʻhoʻ.    Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ
Now (then) verily, truly, there-did-they (n.) arrive  there,  there-did-the y (n.)-stop also, too. So (then) now (then)

  diqʹ   wāyādeʼnoⁿʻdăʻʹgo& mlapos;  heʹoñweʻ          gawēʹnot.           Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,
moreover   did-they-two-disembark   there where it (n.) island-projects. Now (then) the  human being did-he-it-say,

“Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻho& supn;ʼ,  hoñʹgāk,     swadekhwiʻʹsākhăʻ.”      Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ
“Come, now (then)  my-slave (-s = several)  wild geese, you-self-f ood-seek-go.” Now (then) moreover

       oʼwĕñnādeʼʹgoʼ           oʼtgoñdīdĕⁿʼ.       Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Gănioʼʹ     ĕⁿgiʼʹ,
did-they (n.)-flee (disperse) did they (n.) fly. So (then) now (then) moreover did-he-it-say, “Whenever will-I-it-say,

‘Gāʹoʼ         nondāʹsweʻ,         Iʼʹ     nāʹeʻ      neʼʹ    ĕⁿgiʼʹ,”     neʹkhoʻ    ĕⁿdjiswāʹyoⁿʼ.”
‘Hither hither-again-(do) ye come,  I  verily (truly) that will-I-it-say,”  there  with you (pl.) arrive.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   waādyĕñʹtʻhoʼ  neʻʹ   gaoñʹwăʼ    neʼʹhoʻ    gāniādākʹdăʼ      wōoʹeⁿʼʹheʼt.     Dāʹ
So (then) now (then) moreover did-he-it-draw the  it (n.)-canoe  there  it (n.) lake-beside did-it-it-stop. So (then)

  oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʼʹhoʻ         hēʹdneʻ          heʹoñweʻ
now (then) the  human being did-he-it-say, “Now (then) moreover  there  thither-thou-I-go (let) there where

gătgāʹnieʼtʻhăʼ.&rdquo ;   Oʹnĕⁿʻ      waāyăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.
I-self-(to)-amuse-use.”  Now (then) did-the y-two-depart.


   Dăʼaonisʻheʼʹoñʻ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ          wānīʹioⁿʼ.            Dāʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʹgōwā          neʼʹhoʻ
Not-it (n.)-lasted long now (then)  there  (there)-did-they-two-arrive. So then the  he (an.)-child great (is)   there

  waāʹgĕⁿʼ     naⁿʹdăʻ   noñʹ          nīʹwăʼ         neʻʹ   kăʼʹskwāʼ        ganĕñyăgäⁿʹĕnt      neʼʹhoʻ  igāʹyĕⁿʼ.
did-he-it-see this (so) perhaps so-it (n.)-large (is) the  it (n.) stone it (n.)-stone-white (is)  there  it (n.) lay.

   Dāʹ    neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ      waiʹĕñʼ    neʼʹhoʻ,    “Nīʹgĕⁿʼ     neʹkhoʻ     gătgānieʼtʻhăʼ.        Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ
So (then) the  human being did-he-it-say  there,  “But (so it is)  here   I-self-it-to-a muse-use. Now (then) moreover

         deⁿsegāʹneʼk              heʻʹ        nĕⁿgyeʹäʼ    hăʼdjigwăsʹ.”
both-will-thy-eye(s)-on (it) be how (there) so-will-I-it-do   shortly.”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ      waiʻʹ         waāgăʼʹtchĭʼ     neʻʹ       hoʻcioñʹni,          waādeʼnostoñʹnĭʼ.      Oʹnĕⁿʻ
So (then) now (then) truly verily did-he (an.)-it-undo there he-self-dressed-(has), did he-self-naked make. Now (then)

  gwăʼʹhoʻ        oʼʹtʻhăk      neʻʹ   găʼʹskwāʼ    neʼneʻʹ        ganĕñyăgäⁿʹĕnt      neʼʹhoʻ      waoʹdĭʼ
next in order did he-it-take up the  it (n.) stone that which it (n.) stone-white-(is)  there  thither-he-it-cast

   oneʹgăʼgeʻ      gwăʼʹhoʻ,   ăgwăsʹ         onō‵des,         “bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ,    oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.     Oʹnĕⁿʻ-khoʻ
it (n.) water-on next in order  very  it (n.) depth-long (is), “bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ, did-it-it-say. Now-(then) and

neʼʹhoʻ      waādyăʼdoʼʹyāk         waāʻʹdōʼ         oʼyoʹnĭsʻheʼt.
 there  did-he-his-own- body cast did-he-self- did-it (n.)-last long time.


   Dāʹ    neʻʹ howăⁿwăⁿʹdĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ Oktēʹoñdoⁿʼ neʼʹhoʻ          deagāneʼʹsʻhoñ,               heʻʹniōdiēʹĕⁿʻ      neʻʹ
So (then) the  he-his -nephew the   Okteondon   there  both his eyes on it (is)-severally su ch so it-it-has-done the

  oñʹgweʻ.      Dāʹ    dyĕñʹgwăʻ siʹ         saaʻʹdōgoʼ          neʻʹ         deyāʹdī          neʹkhoʻ
human being. So (then) suddenly  lo! again-he-self-dis-immer ses the  both they together (are)  here

        niōyeōñʹdieʼ          neʻʹ   găʼʹskwāʼ.    Ganioʼʹsʻhoñ   saādeʼskōʹgoʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ      hōʹgwā
so-he-it-has-done coming back the  it (n.)-stone. As-soon-as-just   again-he    now (then) aside yonder

     waōʹdĭʼ      neʻʹ   găʼʹskwāʼ.     Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Neʼʹhoʻ   oʹnĕⁿʻ     nīsʹ
there-he-it-threw the  it (n.)-stone. Now (then) the  human being did-he-it-say,  “There  now (then) the-thou

  neʼʹhoʻ         nĕⁿʹcyeʼ.”
thus (there) so-wilt-thou-it-do.”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā           waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ    nyoʻʹ.       Oʹnĕⁿʻ
So (then) now (then) moreover the  he (an.)-child great (is) did-he-it-say, “Come, so let it be. Now (then)

ĕⁿgadeʼnyĕñʹdĕⁿʼ.& rdquo;   Oʹnĕⁿʻ       nāʹeʻ       waāgăʼʹtchĭʼ  neʻʹ      hoʻcyoñʹnī,       ăgwasʹ
will-I-self-it-attempt.”  Now (then) verily, truly, did-he-it-undo the  he-it-self-dressed-has  very

   waādeʼnostoñʹnĭʼ,        oʼtʻhăk-ʹkhoʻ      neʻʹ   găʼʹskwāʼ   neʻʹ      ganĕñyăgäⁿʹĕnt      neʼʹhoʻ weʹĕⁿʻ
did-he-self-naked make, did-he-it take up -and the  it (n.) stone the  it (n.) stone-white (is)  there   far

  oʻnegăʼʹgeʻ         waōʹdĭʼ,      oʹnĕⁿʻʹ     dĭqʹ   neʼʹhoʻ-khoʻ haeʼʹgwă   waaʻʹdōʼ,       waādyăʼdoʼʹyak
it (n.)-water-on  did-he-it-throw, now (then) moreover  there -and  too also, did-he-dive, did-he-own-body-lance d

  oʻnegăʼʹgeʻ.      Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʻʹ   găʼʹskwāʼ   “bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ,”      soʼʹgĕⁿʼ.
it (n.) water-on. Now (then) moreover the  it (n.) stone “bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ, bubʻ,” again-it-it-did say.


 Gānyoʼʹsʻhoñ            waaʻʹdōʼ          neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā         oʹnĕⁿʻ      nāʹeʻ      neʻʹ
As-soon-as-just did-he-self-immerse (dive) the  he (an.)-child-great (is) now then verily, truly. the

      hoñʹgwe,           oʼʹtʻhăk      neʻʹ hocyoñnyasʹʻhäʼ neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā         hōʹwĕⁿʻ,
he (an.) human being did-he-it-take up the    his-raiment   the  he (an.) child great (is) he-it-owns,

      waʻʹhāʼ       neʻʹ      gagwēʹgoⁿ.       Neʼʹhoʻ-khoʻ aʹeʼ        hoñsaʹeʼ         heʹoñweʻ
did-he-it take away the  it (n.) entire (all).  There-and   again thither-again-he-goes there where

     tkăʻhoñwāʹyĕⁿʼ.         Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼhāʹyoⁿʼ        oʹnĕⁿʻ   haeʼʹgwă   wăäⁿʹnoⁿk
there-it (n.) canoe-lies. So (then) now (then)  there  did-he (an.)-arrive now (then)   also   did he-it-call

   waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ   gaʹoʼ         nondāʹsweʻ.”           Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ
did-he-it-say, “Come, now (then) my-slave(s)-severally hither again hither-do-you-come.” So (then) now (then)

oʼtʻhăʻdjaʹĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ   găhoñʹwăʼ     oʻhnegăʼʹgeʻ                 wăʻʹhoʼ                     waadeʼnoⁿʻʹdä-khoʻ.
d id-he-it-push the  it (n.) canoe it (n.) water-on there-he-it (n.)-put in-to (liquid) did-he-self-put-i nto (it)-and.

  “Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ      waiʹĕñʼ      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ     hoñsaswadōʹgĕⁿnt       heʹoñweʻ
“Now (then) moreover did-he-it-say “Now (then)  there  thither-again-(do)-you-go there where

      diyoñgwăʻdĕñʹdyoñ,        neʻʹ  agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ   neʼʹ neʻʹ  hoñʹgāk.”      Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ    oʼwadīʹgăweʼ
thence-we (incl.) started-have, the  my-slave(s)-severally that the  wild geese.” So (then) now (then) did-they-paddle

neʻʹ   hoñgāk         oʻsnoʹädieʼ.
the  wild geese it (n.) swift-went along.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ-khoʻ neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā        neʼneʻʹ  Oktēʹoñdoⁿʼ howäⁿwăⁿʹdĕⁿʼ      saaʻʹdōʹgoʼ
So (then) that-and  the  he (an.) child great (is) that-the  Okteondon   his nephew   again he-self came up

   hāaʹwĭʼ    neʻʹ   găʼʹskwāʼ   neʼʹneʻʹ   ganĕñyăgäⁿʹĕnt-gowānĕ&su pn;     hōʹgwā-khoʻ        waōʹdĭʼ
he-it-carried the  it (n.) stone that-the it (n.)-stone-white-(rock) large aside-yonder-and did-he-it-throw

 oʹnĕⁿʻ-khoʻ   saādeʼsgōʹgoʼ.
now (then) and again-he-self.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ               deōtkăʻtoñʹnioⁿʼ                 deʼgătgăʼʹhoʻ     neʻʹ   oñʻgweʻ   neʼʹ ʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
Now (then) verily both he-his-eyes-casts around successively not-anywhere-a t-all the  human being that  and  the

   deʼgătgăʼʹhoʻ    neʻʹ      hoʻcioñniăsʹʻhäʼ.         Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ      diqʹ   neʼʹhoʻ       waādākʹheʼ
not anywhere at all the  his-raiment (his garments). So (then) now (then)  moreover  there  thither-he-running-goes

 heʼoñweʻ   neʼʹ     hēʹeʼ          tgăhoñwāʹyĕⁿʼ.          Dāʹ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ   waāʹyoⁿʼ    waātgātʹʻhoʼ
there where that he-it-thought there-it (n.)-canoe-lies. So (there) now (then)  there  did-he-arrive did-he-look

  oʹnĕⁿʻ       nāʹeʻ       weʹĕⁿʻ           waodigaweāʹdieʼ          neʻʹ  hoñʹgāk   neʻʹ   găhoñwăʼ    neʼʹhoʻ
now (then) verily, truly, far away thither-they-it-paddling-go-along the  wild geese the  it (n.) canoe  there

   hăʼnoⁿʻdākʹheʼ    neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ.
he (an.)-aboard-goes the  human being.


 Ganioʼʹ      ganyadākʹtăʼ         waāʹyoⁿʹ     neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā          oʹnĕⁿʻ   hotʻhoñʹdeʼ     dăāsʹnieʼt
As soon as it (n.)-lake-beside there he arrived the  he (an.)-child-great (is) now (then) he-it-hears thence-he-it-spoke

neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ,   neʼneʻʹ  Sʻhagowenōtʻhăʼ   hayāʹsoⁿʻ,      waiʹĕñʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ           oʼgwāʹnonʻ
the  human being, that-the   Sagowenota    he-called (is) did-he-it-say, “Now (then) did I-you-it-give (as food)

       henīʹdjoñ         neʻʹ    oʼʹwāʼ           īʹswas,         neʼneʻʹ    ganyodäʹgoñ   swanăñʹgeʼ.     Hiheʻʹ.”
there so you many number the  it (n.)-meat you-it-eat habitually, that-the it (n.) lake-in you-dwell.  Hiheʻʹ (excl.).”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ      oʼʹwāʼ             wäñʹneks            wăʼōnoʼesʹʻhăʼ   neʼʹneʻʹ
So (then) now (then) moreover the  human being it (n.)-meat they (g.)-eat-it-habitually  did they rejoice that-the

  oñʹgweʻ      oʼʹwāʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ      ĕⁿʹwak.    (Neʼʹ neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ    hĕñʹdoⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā
human being it (n.)-meat now (then) will you eat. That  the  human being he-it-means the  he (an.) child great (is)

neʼʹhoʻ ĕⁿʻhăʼwĕñʹdă&mla pos;t  heʹoñweʻ      woōwenōʹdĕⁿʼ.)
 there   will he (an.) perish  there where did-he-him en-island.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ    oʹnĕⁿʻ  neʻʹ   hauñwăⁿʹdĕⁿʼ   neʻʹ Oktēʹoñdoⁿʼ waaʻdĕñʹdĭʼ
So (then) that moreover now then the  his (an.)-nephew the   Okteondon  did-he-start

          oʼtʻhadawĕñʹnieʼ-khoʻ.                Wāasdāʹĕⁿʼ       oʹnĕⁿʻ.        Hăsdāeʹneʼs      neʼʹhoʻ     īʹeʼs,
did-h e-self-stir-from place to place and. Did-he-lament (weep) now (then) He-weeping goes about  there  he goes about,

neʻʹ              diioīʹwăʼ               neʼʹ neʻʹ  deʼōʹnoⁿʻdoⁿʼ   wĕñʹdoⁿʻ         ĕⁿsʻhăʼʹnyăgĕ&su pn;ʼt
the  thus-it (n.)-(matter (is)-reason-is) that the  not-he-it-kn ows   when   will-again-he-escape (get out of hand)

  heʻʹ           woōwēʹnodĕⁿʼ          neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ,      wāʹeʼ      nāʹeʻ    oʹnĕⁿʻ    noñʹ   niʼʹ oʼgiʹʻheʼ.
where-in did-he-him-island cause to be the     Sagowenota,    did-he-it-think verily now (then) perhaps  I   did-I-die.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ    heʹoñweʻ             deodawĕñʹnie            neʼʹhoʻ   waāʹgĕⁿʼ     heʹoñweʻ
So (then) that moreover there where he-self-stirs-from place to place  there  did-he-it-see there where

        tʻhăʼdihesʹtʻhăʼ             ganĕñyageoñdăʹdieʼ             hoʼdwagāyoⁿsdāʹneʼ.             Dāʹ    neʼʹhoʻ
ther e-he-self-it-(to) stop-uses it (n.)-bone(s)-piled-along every-it-(n.) old (age)-stands to.  So (then)  there

  waāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ       hayăsʹʻhĕⁿʼ      ʼăʻʹsoⁿ    honʹheʼ    neʼʹ     sĕⁿʹʼĕⁿ     hayăʼdiʼgeʻ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
did he-it-see the  human being he (an.)-supine-lies  still  he-alive (is) that in fact, indeed his body-on now (then)

   ōtʹgĕⁿʻ.              Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ             oʹnĕⁿʻ                woiʻwăneäʹgoʼ              neʼʹneʻʹ
it-rotten (is). Suddenly-just (all at once-just) now (then) did-him (it)-matter-skin-to-shake-canoe that-the

        hĕñʹgweʻ              wooʻtʻhāʹhăs        waiʹĕñ,
he (an.) human being (is) did-he-him-talked to did-he-it-say,


“Hiʹwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ,       gāʹdji        neʹkhoʻ.”   Oʹnĕⁿʻ     waiʻʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā        neʼʹhoʻ   wāʹeʼ,
“M y nephew,  hither-do-thou come  here.”   Now (then) of course the  he (an.)-child-great (is)  there  did-he-go,

neʼʹhoʻ wăkʹʼăʻ       oʼtʻhāʹdăʼt        heʹoñweʻ       hāyăsʹʻhĕⁿʼ      neʻʹ       hotʹʻhāʼ            hēʼʹ
 there  nearby  did-he-stop-(stan ding) there where he (an.)-supine lies the  he (an.)-talking (is) he-it-desired

       dĕⁿoiʻwăsʹnieʼ         neʼneʻʹ     honoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.
will-he-his-mat ter-attend to that-the he-his-uncle (is).


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ         hĕñʹgweʻ             waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ             ĕⁿsĕñdĕⁿsʹtʻheʼt.
Now (then) the  he (an.)-human being (is) did-he-it-say, “My nephew,  now (then)  will, shall-thee-it-poor-to-be-cause.

  Oʹnĕⁿʻ     nĕñʹ   isʹ         wāyāwenōʹdĕⁿʼ        neʻʹ Sʻhagoweʹnotʻhăʼ.    Dāʹ         djiaʹgoⁿ        diqʹ.
Now (then) this one thou did he-thee-island place on the     Sagowenota.    So (then) (do) thou be-brave moreover.

      Heyogoⁿʹsot       neʻʹhoʻ           sādyăʼ­datʹkoⁿʼ.             Dāʹ        djiāʹgoⁿ        diqʹ.      Dāʹ
There-it (n.)-over-tops verily  thy-own-bo dy-potent-magically (is). So then (do)-thou-be-brave moreover. So (then)

 oʹnĕⁿʻ    diqʹ      nĕñʹdă         nĕⁿʹsyeʼ              dĕⁿseĕñnogĕñʹnĭʼ         neʻʹ Sʻhagoweʹnotʻhăʼ.    Nĕñʹdă
now then moreover this (thing) so-wilt-thou-it-do shalt- thou-him-orenda-overmatch the     Sagowenota.    This (thing)

nāʹeʻ       nĕⁿʹsyeʼ      neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ      ĕⁿsāyoʼʹdĕⁿʻ.
indeed so-wilt-thou-it-do the  now (then) wilt- thou-it-work.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ                    hegääʻgwāʼʹăʻ                    oʹnĕⁿʻ     waiʻ
So (then) that moreover the  now (then) there it (n.)-sun-sets low (= is setting small) now (then) of course

          ĕⁿstăkheʻʹsoñʼ                     henigāʹwenăʼ.            Agwasʹ          ĕⁿsadyanāʹhoʼ
shalt-throw-run ning-go-repeatedly thus-so-it (n.)-island large (is).  Very  wilt-thou-self-it-track- put-on

     gagweʹgoⁿ              henigāʹwenăʼ.             Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ.    Ganyoʼʹ       ĕⁿyoʼʹgäʻ,        dāʹ
it (n.)-entire (is) thus-so-it (n.)-is-large (is). So (then) that moreover. As soon as will-it-it-darken, so (then)

  oʹnĕʻ    neʼʹhoʻ         hĕⁿtcʹheʼ          heʹoñweʻ          tʻhatʻoñwayĕñdăʹkwăʼ         neʻʹ Sʻhagoweʹnotʻhăʼ.
now (then)  there  there-again-shalt-thou-go there-where  there-he-it-his-canoe-to stop-uses the     Sagowenota.

  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ       hĕⁿʹcyoⁿʼ           dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ     ĕⁿsnoⁿʼʹgwăt        oʼneʻsăʹgoñ
Now (then)  there  there-wilt-thou-arrive so (then) now (then)  there  shalt-thou-it-dig-u p it (n.)-sand-in

      hăʼdegayeʹiʼ                   nĕⁿsoⁿʼʹheʼt             neʼʹhoʻ         hĕⁿsadyasʹʻhĕñʼ,
just-both-it (n.)-fitting so-shalt-thou-it-la rge-to be-cause  there  there-wilt-th ou-self-supine lay,

      oʻstoñʹsʻhoñ         tĕⁿwâⁿʼʹhäk   neʻʹ seʻsăʹgain.          Dĕntʻhyăkdoñʹneʼ          neʻʹhoʻ
it (n.)-little-just (is) will it-project the  thy-mouth.   Hence-will-he-thee -to-visit-come verily

       hăʼdewăsoñtʹʻhĕⁿ.             Sĕñʹnoⁿʻ            ĕⁿsaʹnoʻ­toñʼk       neʼʹ neʻʹhoʻ
just- it (n.) night-middle (is). Do-thou-it do-not wilt-thou-fear-(be afraid) that verily

             dĕⁿtʻhawiʹnoñdieʼ               neʻʹ otcīʹyäʼsʻhoⁿʼ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʹkhoʻ   waiʻʹ
will-hither-both-he -it (z.)-bring-severally the                 the  now (then)  here   of course

     ĕⁿsʻhāʹyoⁿʼ.         Dāʹ     gāʹnyoʼ          ĕⁿoñʼdīʹheʼt          oʹnĕⁿʻ,      dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ       ĕⁿʹĕñʼ,
will-again-he -return. So (then) as soon as will-they (z.) stop (land) now (then), so (then) now (then) will-he-it-say,

“Hauʼʹ        hesesniʹyăʼdiʻsăkhăʻ.          Twūʹăʻ,  twūʹăʻ,     twūʹăʻ.”     Oʹnĕⁿʻ naʹeʻ   oʹdoⁿʻ.
“Come  there-his-you-two-body-to-seek-do go. Twūʹăʻ,  twūʹăʻ,  twūʹăʻ.&rdquo ;  Now   verily it sounds.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ        ĕⁿsayanĕñʹauⁿʼ            hăʼdeʹyoñ      sădyāʹ­nāĕñʹnioⁿ&mla pos;,
Now (then) the  dog(s)  will-thy-(they) track take up just as many as thou-self-it-track put-on-hast,

 ĕⁿwĕñnĕñniʼyoʻswā&eb reve;ñʹnioñʼ,            dĕⁿwĕñnäⁿʻʹdatʻʹh oñʼ          neʼʹhoʻ   oʻnoⁿʼgĕⁿʼʹsʻho&su pn;ʼăʻ
will-they (n.)-it-scent-successively, will-they (n.)-run-severally to and fro  there  behind, just in the rear, just

    ĕⁿādăkheʼ      neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ.
will-he-running-go the    Sagowenota.


    Gāʹnioʼ     agwasʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ        ĕⁿʻʹseʼ         oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ      wēʹĕⁿʻ           hēʼsʹ          oʹnĕⁿʻ
Just as soon as  very  now (then) wilt-thou-it-think now (then) verily far, far away, he-goes-to and fro now (then)

 ĕⁿʻsatgoʻhĕñʹkwă&mlapos ;,    oʹnĕⁿʻ   heʻʹ       tgahoñwāʹiĕⁿʼ       neʼʹhoʻ hĕⁿʻʹsēʼ.
wilt thou-self-head-uncover, now (then) where there-it (n.)-canoe-lies  there  thither.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     ēⁿʻseʻcioñʹnĭʼ       hāʹeʼgwă      neʻʹ  gayăʼʹdăʼ   neʼneʻʹ
So (then) now (then) wilt-thou -it-make also (again-just) the  it (n.)-body that-the

             gayăʼdoñʹni                    năʹⁿʼot       neʼneʻʹ          hăʼdĕⁿsgyadyēʹĕñk          neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ
it (n.)-body-made (is) (doll) (figure) such-kind-of-thing that-the just-b oth-it-shall-again-alike-be the  human being

            heniyeyăʼdoʼʹdĕñ,             sĕⁿʻʹ       nĕⁿʹyoñk,           owāʹdjisdăʼ         oʻheʻʹsăʼ      khoʻʹ neʻʹ
such-as-one (an.)-body-kind of, shape of, three so many will-it-number it (n.)-rough-bark it (n.)-rotten log  and  the

     năⁿʼʹot             ĕⁿʻsoñʹnyăʼt.        Gāʹnioʼ        ĕⁿʻsadyĕñnoʼkdĕⁿʼ      neʼʹhoʻ  gĕⁿsʹ
such-kind of thing wilt thou-it-to-make-use. As soon as w ilt-thou-it-task-complete  there  usually

          hăʼ-deyoʼhoñweoʹgĕñ              dĕⁿāʹdăʼt   neʻʹ       gayăʼʹdăʼ          găʼʹnoⁿʼ    wăʼĕñʹnoⁿʼ-khoʻ  gĕⁿsʹ
just where two-it-it-branch (is) divided will-he-stand the  it (n.)-body, (figure) it (n.)-arrow it (n.)-bow-and usually

          ĕⁿaāʹwăʼk           neʼʹhoʻ  nĕⁿyoʼʹdĕñʹoñk         ayĕñʼʹ       ĕⁿʻhăʼāʹgwă&mlapo s;.      Gagweʹgoⁿʻ
will-he-it-hold, have in-hand  there  so will-it-appear would-one-it-think   will-he-it-shoot.   It (n.)-entire (all)

  neʼʹhoʻ         nĕⁿʹcyeʼ.”
there (thus) so-wilt-thou-it-do.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā        neʼʹhoʻ    waiʹĕñʼ,       daasʹnyeʼt,         “Ganōʹoⁿʼ     naʹeʻ.
Now (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is)  there  did-he-it-say, back-he-it-spoke,  “It (n.)-hopeless verily.

Dăʼgwaisʹdĕⁿʼ   dăʼāʹgyĕⁿʼ   neʼneʻʹ          agadyeʹäʼdŭk.”           Deʼaoñnisʻheʼʹoñʼ     oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
Not anything  not-I-it-have  that-the should-I-self-it-employ-with .” Not-it-long-time was now (then) the

hăʼnĕñyadĕⁿʻdāʼ&ml prime;sʻhoñ      daasʻnyeʼt,             odäⁿäⁿtʹ          he-niodonʻhoⁿgāʹnyĕñ,        waiʹĕñʼ,
he (an.)-bone-lying flat just  thence-he-it-answered, it (n.)-pitiful (is) where-so-he-suff ering (is), did-he-it-say,

 “Heʹoñweʻ    huiʹgĕñ   găʻswĕⁿʼʹdaiyĕⁿ&ml apos; neʼʹhoʻ sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ gāʹyĕⁿʼ neʻʹ agoñʹgesʻhäʼ,  skayanănēʹgēⁿʼ
“There where that-it-is it (n.)-rotten lies log   there  indeed,  it-lies the  my-skin-pouch,     fisher

    năⁿʼʹot,      goʼʹgeʻ           hoʼsēʹgoʻ.”
the-kind-of-thing in-haste thence-thou-it-bring.&rdq uo;


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā              wăaʹgoʼ        neʻʹ  hoñgesʹʻhäʼ   neʼneʻʹ  skayanănēʹgĕⁿʼ
So (then) now (then) the  he (an.) child-great (is) thence-he-it-brought the  his-skin-pouch that-the     fisher

     năⁿʼʹot.        Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʻʹ    honoʼʹsĕⁿʻ     neʼʹhoʻ     waāʹdăʻgoʼ     neʻʹ gagănyăʼsʻhäʼ, khoʻʹ neʻʹ
the-kind-of-thing. Now (then) moreover the  he-his-uncle (is)  there  did-he it-take out the  it (n.)-knife,  and  the

otʻhäʹʼ­gwĕⁿʼdă&mla pos;      yeniĕñkaoʼkʹtʻhăʼ       khoʻʹ neʻʹ   onäʻʹsăʼ.    Daoñwaiʹyĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ
     it (n.)-flint       one-it-to- make-uses a-spark  and  the  it (n.)-spunk He-it-him-gave the

       hăksăʼʹgōwā.
he (an.)-child-great (is).


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā          waaʻsāʹwĕⁿʼ         waaʻcyoñniaʹnoñʼ       neʻʹ
So (then) that moreover now (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is) did-he-it-begin did-he-it-make in succession the

 gayăʼʹdăʼs̆ʻhoⁿ&m lapos;ăʻ,  sĕⁿʻʹ       niʹyoñ,         wăʼäʹnoⁿʼ    găʼnoⁿʼ-ʹkhoʻ    gĕⁿsʹ     hāāʼʹ,
it (n.)-body-several, (dolls) three so many it-numbered, it (n.) bow it (n.) arrow and usually he-it-holds,

     tgayeʹiʼ           heniʹyot       wăʼhăsʹnyeʼt  neʻʹ     honoʼʹsĕⁿ.       Oʹnĕⁿʻ        waādyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ
both-it-alike (is) where-so-it-form is did-he-it-say the  he-his-uncle (is). Now (then) did-he- self-task-complete

  gagweʹgoⁿ.       Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   oʼtʻhĕⁿäʻdātʹʻho& supn;ʼ. Neʼʹ       diiuiʹwăʼ             waayăʼdoñnyaʹnoñʼ
it (n.)-entire. So (then) now (then) did-he run successively.  That so it (n.) reason (is) did-he-dolls-make-severa lly

neʻʹ  gayăʼʹdăʼ   ĕⁿhoʼnigoⁿʻgĕñʹnĭ& mlapos; neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ     iʹyas,    neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ,       nōʹnĕⁿʻ
the  it (n.)-doll will-it-his-mind-overmatch the  human being he-it-eats, the    Sagowenota,     the now (then) when

     ĕⁿsʻhāʹyoⁿʼ      neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ              ĕⁿyoʼʹgäʻ.
will-again-he- return the  now (then) will-it-it-darken (become dark).


 Gāʹnioʼ        waādyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ        gagweʹgoⁿ,       dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  oʼtʻhĕⁿäʻdātʹʻho& supn;ʼ
As soon as did-he- self-task-complete it (n.)-entire, so (then) now (then) verily did-he-run-successively

          he-nigawēʹnăʼ            neʼʹ     diiuiʹʻwăʼ      neʼneʻʹ      ĕⁿhoʼnigoⁿgĕñʹnĭʼ,
where-so-it (n.)-island-large (is) that such-it-season-(is) that-the will-he-his-mind-overmatch,

ĕⁿhoʼnigoⁿhoⁿʼʹdäⁿ&mla pos;, neʼneʻʹ   hoʻswāʹĕⁿs  neʼʹ khoʻʹ neʻʹ hosʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ& abreve; neʻʹ tcīʹyäʼ.
  will-he-his-mind-deceive   that-the he-him-hates that  and  the    he-it-slave(s) several   the  dog(s).


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ      hagĕⁿʹdji          waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ, djāʹgoⁿ,  hiwāʹdĕⁿʼ.     Ĕⁿsonʹʻhek
So (then) now (then) the  he (an.) ancient-one did-he-it-say, “Come,  be brave, my nephew. Shalt-thou-alive-be

  neʻʹhoʻ    neʼʹ neʻʹ         ĕⁿʻsiwayēʹis             nĕñʹ          năⁿʼʹot         oʹnĕⁿʻ      oʼʹgiʼ.”       Dāʹ
it is a fact that the  wilt-thou-it-matter-fulfi ll this (thing) such-kind of thing now (then) did-I-it-say.” So (then)

neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā             dăasʹnyeʼt          waiʹĕñʼ,      “Niʹioʻ     neʼʹhoʻ
that moreover the  he (an.)-child-great (is) thence-he-it answered did-he-it-say, “So (be) it thus (there)

   nĕⁿʹgyeʼ,           ĕⁿgiwāyeʹis,            nĕñʹ          năⁿʼʹot            oʼʹsiʼ.”
so will I-it-do, will-I-it-matter-fulfill, this (thing) such-kind-of-thing didst-thou-it-say.”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ      waaʻdĕñʹdĭʼ     neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā              haāwinonʹdieʼ       neʻʹ
So (then) now (then) moreover did-he (an.)-start the  he (an.)-child-great (is) he-it-carrying goes along the

     gayăʼʹdăʼ.        Oʹnĕⁿʻ    gĕⁿsʹ  neʼʹhoʻ  heʹoñweʻ         deyoʼhoñweōʹgĕñ        neʼʹhoʻ  gĕⁿsʹ
it (n.)-body (doll). Now (then) usually  there  there where two-it-it-branch forked (is)  there  usually

       oʼtʻhāʹdăs        neʼneʻʹ   gayăʼʹdăʼ   sĕⁿʻʹ          niʹyoñ             neʼʹhoʻ     gĕⁿsʹ    nâⁿʹyeʼ.    Weʹsoʼ
did-he-it-cause to stand that-the it (n.)-body three so many it-in number (is) there (thus) usually so-he-it-did.  Much

   waakʹdoñʼ             hegawāʹnot           neʼneʻʹ        ganăkdiʹio                heʹ gäʹit,         neʼʹ nāʹeʻ
did-he-it-search where-it (n.)-island-floats that-the  it (n.)-place-fine (is) where-it (n.)-tree stands, that verily

 gĕⁿsʹ  neʻʹ  weʹĕⁿʻ          heʹ gäʹit         neʻʹ  heʹoñweʻ      watʻhoñwayĕñdăkʹhwăʼ;      neʼʹhoʻ      nâⁿʹyeʼ
usually the  far away where-it-(n.)-tree stands the  there where it-sel f-canoe-to-lie-uses; there (thus) so-he-it-did

     heʻʹ            dĕⁿhoʼnigoⁿgĕñʹnĭʼ       neʻʹ  hoʻswāʹĕⁿs  neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ        dĕⁿtʻhoñwayăʼ­diʻsăk ʹhăʼ
where (so that) so-will-he-his-mind-overmatch the  he-him-hates the  now (then) thence-will-he-his-body-to-seek-come

neʻʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ           ĕⁿyoʼʹgäʻ.
the  now (then) = when will-it-it-darken.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ        oʼgäsʹʼăʻ          oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ       wāʹeʼ       neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā
So (then) now (then) verily it-it-darkens a little now (then)  there  thither-did-he-go the  he (an.)-child-great (is)

 heʹoñweʻ    tʻhatʻhoñwayĕñdăkʹhwă&mlapos ;   neʻʹ  hoʻswāʹĕⁿs,   heʹoñweʻ           niōnăkdäʹgwĕñ           heʻ
there where there-he his-canoe to-lie uses it the  he-him-hates, there where there-he-it-place has selected where

    ĕⁿadăʻseʻʹdăʼ.      Gāʹnioʼ   neʼʹhoʻ     waāʹyoⁿʼ       oʹnĕⁿʻ         waādyoʼʹdat       neʼneʻʹ
w ill-he-self-conceal. As soon as  there  there-he-arrived now (then) did-he-self-set-to work that-the

   waāyadoñʹnĭʼ     neʼʹhoʻ    oʼneʻʹsăgoñ         neʼʹhoʻʹdjiʻ          nīʹwăʼs.      Deʼaonisʻheʼʹoñʼ     oʹnĕⁿʻ
did he-it-hole make  there   it (n.)-sand-in there-just (=just right) so-it-large-is. Not-it-long time-is now (then)

    waādyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ,      dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʼʹhoʻ  waādyăsʹʻhĕñʼ     oʼneʹʻsăgoñ.   Neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
did-he -his-task-complete, so  now (then) moreover  there  did-he-self-lay  it (n.)-sand in. The  now (then)

   wăʼoʼʹgäʻ     neʼʹhoʻ hayăsʻhĕⁿʼʹsʻhoñ,  neʼʹhoʻ ostʻhoñʹsʻhoñ  dewăʼʹhāʼ  neʻʹ        hăsăgainʹ,
did-it-it-darken  there  he supine lay just  there  it-small-just it-projects the  his face-hole = his mouth

      tgayēʹiʼ       nāʹeʻ  ha­doñʹnyeʼs. Neʼʹhoʻ   waiʻʹ    hăʼnigoⁿʹʻäⁿʼ  neʻʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ       ĕⁿsʻhāʹyoⁿʼ      neʻʹ
it (n.) correct (is) verily he-breathes.   There  of course his-mind-is -on the  now then will-again-he- arrive the

 hoʻswāʹĕⁿs,  neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ.
he-him-hates, the    Sagowenota.


  Oʼyoʹnĭsʻheʼt   neʻʹhoʻ  hayăsʻʹhĕⁿʼ  neʼʹhoʻ  hăʼnigoⁿʹʻäⁿʼ  neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ        ĕⁿsʻhāʼyoⁿʼ      neʻʹ
Did-it-delay-long  there  he-supine lay  there  his-mind-is -on the  now (then) will-again-he-a rrive the

   oñʹgweʻ       īʹyas.    Honoⁿʻʹdoⁿʼ        he-nīʹyoñ         neʻʹ   hotʻhyuʹwi   neʻʹ honoⁿʼʹsĕⁿ      gagweʹgoⁿ
human being(s) he-it-eats. He-it-knew  there-so-it-numbers-many the  he-it-him told the  his-uncle  it (n.) entire (is)

       ĕⁿgaiwăyeʹiʻ.         Honoⁿʻʹdoⁿʼ   waiʻʹ         he-niōyăʼdătʹgoⁿʼ        neʼneʻʹ  dăʼgwisdĕⁿʼ
will-it-matter fulfilled be. He-it-knew  of course there- so-his-body ot-kon (is) that-the not-anything

deʼaoⁿ­wĕñdjanăʼgōʹw äs.
not-it-him-earth-affects.


   Dāʹ      neʼhoʻʹsʻhoñ     nīʹyot     oʼyoʹnis& tcomma;heʼt.      Hăʼdewăʻsoñtʻʹhĕ&supn ;    oʹnĕⁿʻ      oʼgāʹāt,
So (then) thus-just (there) so it is did-it (n.)-remain. (endure). Just-it (n.)-night-middle now (then) did-it-it-pass

  oʹnĕⁿʻ    noñʹ   tʻhōʹhă         dĕⁿdwĕñdōʹdĕⁿʼ            oʹnĕⁿʻ   dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ hotʻhoñʹdeʼ neʻʹ
now (then) perhaps nearly  will -it-day-project (protrude) now (then) suddenly-just  he-it-hears the

       hăksăʼʹgōwā            tchihogăʼĕñʹyoⁿʼ        heʹ-ganyōʹdaeʼ     oʹnĕⁿʻ            dayodiʼsʹdāʹdieʼ
he (an.)-child-great (is) while-he-it-w as-watching where-it (n.)-lake now (then) hither-it (n.)-noise-arising-comes

adiʼgwāʼ      năⁿʼʹot       neʼʹhoʻ       odogĕⁿʹdĭʻ       heʻʹ        gawēʹnot.
unknown  such-kind-of thing  there  itself-steers directly where it (n.)-island-floats.


 Dăʼaonisʻhēʹʼoñʼ    oʹnĕⁿʻ   hotʻhoñʹdeʼ             dayonadiʼsdāʹdieʼ             neʻʹ  hoñgakʹ
No t-it-lasts-long now (then) he-it-hears hither-they (n.)-their-noise-arising come the  wild geese

    odigaweoñʹdieʼ      neʻʹ  găʻhoñʹwăʼ   neʼneʻʹ       howēʹnōdĕⁿ      neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā,        neʼʹkhoʻ
they (z.)-paddling come the  it (n.)-canoe that-the he-him-island-put on the  he (an.) child-great (is), that-and

hotʻhoñʹdeʼ neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ     onadiʼsʹdāʼ,      agwasʹ igĕñʹ           odigāʹyĕⁿs                awadisʹʻhēʼ
he-it-hears the  dog(s)  their (z.)-self noise  very  it-is they (z.)-keenly-willing (are) should-they-it-pursue

  hăʼgwisʹdĕⁿʼ,   neʼʹ        diiuiʻʹwăʼ         neʻʹ neʼʹ neʼʹhoʻ     wāʹdiks         gawēʹnăʼgeʻ    neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ
whatsoever thing, that there-it (n.) reason (is) the  that  there  they (z.)-it-eat it (n.)-island-on the  human being

      oʼʹwāʼ;            gayĕñdeʹi     heʻʹ             nihayĕñnoʼʹdĕⁿʻ            neʻʹ neʼʹ hoʻsʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿ& mlapos;
it (n.)-meat; flesh;  it (z.)-it-knows where such-his-manner-of-doing-kind of (is) the  that  his (an.)-slaves-several

neʻʹ   oñʹgweʻ     īʹyas.
the  human being he-it-eats.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ           tci-hotʻhoⁿʻdiyosʹdoⁿ          hotʻhoñʹdeʼ     dāyotkāʹeʻ,
So (then) that moreover now (then) as, while, he his ear(s)-fine-has made he-it-hears there-it-sound-arose

oʹñĕⁿ&tcomm a; waaʼdīʹheʼt neʻʹ neʼʹ        haoñwayăʼdiʻsăkʹhăʼ        neʻʹ hoñwaʻswāʹĕⁿs.    Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ
  now (then)   did-he-land the  that t hence-he-his-body-to-seek-comes the  he-him-hates.  So (then) now (then) moreover

hotʻhoñʹdeʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
he-it-hears now (then) the


Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ    waiʹĕñʼ,        “Hauʼʹ       oʹnĕⁿʻ      seswayăʼdĭʻsăkʹhă&tco mma;    neʻʹ
  Sagowenot a    did-he-it-say, “Come, “Go to, now (then) his-you (pl.)-body-to-seek do go the

        hoñʹgweʻ                 gaweʻʹ         adiʼʹgwă     niaʼnĕñyāʹyĕⁿʼ.”      Ganioʼʹ     diqʹ      oʼ­hatʹgăʼ
he (an.)-human being (is) where (in what place) unknown  t here-his-bone(s) lie.” As soon as moreover did he-it-let go

neʻʹ   honăsʹkwaiyĕⁿʼ   neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ  oʹnĕⁿʻ     waiʹĕñʼ,       “Snidjāʹgoⁿ,       snidjāʹgoⁿ.        Hestuäʻʹ,
the  his slave(s)-owned the  dog(s)  now then did he-it say, “You-two-be brave, you-two-be brave. Hence you-two-go,

    hestuäʻʹ,         hestuäʻʹ.”
hence you-two-go, hence you-two-go.”

(It is usual to confine the use of this last command only to dogs; it signifies ‘go ye, go ye, hence.’—Ed.)


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   oʼwĕñnĕñniʼyoʻswāʹ&ebr eve;ñʼ  heʹoñweʻ        hodyānāʹʻhoⁿʼ       neʻʹ
So (then) that moreover the  dog(s)  now (then)   did-they (z.)-take scents   there where he-his-tracks-has traced the

       hăksăʹgōwā           oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ        waoʻʹsēʼ        heʹoñweʻ         hodākʹheʻsoⁿʼ        neʻʹ
he (an.)-child-great (is) now (then) moreover did-they-him pursue where there he-running-went to and fro the

       hăksăʼʹgōwā.           Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā        hotʻhoñʹdeʼ neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ
he (an.)-child-great (is). So (then) that moreover the  he (an.)-child-great (is) he-it-hears the     Sagowenota

  waāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ,     “Hoñʹgak,   agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿ&ml apos;   oʹnĕⁿʻ        swadekhwiʻsăkʹhăʻ.”      Neʻʹ
did-he-it-speak did-he-it-say, “Wild geese,    my-servants-several     now (then) you-own-f ood-to-seek-do go.” The

       hăksăʼʹgōwā          hotʻhoñdeʻtciʻhwĕⁿ    neʻʹ    năⁿʼʹot      hāʹdoⁿ   neʻʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjĭ.
he (an.)-child-great (is) he-it-hears-distinc tly the  kind of thing he-it-says the  he-(an.) ancient one (is).

     Oʼdwadīʹdĕⁿʼ        oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ  hoñʹgak.
Did-they (z.)-fly away now (then) the  wild geese.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ heʻʹ        waādākʹheʼ         heʹoñweʻ
So (then) that moreover now (then) the     Sagowenota    where thither he-running went there where

       heyonēʹnoñ         neʻʹ      hoʻsʻhenĕⁿʻsʻhoⁿʼ      neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ.   Dāʹ     tchihadākʹheʼ
hence-they (z.)-have gone the  h is (an.)-slave(s)-several the  dog(s).  So then as he-running-went

      dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ        hotʻhoñdeʼ   wēʹĕⁿ          tkāʹnĭ,        “Wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ,”      dyoʹdoñ.       Agwasʹ
suddenly-just, all at once, he-it-hears far away  there-it (z.)-barks, “Wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ,” there-it-it-sounds.  Very

      doskĕñʹăʻ            niyaādākʹheʼ         oʹnĕⁿʻ   hotʻhoñʹdeʼ neʻʹ     sgātʹ      neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ
nearby, close at hand thither-he-running-goes now (then) he-it-hears the  one-it (z.) is the    dog

  oʼdwăʻsĕntʹʻho,        “Kwĕñʻʹ,      kwĕñʻʹ,    kwĕñʻʹ,”      oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.   Neʼʹhoʻ      waādākʹheʼ,       neʼʹhoʻ
did-it (z.)-cry out, “Kwĕñʻ&mlprime ;, kwĕñʻʹ, kwĕñʻʹ,&rdqu o; did-it-say.  There  hence-he-running-goes,  there

     waāʹyoⁿʼ             dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ         waāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʼʹhoʻ    gayăsʹʻheⁿʼ,     neʻʹ hodjīʹyäʼ neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
there-did-he-arrive suddenly- just (surprised) did-he-it-see  there  it (z.)-supine-lay, the   his-dog  that and the

neʼʹhoʻ       heyoʼʹsĕⁿʼoⁿ       neʻʹ   găʼʹnoⁿʼ    heʻʹ     găsāʹgain.        Dāʹ    neʻʹ   diqʹ   neʻ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ
 there  there-it (n.)-fallen-has the  it (n.)-arrow where it (z.)-mouth-in. So (then) that moreover the    Sagowenota

  oʹnĕⁿʻ         wooʼnigoⁿʻgāʹʻhĕⁿ       neʼʹkhoʻ    waiʹĕñʼ,      “Awĕñdoñʹnyăʼt    nāʹeʻ,”    oʹnĕⁿʻ     waiʻʹ
now (then) d id-it-his-mind-vex, trouble that-and did-he-it-say, “It is discouraging verily,” now (then) of course

  wooʻʹdoⁿʼs   neʻʹ      honaskwanoⁿsʹdeʻk       neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ.
did-he-it-lose the  he-it-(z.) servant-cherished the    dog.


  Dāʹ   neʼʹ   diqʹ     näⁿʹgäⁿ    neʻʹ         hoñʹgweʻ            oʹnĕⁿʻ     waāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ,    “Agwasʹ,
So then that moreover this (it) is the  he (an.)-human being (is) now (then) did-he-it-speak did-he-it-say,  “Very,

   ĕñʼʹ      noñʹ    hodyăʼdatʹkoⁿʼ.”
I-it-think it seems his body is otkon.”


  Dăʼdjiăʻʹsʻhoñ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   āʹeʼ  hotʻhoñʹdeʼ  wēʹĕⁿʻ          tgāʹnĭʻ,          “Wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ,”
Not long after-just now (then) again he-it-hears far away there-it (z.)-is barking, “Wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ,”

     dyoʹdoñ,          dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  neʼʹhoʻ    waādakʹheʼ     heʹgwa.    Agwasʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ
there-it-it-sounds, so (then) now (then) verily  there  did-he-running go towards. Very (just) now (then)

     doskĕñʹăʻ           niyaādākʹheʼ         oʹnĕⁿʻ         āʹeʼ       nāʹeʻ  hotʻhonʹdeʼ   oʼdwăʻsĕñtʹʻhoʼ    neʻʹ
it is near, nearby, thither-he-running goes now (then) again, once more verily he-it-hears did-i t (z.)-cry out the

djīʹyäʻ,     “Kwĕñʻʹ,      kwĕñʻʹ,    kwĕñʻʹ,”      oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.
  dog,   “Kwĕñʻ&mlprime ;, kwĕñʻʹ, kwĕñʻʹ,&rdqu o; did-it-say.


Neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ   waāʹyoⁿʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ         āʹeʼ         waatkāʹtʻhoʼ    neʻʹ   skatʹ   neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ neʼʹhoʻ
The  now (then)  there  did-he-arrive now (then) again, once more did-he-it-look at the  one-it-is the    dog    there

   gayăsʹʻhĕⁿʼ,     neʼʹho-khoʻ       āʹeʼ         gaʻsāʹgain             găʼʹnot,           neʼʹ
it (z.)-supine lay,  there and  again, once more it(s)-mouth in it (n.)-arrow protruded from that

       diiuiʻʹwăʼ         neʼʹhoʻ    heyoʼsĕⁿʻʹdoⁿ     neʻʹ      deknīʹhădoⁿʼt      neʼʹ neʻʹ    gayăʼdoñni
there-it (n.)-reason (is)  there  there-it-has dropped the  two = in order (second) that the  it (n.)-mannikin

    gayăʼʹdăʼ.      Dāʹ neʼʹ   diqʹ    neʻʹ         hagĕⁿʹdjĭ           oʹnĕⁿʻ         āʹeʼ         waāsʹnyeʼt
it (n.)-doll, body. So  that moreover  the  he (an.) ancient one (is) now (then) again, once more did-he-it-speak

   waiʹĕñʼ,    “O,    awĕndoñʹnyăʼt,      awĕndoñʹnyăʼt    nāʹeʻ.  Agwasʹ     ĕñʼʹ      noñʹ       hodyăʼdātʹkoⁿʼ
did-he-it-say, “Oh, it-is-discouraging, it-is-discouraging verily.  Very  I-it-it-think seems his (an.)-body-otkon (is)

nāʹeʻ.”
verily.”


     Tchi-hotʹʻhāʼ        oʹnĕⁿʻ        āʹeʼ        hotʻhonʹdeʼ       hoʹgwā             tkāʹnĭʻ       neʻʹ
While-he-it-is-uttering now (then) again, once more he-it-hears aside, yonder away there-it-is-barking the

      sĕⁿʻʹădoⁿʼt       neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ, “Wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ,”     dyoʹdoñ.       Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ      hăgĕⁿʹdjĭʻ
three-in order, (third) the    dog,   “Wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ, wauʻʹ,” there-it-sounds. Now (then) the  he (an.)-ancient one

neʼʹhoʻ    waādākʹheʼ.     Agwasʹ       āʹeʼ          oʹnĕⁿʻ        doskĕñʹăʻ               niyaādākʹheʼ
 there  did-he-running go.  Very  again, once more, now (then) nearby close at hand there-thither-he-running-goes

  oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  hotʻhonʹdeʼ oʼdwăʻsĕñtʹʻhoʼ neʻʹ djīʹyäʻ,     “Kwĕñʻʹ,      kwĕñʻʹ,     kwĕñʻʹ,”       oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.
now (then) verily he-it-hears did-i t-cry out the    dog,   “Kwĕñʻ&mlprime ;, kwĕñʻʹ, kwĕñʻ&m lprime;,” did-it-say.

  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ        hăgĕⁿʹdjĭʻ              wooʻʹdyoⁿʼ,        waiʹĕñʼ-khoʻ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ
Now (then) verily the  he (an.)-ancient one (is) did-he-become afraid, did-he-it-say and, “Now (then) verily

        ĕⁿsgadeʼgoʼʹsʻhoñ,           oʹnĕⁿʻ     sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ         hoʼwăsʹʼăʻt      neʼʹ neʻʹ
shall-again -I-self-absent = just, now (then) in as much as did-it-(them)-us e up that the

       gyăʼdäʼskwăʼʹcyoñk        neʼʹ neʻʹ agedjīyäʼʹsʻhoⁿʼgĕñ&mlpr ime;oⁿʼ. Agwasʹ nāʹeʻ
I-their-b odies-prized-severally that the       my-dog(s) several-were.       Very  verily

     hodyăʼdatkoⁿʼʹsʻhoñ.”
hi s own-body-otkon (is)—just.”


 Heʹoñweʻ              hăʼdoñsaĕⁿʻʹdāt             heʹoñweʻ        tgaʻhoñwāʹyĕⁿʼ.
There where thence again he-ran (he ran homeward) there where there-it (n.)-canoe-lies.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ          tchi-watʻhāʹwĭʼ        neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā             tʻhihodyeʹĕⁿʻ
So (then) that moreover while-it (n.)-self-bore along the  he (an.)-child-great (is) just-he-self-kept-still

    hăʼnigoⁿʹhäʼ-khoʻ,          ganioʼʹ      wēʹĕⁿʻ        hēʼsʹ        neʻʹ        hăgĕⁿʻʹdjĭ         goʼʹgeʻ
his-mind-wa s on (it), and, just as soon as far away he-goes-to and fro the  he (an.)-ancient one (is) quickly

 waādeʼnoⁿʻdaʻʹgoʼ  neʻʹ   oʼneʻʹsăgoñ   neʼʹhoʻ    ganyadākʹdăʼ       heʻhawēʹnoñ,   oʼtʻhaʻdjāʹĕⁿʼ-kh oʻ neʻʹ
did-he -self-unbury the  it (n.)-sand-in  there  it (n.)-lake-beside thither-he-went, did-he-it-shove-and  the

 găʻhoñʹwăʼ     oʻnegăʼʹgeʻ          oĕⁿʼʹheʼt,            oʼtʻhōʹet        waiʹĕñʼ,    “Gāʹoʼ      nondāʹswet
it (n.)-canoe it (n.)-water-on it (n.)-stood, stopped, did-he-call aloud did-he-it-say, “Hither thence-do-you-come

 agesʻhenoⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ  neʻʹ  hoñʹgak.”
my-ser vants-several the  wild geese.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ  hoñʹgak        onadiʼsʹdāʼ       “dauñʻʹ”     dyoʹdoñ,        gagweʹgoⁿ        oʼwādīʹyoⁿʼ
Now (then) the  wild geese they (z.)-noise-raised “dauñʻʹ” there-it-sounded, it (n.)-entire did-they (z.)-arrive

    gahoñwakʹdăʼ       oʼwadyăʼdaniyoñʹdĕⁿʼ.        Dāʹ    neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā         ganioʼʹ
it (n.)-canoe-beside d id-they-own-body-attach.  So (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is) as soon as

    waādeʼnoⁿʻʹdäʻ        oʹnĕⁿʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ              hĕⁿdjiswadōʹgĕⁿt               heʹoñweʻ
did-he-self-put- aboard now (then) did-he-it-say,  “There  verily hence-will-again -you-direct (yourselves) there where

     diswaʻdĕñʹdyoñ      khoʻʹ neʻʹ      dyoñgwăʻdĕñʹdyoñ.”
thence-you-have-departed  and  the  thence-we-you-hav e-started.”


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ  hoñʹgak     onatʻhonʹdeʼ    neʻʹ    năⁿʼʹot      waāsʹnyeʼt      oʹnĕⁿʻ
So (then) that moreover the  wild geese they (z.)-it-hear the  kind-of-thing did-he-it-speak now (then)

    oʼwadīʹgaweʼ          oʻsnoäʹdieʼ,      “Suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ,”       ōʹdoⁿʻ.
did-they (z.)-paddle it-swiftly-went along, “Suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ,” it (n.)-kept saying.


Neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ       waāʹyoⁿʼ        heʹoñweʻ        hatʻhoñwayĕñdăkʹhwăʼ        waāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ
The  now (then)    Sagowenota    did-he-arrive, reach there where he-his- canoe-to-lie-uses (it) did-he-it-see the

 găʻhoñʹwăʼ    īʹnoⁿ        wăʼoʻdĕñdyoñâñʹdieʼ       ganyadāeʼʹgeʻ  neʼʹhoʻ       hăʼnoⁿʻdăʹdieʼ       neʻʹ
it (n.)-canoe far away thither- it-moving-went along it (n.)-lake-on thereon he being aboard went along the

      hăksăʼ-gōwā,        neʼʹ           daonooʻdonʹdieʼ,             oʹnĕⁿʻ    oʼtʻhōʹet   neʻʹ
he (an.)-child-great (is) that thence-he-it-controlling came along, now (then) did-he-shout the

       hagĕⁿʹdjĭʻ            waāsʹnyet       waiʹĕñʼ,          “Dondasăʻʹget           dedyadäⁿnonʹdeʼ.
he (an.)-ancient one (is) did-he-it-speak did-he-it-say, “Thence do-thou-turn back both-thou-I-brothers-are.

      Skoⁿʻnonkʹheʼ        nīʹgĕⁿʼ.”    Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ       hăksăʼʹgōwā         tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ,      dāogăʹyĕⁿ
Again-I-thee-to-bring-come so-it-is.” Now (then) the  he (n.)-child-great (is) not-at all, not-he-consents

     ahatʻhonʹdāt.         Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā              dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ
should-he-it-listen to. So (then) now (then) moreover the  he (an.)-child-great (is) suddenly-just (all at once)

    daāsʹnyeʼt        waiʹĕñʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ         oʼgwāʹnon                he-niʹyoñ           oʼwāʼʹ
thence-he-it-spoke did-he-it-say, “Now (then) verily did-I-you-it-give to eat as many-it is as (much) it (n.)-meat

 iʹswasʹ   neʻʹ   ganyodäʹgoñ   swĕⁿʼʹdyoⁿʼ deswadawĕnʹnye-khoʻ.”   Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ         wĕñnĕndyăʼdatʹkoⁿʼs
you-it-eat the  it (n.)-lake-in  you-abide    you travel-and.”    Now (then) then the y (z.)-whose bodies (are)-otkon

oʼwĕñnoñdonʻhāʹĕⁿ&mlapos ; wăʼoñnoⁿʼesʹʻhăʼ -khoʻ. “Histʹ, histʹ, histʹ, histʹ, haiʹ, haiʹ, haiʹ, haiʹ,”  oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.
     did-they-rejoice      did-they have joy-and.  “Histʹ, histʹ, histʹ, histʹ, haiʹ, haiʹ, haiʹ, haiʹ,” did-it-say.

  Neʼʹhoʻ            niyodiʼsʹdāʼ         neʻʹ    oʼwāʼʹ         wāʹdis.
There (Thus) so they (z.)-much noise made the  it (n.)-meat they (z.)-it-eat.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ  oʹnĕⁿʻ      doñsāhōʹet,         waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hōʹ,        dagīʹdĕñʻ
So (then) that moreover the     Sagowenota    now then again-did-he-shout,  did-he-it-say, “Hōʹ, thou-me-do-have pity on

     dedyadĕñnoñʹdeʼ.             Dondasăʻʹget.”
both-thou-I-brothers (are). Thence-do-thou-turn back.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ       hăksăʼʹgōwā            daāsʹnyeʼt        waiʹĕñʼ,      “Nisʹ   dăʼāʹoⁿʻ   aisăgāʹyoⁿʻ
Now (then) the  he (n.)-child-great (is) thence-he-it-spoke did-he-it-say, “The-thou not-able did-you-consent

         dondasăʻʹget.”
thence-then-wouldst-turn-bac k.”


   Dāʹ    neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ        dondaāsʹnyeʼt            waiʹĕñʼ         āʹeʼ.        “Hĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ   deʼʹiʼ neʻʹ
So (then) the     Sagowenota    thence again-did-he-it-speak did-he-it-say again, once more “Not at all not-I  the

Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ.  Geʻhăʼsʻhäʼ-sʻhoñ     niʼʹăʻ.     Tʻhĕⁿʼʹdyoⁿʼ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ.”
  Sagowenota.     I-servant-j ust (am) the-I-only. There-he-abi des verily the    Sago wenota.”


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā          tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ    deʼotʻhondāʹtoⁿ   neʻʹ    năⁿʼʹot
So (then) that moreover the  he (an.)-child-great (is) not (it is) not-did-he-it-obey the  kind of thing

  woōdoⁿesyoⁿʻʹkwĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ  hoswāʹĕⁿs.     Wăasʹnyeʼt     woōʹwĭʼ   neʻʹ  hoñʹgak      waiʹĕñʼ,
di d-he-him-it-pray for the  he-him-hates. Did-he-it-speak he-it-told the  wild geese did-he-it-say,

       “Neʼʹhoʻ                  heseswadōʹgĕⁿt            heʻʹ      diswăʻdĕñʹdyoñ.”
“There (to that place) thither, (do)-again you-go directly where thence-you started away.”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā        khoʻʹ neʻʹ   hosʻheʹnĕⁿʼsʻhoⁿʼ   neʻʹ  hoñʹgak
So (then) now (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is)  and  the   his-servants-several the  wild geese

          yăʻhoñnădīʹʼheʼt                 oʻhĕⁿʼoñʹdieʼ;         heʹoñweʻ          tʻhodinoⁿʻʹsot.          Gāʹnioʼ
thith er-they (z.)-arrived (stopped) it (n.)-day-becoming (was); there where there-their (an.)-lodge-stood. As soon as

   waoʼdīʹʼheʼt      oʹnĕⁿʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Agesʻhenoⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ  neʻʹ  hoñʹgak     oʹnĕⁿʻ
did-they (z.) stop now (then) did he-it-say, “My-servants-several the  wild geese now (then)

        swadekhwiʻsăkʹhăʻ.”             Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ    oʼdwadīʹdĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ  hoñʹgak,      “dauñʻʹ,”
you-your- food-to-seek-for (do) go.” So (then) now (then) verily did-they (z.)-fly the  wild geese, “dauñʻʹ,&rdqu o;

 oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.
did-it-say


   Dāʹ    neʼʹhoʻ   oʼhăsʹnyeʼt      waiʹĕñʼ,        “Ogondăʹdieʼ           dĕⁿdīʹsweʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ  gāʹnioʼ   neʼʹ
So (then)  there  did-he-it-speak did-he-it say, “At once, right away, thence-will you-come that the  as soon as that

   ĕⁿʹgiʼ,”       oʹnĕⁿʻ-khoʻ   waādyĕñʹtʻhoʼ  neʻʹ   găhoñʹwăʼ   khoʻʹ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    waāʻdĕñʹdĭʼ,  khoʻʹ neʻʹ
will-I-it say,” now (then) -and did-he-it-draw the  it (n.)-canoe  and  the  now (then) did-he-depart,  and  the

  oʹnĕⁿʻ     waādawĕñʹĕñt   heʻʹ          gäoⁿʻʹgädeʼ.                 Waādyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ         neʼʹhoʻ   doskĕñʹoⁿʻ
now (then) did-he-it ascend where it (n.)-bank (of the shore). Suddenly (surprised-just he was)  there  not-far, nearby

neʼʹhoʻ     ganoⁿʻʹsot,      neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ     hwăʼ­hāʹyoⁿʼ.        Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
 there  it (n.)-lodge stood,  there  verily thither he-arrived.  So (then) that moreover the  now (then)

      heʹōyoñ         waāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʼʹhoʻ    yeʼʹdyoⁿʼ    neʻʹ               yeksăʼʹgōwā,               neʼʹ neʻʹ
there-he-it-entered did-he-it-see  there  she (an.)-abode the  she (an.)-child-great (is), (young maid) that the

             agoñʹgweʻ.
she (an.) woman (is) = (human being).


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ      waāʹyoⁿʼ           he-ganoⁿʻʹsot            hoʼnosʹtăʼgeʻ.         Dāʹ
So (then) that moreover the  now (then) did-he-it-enter there-it (n.) lodge stands his (an.)-bare-skin-in. So (then)

  oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ             agoñʹgweʻ                  dondayeʹdăʼt            waoñwayeʹnāʼ         neʻʹ
now (then) verily the  she (an.)-woman (human being) (is) thence-did-she-arise did-she-him-embrace (seize) the

       hăksăʼʹgōwā,           “Ĕⁿsĕñdĕⁿstʹʻhe&mla pos;t,”      wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Iʼʹ nīʹgĕⁿʼ         goñʼʹgĕñʼ.
he (an.)-child-great (is), “Shalt-thou-to-be-pitied-become,” did-she-it-sa y  “I  so-it-is I-thy-elder sister (am).


“Neʼʹ      waiʻʹ         nĕñʹ    isʹʼă&tc omma;     yanoʼʹsĕⁿ     neʻʹ Okteʹoñdoⁿʼ.”     “Neʼʹ      neʻʹhoʻ,”
“That it certain (is) this (one)   thou only    he-thy-uncle (is) the   Okteondon.”  “That (one is) indeed,”

   waiʹĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā.               Dayesʹnyeʼt            wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Iʼʹ-khoʻ    haknoʼʹsĕⁿ
did-he-it say the  he (an.)-child-great (is). Thence-she-replied (spoke) did-she-it-sa y,  “I-and   he-my-uncle (is)

neʻʹ Okteʹoñdoⁿʼ.    Dāʹ    neʼʹ              gaioñʹnĭʻ                      dedyadĕñnoñʹdeʼ.            Oʹnĕⁿʻ
the   Okteondon.  So (then) that it-matter-makes (= it is the cause) both-thou-I-brother-sister (are). Now (then)

          ōʹnĕⁿʻtcĭ           neʻʹ Iʼʹ         de­tʻhongyăʼdăʻʹgw&ebrev e;ⁿ           heʹoñweʻ      dyoñgwaʹnoⁿʻsot.
long while ago (now the main) the   I  thence one-my-body-has-taken (= kidnapped me) there where there-our-lodge-stands.


  “Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   nāʹeʻ         saʻsāʻcyoñʹnĭʻ        neʼʹhoʻ     hōʹgwa             hodăʻkanīʹyoñt         neʻʹ
“Now (then) moreover verily again-thou-do- dress-thyself  there  aside, (yonder) he-it-bundle-attached to hang the

     sacyoñnyăsʹʻhäʼ      neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ           sʻhōʹyoñ.”
thy-garments, thy raiment the  now (then) again-he-returned (home).”


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ       saʻāʻcyoñʹnĭʼ           gagweʹgoⁿ,        oʹnĕⁿʻ        gagweʹgoⁿ
So (then) now (then) again-he-self-d ressed it (n.)-entire (is), now (then) it (n.)-entire (is)

            saādyăʼʹdăwit.                Oʹnĕⁿʻ     dayesʹnyeʼt      wăʼaʹgĕⁿʼ,       “Näⁿʹda    nāʹeʻ     săʼĕñʹnăʼ
again-he-self-body-en closed (dressed). Now (then) thence-she-spoke did-she-it-say, “Here so then verily thy-bow (it is)

  găʼnoⁿʼʹ-khoʻ.”
it (n.)-arrow-and.”


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā          oʹnĕⁿʻ           saāyeʹnāʼ         neʻʹ haʹoⁿhaⁿʼ
So (then) that moreover verily the  he (an.)-child-great (is) now (then) again-he-it (n.) received the   he-self

  hōʹwĕⁿ        heʹniyoñ             deoʼnyuʻʹsyoⁿʼ.            Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ    yeksăʼ&mlprime ;gōwā
he-it-owns as-many-it-numbers one-his-hands-has taken from.  So (then) that moreover the  she (an.)-child-great (is)

  oʹnĕⁿʻ     wăʼesʹnyeʼt       wāʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,       “Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ
now (then) did-she-it-speak did-she-it-say , “So (then) now (then) verily

           hĕⁿdjidyăʻdĕñʹdĭ&mlapos ;             nikʹhuʻ.    Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ          kăʹsnoⁿʼ
hence-will-again-thou-I-depart-(=start-for home)  here.   So (then) now (then) moreover it (n.)-bark (rough b.)

  ĕⁿgyĕñʼʹ     heʹoñweʻ          oāʹdeʼ        neʼʹhoʻ  găⁿsʹ     hăʼdĕⁿsasʻhĕñʹdă ʼt    neʼʹ nāʹeʻ
will I it lay there where it (n.)-path appears  there  usually just-shalt-thy-steps rest that verily

       diiuiʻʹwăʼ         heʻʹ      ĕⁿsadyanăʻʹseʻt.
there-it (n.)-reason (is) where wilt-thy-trac k-conceal.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹhoʻ   waiʻʹ         nĕⁿyoʼdĕñoñʹdieʼ            he-niyoʹweʼ       neʻʹ       tkahoñwaʹyĕⁿʼ.
So (then)  there  of course so-will-it (n.) way-be-going there-so-it distant is the  there, it (n.)-canoe lies.

Oʼdiqniʹeʼ     neʻʹhoʻ      neʻʹ dyĕñʹgwăʻ       gāʹoʼ              ĕⁿsʻhoñ­gīʹäʼt       neʻʹ
Thou-I-die indeed, in fact, that if it be  hither (this side) will-again-h e us overtake the

              deyagyāʹdĭʻ.               Dyăwäⁿʼʹoⁿʻ    kasnoⁿʼʹgeʻ      hăʼdĕⁿsasʻhĕñʹdă ʼt          heʹ-niyoweʼ
both-we-two-together abide (my husband). Successively it (n.)-bark-on just shalt thy steps rest there-so-it-distant (is)

        oadăʹdieʼ          neʻʹ       tkahoñwaʹyĕⁿʼ.”
it (n.)-path appears along the  there-it-(n.) -canoe-lies.”


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʼʹhoʻ   wanăñdioʼʹdāt    neʼʹhoʻ         waniiʻoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ                heʼniyoñ
So (then) that moreover  there  did-they carry-out  there  did-they-two fulfill the matter as-so many it numbers

   goʻsnyeʼʹoⁿʻ    neʻʹ           agoñʹgweʻ           neʼʹ        diiuiʻʹwăʼ               ĕⁿhadyanăʻʹseʻt       neʻʹ
she-it-attended to the  she (an.)-human being (woman) that there-it (n.) reason (is) will-he-his-tr acks conceal the

   agoʼgĕñʼʹsʻhäʼ.       Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ      kaʹsnoⁿʼʹgeʻ             hosʻhĕñdăʼoñʹdieʼ
her-younger- brother. So (then) now (then) verily it (n.)-rough-bark-on his-footst eps-fall-successively

    he-niyōʹweʼ          tkahoñwāʹyĕⁿʼ.           Ganioʼʹ     neʼʹhoʻ      wanīʹyoⁿʼ        oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
as-so it-distant is there it (n.)-canoe-lies. Just as soon as  there  did-they-two-arrive now (then) the

       hăksăʼʹgōwā           oʼtʻhoʹet,      waāsʹnyeʼt,       waiʹĕⁿʼ,     “Hoñʹgak,   agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ
he (an.)-child great (is) did-he-call out, did-he-it-speak, did-he-it-say, “Wild geese, my-servants-several

      gāʹoʼ            nondāʹsweʻ.”          Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ       ganioʼʹ            sawadīʹyoⁿʼ           oʹnĕⁿʻ
this-way, hither, thence again you come.” So (then) that moreover just as soon as again-did-they (z.)-return now (then)

      āʹeʼ         saāsʹnyeʼt   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā           waiʹĕⁿʼ,    “Neʼʹhoʻ      hĕⁿdjiswadōʹgĕⁿt
again, once more again-he-spoke the  he (an.)-child-great (is) did-he-it-say,  “There  hence-will-you-g o-directly

 heʹoñweʻ   degyĕñdăsʹgwăʼ.”
there where I-it-to bet-use.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ      wayadeʼnoⁿʻʹdä      neʼʹ neʻʹ               yădeʼʹgĕñʼ.                  Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
Now (then) verily did-they two get aboard that the  they-two-elder-sister-y ounger-brother. So (then) now (then) the

 hoñʹgak          oʼwadīʹgaweʼ,        “Suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ,”   oʼʹgĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   oʻneʹgăʼ,
wild geese did-they (z.)-paddle (-it), “Suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ,”  did-it-say the  it (n.)-water,

      wadiʻhoñyoñʹdieʼ        agwasʹ      osnōʹweʼ.
they (z.)-canoe-propelling-go  very  it (n.)-swift-(is).


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā           waaʻsāʹwĕⁿʼ       waādĕñnoʹdĕⁿʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ
So (then) that moreover the  he-(an.)- child-great (is) did-he-it-begin did-he-his-song-u tter that the

   woowatkweʹnĭʼ    neʻʹ  hoswāʹĕⁿs,      waiʹĕⁿʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ     oʹnĕⁿʻ       gīʹ      neʻʹ
did-he-him-overcome the  he-him-hates, did-he-it-say, “Now, (then) now (then) now (then) I-it-believe that

     sagăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.”
again-I -start homeward.”


          Dăʼaonisʻheʼʹoñʼ              oʹnĕⁿʻ      săasʹnyeʼt        waiʹĕⁿʼ,     “Hoñʹgak,   agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ ,
Not-it-l asted (Not-it was long time) now (then) again-he-it-spoke did-he-it-say, “Wild geese, my-servants-several,

djidjāʹgoⁿ,  djidjāʹgoⁿ,  djidjāʹgoⁿ.”
be ye brave, be ye brave, be ye brave.”


  Tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ     deʼiʹnoⁿ        niyoʹweʼ         nihoñnăʻdĕñdyoñʹdieʼ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ         deiyasʹʻhē         neʼʹ
Not (it is) not-far away so it-distant (is) so-they-depart ing-go-along now (then) the  two-they (an.)-persons are that

neʻʹ   gahoñwaʹgoñ            deiʼnont            waininaⁿʹdog    neʼʹ neʻʹ neʼʹhoʻ   gātʹ    neʻʹ  gaʻhoñʹwăʼ.
the  it (n.) canoe-in two-they contained (are) did-they-it-notice that the   there  it-stands the  it (n.)-canoe.

         Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ              āʹyĕñʼ          gadōgĕñʹsʻhoñ          dăʼaʹonʻ        oñsawăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ     neʻʹ
Suddenly, just-All at once-just would one think it (n.)-one-just place not-it-able (is) should it start again the

  gahoñʹwăʼ              odiʹgaweʻ            neʻʹ  hoñʹgak   nāʹeʻ,  “Suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ,”    oʹdoñ.
it (n.)-canoe they (z.)-paddle = are paddling the  wild geese verily, “Suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ, suʻʹ,” it (n.)-says.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼoñtkăʻʹtʻhoʼ neʻʹ         eksăʼʹgōwā         neʻʹ   yeʻsʻhoñʹneʻ   dyĕñgw&abre ve;ʻʹsi, neʼʹhoʻ
So (then) now (then)  did-s he-look  the  she (an.)-child-great (is) the  her (n.)-back-at    surprised, lo,     there

      gāʹnyot            neʼʹ     neʻʹ      ganăʻʹson,        găʻstoⁿʼsʹʻhäʼ   neʼʹhoʻ         găstoⁿʼʹcyot
one-it (n.)-attached that (it is) the  one-it-has attached, it-( n.)-fish-hook  there  one-it-fish-hook has attached

  gahoñwăʼʹgeʻ.   Dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ wăʼoñtkăʻʹtʻhoʼ   siʹgwā         tʻhanyuʻʹcyut       neʼʹkhoʻ
it (n.)-canoe-on. Suddenly-just   did-s he-look  lo, yonder there-he (an.)-sits-erect that-and

       nitʻhoyēʹĕⁿʻ        khoʻʹ neʻʹ       tʻhodyĕñtwĕⁿʻʹadieʼ       neʻʹ   gahoñʹwăʼ.
so-there-he-it-pos ed (is)  and  the  hen ce he-it-drawing along (is) the  it (n.)-canoe.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ         eksăʼʹgōwā                 dondāʹyek            kăʼʹskwāʼ     aʼskweʻʹsăʼ   neʼʹhoʻ
So (then) that moreover the  she (an.)-child great (is) there-she (an.)-it-took up it (n.)-stone it (n.)-hatchet  there

khoʻʹ     wăʼeʹyĕⁿt      heʹoñweʻ          găstoⁿʼʹcyot           agwasʹ         niyosnoʹweʼ         hoñʹweʻ
 and  did-she-it-strike there where it (n.)-hook (is) attached very, just as so-it (n.)-swift is yonder, far away

   wăʼoʹdĭʼ    neʻʹ   gahoñʹwăʼ   neʼʹ        diiuiʻʹwăʼ                    odiʹgaweʻ            neʻʹ  hoñʹgak.
did-it-it-cast the  it (n.)-canoe that there-it (n.)-reason (is) they (z.)-paddle = are paddling the  wild geese.

  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ        hăksăʼʹgōwā            daāsʹnyeʼt        waiʹĕⁿʼ,    “Agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿ& mlapos;,    hauʼʹ
Now (then) the  he (an.)-child-great (is) thence-he-it-spoke did-he-it-say,    “My-servants-several,     come, go to,

  oʹnĕⁿʻ   djidjāʹgoⁿ,  djidjāʹgoⁿ,  djidjāʹgoⁿ.”  Neʼʹsʻhoñ      hāʹdoⁿʻ.
now (then) be ye brave, be ye brave, be ye brave.” That-just he-it-kept saying.


Agwasʹ      dăʼdjīʹăʻ         oʹnĕⁿʻ         āʹeʼ                  wanigăʼĕñʹyoñʼ           neʼʹ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
 Very  not-long time (soon) now (then) again, once more, did-they-two-it-watc h (= examine) that the  now (then)

      āʹeʼ              sāwaʻʹget        neʻʹ   gahoñʹwăʼ,              odiʹgaweʻ             nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ  hoñʹgak.
again, once more, again-it-went-backward the  it (n.)-canoe, they (z.)-paddled = are paddling verily the  wild geese.

  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ         eksăʼʹgōwā            wăʼontkatʹʻhoʼ    neʼʹhoʻ     hoñʹweʻ
Now (then) verily the  she (an.)-child-great (is) did-she-look (= see)  there  yonder, far away

        tʻhāyasʹʻhĕⁿʼ          neʻʹ             deyāʹdi              neʼʹhoʻ      tʻhayoskwĕⁿʻʹdāʼ,      khoʻʹ neʻʹ
there-he-l ies (= lies supine) the  two-they-are one (= her husband)  there  there- he (an.)-prone lies,  and  the

              tʻhăhnegiʹʻhăʼ               agwasʹ     aʹyĕñʼ        oʹnĕⁿʻ      tʻhoʹhăʻ           ĕⁿoⁿsʹʼăʻt
thence-he (an.)-water-drinks (is drinking)  very  would-one-think now (then) nearly (almost) will-he-it-con sume all

neʻʹ   ohneʹgăʼ            he-ganyoʹdaeʼ.
the  it (n.)-water there-it (n.)-lake-stands out.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ   agwasʹ      osnoʹweʼ      neʼʹhoʻ      wăʼowenoñʹoñdieʼ      neʻʹ   gahoñʹwăʼ    heʹoñweʻ
So (then) that moreover  very  it (n.)-rapid (is)  there  thither it (n.)-goes along the  it (n.)-canoe there where

       nitʻhosgäʼʹwĕⁿʻ;         agwasʹ        hăʻsōʹwănĕñ         khoʻʹ neʻʹ      hatkwisdăsʹdĕñʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ
so-there-his- mouth-holds open;  very  his (an.)-mouth-large (is)  and  the  his-stomach-enormous (is) that the

    hanekdjĕⁿʼdōʹwănĕñ      neʼʹ neʻʹ      diiuiʻʹwăʼ      wesoʼʹdjĭʻ         hoʼwadiʹyoⁿʼ         neʻʹ  ohneʹgănos,
his (an.)-paunch large (is) that the  there-it-reason (is)  much-too  thither-they (z.)-it-entered the  it (n.)-water,

  gaʹäⁿgwăʻ    heʼtʹgĕⁿʻ      tʻhayăʼdāʹdeʼ,          hoʻdăʼʹoⁿʻ     nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ  ohneʹgănos.
quite, marked,  high up  there-his-body -extends, he-self-has filled verily the  it (n.)-water.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ     nĕñʹsʻhoñ        detʻhosgäʼʹwĕⁿʻ,       neʼʹhoʻ         dehni-gaʹweʼ          neʻʹ   gahoñʹwăʼ
Now (then) near-just fly there-he-mout h-holds open,  there  they (2)-paddle, are paddling the  it (n.)-canoe

            odiʹgaweʻ             nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ  hoñʹgak                      heniyogweʹnyoñ.
they (z.)-paddle (= are paddling) verily the  wild geese as-so much it is able (just as much as they are able).


    Ganioʼʹ       oʹnĕⁿʻ    doskĕñʹoⁿʻ      nitʻhayasʹʻhĕⁿʼ     neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ,   dāʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ
Just as soon as now (then) near (it is) as there-he-supine-lies the    Sagowenota,     so then now (then) the

       hăksăʼʹgōwā              oʼtʻhayoⁿʻgwägäʹdat       neʼʹ neʻʹ   hoĕñʹnoⁿʼ,  khoʻʹ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ
he (an.)-child-great (is) did-he-it-bend (= bend the bow) that the   it (n.)-bow,  and  the  now (then)  there

     waādeʼʹsyoñnĭʼ       heʹoñweʻ      tʻhatkwisʹdayĕⁿʼ,    agwasʹ nāʹeʻ     hayăʼdōʹwănĕñ.
did-he-self-to-aim-ma ke there where there-his-paunch-li es,  very  verily his-body-great (is).


   Dāʹ    neʼʹhoʻ    waaʼʹyak     agwasʹ    oyĕñʹdet         otkaiʼʹni,        “būʻʹ”,      oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.   Agwasʹ
So (then)  there  did-he-it-shoot  very  it (n.)-notable it (n.)-loud (is), “buʻʹ&rdq uo;, did-it-say.  Very

 ohneʹganos        osnoʹweʼ          dondagayăʹgĕⁿʼt.
it (n.)-water it (n.)-rapid (is) thence-did-it-come forth.


  Dāʹ   neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ   gahoñʹwăʼ        weʹĕⁿʻ         oʹnĕⁿʻ        hoʼʹweʼ.
So then that moreover the  it (n.)-canoe far away, yonder, now (then) thither-did-it-go.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     waoʼsaiʹyĕⁿʻ      oʹnĕⁿʻ          hagoeʼdjoñʹnyoⁿ        neʻʹ  hoñʹgak,        hāʹdoⁿ,
So (then) now (then) did-he-make haste now (then) he-(them) urged-on-repeatedly the  wild geese, he-it-kept saying,

 “Djidjāʹgoⁿ  djidjāʹgoⁿ,   djidjāʹgoⁿ  neʻʹ       agesʻhenĕⁿʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ .”
“Be ye brave, be ye brave, be ye brave, the  my servant (my servants-several).”


      Dăʼaonisʻheʼʹoⁿʻ         oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ      waādiʹyoⁿʼ        heʹoñweʻ
Not -it-(n.)-long-time-(was) now (then)  there  did-they (an.)-arrive there where

         detʻhiiĕⁿʻdāsʹgwă&mlapos ;          neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ.  Ganioʼʹ   neʼʹhoʻ   waāiiʹyoⁿʼ     oʹnĕⁿʻ
both there-they (an. masc.) it-to-gamble use the    Sagowenota.     As soon as  there  did-they (an.) now (then)

       hăksăʼʹgōwā           waiʹĕⁿʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ   Isʹ neʻʹ  hoñʹgak,     oʹnĕⁿʻ
he (an.)-child-great (is) did-he-it-say, “Now (then) You the  wild geese, now (then)

       ĕⁿdjiswadadwĕñnīʹyōk.         Neʼʹ   waiʻʹ     sewanoⁿs­gweoñʹgwĕⁿ    neʻʹ neʼʹ
will-again -you-free-continue to be. That of course one-you-captive has made the  that

           deʼtgāiʻwayēʹiʼ             neʻʹ Sʻhagowēʹnotʻhăʼ nāʹeʻ.
not-there-it (n.)-matter-of right (is) the     Sagowenota    verily.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ                         ĕⁿdjiswadadwĕñnīʹyōk;                         hĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ
So (then) now (then) moreover will-again -you-self-to-control continue; (= continue to be free); not (it is) verily

   deʼaweʼʹoⁿʻ     neʻʹ      Sʻhoñgwadyĕñnuʼkdăʼʹoⁿ& tcomma;,       neʻʹ   Hawĕñniʹyoʼ,    neʼʹ neʻʹ
not-he-it-intended the  He-our-faculties-completed (= our Creator), the  He, the Disposer, that the

       ayesʻhenoⁿʼgĕñʹoñk             gyēʹ.
should-one-slave-to-be-continue some (persons).


  Haweʼʹoⁿʻ    sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ       gagweʹgoⁿ       neʻʹ      goñnonʻʹheʼ             ĕⁿwĕñnoñdadwĕñnīʹyōk         neʼʹ
He-it-intended in fact  verily it (n.) entire (all) the  they (z.)-alive (are) will -they-self-to-control-continue that

neʻʹ           hăʼdeganyoʼʹdăgeʻ.             Hĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ     deʼaweʼʹoⁿʻ
the  as many as it (z.) game-animal numbers. Not (it is) verily not He-it-designed

          ayagonaⁿskwayĕñʹdăʼk            gĕⁿsʹ    näⁿʹgĕⁿ    neʻʹ       gāʹnyoʼ.
should-one-it-sl ave-to-possess-continue usually this (it is) the  it (z.)-game animal.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   nāʹeʻ            ĕⁿdjiswăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ               oʹnĕⁿʻ.      Dāʹ    neʼʹhoʻ-khoʻʹ nāʹeʻ
So (then) now (then) moreover verily will-again-you-depart (for your homes) now (then). So (then)   there-and   verily

  nisʹʼăʻ                 năⁿyoʼdĕñoñʹdieʼ               khoʻʹ neʻʹ nāʹeʻ        heniswayeʹhăʼ.         Nisʹ   neʼʹkhoʻ
the-you-only so-will-it (n.)-condition-to-be, -continue,  and  the  verily as-so-you-it-do-habitually. The-you that-and

 gĕⁿsʹ               nĕⁿyoʼdĕñoñʹdieʼ              neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ             dĕⁿdjoñwĕñdjiăʼkʹhoⁿk.
usually so-will-it (n.)-condition-to-be, continue, the  now (then) wi ll-you-land-cross-successively as habit.


   Dāʹ       neʼʹ      gĕⁿsʹ   ĕⁿyetcʻhiʹgĕⁿʼ   neʻʹ      oʹyăʼ                 hĕⁿyagonʻheʹdieʼ            neʼʹ neʻʹ
So (then) that (then) usually will-one-y ou-see the  other, different there-will-one-alive -to-be, continue that the

  wĕñdoⁿʻʹgwā    heʻʹ          nĕⁿyonisʹʻheʼt                  ĕⁿyowĕñdjăʹdek.
at the time-just where so-will-it-(n.) continue to be will-it-earth-to-stan d, continue.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹhoʻ.    Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   oʼgadwĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ.     Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   swăʻdĕñʹdĭʻ
So (then)  there.  So (then) now (then) did- I-my-word-end. So (then) now (then) moreover you-depart

  ĕⁿswatʻhäʹdieʼ-khoʻ.”      Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  oʼwĕñnăʻ­dĕñʹdĭ&m lapos;.
wi ll-you-flying-go and.” So (then) now (then) verily   did they (z.) depart.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ   āʹeʼ     dondahăsʹnyeʼt        waiʹĕⁿʼ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ
So (then) that moreover now (then) again thence-again-he-spoke did-he-it-say, “Now (then) moreover

     hĕⁿdjidyăʻdĕñʹdĭ&mlapos ;         aqʹdjiʹiʼ.”        Wăʼagōgaiʹyĕⁿʻ     nāʹeʻ.
hence-will-thou-I-depart (homeward) my elder sister.” Did-she-i t-consent-to verily.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ        dayăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.       Neʼʹ neʻʹ     skĕñnoⁿʼʹoñʻ        yatʻhaiʹneʼ.
Now (then) verily thence-they-two-departed. That the  slowly (= peaceably) they-two-travel on.

        Wăhyĕñnoʹhet          gĕⁿsʹ  neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ          wăʼoʼʹgäʻ.          Wăʼoʹʻhĕñʼt    oʹnĕⁿʻ
Did-they-two-stay over night usually the  now (then) did-it (n.)-night-become. It-day-became now (then)

     wăʼoʼʹgäʻ.       Wăʼoʹhĕñʼt     oʹnĕⁿʻ    gĕⁿsʹ  āʹeʼ  way&abrev e;ʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.
did it night become. It day became now (then) usually again did-they-two-depa rt.


Wisʹ             noñsahiyăʻʹgoʼ.              Dāʹ neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ            saniʹyoⁿʼ            oʹnĕⁿʻ
Five so many again-they-two-staid over night. So  that moreover the  now (then) again they two arrived home now (then)

     daāsʹnyeʼt          waiʹĕⁿʼ,          “Aqdjīʹiʼ,         oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ          sedīʹyoⁿʼ.          Tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ
thence-he (an.)-spoke did-he-it say, “My dear elder sister, now (then) verily thou-I-have-returned home. Not (it is)

  niʼʹăʻ    deʼgoñyĕñdeʹi,        soʼʹdjĭʻ         noñʹ        tchi-geksāʼʹăʻ         oʹnĕⁿʻ     săʻdĕñʹdyoñ.
the-I-only not-I-thee-know, because, (= much-too) perhaps while-I-child-small (was) now (then) thou-departedst.

   Dāʹ    neʼʹkhoʻ   nisʹ        sedinoʼʹsĕⁿ      neʻʹ Oktēʹoñdoⁿʼ.
So (then) that-and the-thou he-our-two-uncle (is) the   Okteondon.


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ neʻʹ Iʼʹ     waeyanĕñʹhauñʼ     sʻhăʼʹgăʻdĕñdĭ ʼ. Neʼʹhoʻ  nāʹeʻ     heʹʻhoyoñ      heʹoñweʻ
So (then) that the   I  did-I-his-track follow when-I-departed.   There   verily there-he-arrived there where

      tganyodäʹdeʼ.           Dāʹ       iʹwi    neʼʹ  noñʹ   nāʹeʻ     hōʹnyoʻ        hoiʹgĕñ      neʻʹ
there-it (n.)-lake-exists. So (then) I-it-think that perhaps verily he-him-killed that-one (it is) the

    hăʻʹsowānĕñ.
his-mouth-large (is).


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʼʹ neʻʹ       dĕⁿdyatnooⁿʹgwāk,       Iʼʹ       dedyadāⁿʹnondeʼ.
So (then) now (then) moreover that the  shalt-thou-I-self-love -ever, we  thou-I-brother-sister (are).

        Ĕⁿgoñnooⁿʹgwāk          oʹnĕⁿʻ      nisʹʼăʻ     Iʼʹkhoʻ          ĕⁿs­gnooⁿʹgwāk.
Shall-I-thee-to-love, continue now then the-thou-(only)  I-and  shall-thou-me-to-lov e, continue.


   Dāʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ   neʻʹ Iʼʹ   ĕⁿgadowätʹʻhăʼ.”
So (then) now (then) moreover the   I  will-I- to-hunt-go.”


   Dāʹ    neʼʹ   diqʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ     waādōʹwät;    agwasʹ   hadjinoⁿʼdīʹyo;       oʼʹwāʼ    neʼʹsʻhoñ
So (then) that moreover now (then) did-he-it-hunt;  very  he-hunter-fine (is); it (n.) meat that-just

       hodīʹgoⁿ;          awenoñtgädeʼʹsʻhoñ    heʹoñweʻ       deniʼʹdyoⁿʼ.        Dāʹ    neʼʹhoʻ
they-it-continue-to-eat; it (n.)-pleasant-just there where both-they-two-abide. So (then)  there

      nigagāʹis.
so-it-legend-long (is).





137. THE LEGEND OF DOÄDANEGEÑ AND HOTKWISDADEGEÑA

(TWO FEATHERS TOGETHER AND THE TORTURED BOY)

Two male persons lived together in a lodge. The elder was named
Doädanegeñ, and the younger, his nephew, was called Hotkwisdadegeña.
Uncle and nephew lived by hunting, and they two dwelt in contentment,
for they had meat to eat at all times. They thus spent their lives
pleasantly. There were no other people dwelling in their neighborhood.

After a long time passed in this kind of life the uncle said to his
nephew: “Oh, my nephew! now go yonder to that valley, where you must
seat yourself and listen very intently for whatever sounds that are
peculiar which you may hear. I do not know what sounds you may hear,
but you shall hear something.” So Hotkwisdadegeña set out for the
valley, which he was not long in reaching. Having arrived there, he
seated himself and kept very quiet. He remained in this attitude for a
long time.

Suddenly and without any warning an owl perched in the hollow of a
near-by tree hooted Wu, wu, wu, wu-ūʻ. The youth quickly arose, saying:
“This is perhaps what my uncle means,” and started on the run homeward.
It was not long before he reached the lodge. Then the elder man,
Doädanegeñ, his uncle, said: “What did you hear? Come, now, tell it.”
“So let it be,” replied Hotkwisdadegeña. But the elder said: “Wait just
a moment first. You may commence just as soon as my tobacco begins to
burn, for I want to be smoking when you relate what you have heard.” So
he put tobacco in his pipe and lighted it and immediately drew in the
smoke. Then he exclaimed: “Now, relate what you have heard.” “All that
I heard,” said the nephew to his uncle, “was the hooting of an owl.”
The uncle at once laid aside his pipe, and seizing a bark paddle he
arose quickly, and dipping up a paddleful of hot coals and ashes,
poured them over his nephew, who was standing not far away. The burning
coals fell on the youth’s head. As he did this, the uncle said: “I do
not mean that.” The nephew began to cry because of the hot coals on his
head, and going to his bunk he sat down, for these two persons occupied
each his own side of the fireplace. Finally he stopped his crying and
said: “Very miserable, indeed, has become my state, for now my uncle
has begun to mistreat me, and he has never done this thing before.”
Night came on, and they lay down to sleep, the uncle and his nephew.
The next morning they arose, and when they had eaten their morning meal
the uncle again said to his nephew: “Come, oh, my nephew! do you again
go to listen, and you must again sit in yonder valley where you sat
yesterday.”

The nephew soon started, and having arrived at the valley he again sat
down to listen for mysterious sounds. He listened very attentively. He
was surprised in a short time to hear hard by the place where he sat
the cry of some being: Tcĭkĭs, tcĭkĭskĭskĭs. This was a cry made by
Tcoktcoñʹkhwĕñ. Again the youth arose with a spring and ran toward the
place where stood the lodge occupied by his uncle and himself. On
reaching his home the elder man, his uncle, said: “What thing is it you
have heard, having just returned home? Now, please tell it.” Then his
nephew, Hotkwisdadegeña, replied, “So be it; I shall tell it.” His
uncle answered: “Just a little while, first. I will first fill my pipe,
and just as soon as the tobacco is lighted you may tell me what you
have heard.” So he filled his pipe with tobacco and lighted it, and
when he had taken his pipe into his mouth, he said: “Come, now, tell me
what you have heard.” Hotkwisdadegeña answered: “So let it be. All I
heard were the sounds tcĭkĭskĭskĭs, tcĭkĭskĭskĭs, in whispers.” Then
Doädanegeñ, the uncle, suddenly sprang up, and laying his pipe aside,
seized a bark paddle and dipped up from the fire burning coals and hot
ashes, which he poured on the top of his nephew’s head, who was
standing near by. The nephew began to weep, and the uncle exclaimed:
“That is not what I meant.” The nephew then went away to his own bunk
on his side of the fire and there sat down. He stopped his crying and
said: “Indeed, I am in a miserable state. Poor me! He has now
overmatched my orenda.”

Night coming on, they two retired and lay down to sleep for rest. In
the morning they ate their breakfast. Just as soon as they had finished
eating, the uncle said: “Oh, my nephew! go again to listen. You must
again seat yourself in the valley, and you must listen with great
attention.” The nephew replied, “So let it be,” and started. Having
arrived in the valley where he was accustomed to sit, and there seating
himself, he listened very attentively for strange sounds. Suddenly he
heard a woman begin to sing in the distance. He understood clearly that
it was a woman who was singing, and then saying, “I believe this is
what he wants me to hear,” he started on the run for the lodge very
swiftly. Having arrived there, the elder man said: “Are you returning
after hearing something? Tell what you have heard.” The nephew replied:
“Yes.” The uncle said, “Come, tell it!” The nephew answered: “So be it;
I will tell it”; but the uncle said, “Wait a moment until I fill my
pipe, so that I will be smoking while you are telling me your story.”
Having lighted his pipe, he said: “Come, now, you must relate what you
have heard.” The young man, Hotkwisdadegeña, answered: “So let it be as
you say. The only thing that I heard was a woman singing, and in her
song she used these words, ‘Haʻhowe, at the home of Doädanegeñ,
haʻhowe, I am going to seek a young person, a male, haʻhowe.’” Then the
nephew ceased talking. It so came to pass that this time the uncle did
not use a bark paddle to dip up hot ashes and burning coals to pour on
the head of his nephew. He did not scorch him. “It is a fact, indeed,
the woman comes naming me as the object of her coming, and that is why
she comes saying on the way, ‘Doädanegeñ.’ Verily, as you know, that is
my name. So, now, do you go thither again to listen again for strange
sounds, for she is, perhaps, now nearing this place.”

Then the nephew, Hotkwisdadegeña, returned to the valley to listen
again. He found that the singing was approaching quite near to the
place where he was listening. Suddenly it stopped, and the voice of a
woman began to sing: “Haʻhowe, haʻhowe, haʻhowe, at the home of
Doädanegeñ, haʻhowe, I go to seek the person of a young man, haʻhowe,
haʻhowe.” The nephew sprang up, and turning homeward, ran back there as
swiftly as it was possible for him to run. Arriving there he exclaimed:
“Behold, the singing is, indeed, now close at hand, just a short
distance away.”

Thereupon the uncle arose and began to clean up the lodge, sweeping all
manner of dirt and filth over to the place where his nephew was
accustomed to stay. Then the uncle bade the young man sit down in that
place among the dirt and filth. The entire head of the nephew was
covered with scabs and sores. On the other hand, the old uncle cleaned
himself up as well as he could. He spread furs and skins about his
couch and seat in such wise as to appear to be one who is “downfended,”
one who is a noble in the family. He carefully washed his feather
plumes, which had become smoked and dusty from disuse and from lying
around among his belongings. When they were nicely cleaned he preened
them, and then, taking his headgear, he set these feathers, two in
number, side by side in the front of it. When he had finished this task
he put the headgear back in the bark case containing his various
belongings. In like manner he cleaned and furbished up all his raiment
and arms and ornaments.

He had hardly completed his renovations and cleaning of his belongings
when suddenly they heard a woman sing not far away from the lodge. In
the song the woman said: “Haʻhowe, haʻhowe, haʻhowe, I am seeking the
body of a young male person, haʻhowe, haʻhowe. It is He-who-listens,
He-who-listens, haʻhowe, haʻhowe.” Then the uncle said to his nephew:
“Oh, my nephew! now you must keep very quiet; you must not talk nor
move around.” Suddenly there came sounds at the doorway, which seemed
to be the footsteps of two women. All at once the doorflap was thrust
aside, and a woman stepped into the lodge followed by another woman,
and there the two women stood in the lodge. One of the women said:
“Behold it is not certain on which side of the fire sits Doädanegeñ.
Indeed, this one who is sitting here is verily not the one. That one
sitting in yonder place is, indeed, the one who is called Doädanegeñ.
This one is called Hatʻhondas (i.e., He-who-listens). So, as long as
you think this one is Doädanegeñ, you go to him; but I myself will go
to that one.” The two sisters were not of the same opinion as to the
identity of the two male persons before them. The younger desired to go
to one of the men, while the other sister wished to go to the other.
Now, Doädanegeñ overhearing these remarks of the two sisters, and
meanly seeking to deceive them as to his own identity, kept saying:
“This is the right side of the fire. Come here.”

Finally, the younger sister, who carried the marriage bread in a large
basket (which women customarily carried when they went to the lodges of
men to seek for husbands), going over to the place where Hatʻhondas
sat, took a seat beside him. All at once the elder woman also ran in
that direction and took her seat beside him. So each woman now sat on
one side of him.

Then the uncle, Doädanegeñ, went over to the place where the three were
sitting, and seizing the hand of his nephew, pushed the youth away
across the fire, ordering him to remain there. He himself took the seat
between the two maidens. But they both arose at once and went to the
place where Hatʻhondas was then seated and again sat down on each side
of him. Now the old man again arose, and going over to the place where
the three were seated he seized the young man, his nephew, by the arm
and shoved him across the fireplace to the other side of the fire,
while he once more seated himself between the maidens. But as the
maidens did not come to marry him they again arose quickly and, leaving
the old man, went over to the place where the young man was and sat
down on each side of him.

The old man did not repeat his previous actions, but he sat silent for
a long time. At last the old man, addressing his nephew, said: “Oh, my
nephew! now verily you will marry. I will make the proper arrangements
and will put in order the place where you are accustomed to seat
yourself, because it is so very filthy and dirty, since you are foolish
and do filthy things in the place where you are accustomed to abide.”
But it was he himself who had swept all manner of dirt and filth over
the place and on the things belonging to his young nephew and so had
disgustingly soiled them. The uncle added: “For a while seat yourselves
herein this place while I clean and renovate the place and things
belonging to my nephew.”

Then he proceeded to clean up the things and to make them fine in
appearance, for he carefully swept and dusted everything belonging to
his nephew. A bearskin and a deerskin and a beaver skin he carefully
spread over the couch of his nephew and caused the latter to be covered
entirely with furs and skins.

The two maidens again took their seats beside him as his wives, for he
indeed married them. Then the uncle said to his nephew: “Now you have
married. Come, now, I do not know whether these two women have brought
with them that which confirms customarily the marriage of people one to
another, which usually is 20 loaves of marriage bread, commonly called
by the Seneca deganăʼhoñsdiăʼgoⁿ.” One of the women, replying, said:
“So let it be as you have indicated.” Taking up the basket and going
over to the place where he sat, she said: “These are the things of
which you are telling,” and placed the basket between his feet. He just
kept his eyes on the proceedings while the woman returned to her seat.
The uncle uncovered the basket of marriage bread and took from it the
20 loaves of marriage bread, saying with some warmth: “The matter has
been fulfilled, for she has given me the marriage bread, which has
confirmed the matter. It certainly has been fulfilled according to the
custom of marrying.”

Now the head of Hatʻhondas, his nephew, was literally covered with
sores and scabs, so the uncle said to him: “Oh, my nephew! come hither.
Come!” The nephew went over to where his uncle was sitting, whereupon
the old man said: “I am going to attend to you for the purpose of
dressing you and cleaning you.” Near at hand hung the bladder of a
bear, in which there was a quantity of sunflower oil, or butter. Out of
this receptacle he took a quantity of the sunflower oil, or butter, in
the palm of his hand and anointed the head of his nephew with it. He
repeated this act until he had completely saturated the hair with the
sunflower oil. Further, he poured three handfuls of the sunflower oil
on his nephew’s head. The two young women, who merely looked on, only
marveled at what they saw. All at once they saw the uncle remove a cap
of scabs from the head of his nephew. No more scabs were left on his
head, which now looked clean and handsome.

It happened that on the young man’s forehead two feathers stuck out,
which were set side by side, one red and the other blue. These, which
were set side by side, were about so long [indicating with the hand].
The old man said to his nephew: “This ornamentation is very
unbecoming”; so he pulled first the one feather and then the other.
Then he said: “This is fine. Go over to that place, and there you must
stand, facing this way. I will look at you, for I do not know how
handsome you are.” The young man went to the place indicated and faced
his uncle. The latter eyed him carefully and critically as he stood
there under review. Suddenly the old man said: “Come hither. Come back
here again. I am not at all satisfied.” When the nephew had come up to
him the uncle again poured sunflower oil into the palm of his hand,
with which he carefully anointed the face of his nephew. Then he said:
“Again go to that place and face me again.” The nephew again went there
and faced his uncle. Once more the old man critically eyed his nephew,
finally exclaiming, “You are such a fine-looking young man that there
is nowhere living another young man as handsome. Now come to me. This
is what you shall be named: Doädanegeñ you shall be called; and in all
the distant places where people dwell the sound has gone, saying of
you, ‘He is the great hunter of all kinds of animals.’ Your name is one
which is obeyed, and which is heard in distant places of the land.
Again take your seat in yonder place.” So the nephew resumed his seat.

Then one of the two women, the elder, said: “I am exceedingly thankful
that our husband is so fine-looking a man.” To this the younger
answered: “As to me, I will cherish him. I myself will love him. I will
do only whatever it may be that he sees fit to ask me to do.” When
night came on they lay down to sleep, the young man lying down between
the two women, so that Hatʻhondas had a wife on each side. It now came
to pass that the elder one could not fall asleep. Hatʻhondas, however,
was fast asleep, and she most of the time kept looking at him as he lay
asleep. As to the other wife, she was sound asleep, indeed. Daylight
came, and the elder one had not slept at all during the entire night.
Then the two sisters set to work preparing their morning meal. So, as
soon as the food was cooked they began to eat it; and they took up a
share for the old man, who sat on the opposite side of the fire. They
themselves ate together on their own side of the fire—Doädanegeñ and
his wives.

When all had finished eating the old man said: “Oh, my nephew! you must
begin to travel over the earth. You must be very circumspect and
careful because there are traveling about many kinds of beings which
are full of the highest potency of evil orenda. You must go out to hunt
for any kind of game animals, it may be. It is possible for you to kill
them, it is true, for you are not susceptible to the influence of evil
orenda.” So the nephew started out to hunt. He remarked to himself: “I
wonder whether what my uncle said is true, indeed. I will begin with
raccoons.”

As he went along he saw a standing tree greatly scarred with claw
marks. Climbing this tree he found a nest of raccoons. From this he
pulled out a raccoon, which he threw down; then taking out another
raccoon he threw it also to the ground, and then another and another.
Finally he said: “I do think these will do.” He now descended from the
tree, and when he reached the ground he said: “I am, perhaps, strong
enough to carry these bodies home on my back by means of the forehead
strap.” So he set to work packing the bodies into a bundle, by laying
down his forehead strap and placing the bodies of the raccoons on it
and then binding the ends of the strap around them in such manner as to
make a closely bound bundle. When he had completed this task he took up
the pack and placed it on his back in such wise that he carried it by
means of the forehead strap, as was the custom at that time. Then he
started for home. With the bundle on his back he reached his home.
Casting the bundle down indoors, he said: “Oh, my uncle! dress these,
if you will.”

Then, truly, the old man set to work dressing the raccoons, exclaiming:
“Hōʹ, my nephew! All has happened for good. Ever since you were small I
have been attending to you. As you were growing up I took care of you
and I pitied you. Now, in turn, you have grown to manhood. So it is, I
have been accustomed to think that this would come to pass. Now these
bodies lie here as a fulfillment of my hopes; so I am very thankful.”

Then the old man skinned the raccoons, and when he had completed his
task he said, delightedly: “With these skins I will make for myself a
robe. You must go to hunt again. These things are to be cooked in only
one way; they must be cooked by being boiled down.” He told this to the
two wives of his nephew, asking them whether that was not the right way
of cooking raccoons. Then the two women, arising, proceeded to dress
the raccoons. When they had dressed them they set the kettle over the
fire and started the raccoon meat to cooking. When it was cooked it was
indeed boiled down in the manner suggested by the old man. Then the two
women placed the meat on bark trays, and all began to eat. The old man
kept on saying: “Hōʹ, I am thankful, thankful, thankful.”

The next morning Doädanegeñ again went forth to hunt. As he traveled
through the forest he finally came to a tree all over the outside of
which he saw many claw marks. Hence he decided to climb it to see
whether there was any game in the hollow of the trunk. As on the former
trip, he found raccoons in the hollow of the tree, which he proceeded
to drag out. He would put his arm into the hollow of the rotten old
tree, drag out a raccoon, and throw it to the ground, repeating this
process until he had thus dragged forth six or seven raccoons. Then
exclaiming “I believe that I have now killed a sufficient number,” he
again descended the tree to the ground. Again he laid out his forehead
strap, whereon he placed the bodies of the raccoons which he had
killed. They made a large load. He bound the bodies into a bundle ready
to carry. Placing this on his back so that he could carry it by means
of his forehead strap, he again started for the lodge of his family.
Having returned home, he laid his pack down indoors, before the place
where sat his uncle, who could only exclaim: “Hōʹ! I am so thankful;
hōʹ! I am so thankful. Perhaps, now, I can complete my robe with these
eight skins.” Then the old man skinned them, and when he had completed
this task he proceeded to stretch and dry the skins in the usual manner
on frames of wooden sticks. As soon as they were dried he made himself
a robe, which was very beautiful when he had completed it. So it came
to pass that he had a raccoon-skin robe with which to cover himself.

Continually, indeed, did the two women cook and prepare food for the
family, and all lived in the greatest contentment. It came to pass that
the elder sister said to the younger: “Let us go to fetch wood, for it
is the custom for those who are living in their husband’s lodge to
gather wood.” They two then went forth from the lodge toward the
neighboring forest. There they saw a standing tree which appeared to be
fit for their purpose. The elder carried with her a round, hard, white
stone, which she struck against the tree, making a sound which was
heard everywhere, and the tree fell into a heap of firewood. The two
women proceeded to make themselves loads by laying together the strips
of wood. They placed thus in two heaps the whole of that great tree.
When they had finished their packs, placing them on their backs, they
started for home. When they reached the doorway they separated, and
standing on opposite sides of the lodge, they untied their forehead
straps, whereupon their packs fell to the ground, growing into such
great heaps that the lodge was quite surrounded with firewood. Then the
two reentered the lodge, and the elder said: “One who is in the lodge
of her husband’s family is customarily expert in preparing wood.” This
she said to the old man, the uncle of her husband. The old man replied:
“Hōʹ! I am very thankful.”

At this time some women who lived in a distant place learned that
Doädanegeñ had grown to manhood. There were four persons in this family
of women—a mother and her three daughters. The mother, addressing her
daughters, said: “Now, my children, you must go after him to secure him
for a husband. And you, the eldest, shall be the first to go in quest
of him.” Then the three daughters commenced to make the marriage bread
(deganahoñdyăʼgoⁿ). They began their task by preparing the flour corn
by boiling in ashes to loosen the husk of the grains, afterwards
washing the grains in clean water and pounding the corn into meal in a
wooden mortar with pestles of wood. The three sisters united their
labors in the preparation of this bread. The sounds made by the pestles
were tuʻ, tuʻ, tuʻ, tuʻ, tuʻ. It was not long before they had prepared
the needed 20 cakes of marriage bread.

When the bread was ready it was placed in a basket made for carrying by
means of the forehead strap. Then the mother said to the eldest
daughter: “Come to me.” The daughter obeyed her, and the mother began
to comb her hair; she also anointed it with oil of a fine smell. Then
she braided her hair, tying it so close with a string that the eyebrows
were drawn up to the extent that the eye-sockets had quite disappeared.
Then the mother said to her daughter affectionately: “Now, go you to
that distant place where Doädanegeñ moves, and I expect that by all
means you will bring him back with you. Have courage. Very certainly it
is safe, that by which you shall cross this lake.” Then she placed the
basket of bread on her daughter’s back so that it might be carried by
means of the forehead strap.

Thereupon the eldest daughter started away. Having indeed arrived at
the settlement in which dwelt Doädanegeñ, she took position a long
distance from his lodge and watched for him a very long time, but was
not able to see him. Suddenly, Doädanegeñ came out of his lodge and
looked around. The young woman was just a short distance aside,
watching him. Then he started on his hunting trip, for he had not
detected the presence of the young woman. She kept her eyes on him as
he walked away and finally disappeared in the distance. Swiftly now the
young woman pursued him with the determination of finding him. She had
followed him a very long distance when suddenly, as she kept looking
ahead, she saw him climbing a large tree. Going toward that tree
undetected, not far from it she stopped still. The raccoons were coming
out one after another with great rapidity and verily there was a high
pile of bodies. The maiden stood there watching Doädanegeñ at work.
Moving up close to the tree, she exclaimed: “Do you come down again
from the tree. Perhaps you are now bringing down the last one.” But all
at once a yellow hammer cried out Kwĕⁿʻ, kwĕⁿʻ, kwĕⁿʻ, and she saw it
flying along the edge of the forest, crying as it flew. In bitter
chagrin the maid exclaimed: “Oh, how provoking it is! Doädanegeñ has
made me angry,” and taking from her back the basket of marriage bread,
consisting of 20 cakes, she emptied the basket to one side of her and
then started homeward.

Having reached her home, where her sisters and her mother awaited her,
she was asked by the latter: “Well, what has happened so serious that
you have returned without bringing him?” The young woman replied: “I
have not the ability to do anything with him, because, I think, he is
immune from my orenda—he is, indeed, immune to enchantment.” The mother
answered: “Truly I do not depend on you because you are so incapable,
so weak (in orenda). So now my youngest daughter shall go, for truly I
do depend on her so much. Now, then, do you prepare the basket of
marriage bread, which must consist of 20 cakes.”

With a cry of “Come, now,” they set to work pounding the corn into
meal, and after making the meal into 20 cakes they boiled them, and
when they were cooked they placed them in a basket suitable for the
purpose. Then her mother set to work dressing the hair of her youngest
daughter; she oiled it with fine bear’s grease and braided it into many
fine braids. She braided it very close and wrapped the braids so tight
that the maiden seemed not to have any eyebrows left. When the mother
had finished the task of dressing her daughter and had instructed her
as to what she should do to insure success on her way, the basket of
marriage bread was placed on the young woman’s back. Finally her mother
said to her: “Have courage. You certainly are able to conquer him. I
depend on you to bring Doädanegeñ back with you.”

Then the young woman started on her journey. She carried the basket on
her back by means of the forehead strap. Finally she reached the
settlement to which she had been sent. There, not far away from the
lodge of her intended victim, she concealed herself in various places
the better to keep a watch on the lodge. She hid from place to place
for a long time without seeing her victim. But finally she was
surprised to see him come out of the lodge and after looking around
very carefully start away. She tracked him, and after pursuing him for
a long time she saw him in the distance high up in a tall tree. She
concealed her presence from him as best she knew how. She would get
behind a tree and move nearer the tree on which her victim was. Then,
slipping quickly around another, she kept drawing nearer and nearer to
him, for she was determined to conquer him. Finally she reached the
tree without being perceived and there she sat down, leaning against
the tree. She placed there beside her the basket of marriage bread. She
saw the raccoons falling down one after another without interruption.
For a long time she remained there very quiet. Meanwhile Doädanegeñ
looked around suspiciously, first taking in the entire horizon and then
the ground below; then he descended the tree very slowly, until finally
he reached the ground on the side opposite the spot where the young
woman was sitting. At this time the maiden, quickly arising, went
swiftly around the tree to the place where Doädanegeñ stood. He could
do nothing to escape. He looked at her with a smile of defeat and was
astonished to see how beautiful the maiden was. She was, indeed, far
prettier than his wives were, although they, too, were fine looking.
Then the victorious maiden said to him: “Rest yourself. Perhaps you are
tired, for you have been continually climbing high up in the trees. You
must sit down and rest your head in my lap, and I will dress your hair.
You must face me when you sit in front of me.”

So Doädanegeñ took the seat indicated by the young woman, placing his
head in her lap. She removed the vermin and snarls from his hair, being
at this task a long time. So, indeed, the young man fell asleep, and,
perhaps, she caused him to sleep soundly. Finally, she said to him in a
loud voice, “Well, awake thou,” whereupon all his members moved. Then
she placed him in her bag and emptied her basket of marriage bread.
Then, after fastening a forehead strap to her pack, she placed it on
her back, carrying it by means of the strap. It was very heavy, and he
was asleep. Far away from the place where she had conquered him there
was a very steep rock. On this the young woman seated herself and
proceeded to unwrap her pack. She bound a band around the head of the
young man; then she called to him, saying, “Awake thou!” She used all
her might of voice in saying again, “Awake thou!”

Suddenly the young man awoke, and the young woman said to him: “Dost
thou recognize this place?” He looked around to see whether he had any
knowledge of the place, and said in reply: “I know this place. Here is
where my uncle and myself take the moose while out hunting.” Answering
him, the maiden replied: “It is true. You do know this place. I think
that, perhaps, I can not do better than to hunt the vermin in your head
again. Again you must face the place you did once before.” So he sat
down facing the young woman, resting his head in her lap. The young
woman again searched his head for vermin, while he meekly faced her
person.

Again he fell asleep, and again his sleep was very sound, so truly,
when the young woman again said, “Awake thou!” it was impossible for
him to awake. Again she wrapped him in her bag, which she took on her
back again, carrying the pack by means of the forehead strap. She then
started for home. Arriving at the shore of the lake, she again awakened
him, saying to him, “Awake thou!” But it was a very long time before he
awoke. When he did so, she said to him: “Well, dost thou know this
place?” After looking around a while, he replied: “I recognize this
place. It is here that my uncle and myself engage in fishing.” She
replied merely: “So be it. Now again I will search for vermin in your
head, and again thou must face the same place that thou didst the last
time I cleaned thy head.” So she again searched for vermin in his head.
It was not very long before he again was fast asleep with his head on
the lap of the young woman. Thereupon she bound him up once more in her
bag and again placed the pack on her back, carrying it by means of the
forehead strap.

When she arrived at the place wherein abode her sisters and mother they
were surprised that she returned carrying a pack on her back. Throwing
the pack on the ground in the lodge, she said to her mother and
sisters, “Verily, Doädanegeñ is contained in the pack. Do you now take
him out of it.” Then her mother said to her, “Oh, my daughter! I am
thankful that the matter has been accomplished, because I depend on
you.” Then, addressing herself to the sleeping young man, she said:
“Oh, my son-in-law, awake thou!” but it was a very long time before he
awoke. He arose, and going aside, took a seat there. He was greatly
surprised by the beauty of the inmates of the lodge and their mother,
too. When night came on Doädanegeñ shared the bed of the young woman
who had brought him back with her.

In the meanwhile, the next day, the younger one of his wives said to
her elder sister: “These women who live far from here have taken our
husband away from us; it is they who have conquered him. Now, I will
now go after him. You must remain with the old man, his uncle.”
Thereupon the old man began to weep because he did not know where his
nephew was. He lamented, saying “Hāʹgiʻ, hāʹgiʻ, giʼ; 10 years will
pass before I shall give him up, hāʹgiʻ.”

Then the younger wife started, saying: “I will go to fetch him back
home.” So she departed, leaving her elder sister to remain with the
uncle of Doädanegeñ. Finally she arrived at the tree in which her
husband was accustomed to hunt for raccoons. She could see plainly the
trail left by the woman who had accomplished his seduction and then
carried him away. Then she started on farther. Again she sang the song
in which she used the following words: “Hăʻhowi, hăʻhowi, hăʻhowi; I am
going to hunt for the person, hăʻhowi, hăʻhowi, of Doädanegeñ wherever
he may be, hăʻhowi, hăʻhowi, I am going to hunt for the person of
Hatʻhoñʹdas (The Obedient), ĕʼ ĕⁿʻhĕⁿʻ.” Thus she traveled on.

At last she reached the settlement in which lived the wicked four
women, the mother and her three daughters. She was surprised to see a
short distance away the lodge she was seeking. She stood there for a
moment, listening very intently for any sounds that she might be able
to hear from the lodge. She was greatly surprised to hear her husband
therein weeping; she recognized his voice. At once she rushed forward
to the side of the lodge, and peering through the crevices in its bark
walls she was surprised to see Doädanegeñ standing there weeping as he
was being tortured with fire. The mother stood there holding a basket
in her hands, at the same time drawing brands out of the fire, with
which they touched their victim around the ears, causing him to weep.
The tears which he shed were wampum beads, which were caught on a
buckskin spread out on the ground for the purpose. Then the old woman
would gather the beads into her basket.

His wife saw this taking place—a provoking sight—and without any
thought of what was going on and regardless of any fear as to
consequences she rushed into the lodge and, seizing her husband, drew
him out of the lodge. As soon as they had come out she called in a loud
voice: “Hither do ye come, you brave ones, my own guardian beings, ye
small humming birds.” And they two, wife and husband, quickly ran
around the lodge, the wife shouting exultingly, “Let no person
whatsoever escape from the lodge, no matter how great a wizard he or
she may be; let the top and the bottom and the sides of the lodge be
closed up, and let the lodge become red hot. Have courage, my guardian
beings, have courage.” These came to her aid, making the sound dauñʻʹ
while they worked. Suddenly the lodge burst into flames, and then the
imprisoned women wept—the unfortunate mother and her daughters. Slowly
the sounds they made in their frantic efforts to escape died away to
silence.

Then the young wife said to her husband, “Now, let us go to our home.”
So they started; but the husband could scarcely walk because he had
been so cruelly tortured. Finally they reached the lake, whereupon the
young wife said, “Hither do thou come to give us aid, thou the great
leech, as thou art called.” Just then they saw it make its appearance
above the water in the middle of the lake. It was not long before it
came up to the place where they two were standing. Then the young woman
said to it, “Do you help us two, for we are to be pitied, my husband
and myself. He is named Doädanegeñ, a famous name. We two will mount on
your back, so now make a straight course for the place whence we two
have departed.” The great leech, obeying the young woman’s command,
bore them across the lake to their own shore. Then the young woman
gratefully thanked it, saying, “I am thankful, and I make my
acknowledgments to you for aiding us. Now you are again free.”

So husband and wife returned to their home whence they had gone on this
adventure. When they had arrived near the lodge the young man overheard
his uncle weeping within it. He heard him singing his lamentation, “Oh,
my nephew! my nephew, my nephew, 10 years will be the limit of my
mourning for you. It will be 10 years before I will give you up.” In
addition to this he sat near the fire and was engaged in dipping up
with a paddle burning coals and hot ashes, which he poured on the top
of his head. He had, indeed, already burned or scorched off all the
hair. The nephew found him only half alive. When the nephew entered the
lodge he said tenderly, “Oh, my uncle! I have now returned home.” But
the wretched old man would not cease his weeping and self-humiliation.
Then the nephew grasped the old man, saying, “Oh, my uncle! I have now
returned home. It is I, Doädanegeñ, who have returned home.” The aged
uncle, recognizing his nephew, whom he believed dead, exclaimed, “Wuʼʹ!
Is it indeed you? I am thankful that you have returned home. Do not
hereafter go to distant places. You must remain at home with us. You
can hunt in places which are not far from here, because now the time is
at hand when this elder one of your wives is about to become a mother,
so you must be near her.”

This is the story of Doädanegeñ. This is the end of the story.





138. THE LEGEND OF DOÄʻDANEʹGĔⁿʼ AND HOTKWISDADEGĔⁿʼʹĂ


      Hodinoⁿʹsōt          giʼʹoⁿʻ       neʼʹ     neʻʹ    Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ            hayāʹsoⁿ        neʻʹ
Their (an.) lodge stands it is said. That (it is) the  Dooäʼdan& emacr;ʹgĕⁿʼ he is called, is named the

   hagĕⁿʹdjĭ.    Dāʹ     neʼʹ           nāʹeʻ       neʻʹ        haksăʼʹgõwā,             neʼʹ     neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ
he, the old one. So  that (it is) truly (of course) the  he, the youth, large child, that (it is) the   his nephew

    Tkwisdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ     (i.e., Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ) neʻʹ neʼʹ        hayaʹsoⁿ.        Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,
Tkwisdadeg&eb reve;ⁿʼʹăʻ (i.e., Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ) the  that he is called. is named. So  now, (then) it is said,

         yadōʹwäs              neʼʹ     neʻʹ         yadădīʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ.              Agwasʹ      skĕñʹnoⁿʼ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,
they two (n.) kept hunting that (it is) the  they two (an.) uncle and nephew. Verily, Indeed, (it) peace it is said,

       yĕñnoⁿʻʹdoñnyoⁿʻ                 deniʼdyoⁿʼʹsʻhoñ.          Dāʹ diawĕⁿʼʹoⁿʻ    oʼʹwāʼ            hodīʹgoⁿ
they two (an.) kept on thinking two they two (an.) dwelt together. So, constantly, it meat (n.) they (masc. pl.) it-ate.

neʻʹ           yadădīʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ           Agwasʹ   awĕñnotgäʹdeʼ    heʹõñweʻ              deniʼdyoⁿʼʹsʻhoñ.
the  they two (an.) uncle-nephew (are). Verily, it pleasant (is) there where two they two (an.) lived, dwelt together

        Neʹ         khoʻ     deʼgatgăʼʹhoʻ         soñʹgāʼ         deʼenâñʹgeʼ.
There in that place and  not anywhere (nowhere) some one (an.) not one (an.) dwells.


    Agwasʹ               oʼyoʹnisʻheʼt,           giʼʹoⁿʻ,     neʼʹhoʻ         niyoʼʹdĕñ,        oʹnĕⁿʻʻ    giʼʹoⁿʻ,
Verily, Indeed, it remained long, was long time, it is said, (there) thus so it (n.) state was, now (then) it is said,

neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ     wāiʹĕñʼ,    “Hīʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ,    oʹnĕⁿʻ    hEʻʹoñweʻ      hoʼʹseʻ       hīʹgĕñ
the  he, the old one he it said, “Oh, my nephew, now, then there where thither thou go that it-is

             diyogoñʹwandeʼ.              Neʼʹhoʻ          hĕⁿsaʹdyĕñʼ                 ĕnsadauⁿʻdiʹyos-khoʻ,
there it-lunate-stream-washed bluff (is).  There  thither thou wilt seat thyself  will-thy ear fine make (it)-and,

ăʹdĭʼgwăʻ    waiʻʹ       ĕⁿsāʹoñk      hăʼʹgwĭs̆dĕⁿʼ.&rd quo;   Gădōʹgĕñ    hăʼʹgwĭsdĕⁿʼ     ĕⁿsāʹoñk       heʹoñweʻ
whatsoever of course wilt thou-it hear      something.”       It-certain is  something   wilt thou-it-hear there where

      hĕⁿsiʼdyoñʹdāk.”
there wilt thou be abiding.”


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,        waaʻʹdĕñdĭʼ      neʻʹ Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʼăʻ  neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼheʼʹ      heʹoñweʻ
So  now, (then) it is said, he started, departed, the  Hotkwisdadegĕ ⁿʼăʻ  there  thither he went there where

             dyogoñwanʹdeʼ.              Dāʹ    deʼaonisʻheʼʹoñʼ     oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ   wăāʹyoⁿʼ.    Dāʹ
there it-lunate-stream-washed bluff (is) So  not it was a long time now (then) it is said,  there  did he arrive. So

 oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,       neʼʹ     gwāʹ, waiʻʹ,  dăgasʹnyeʼ t   neʻʹ oʼōʹwāʼ,”  giʼʹonʻ,      waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ
now (then) it is said, That (it is) only, truly, thence it spoke the    owl,”   it is said, did he-it say the

hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ neʻʹ Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ.
 his-nephew  the  Hotkwisdadeg ĕⁿʼʹăʻ.


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    diqʹ   neʻʹ honoʼʹsĕⁿ      gondăʹdieʼ       (gondaʹdjieʼ) hōʹgwā   wāāʹyĕñʼ    neʻʹ hoʻsʻhogwăʻʹdă,
So  now (then) besides the  his uncle at once, (right away) (modern form) aside  did he-it lay the     his-pipe

       dondāāʹdăʼt-khoʻ         găʹsnoⁿʼ găgăʹwĭsăʼ neʼʹ      dondāʹăk-khoʻ         oʹnĕⁿʻ   giʼʹsʻhäⁿ  heʹoñweʻ
thence he arose (and) stood-and it-bark  it-paddle  that thence he-it took up-and now (then) it seems  there where

       honadegăʼʹdōⁿʻ        neʼʹhoʻ   wāādjisʹdōdjĕnt-khoʻ,   dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ hogwāʹsʻhoñ  iʹyad   neʻʹ hauñʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ
they (pl.) fire have kindled  there  did he-it-fire dip up-and so   there  aside just  he stood the   his-nephew

neʼʹhoʻ   wauñʹtʻhoʼ      honoʼĕñgĕñʹyăd    neʻʹ   odjisdăʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ,   dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    diqʹ      waiʹĕñʼ,
 there  did-he-it pour his-head-top of (on) the  it-fire nothing but, so  now (then) besides did-he-it say,

    “Deʼneʼʹ        deʼgīʹdoⁿ.”   Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāeʻʹ neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ oʼtʻhăʻʹsĕⁿʹt&t comma;ho neʼʹ    gaiyoñʹnĭʻ
“Not that (it is) not I-it-mean.” So  now (then) truly the   his nephew        did he weep        that it-matter causes

neʼʹ neʻʹ   odjisdăʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ   honoʼĕñʼʹgeʻ oʼwăʼʹsĕⁿʼt, dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   honăkdăʼʹgeʻ     wāādyăsʹʻhĕñʼ,
that the  it-fire nothing but his-head-on  did it fall, So, now (then) it is said, his-couch-on did-he-s elf prone lay,

neʼʹhoʻ hoʹgwā    wāāʹdyĕñʼ      hĕⁿʹoñweʻ   hădyĕñʹdăʻʹgwă&mlapo s;,      neʼʹ     sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ
 there  aside  did he-self seat there where he-self-seats customarily, that (it is) because

         dōōdidjĕñʹoñt.
two-they-fire have between them.


Dāʹ neʼʹ  diqʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ   waĕⁿniʹʻhĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ   hăsdāʻʹhăʼ,    dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    diqʹ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Gĕñʻʹ
So  that besides now (then) verily did he-it stop the  he weeping (is), so  now (then) besides did he-it-say, “Alas,

  oʹnĕⁿʻ      oñgidĕⁿsʹtʻheʼt;      oʹñĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ  wāāknoⁿʹgoñdĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ āknoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.   Dewĕñʹdoⁿʻ     neʼʹhoʻ
now (then) I pitiable have become now (then) truly he-me-abuse d has the   my uncle.  Not-ever before thus, so,

    deoyeʹoⁿʻ.”        neʼʹhoʻ     hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      dyogoñʹwandeʼ           wăāʹdyĕñʼ.         Dāʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ
so he-it has done.”  these (thus) there where it-valley-cliff stands did he seat himself. So (then) now then

    diqʹ        tʻhāʹdyēʼ.        Agwasʹ                   oʼyonisʹʻheʼt                 neʼʹhoʻ
too, besides so he kept quiet. Verily, just, it lasted a long time, it was a long time thus (there)

     niyoʼʹdĕñ.
so it was (situated).


    Dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ       oʹnĕⁿʻ    dăgasʹnyeʼt,   “Wuʹ, wuʹ, wuʹ, wuʹ, wūʹ,” oʼʹgĕⁿʼ. Oʼʹowāʼ,   giʼʹoⁿ,
Suddenly, all at once, then (now) thence it-spoke “Wuʹ, wuʹ, wuʹ, wuʹ, wūʹ,” it-said.   Owl,   it is said,

     nāʹe        dăgasʹnyeʼt.        Dondāadăsʹdăk       neʻʹ  hăksăʼʹgōwā  waiʹĕñʼ-khoʻ, “Neʼʹ  noñʹ    hĕñʹdoⁿʻ
indeed, verily thence it-spoke. Thence he arose suddenly the  he-youth (is) he-said-and,  “That perhaps he-it-means

     nāāknoʼʹsĕⁿ,”           hăʼdoñsāĕⁿʻʹdāt-kh oʻ,         wăʼoʹsnowĕⁿ.   Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ         hoñsaāʹyoⁿʼ
the-he-my-un cle (is),” hence-he ran (=showed heels) -and it-in-haste-was. So  now (then) there again he returned

 oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,      waiʹĕñʼ     neʻʹ     haʹgĕⁿdjĭ,         neʼʹ     neʻʹ Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ, “Aⁿnaⁿʼoʻʹdäⁿʼäⁿ
now (then) it is said, did-he-it-say, the  he-elder one, (is) that (it is) the   Dooädanegen,   “What thing is it

     oʼsāʹoñk?      Hauʼʹ,  oʹnĕⁿʻ    satʻhyoʹwĭʻ.”
didst thou-it hear? Come,  now then do thou-it-tell.”


 “Niyoʻʹ,”     waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ.  Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ        waiʹĕñʼ,
“So be it,” did he-it say the  Hotkwisdad egĕⁿʼʹăʻ. So  now, (then) it is said, the  he-elder one (is) did he-it say,

  “Tcikwasʹ    yāʹeʼ.  Gaʹnyoʼ   yāʹeʼ   ĕⁿwagyĕñʼgwadēʹgĕⁿ& mlapos;.      Agwasʹ      ĕⁿwagedjeoʹdăʼk  neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
“Just a moment first. As soon as first will it-my-tobacco burn (light). At all events will I smoking be the  now (then)

  ĕⁿsatʻhyoʹwĭʼ   neʻʹ    năⁿʼʹot         oʼsāʹoñk.”      Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ       nāʹeʻ,       giʼʹoⁿʻ,
wilt thou-it tell the  kind of thing didst thou-it hear.” So  now (then) verily, indeed, it is said,

      wăayĕⁿʼʹgoʻ          wăādeʹgăʼt-khoʻ    neʻʹ hoʻsokwaʻtāʹkoñ. Dāʹ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ        wăadyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ
did he-it-tobacco put in did he-it light -and the    his-pipe-in.   So  the  now (then) did he-it-task end (finish)

  oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   dăayĕⁿʼgwă­dyĕñʹt&t comma;hoʼ. Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    diqʹ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ
now (then), it is said,  thence did-he-it-smoke draw.  So  now (then) besides did-he-it say, “Come,  now (then)

  satʻhyoʹwĭʻ   neʻʹ    naⁿʼʹot         oʼsāʹoñk.”
do thou-it tell the  kind of thing didst thou it hear.”


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ          wooʹnoⁿʼgāāʼ        neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   wăʼodiyăʼdaʹĕⁿʼh eʼt    neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ    wayadyăsʹʻhĕñʼ
So  now (then) they retired for the night that-and the  their bodies came to rest that-and the  they (two) lay supine

neʼʹ neʻʹ          yadădiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ.           Dāʹ neʼʹ  diqʹ   neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    wăʼoʹʻhĕñʼt        dāyātʹgĕⁿ,        neʻʹ
that the  they (two) (are) uncle and nephew. So  that besides the  now (then) it-day-dawned thence they (two) arose the

         yadădiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ,            neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ          wāānikhwĕñʹdăʼt        neʻʹ     sedeʹʻtciăʻ
they (two) (are) uncle and nephew,  that-and the  now (then) they (two) eating food ceased the  early in the morning

 oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   khoʻʹ aʹeʼ     waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ     hăgĕⁿʹdjĭ,     “Hauʼʹ, hiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
now (then) it is said,  and  again did he-it say the  he elder one (is), “Come,  my nephew  now (then)

    săsadāoⁿʻdiyosdāʹnoⁿ&tcomma ;,      neʼʹhoʻ aʹeʼ      giʼʹsʻhĕⁿ             hĕⁿʻsāʹdyĕñʼ          heʹoñweʻ
again thou to listen attentively do go,  there  again perhaps, I think, there wilt thou thyself seat there where

     diyogoñwanʹdeʼ,        heʹoñweʻ            nisĕñnigodāʹgwĕⁿʻ           neʻʹ  tēʹdĕⁿ.”
there valley-cliff stands, there where thence thou didst arise from sitting the  yesterday.”


  Deʼaonisʻheʼʹoⁿʻ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ hĕⁿwâⁿdĕⁿʼʹsʻhä&mlap os;   oʹnĕⁿʻ   aʹeʼ  wāāʹʻdĕñdĭʼ.  Neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ
Not it long time (is) now (then) the    he nephew-ship (is)    now (then) again did he start. The  now (then)  there

  wāāʹyoⁿʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   naʹeʻ neʼʹhoʻ    wāāʹdyĕñʼ      heʹoñweʻ        diyogoñwanʹdeʼ       khoʻʹ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
did he arrive now (then) truly  there  did he self seat there where there valley-cliff stands  and  the  now (then)

aʹeʼ       wāādauⁿʻdiʹyos.       Dyĕñʹgwăʻ-seʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,           dăgasʹnyeʼt         gwasaʹ neʼʹhoʻ
again did he listen attentively.   Suddenly    now (then), it is said, thence it spoke, cried out,  just   there

doskĕñʹoⁿʻ, “Tcikĭsʹ, tcikĭsʹ, kĭsʹ, kĭsʹ,”    oʼʹgĕⁿʼ.    Tcoktcoⁿʹʻkhwĕñʼ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,          dăgasʹnyeʼt.
   near,    “Tcikĭsʹ, tcikĭsʹ, kĭsʹ, kĭsʹ,” did it-it say.    Fish-hawk,     it is said, thence it spoke, cried out.


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ  hăksăʼʹgōwā       dondāādăsʹdăk          hoñsāādakʹhēʼ      khoʻʹ  hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
So  now (then) the  he youth (is) thence he arose at once thence he running went  and  there where

     tʻhodinoⁿʹsot       neʻʹ          yadădiwaⁿʹdĕⁿʼ.                Hoñsāāʹyoⁿʼ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
there their lodge stands the  they (two) (are) uncle and nephew. There again he arrived there where

      tʻhonadegăʼʹdoⁿʻ         oʹnĕⁿʻ      waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdji      “Aⁿʹnaⁿʼoʻʹdäⁿ&mlapo s;äⁿ
there they fire have kindled now (then) did he-it say the  he elder one (is) “What kind of thing (is it)

        saoñgĕñāʹdieʼ?         Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ   satʻhyuʹwĭʻ.”  Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ     dāāsʹnyeʼt    neʻʹ Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ
thou it hearing hast returned? Come,  now (then) thou-it tell.” So  now (then) thence he spoke the  Hotkwisdade gĕⁿʼʹăʻ

   waiʹĕñʼ,     “Niyoʻʹ.    Oʹnĕⁿʻ   ĕⁿkatʻhyuʹwĭʼ  naⁿʼoʻʹdäⁿʼäⁿ     agiwaiyĕñdāʹdieʼ.”      Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ neʻʹ
did he it say, “So be it. Now (then) will I-it tell kind of thing I-it matter having return.” So  that too  the

    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ       oʹnĕⁿʻ     dāāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ     khoʻ,   “Djigwasʹ    yāʹeʼ        ĕⁿgyĕñʼʹgoʻ
he elder one (is) now (then) thence he spoke did he it say, -and  “Just a moment first will I-tobacco put in (it)

aksokwăʻʹtăkoñ.     Ganioʼʹ         ĕⁿwagyĕñʼgwadeʼgĕⁿʼ         oʹnĕnʻ     ĕⁿsatʻhyuʹwĭʼ   naⁿʼoʻʹdäⁿʼäⁿ
  my pipe-in.   Just as soon as will it me tobacco kindle for now (then) wilt thou it tell kind of thing

      wăʼsi­wāʹoñk.”         Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ    oʹnĕⁿʻ,          wăayĕⁿʼʹgoʻ           waādeʹgăʼt-khoʻ,
didst thou it matter hear.”  So  that too,  it is said, now (then) did he tobacco put in (it) did he it light and,

 giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ hoʻsokwaʻʹdăʼ, dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ  nāʹeʻ neʼʹhoʻ         hodjāʹod,         neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
it is said, the    his pipe,    so  now then, now then truly  there  he-fire holds out, smokes that-and the  now (then)

  dāāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,     “Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ   satʻhyūʹwĭʻ  neʻʹ  naⁿʼʹot
thence he spoke did he it say the  he elder one (is), “Come,  now (then) thou it tell the  the thing

     oʼsāʹoñk.”      Dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,  neʻʹ  haksăʼʹgōwā    dāāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ khoʻ     “Niyoʻʹ.
didst thou it hear.” So  now (then) it is said the  he youth (is) thence he spoke did he it say -and “So be it.

  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ       nĕⁿyāʹwĕⁿʻ.        Neʼʹ gwāʹ  oʼʹgĕⁿʼ,   “Tcikĭsʹ, tcikĭsʹ, tcikĭsʹ, kĭsʹ, kĭsʹ.”
Now (then)  there  so will it come to pass. That only did it say, “Tcikĭsʹ, tcikĭsʹ, tcikĭsʹ, kĭsʹ, kĭsʹ.”


Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ neʻʹ     Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ        oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   hoʹgwā   wāāʹyĕñʼ    heʻʹ hoʻsʻhogwăʻʹdăʼ
So  that too  the  Dooäʼdane&mlpri me;gĕⁿʼ now (then), it is said, aside  did he it say the     his pipe

     dondaadasʹdăk-khoʻ       neʼʹ neʻʹ kaʹsnoⁿʼ gagāʹwĭʻsăʼ   oʼʹtʻhăk-khoʻ      waadjĭsdoʹdjĕn-khoʻ   hĕⁿʹ-nieʼt
thence he arose instantly-and that the  it-bark   it-paddle  did he it take-and did he fire dip up -and there where

oñweʻ     niʻhonadegăʼʹdoⁿ      hogwāʹsʻhoñ  iʹyad   neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ neʼʹhoʻ   wauñʹtʻhoʼ-khoʻ    honoʼĕñgĕñʹyad.  Dāʹ
      so they fire have kindled aside-just  he stood the   his nephew   there  did he it pour -and his head, top of. So

neʼʹ    diqʹ     neʻʹ  haksăʼʹgōwā    oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   nāʹeʻ oʼhăsdāʹĕñʼ oʼtʻhăʹsĕñtʻhoʼ-kho&t comma;, neʼʹkhoʻ
that too besides the  he youth (is) now (then), it is said, truly did he weep      did he cry out and,      that-and

neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ       oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,      waiʹĕñʼ    oʼhasʹnyeʼt,  “Deʼʹ neʼʹ   deʼgīʹdoⁿ.”
the  he elder one (is) now (then), it is said, did he it say did he speak, “Not  that not I it mean.”


Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ nāʹeʻ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ hauñʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ hōʹgwā    wăāʹdyĕñʼ      heʹoñweʻ    hadyĕñdăʹʻkhwăʼ
So  that too  truly now (then) the   his nephew  aside  did he self seat there where he it to sit uses

   sgadjäⁿonʹdĭʻ     wăĕñniʹʻhĕñʼ   heʻʹ       hăsdāʹʻhăʼ.      Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,      waiʹĕñʼ     “Gĕñʼʹ,
one it fire side of did he it cease where he weeps, is weeping. So  now (then), it is said, did he it say, “Alas,

  oʹnĕⁿʻ     oñgiʹdĕⁿstʻheʼt.     Oʹnĕⁿʻ    noñʹ     niʼʹăʻ    neʼʹ nāʹeʻ       otʼhāgĕñʻĕⁿʼgĕñ&ml prime;nĭʼ
now (then) it me poor has made. Now (then) perhaps I, poor me, that truly did he my orenda (magic power) overmatch

 waiʻʹ  neʻʹ   haknoʼʹsĕⁿʻ.”
I think the  he my uncle (is).”


Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ      wĕʼoʼʹgäʻ      oʹnĕⁿʻ,     giʼʹoⁿʻ           waodiyăʼdaĕⁿʼʹheʼt
So  that too  now (then) it might become now (then), it is said, did they (their) bodies keep still

       oʼdhyadyăsʹʻhĕñʼkhoʻ.           Ganioʼʹ     wăʼoʹʻhĕñʼt     oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,       wāyāʹdekhoñʹnĭʼ.     Agwasʹ
did they (two) selves lay down. -and. As soon as did it day dawn now (then), it is said, did they (two) food eat.  Just

neʼʹsʻhoñ     wāānikhwĕñʹdăʼt        oʹnĕⁿʹʻkhoʻ   āʹeʼ     waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,     “Hiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ
that only did they food cease from  now (then) and again did he it say the  he elder one (is), “My nephew,  now (then)

āʹeʼ    satʻhoñdatʹʻhăʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ khoʻʹ āʹeʼ         hĕⁿsāʹdyĕñʼ         hĕⁿʹoñweʻ         diyogoñwanʹdeʼ.”
again thou to listen do go  there   and  again there wilt thou self seat there where there it valley-cliff stands.”

  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ hauñʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ     dāasʹ—      “Niyoʻʹ,    neʼʹhoʻ           nĕⁿyāʹwĕⁿ.”        Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ
Now (then) the   his nephew  there he spoke “So be it, (there) thus so will it come to pass.” So  now (then) too

wāăʻʹdĕñdĭʼ.      Wāāʹyoⁿʼ      hĕⁿʹoñweʻ         diyogoñwanʹdeʼ         hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      niʻhadyĕñdăkʹhwăʼ,
did he start. There he arrived there where there it valley-cliff stands there where there he self to sit uses,

  oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ    wāāʹdyĕñʼ        wāādauⁿʻdiʹyos-khoʻ,     neʼʹhoʻ-sʻhoñ  hanyoʻʹcyot
now (then), it is said,  there  did he self seat did his ears prick up -and,  there-only   he sat upright

    tʻhihodyēʹĕⁿʻsʻhoñ,     dyĕñgwăʹʻsʻhoñ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   hotʻhoñʹdeʼ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,         dayoñdĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ       neʻʹ
just he still remains-only, suddenly-just  now (then) he it hears, it is said, thence she her song uttered the

     agoñʹgweʻ          weĕⁿʹ-gwā.    Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ  wooʼnigoⁿäⁿyĕñʹdăʼt  neʼʹ gwāʹ neʻʹ     yeʹoⁿʻ      neʼʹ neʻʹ
she human being (is) far away-toward. So  that too  did his mind seize it that just the  she female (is) that the

   dyāgodĕñnōʼdăʼ,    dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,       wāʹeʼ      neʼʹ  noñʹ     hĕñʹdoⁿ    waiʻʹ      haʼgiwāʹoñk,”
there she singing is, so  now (then), it is said did he it think that perhaps he it means I think I matter have heard,”

  oʹnĕⁿʻ    giʼʹoⁿʻ,       daādăsʹdăk          hoñsāādākʹheʼ       osnoʹweʼ    hĕⁿʹoñweʻ       tʻhodinoⁿʹsod.
now (then) it is said, thence he jumped up thence he running went it swift is there where there their lodge stands.


Dāʹ neʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ        hoñsāāʹyoⁿʼ       neʻʹ neʼʹ    hagĕⁿʹtcĭ,       giʼʹoⁿʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,      “Gwēʹ.    Dōʹ
So  that now (then) there again he arrived the  that he elder one (is) it is said, did he it say, “Look here. What

hăʼgwĭsʹdĕⁿʼ        sāoñgĕñʹādieʼ?”        Neʼʹ khoʻʹ neʻʹ  hăksăʼʹgōwā    daāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ,    “Ĕⁿʻʹ.” Dāʹ
 something   thou it having heard return?” That  and  the  he youth (is) thence he spoke did he it say, “Yes.”  So

 oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,  neʻʹ honoʼʹsĕⁿ    waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ      satʻhyuʹwĭʻ.”      Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹ neʻʹ
now (then) it is said the  his uncle did he it say, “Come,  now (then) thou it do relate.” Now (then) that the

 haksăʼʻgōwā     waiʹĕñʼ,     “Niyoʻʹ.    Oʹnĕⁿʻ    diqʹ    ĕⁿgatʻhyuʹwĭʼ.”    “Hăʼdjigwasʹ  yāʹeʼ  ĕⁿgyĕñʼʹgoʻ   neʻʹ
he youth (is) did he it say, “So be it. Now (then) besides will I it relate.” “Just a moment first will I tobacco the

aksokwăʻʹtăʼ. Agwasʹ  ĕⁿwagedjeōʹdăʼk  neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ       ĕⁿʻsei­ʻwădĕⁿʹ dāʼ,”        waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ
  my pipe.    Verily I will be smoking the  now (then) wilt thou matter set forth,” did he it say the

    hagĕⁿʹtcĭ.
he elder one (is).


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,    waiʻʹ    waādeʹgăʼt       neʻʹ    hoʻsogwăʻʹtăʻ neʼʹkhoʻ    neʻʹ      oʹnĕⁿʻ
So  now (then), it is said, indeed, did he it light the (that)   his pipe    that and the (that) now (then)

   waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ      satʻhyʹwĭʻ         neʻʹ       naⁿʼʹot           saoñgĕñʹādieʼ.”
did he it say, “Come  now (then) thou it do relate  the (that) kind of thing thou it having heard return.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ neʻʹ haksăʼʹgōwā,    neʻʹ    Hotgwisdagegĕⁿʼʹăʻ,    daāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ,     “Niyoʻʹ.  Neʼʹ gwāʹ
Now (then) too  the   he youth,   the (that) Hotgwisdag egĕⁿʼʹăʻ, thence he spoke did he it say, “So be it. That just

agatʻhoñdeʼ      agoñʹgweʻ            wăʼoñdĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Hă-ho-wi,
 I it hear  she human being (is) d id she her song uttered that the  did she it say, “Hă-ho-wi,

    Dooäʼdānegĕⁿʼʹgeʻ,     hă-ho-wi,       wăʻheyăʼdiʻsakʹheʼ-&a breve;,       hă-ho-wi.” Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
Dooä& mlapos;dānegĕⁿʼʹgeʻ, hă-ho-wi, thither I his person to seek go (lightly) hă-ho-wi.” So  now (then)

   oʼhaiʻhokʹdĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ hĕⁿwâⁿdĕⁿʼʹsʻhä&mlap os;.
did he news finished the    he (the) nephew-ship.


Neʼʹ       neʻʹhoʼ        hĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ  neʹwăʼ        deʻtʻhogawesodjĕⁿʹdoⁿ        neʻʹ găgaweʻʹsăʼ     neʼʹ        neʻʹ
That as a matter of fact not it is in turn not thence he paddle has dipped up the   it-paddle  that (it is) the (that)

găʹsnoⁿʼ    năⁿʼʹot;     hĕnʼʹĕⁿ  neʹwăʼ  dooʼ­skoñʹtʻhwĕⁿʻ.
it-bark  kind of thing; not it is in turn  did he him burn.


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ       daāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ,    “Iʼʹ       neʻʹhoʻ
Now, (then) it is said, the  he elder one (is) thence he spoke did he it say,  “I  as a matter of fact

      dayoñgidōñʹneʼ        nāʹeʻ     neʼʹ     neʻʹ      agoñʹgweʻ           neʼʹ       waiʻʹ    gayoñʹnĭʻ
thence she me meaning comes truly that (it is) the  she human being (is) that (it is) of course it-it causes

    Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ             dayondoñʹneʼ.        Iʼʹ   waiʻʹ       neʼʹ      gyāʹsoⁿ.   Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ āʹeʼ
Dooäʼdane& mlprime;gĕⁿʼ thence she it saying comes.  I  of course that (it is) I am named. So  now (then) also again

neʼʹhoʻ       hoñsāʹseʻ        neʼʹhoʻ          sasatʻhoñdatʹʻhă,            oʹnĕⁿʻ    noñʹ         neʻʹhoʻ
 there  hence again thou do go  there  again thou thy ear put forth do go, now (then) perhaps as a matter of fact

doskĕñʹoⁿ    īʹyĕⁿʼ.”
 nearby   she is moving.”


   Dāʹ        neʼʹ       diqʹ    neʻʹ hĕⁿwâⁿdĕⁿʼʹsʻhä&mlap os;, neʻʹ Hotkwisʹdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ   waāyăʹgĕⁿʼt
So (then) that (it is) too, also the  he, the nephew-hood (is)  the  H otkwisʹdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ, now then did he go out

neʻʹkhoʻ neʻʹ         heʻʹ               diyogoñʹwandeʼ        neʼʹhoʻ       hoñsāʹeʼ
that-and the  where, at the place, just it-lunate-bluff stands  there  again thither he went

saātʻhondātʹʻhăʻ-kho&tc omma;.    Wăʼāʹyoⁿʼ     neʼʹhoʻ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,     oyĕñʹdet    oʼwāʹdoⁿʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   agwasʹ
again he to listen-went -and.  There he arrived  there  now then, it is said, it is evident it became now (then)  just

dosgĕñʹonʻ             dagaäⁿnodaʹdieʼ              hĕⁿʹoñweʻ          niʻhanyoʻʹcyot
  nearby   thence it song standing out comes along there where where his “spine” stands forth

    hotʻhoⁿʻdiyosʹdoⁿ-khoʻ.     Neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ      agoñʹgweʻ       agwasʹ nāʹeʻ  doskĕñʹoⁿʻsʻhoñ wăʼoĕñʼʹheʼt
he his ear hath made alert-and. That and the  she human being (is)  just  verily  near by-just   did-she-halt

 hĕⁿʹoñweʻ        hanyoʻʹcyot,       dāʹ     neʼʹ       diqʹ    neʻʹ   dyeñgwăʻʹ-seʹ          wăʼoñdĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ,
there where his “spine” stands forth so  that (it is) too, also the  suddenly, unawares  did-she her song put forth,

doskĕñoⁿʻʹsʻhoñ,     neʼʹ     neʻʹ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi,         Dooäʼdanegăⁿʼʹgeʻ,
  near by-just   that (it is) the  did she it say, “Hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, Dooä&mlapos ;danegăⁿʼʹgeʻs (lodge),

hă-ho-wi,        wăʻheyăʼdĭʻsākʹ hăʼ,         hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi.”
hă-ho-wi, thither I his person to find do go, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi.”


  Dāʹ       neʼʹ     diqʹ neʻʹ hĕⁿwâⁿdĕⁿʼʹsʻhä&mlap os;   oʹnĕⁿʻ           dăādasʹdăk         khoʻʹ neʻʹ
So then that (it is) too  the    he-nephew-ship (is)    now (then) thence he uprose instantly  and  the

   doñdăhăʻʹget    khoʻʹ neʻʹ       doñsăäⁿʹdād        heyogoⁿʹsot    oʻsnowäʹdieʼ.          Hoñsăāʹyoⁿʼ       dāʹ
thence he returned  and  the  thence again he ran home exceedingly it rapid, swift, is. There again he arrived so

  oʹnĕⁿʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Gweʹ,  oʹnĕⁿʻ  doskĕñʹoⁿʻ,   nĕñʹsʻhoñ   doskĕñoⁿʻʹsʻhoñ oʹnĕⁿʻ    īʹyeⁿʼ.”     Dāʹ
now (then) did he it say,  “Lo,  now then   nearby,   close by-just   nearby-just    now   she is moving.” So

  oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,     doñdăāʹdăʼt   neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ         wăʼĕñsgäʹwāk       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
now (then)  there   it is said, thence he arose she  he elder one (is) did he dust shake off there where

 hădyĕñdăkʹʻhwăʼ,  neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ  hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ  hăʼdēʹyoñ   otgiʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ   neʼʹhoʻ    wāʹodĭʼ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ  giʼʹoⁿʻ,
he it to sit uses, that-and the  his his nephew all kinds it filth-s (are)  there  did he it cast,  now   it is said,

  waiʹĕñʼ-khoʻ,     “Hauʼʹ,    oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ         hĕⁿsāʹdyĕñʼ.”            Gagweʹgoⁿ     neʼʹhoʻ
did he it say-and, “Come on, now (then)  there  there wilt thou thyself seat.” It entire (is) thus, so,

     niyoʼʹdĕñʻ      honoⁿʼĕñʻʹgeʻ   neʼʹ    neʻʹ osdăʼʹsʻhoñ, neʻʹ hĕⁿwâⁿdĕⁿʼʹsʻhä&mlap os;.
so it condition (is)  his-head on  that (it) the   it scab-s,  the    he nephew-ship (is).


Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,     oʼtʻhadadesʹnyeʼ    neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ.     Agwasʹ      oʼtʻhadeʼcyosăʹdoñʼ
  Suddenly    now,   it is said, did he self attend to the  he elder one (is). Indeed, did he self furs enwrap with

       găʼcyoʹsădeʼ,            neʼʹ     neʻʹ    yagĕⁿʼʹoⁿ       deānoäʹdoⁿʼ.
it fur(s) stood out (also), that (it is) the  it is pretended he noble one (is).


    Neʼʹ-khoʻ     neʻʹ      waānōaiʼʹhoñʼ       neʻʹ  oäʼʹdăʼ       neʼʹ     neʻʹ      hoʻstōäʼʹgeʻ,       agwasʹ
That (it is) -and the  did he it wash severally the  it feather that (it is) the  his feather-headdress-on  just

oyĕñʼʹgwăʼ īʹgĕñ      niyoʼʹdĕñ            sōʼʹdjiʻ      otgiʼʹsʻhoⁿʼʹoⁿʼ- geʻ       gayĕñdăʹdieʼs        oʹnĕⁿʻ
 it smoke  it is so it condition (is) too much (because)     it-filths -on     it lay from place to place  now

  oʼyōʹnisʹʻheʼt.   Gagweʹgoⁿ   waānōʹaiʼ.     Găʹnioʼ      waādyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ       dāʹ    oʹnĕⁿʻ
it was a long time. It entire did he it wash. As soon as did he his task finish then (so)  now

oʼtʻhanoʼĕñʼʹ­hoñ&mlapos ;. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ   waānyōʹdĕⁿʼ,         oʼtʻhaäʼdāʹ­negĕⁿ&ml apos;
 did he-it head place on.   So   now,   it is said,  there  did he it set up, did he two feathers set side by side

 oĕñdoñʹgwā.   Găʹnioʼ      waādyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ     heʹniyoñ     dehĕⁿʼnyaäʻʹgoⁿ    dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ        waādjīʹodĕⁿʼ.
front-toward. As soon as did he his task finish as many as  two his hands employ so   now   did he it conceal (shut up).

  Wăʼdjīʹăʻ        hodyĕñʹ­noʼkt          dyĕñgwăʻ-seʹ    oʹnĕⁿʻ doskĕñoⁿʹsʻhoñ w&ab reve;ʼoñdĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ
Shortly after he his task has finished suddenly, unawares  now    nearby just    did she her song sing   the

   agoñʹgweʻ     hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      niganoⁿʻʹsot,        iyoñʹdoⁿ     heʻʹ     godĕñʹnōt,     “Hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi,
she human being there where there it-lodge stands she kept saying where she her song sang “Hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi,

    wăʻheyăʼdiʻsăkheʼ&mlpr ime;ăʹ,     hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi,   Dooäʼdanegĕñʼʹgeʻ,   hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi,
thither I his body to find go quietly, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, Dooäʼdane gĕñ’s lodge, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi,

hă-ho-wi, neʻʹ Hatʻhoñʹdās,  neʻʹ Hatʻhoñʹdās,  neʻʹ Hatʻhoñʹdās,  hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi.”
hă-ho-wi, the  Hatʻhoñʹdās , the  Hatʻhoñʹdās , the  Hatʻhoñʹdās , hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi, hă-ho-wi.”


Oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ    hăgĕⁿʹdjĭ        wooʻtʻhāʹhăs     neʻʹ  hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ      waiʹĕñʼ,       “Dĕⁿsadyēʹoⁿksʻhoñ
 Now   the  he, the old one did he-him talked to the  his nephew (is) did he-it say, “W ilt thou quiet be just

      nisʹʼăʻ.”        Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ oʹnĕⁿʻ    wăʼotʹkāeʻ        heʻʹ        găʹhogain      neʼʹhoʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,
the thou exclusively.” Suddenly then  now   did it sound emit there where it doorway (is) (there) thus it is said,

    niyoʼʹdĕñ          neʼʹ     neʻʹ       āʹyĕñʼ       ĭʹgĕñ         degnoñʹgweʻ
so it kind of (is) that (it is) the  one it would think it is two they (f.) persons (are)

         oʼtgniʼdyoñʹdăʼt.           Dyĕñgwăʹ-se                   oʼdwadeʻnhoʻhoñʹdĭʼ                   neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
did two they (f.) stopped, alighted.  Suddenly   did two it-door-flap cast aside—(thrown open both ways) that-and the

          dayēʹyoⁿʼ            neʻʹ          agoñʹgweʻ          ganoⁿsăʹgoñ neʼʹhoʻ khoʻ      oʼdyēʹdăʼt;       oʹnĕⁿʻ
thence she (anthropic) came in the  she (anthropic) person (is) it-lodge-in  there  and  did she (anth.) stand;  now

diqʹ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   dyĕñgwăʹse  oʹyăʼ-khoʻ           dondayēʹyoⁿʼ           oñgyēʹgwā;   dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ oñʹgyeʻ
also, it is said,  suddenly  it other-and thence she (anthropic) came in indoors-side; so   now   truly indoors

         oʼtgīʹdăʼt          ganoⁿsăʹgoñ.
did two she (anthrop.) stand it-lodge-in.


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ neʻʹ      dyegĕⁿʹdjĭ       oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Gwēʹ,    gaʹäⁿnigāāʼ      soʼtʹ   hōʹgwā
So  now (then) too  the  she (anth.) elder one  now   did she it say,  “Lo,  whichever (it is) it may be aside

hĕⁿʼʹdyoⁿʼ    deʼgagoñʹdoⁿʼ    khoʹ nāʹeʻ  Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ,    tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ         neʻʹhoʻ       deʼʹneʼ  neʼʹ
he abides  not it certain (is) and  truly, Dooäʼdan ēʹgĕⁿʼ, not (it is) as a matter of fact not that that

      neʻʹhoʻ        näⁿʹgĕñ   niʻānyoʻʹcyod neʻʹ       neʻʹhoʻ        huiʹgĕñ   neʼʹ       neʻʹhoʻ
as a matter of fact this it is  so he sits   that as a matter of fact that it is that as a matter of fact

   Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ      hayāʹsoⁿ,   neʼʹ waiʻʹ   näⁿʹgĕñ   Hatʻhoñʹdās   hayāʹsoⁿ.   Dāʹ neʹkhoʻ gwaʹ   nisʹ
Dooäʼdan& emacr;ʹgĕⁿʼ he is named, that verily this it is Hatʻhoñʹdās  he is named. So   here   side the thou

     hoʼʹseʻ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ        iʹʻsē       neʼʹ Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ,  neʹkhoʻ gwāʹ      niʼʹăʻ            hĕⁿʹgeʼ.
thither do thou go there where  thou it thinkest that Dooäʼdan ēʹgĕⁿʼ,  here   side the I exclusively thither will I go.

Dāʹ neʼʹ neʻʹ        degyadĕñnonʹdeʼ        neʼʹ neʻʹ      gosʹtʻhoⁿ         īʹyĕñʻ     nāʹeʻ neʹkhoʻ gwāʹ
So  that the  two they (f.) sister(s) (are) that the  she (anth.) younger she it thinks truly  here   side

     hĕⁿʹgeʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ    īʹyĕñʻ     neʻʹ        djye­yăʼʹdad,        “Neʹkhoʻ gwāʹ Iʼʹ      hĕⁿʹgeʼ.”
thither will I go that the  she it thinks the  she (anth.) other one (is),  “Here   side  I  thither will I go.”

 Oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ neʻʹ    Dooäʼdāʹnegĕⁿʼ     hotʻhoñʹdeʼ neʻʹ   năⁿʼʹot           oditʻʹhāʼ,         dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹhoʻ
Now, then  so   the  Dooäʼd&am acr;ʹnegĕⁿʼ he it hears the  kindly thing they (an.) it talk about, so   now    there

     hāʹdoⁿ,       “Neʹkhoʻ gwāʹ  nīʹgĕⁿʼ.”
he it kept saying,  “Here   side but it is.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʼ,   neʻʹ      gosʹtʻhoⁿ      neʼʹ neʻʹ       yeʼăsʻhĕⁿauñʼ        neʻʹ oäʻʹgwăʼ neʼʹ neʻʹ
So   now,   it is said, the  she (anth.) younger that the  she (anth.) it basket held  he  it-bread that the

  deganăʼhoñsdyăʼʹgoⁿ        īʹwad,      neʼʹ neʻʹ    gĕⁿsʹ,     giʼʹoⁿʻ,        yeāʹwĭʼ        neʼʹ neʻʹ
two one-it loaf cut has it is contained, that the  customarily, it is said she (anth.) it bears that the

        yenăʻkwinyoñʹneʼ,          oʹnĕⁿʻ     wăʼoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ      neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼʹĕⁿʼ,      hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
she (anth.) wedlock to enter goes,  now   di d she (anth.) start  there  thither she went there where

     tʻhanyoʻʹcyot      neʻʹ Hatʻhoñʹdas, neʼʹ neʻʹ Hotkwisdadeʹgeⁿʼʹăʻ,  neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼoñʹdyĕñʼ      neʼʹhoʻ
there his spine sets up the  Hatʻhoñʹdas, that the  Hotk wisdadeʹgeⁿʼʹăʻ,  there  did she herself seat  there

 hayăʼdăkʹʼăʻ.
his body beside.


Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se neʼʹhoʻ khoʻʹ āʹeʼ  gwāʹ       yedākʹheʼ       neʻʹ     oʹʻdjĭʼ      neʹkhoʻ   hāʹeʼgwā
  Suddenly    there   and  again side she (anth.) ran along the  its elder sister  here   also in turn

    wăʼoñʹdyĕñʼ      neʼʹhoʻ  hayăʼdăkʹʼăʻ.   Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ, giʼʹo&su pn;ʻ       oʼtʻhoñwayăʼdāʹyĕñ&mla pos;,
did she herself seat  there  his body beside. So   now   truly,  it is said   did they two his body have between them,

hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ neʼʹhoʻ      hanyoʻʹcyot.
in the middle   there  his spine set upright.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ     Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ      neʼʹhoʻ     waādyăʼdoʼʹyāk          dăʻhonyatʹgāʼ        waiʹĕñʼ-khoʻ    “Hoʹgwā
So   now   the  Dooäʼdane&mlpri me;gĕⁿʼ  there  did he his body thrust thence he him drew away did he it say-and “Aside

  nisʹ        hoʼʹseʻ         sgadjĕⁿanʹdĭʻ           nāʹeʻ              waodōʹnyăʼt,        giʼʹoⁿʻ.   Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
the thou thither do thou go one it fireside of as a matter of fact did he him drive towards it is said. So   now

    neʼʹ     neʻʹ haʹoⁿhaⁿʼ (or haʹoⁿhwaⁿʼ) neʼʹhoʻ hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ  hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      degniʼʹdyoⁿʼ     neʻʹ
that (it is) the         he himself          there   just between  there where two they (du.) abide the

       degiksāʼʹgōwā         neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ       waāʹdyĕñʼ.      Dāʹ     neʼʹ     diqʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,
two they (du.) (maidens are)  there  indeed did he himself seat. So  that (it is) too    now,   it is said

          dondagidăsʹdăk           neʻʹ      dedjāʹoⁿ         neʼʹhoʻ           oʼʹgneʼ          hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
thence they (du. f.) arose quickly the  both (two they are) there where did they (f.) (dual) go there where

 heʻʹsʻhanyoʹcyot   neʻʹ  hăksăʼʹgōwā      neʼʹ     neʻʹ  Hatʻhonʹdās      (Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ),       neʼʹhoʻ
where again he sits the  he youth (is) that (it is) the  (The Listener) (His stomach burned little), there where

  oʼtʻhoñwayăʼdāʹyĕñ&mla pos;      neʼʹhoʻ          hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ        sʻhanyoʹcyot.
did they (f.) his person embrace there where just between (in the middle) again he sits.


Dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ  āʹeʼ  neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ    neʻʹ     Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ        dondaāʹdăʼt   neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ neʼʹhoʻ
So  now then again the  he old one (is) the  Dooäʼdane&mlpri me;gĕⁿʼ thence he arose that-and the   there

     wāʹeʼ       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ         hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ        khoʻʹ āʹeʼ    yesʻhanyoʹcyot    neʻʹ Hatʻhonʹdās,  oʹnĕⁿʻ
thither he went there where just between (in the middle)  and  again there again he sits the  Hatʻhonʹdās ,  now

  waiʻʹ        dăhonĕⁿsʹʻhāʼ       oʹnĕⁿʻ āʹeʼkhoʻ             sgadjĕⁿanʹdĭʻ               oʼtʻhoʻdjāʹĕⁿʼ   dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
of course thence he his arm seized  now   again-and one it-fireside of (beyond the fire) di d he-him pushed so   now

diqʹ haʹoⁿhaⁿʼ  neʼʹhoʻ āʹeʼ     saāʹdyĕñʼ      hĕⁿʹoñweʻ           degniʼʹdyoⁿʼ                 hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ
too  he himself  there  again again did he sit there where two they (du. f.) were abiding just between (in the middle)

heʻʹ             năʼdegyāʹdeʼ.            Dāʹ     neʼʹ     diqʹ neʻʹ   hīʹgăⁿ    degiksăʼʹgōwā   hĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ
where so two they (du. f.) far are apart. So  that (it is) too  the  that it is two they maidens   not

    deʼʹneʼ              dagigăʻdāʹdieʼ         neʼʹ neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ        aodīʹnyāk,     dāʹ neʼʹ   waiʻʹ
not that (it is) thence they (du.) to seek came that the  he old one (is) should they marry, so  that of course

 gayoñʹnĭʻ        dăʼāʹoⁿ             ayodīʹgăyĕⁿ       neʻʹ    năⁿʼʹot        hēēʼʹ     neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ;    dāʹ
it-it causes not it is possible would they (f.) consent the  kind of thing he it desires the  he old one (is); so

oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ   āʹeʼ            dondagidăsʹdăk           neʼʹhoʻ              hoñsagyāʹdyĕñʼ               hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
 now   of course again thence they (du. f.) arose quickly  there  hence again they (du.) themselves seated there where

     tʻhanyoʻʹcyot       neʻʹ  haksăʼʹgōwā  neʼʹhoʻ āʹeʼ  oʼtʻhoñwayăʼdāʹyĕñ&mla pos;
there he sat was sitting the  he youth (is)  there  again  did they his body embrace

        hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ-khoʻ          āʹeʼ  sʻhanyoʻʹcyot neʻʹ Hatʻhoñʹdās.
jus t between (or in the middle)-and again again he sat  the  Hatʻhoñʹdās.


Dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ hagĕⁿʹdjĭ  oʹnĕⁿʻ  waĕñnīʻhĕⁿʼʹ   heʻʹ    niʻhodyēʹĕⁿ.     Neʼʹhoʻ      oʼyoʹnisʻheʼt
So  now then, it is said, the  he old one  now   did he it cease where so he is acting. Thus (There) it was a long time

       tʻhiodyeʹĕⁿʻsʻhoñ         hanyoʻʹcyot. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ    oʹnĕⁿʻ   daāsʹnyeʼt
just he kept still, kept silent,   he sat.    So    now   it is said, the  he old one (is)  now   thence he spoke

   waiʹĕñʼ,     “Hiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ      ĕⁿsāʹnyāk.    Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ nāʹeʻ. Iʼʹ      ĕⁿgeʻcyoñnyāʹnoñʼ
did he it say, “Oh, my nephew  now   of course wilt thou marry. So  that too  truly.  I  will I it prepare severally

 hĕⁿʹoñweʻ     niʻsadyĕñdăʻʹgwăʼ,         soʼʹdjĭ            otʹgĭʼ,     soʼʹdjĭ   waiʻʹ         deʼsăʼnīʹgoñt,
there where so thou it to sit usest, because (too much)  it filthy (is), because of course not thou hast mind (sense),

soʼʹdjĭ     otʹgĭʼ       niʻsadyēʹhăʼ   neʼʹ   waiʻʹ    gayoñʹnĭʻ   soʼʹdjĭʻ     otʹgĭʼ      hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
because it filthy (is) so thou it doest that of course it it causes because  it filthy (is) there where

niʻsadyĕñdăʻʹgwăʼ.&rd quo;
so thou it to sit usest.”


Haʹoⁿhaⁿʼ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   nīʹgĕⁿʼ  neʼʹhoʻ    niʻhoyeʹĕⁿ.         Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ      haʹoⁿhaⁿʼ     waāʹtgit     hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
He himself it is said, so it is  there  so he it has done. Dooäʼdane&mlpri me;gĕⁿʼ he himself did he-it soil there where

     hadyĕñdăʻʹgwăʼ      neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ. Oʹnĕⁿʻ    waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ neʹkhoʻ gwāʹ yāʹeʼ
he (it) self to sit uses the   his nephew.   Now   did he it say, “Come   here   just first

        hĕⁿswāʹdyĕñʼ.               Ĕⁿgecyoñnyāʹnoñʼ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ       niʻhadyĕñdăʻʹgwăʼ      neʻʹ heyĕñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ
there will ye yourselves seat. Will I it prepare severally there where so he self to sit uses (it) the    my nephew

     soʼʹdjĭʻ        waiʻʹ    otʹgĭʼ-sʻhoñ.  Dāʹ neʹkhoʻ gwāʹ yāʹeʼ       ĕⁿswāʹdyĕñʼ.”       Oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ
because (too much) of course it filthy just. So   here   just first will ye yourselves seat.”  Now   of course

   dăäⁿnoⁿʻdäⁿʹdĭʼ.
the nce they departed.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ          waācyoñnyāʹnoñʼ       agwasʹ    wiʹyo,         waādyĕñnoñʹnĭʼ
So   now   the  he old one (is) did he it prepare severally  very  it fine, (is) did he his skill employ

         waaⁿskäwăkʹhoñnyoⁿʼ          neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ găʼcyoʹsăʼ, neʹogĕⁿʼ găʼcyoʹsăʼ neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ nyāʹgwaiʼ, gagweʹgoⁿ
did he it rubbish wipe away severally that and the   it skin,     deer    it-skin   that-and the   a bear,   it-entire

       waăʼcyoʻsădoñʹnyoñʼ.        Dāʹ agwasʹ     waadyĕñnoñʹnĭʼ;      neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ    waācyoñʹnĭʼ    neʻʹ Daānoäʹdoⁿʼ
did he skins spread out severally. So   very  did he his skill employ; that and the  did he it prepare the   Noble One

   gĕⁿsʹ         niyagonakdoʼʹdäⁿ,       neʼʹ nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ gaʼcyoʹsăʼ-sʻhoⁿʼo&supn ; gagweʹgoⁿ     waādyĕñnoñʹnĭʼ,
customarily so one’s place kind of (is), that verily the      it skins-several      it-entire did he it set in order,

heʻʹ      hadyĕñdăʻʹgwăʼ      neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ, noⁿʼʹgoñʻ  neʼʹhoʻ hĕⁿʼʹdyoⁿʼ neʻʹ Hatʻhonʹdās, neʼʹhoʻ-khoʻ āʹeʼ  gwāʹ
where he self it to seat uses the   his nephew,  underneath  there   he abode  the  Hatʻhonʹdās,  there-and   again just

      oʼtgyāʹ­dyĕñʼ        neʻʹ       degiksăʼʹgōwā,       neʼʹ neʻʹ neyoʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ,   deʹgniʻ    nāʹeʻ
did they (du.) selves seat the  two they (du. f.) maidens, that the    his wives   two they are verily

      năʻtʻhōʹnyāk.
so many times he married.


Dāʹ oʹnĕʻ neʻʹ hagĕʹⁿdjĭ     wooʻtʻhāʹhăs    neʻʹ hauñʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ    waiʹĕñʼ,    “Oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ       wesāʹnyāk,
So   now  the  he old one did he him talk to the   his nephew  did he it say,  “Now   of course, didst thou marry,

hiwâⁿdĕⁿʼ. Hauʼʹ, oʹnĕⁿʻ         wadodăʹsĭ         aʹdiʼʹgwă    năⁿʼʹot           giāʹwĭʼ,         neʻʹ
my nephew. Come,   now   let it itself bring forth  unknown  kind of thing they (du. f.) it bring, the

        gāiwăniäsʹtʻhăʼ           gĕⁿsʹ   neʼʹ  waagōʹnyāk,      neʼʹ       waiʻʹ    gĕʹⁿsʹ   neʻʹ dewasʹʻhĕñ
it it-matter to be strong makes customary that did one marry that (it is) of course customary the   two tens

      niyoäʻʹgwăge       neʼʹ neʻʹ              deganăʼhoⁿsdyăʼʹgoⁿ                gayāʹsoⁿ.   Dāʹ     āʹdĭʼgwă     diqʹ
so it many loaves number that the  two she it-loaf has divided (-marriage bread) it is called. So   unknown (it is) too

       giāʹwĭʼ?”
they (du. f.) it bring.”


Dāʹ     neʼʹ     diqʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ              egoʹwănĕⁿ                dayesʹnyeʼt      wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,
So  that (it is) too   now,   it is said, the  she (anth.) elder one (-larger one) thence she spoke did she it say,

 “Niyoʻʹ,  oʹnĕⁿʻ  nāʹeʻ         ĕⁿgāiwăyeʹiʻ        heʻʹ     năⁿʼʹot         satʻhyuʹwi.”      Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,
“So be it,  now   verily, will it fulfill the matter where kind of thing thou it are relating.” So   now,   it is said,

neʻʹ găʼăsʹʻhäʼ oʹnĕⁿʻ       dondāʹyek       oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼʹĕⁿʼ       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ  tʻhanyoʹʻcyot neʻʹ
the  it basket   now   thence she it took up  now   too   there  thither she went there where there he sits the

hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,   “Nĕñʹdă     waiʻʹ,”      wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “neʻʹ     neʼʹ            satʻhyuʹwi,”        neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
he old one, “This here of course,” did she it says, “the  that (it is) now it are talking about,” that-and the

        dāāoʹgĕñ          neʼʹhoʻ     wăeʼăsʹʻhäyĕñʹ.
between his forked thighs  there  did she it basket place.


 Dāāganēʼʹsʻhoñ   neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   hōʹgwā      hoⁿsayoñʹdyĕñʼ.      Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ  wāāgāʼʹtcĭʼ   neʻʹ
He it viewed only the   now,   it is said, aside  there again she sat down. So   now   too  did he it undo the

găʼăsʹʻhäʼ    waadăʻʹgoʼ-khoʻ     neʻʹ oäʻʹgwăʼ neʼʹ neʻʹ            deganăʼhoⁿsdyăʼʹgoⁿ               gayāʹsoⁿ
it basket  did he it take out and the  it bread that the  two one loaf has divided (-marriage bread) it is called

dewăsʹʻhĕñ      niyoäʻʹgwăge,       neʼʹhoʻ   waiʻ      gĕⁿsʹ         nīʹyoñ.       Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ hagĕⁿʹdjĭ
 two tens  so it many loaf numbers,  there  of course customary so it is in number. So   now   the  he old one

   waiʹĕñʼ,    “Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ      oʼgāiwayeʹiʻ        wăʼoⁿkhäʻgwäʹoⁿʼ.    Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ    wăʼgaiʻwăniʹäd
did he it say,  “Now   verily it matter is complete did one me bread give. So   none  did it matter confirm

    oʼgāiʻwăyēʹiʻ           sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿʻ       heʻʹ       nigayĕñnoʼʹdĕñ       neʻʹ   gĕⁿsʹ   wăʼagōʹnyāk. Dāʹ
it matter is fulfilled for the reason that where so it custom kind of (is) the  customary one marries. So

        neʼʹhoʻ.”
there (-that is enough).”


   Oʻskoñwăʼʹsʻhoñ    neʻʹ honoʼĕñʼʹgeʻ neʻʹ Hatʻhonʹdās. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿ,   neʻʹ hagĕⁿʹdjĭ     waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ,
It-roasted flesh only the  his head-on  the  Hatʻhonʹdās. So   now,   it is said the  he old one did he it say, “Come,

oʹnĕⁿʻ hiʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ gāʹoʼ       nondāseʻ.             Gāʹtcĭ.”
 now   my nephew  hither thence do thou come. Do thou come hither.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   giʼʹoⁿʻ   neʻʹ   hĕⁿʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼshäʼ    neʼʹhoʻ      wāʹeʼ       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ            tʻhanyoʻʹcyot
So   now,  it is said, the  he (-his) nephewship  there  thither he went there where there he sits (-his spine stands)

neʻʹ          honoʼʹsĕⁿ,           dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ neʻʹ hagĕⁿʹdjĭ     waiʹĕñʼ,     “Niʹyoʻ.  Oʹnĕʻ  nāʹeʻ
the  his mother’s brother (uncle), so   now   too  the  he old one did he-it-say, “So be it.  Now  so then

    dĕⁿgoñsʹnyeʼ      ĕⁿgoñyăʼdăʻsĕñnoñ&mlprim e;nĭʼ-khoʻ.”
will I-thee attend to    will I-thy body dress up -and.”


Dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   hōʹgwā ganiʹyonʻ (ganiʹyoñt) neʻʹ nyāʹgwaiʼ       gahäⁿondăʻʹgwăʼ        neʼʹhoʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,
So   there,  it is said, aside        it hangs        the    bear    its bladder (= urine-holder)  there,  it is said,

     īʹwād      neʻʹ   ōʹnoⁿʼ,    neʼʹ neʻʹ awäʼoⁿʹsăʼ năⁿʼʹot neʻʹ ōʹnoⁿʼ. Oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   gasʻheʼʹdăgoñ
it is contained the  it oil, fat, that the  sun-flower kind of the  it-oil.  Now,   it is said,  it gourd in

    waādăʻʹgoʼ     neʻʹ ōʹnoⁿʼ, dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ hasʼoʻdăʼʹgeʻ   wäuñʹtʻhoʼ        (wäʹoñtʻhoʼ),        gagweʹgoⁿ
did he it take out the  it oil, so  that too   his hand on  did he it pour, (wäʹʹoñtʻho& mlapos;), it-entire (is)

honoⁿʼĕñʼʹgeʻ      waāʹnoʻgāʼ;       ʼăʹsoⁿ,   giʼʹoⁿ,   āʹeʼ        sāoñtʹʻhoʼ       neʻʹ hasʼoʻdăʼʹgeʻ, dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
 his head on  did he it rubs-anoint; still,  it is said, again again he it poured out the   his hand on,  so   now

nāʹeʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ       sahoʹʻgāʼ.      Agwasʹ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,       oʼtʻhoñʹgot           neʼʹ     neʻʹ hogeʼäʼʹgeʻ. Dāʹ
so then it is said again he it anoint.  Very,  it is said did he it soak through that (it is) the   his hair.   So

sĕⁿʻʹ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,     neʼʹhoʻ       naāⁿʹyeʼ.     Neʼʹhoʻ       degniganeʼʹsʻhoñ        neʻʹ neʼʹ
three, it is said, thus (there) so did he it do.  There  two they (du.) looked on-just the  that

       degiksăʼʹgōwā.         Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,         odiiʻwanäʹgwăʼoⁿ.        Dyĕñgwaʹsʻhoñ oʹnĕⁿʻ,
two they (du.) maidens (are). So  that too,  it is said, did they (anim.) it wonder at.   Suddenly      now

 giʼʹoⁿʻ,         ayĕñʼʹsʻhoñ          waāʹgoʼ,    neʼʹ neʻʹ  woōhigwääʹgoʼ   honoⁿʼĕñʼʹgeʻ   gagweʹgoⁿ     nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ
it is said, one it would think-just did he it get, that the  did he him uncap  his head on  it entire (is) so then the

  osʹdăʼ-sʻhoñ.
it-scab-(is) just.


Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ agwasʹ    wīʹyo       oʼwāʹdoⁿʼ   neʻʹ honoⁿʼĕñʼʹgeʻ. Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ nāʹeʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,   heʻʹ
  Suddenly    now          very  it fine (is) did it become the   his head on.  So  that too  indeed, it is said,  so

         niyuʼʹdäⁿ               ayĕñʼʹsʻhoñ      agwasʹ    wīʹyo       oʼwāʹdoⁿʼ.   Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se hagĕⁿʼdjăʼʹgeʻ
so it is situated, pastured, would one think just  very  it good (is) did it become.   Suddenly   his forehead on

neʼʹhoʻ      degaāʼʹdăʼhāʼ       neʼʹ neʻʹ degniʻʹ    nīʹyoñʻ,    dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se        dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿ,        neʼʹ neʻʹ
 there  two it feathers stuck up that the    two   so many it is,   suddenly   two he feathers set together that the

tkwĕⁿdäʼʹĕñʼ  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      niyuʼʹdĕñʻ    neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   sgātʹ    oñyăʼʹĕñʼ.   Dāʹ neʼʹ neʻʹ
it red (is), it is said, so it is in kind that and the  one it is it blue (is). So  that the

         degyăʼdäʼneʹgĕñ          neʼʹhoʻ   näⁿnʹdăʻ    noñʹ           niyoñʹsoⁿs.         Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ
two they (f. du.) body are joined  there  this (it is) perhaps so it long (is) (pl. sign). So  that too

    woauñʹhăs      neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ    waiʹĕñʼ,    neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,    “Hĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ agwasʹ    deʼoyāʹneʼ,    agwasʹ
did he him address the   his nephew  did he it say, the  he old one, (is)   “Not    very  not it good, (is)  very

   deʼʹoyĕⁿsdoⁿ,      waiʻʹ,”   dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ   daādyĕñʹtʻhoʼ    neʻʹ  oäʼʹdăʼ   neʼʹhoʻ   naⁿnʹdăʻ    noñʹ
not it seemly, (is) certainly,” so    now   hence he it pulled the  it feather  there  this (it is) perhaps

   nīʹyoñs,     neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   sgatʹ      daādyĕñʹtʻhoʼ.    Dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ    wīʹyo,”        waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ
so it long (is) that and the  one it is thence he it pulled. So   there  it good (is)”. did he it say the

   hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,    “Hoñʹweʻ      hoʼʹseʻ.       Hoñʹweʻ      dĕⁿtcʹdăʼt,       dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ gāʹoʼ
he old one (is), “Yonder  thither do thou go. Yonder  there wilt thou stand, so  that too  hither

      dĕⁿtchatkăʻʹdĕⁿʼ,          ĕⁿgoñyat­gatʹʻhoʼ   nāʹeʻ  aʹdiʼgwă, nisayăʼdayĕⁿsʹdoⁿ.”
 thence wilt thou turn facing, will I thee look upon indeed  unknown     so thy body.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,  neʻʹ haksăʼʹgōwā neʼʹhoʻ      wāʹeʼ      hoñ­weʻʹgwā gāoʼʹkhoʻ       daātgăʻʹdĕⁿʼ
So   now,   it is said the  he you (is)  there  thither he went yonder-ward hither and thence he turned facing

  deogāʹneʼʹsʻhoñ    neʻʹ honoʼʹsĕⁿ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ       deagāʹneʼ     neʼʹhoʻ    itʹʻhad
two he him eyed-just the  his uncle. So   now   the  he old one (is) two he eyed (it)  there  there he stood

adeyĕñnoñniʼʹgeʻ. Dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ    oʹnĕⁿʻ  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ       gāʹtcĭ,
 “Attention” at.  Suddenly just  the  he old one (is)  now   it is said, did he it say, “Come  hither do thou come,

gāʹoʼ        năʼnondāʹseʻ,        oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ             dondagadoʼkʹ­tʻhăs             ʼaʹsoⁿ.”
hither again hither do thou come,  now   indeed there it me failed (= I am not satisfied)  yet.”


    Gaʹnioʼ       oʼʹhāyoⁿʼ   neʻʹ  haksăʼʹgōwā  oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ honoʼʹsĕⁿ neʻʹ  oäʼoⁿʻʹsăʼ   ōʹnoⁿʼ neʻʹ hasʼoʻdāʼʹgeʻ
Just as soon as did he arrive the  he youth (is)  now   the  his uncle the  it sun-flower it-oil the   his hand on

  wäoñʹtʻhoʼ     waānoʻʹ­gāʼ-khoʻ   gagweʹgoⁿ neʻʹ hagoⁿsăʼʹgeʻ neʻʹ  haksăʼʹgōwā      waādyĕñnoñʹnĭʼ.     Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
did he it pour did he it anoint-and it entire the  his face on  the  he youth (is) did he it do with care. So   now,

 giʼʹoⁿʻ,     waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hauʼʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ hoñʹweʻ        hoñsāʹseʻ         gāʹoʼ  diqʹ dĕⁿtchatkăʻʹdĕⁿʼ.& rdquo; Oʹnĕⁿʻ
it is said did he it say, “Come   now   yonder  again thither do thou go hither too   wilt thou turn facing.”   Now

neʻʹ  haksăʼʹgōwā  neʼʹhoʻ       wāʹeʼ       gāʹoʼ  diqʹ daātgăʻʹdĕⁿʼ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ   neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ
the  he youth (is)  there  thither did he go hither too  did he face.  So   now   certainly the  he old one (is)

   deogāʹneʼ    agwasʹ   waiʻʹ       waādyĕñnõñʹnĭʼ.     Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,    waāsʹnyeʼt  oʹnĕⁿʻ    waiʹĕñʼ,
two he him eyed  very  certainly did he do it with care. So   now,   it is said, did he speak  now   did he it say,

    “Neʼʹ     neʻʹ  heʻʹ       niseksāʼʹgōwā       deʼgatkăʼʹhoʻ    noñʹ   deʼtʻhĕⁿʹʼdĕñʼ (or deʼtʻhĕⁿʼʹdyoⁿʼ) neʼʹhoʻ
“That (it is) the  wherein so thou youthful (are) not in any place perhaps         no t he does abide           there

neʻʹ haksăʼʹgōwā gĕñʹoñk. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ       gāʹtcĭ        diqʹ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ hoñʹweʻ    hoñsăsăʹdyĕⁿ(-dyĕñʻ).    Dāʹ neʼʹ
the  he youthful it was.  So   now   hither do thou come too.  So   now   yonder  t hither again do thou sit. So  that

diqʹ näⁿndăʻʹ    năʻⁿʹot        ĕⁿsyasōʹoñk     neʼʹ neʻʹ     Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ.         Gagweʹgoⁿ    heʻʹ   nīʹyoñ
too    this   kind of thing wilt thou be called that the  Dooäʼdane&mlpr ime;gĕⁿʼ.  It entire (is)  as  so art many

         yenagēʹnioⁿʼ          weĕⁿʹsʻhoñ    wăʼotʹkāeʻ     hāoⁿʹʻhoⁿʼ   hadjinoⁿʼdīʹyū    neʻʹ  hăʼdeganyoʼʹdăge.
they dwell severally (peoples)  for just  did it noise make he himself he hunter fine (is) the  all game in number.

   Săsĕñnăoñʹgăʼt    sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ hoñʹweʻ      sāʹdyĕñ.”
Thy name (is) famous because. So   now   yonder  thou thyself seat.”


Dāʹ neʼʹ diqʹ neʻʹ     djeyăʼʹdad          neʼʹ     neʻʹ     dyegowaʹnĕⁿ          neʼʹ     neʻʹ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,
So  that too  the  one she person (is) that (it is) the  there she elder (is) that (it is) the  did she it say,

 giʼʹoⁿʻ,   “Gĕⁿʼʹ      nyāʹwĕⁿ       heʻʹ      niāksăʼʹgōwā         neʼʹ     neʻʹ  oñgwanyāʹgoⁿ.”   Dāʹ     neʼʹ
it is said,  “How  thankful (we are) so much so he handsome (is) that (it is) the  we have married.” So  that (it is)

diqʹ neʻʹ    gosʹtʻhoⁿ     neʻʹ nāʹeʻ neʻʹ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,     giʼʹoⁿʻ,      “Neʼʹ    neʻʹ Iʼʹ   ĕⁿwagnoⁿsʹdek,
too  the  she younger (is) that truly that did-she-it-sa y it is said, “That it is the   I  will I it cherish,

   neʼʹ    neʻʹ Iʼʹ neʻʹ         ĕⁿgnooⁿʹgwak,         neʼhoʻʹsʻhoñ      nĕⁿdwagyeanʹdieʼ       neʻʹ aʹdiʼgwa
that it is the   I  the  will I it hold it dear (love)  thus only   so will I it continue to do the    any

   năⁿʼʹot      ĕñʼʹ    neʼʹhoʻ     năʼʹdjeʻ       waiʻʹ.   Dāʹ       nyāʹwĕⁿ        diqʹ.”
kind of thing it may be  there  so do thou it do of course. So  it is to be thankful too.”


    Neʼʹ     neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼoʼʹgäʻ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ        waiĕnondyăʼdagēʹoñʼ,      hăʼdewăsĕñʹnoⁿ
That (it is) the   now   did it become  now   of course did they their bodies lay down  just between

      năʼdegyāʹdeʼ        neʻʹ        degiksăʼʹgōwā        neʼʹhoʻ        waādyasʹʻhĕñʼ         neʻʹ Hatʻhonʹdas
the distance between them the  two they (f.) maidens (are)  there  did he himself lay recumbent the  Hatʻhonʹdas

    neʼʹ     neʻʹ     Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ.
that (it is) the  Dooäʼdane&mlpr ime;gĕⁿʼ.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   nāʹeʻ neʻʹ       dyegōʹwănĕⁿ          dăʼāʹoⁿʻ          ayagōʹdăʼ.        Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ neʻʹ
So   now,   it is said, truly the  thence she is elder one not it is able should she fall asleep.  Now   truly the

Hatʻhonʹdas     neʼʹ     neʻʹ     Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ            hodăʼʹoⁿ,          dyawĕⁿʼoⁿʹsʻhoñ    nāʹeʻ
Hatʻhonʹdas that (it is) the  Dooäʼdane&mlpri me;gĕⁿʼ he has fallen asleep, did all the time just truly

      dañwăgāʹneʼ        heʻʹ    hayasʹʻhĕⁿʼ          hodăʼʹoⁿ.       Dāʹ     neʼʹ     neʻʹ    djeyăʼʹdād
two her him eyes were on where he lay recumbent he has fallen asleep. So  that (it is) the  she the other one

      godăʼʹoⁿ        nāʹeʻ neʻʹ   neʼʹ.
she has fallen asleep truly the  that one.


  Wăʼoʹʻhĕñʼt,     giʼʹoⁿʻ,  nāʹeʻ neʼʹ neʻʹ    dyegōʹwănĕⁿ          deʼagodăʼʹoⁿ      nāʹeʻ heʻʹ     niwăʹʻsondis.
Did it day become it is said truly that the  she elder one (is) she has fallen asleep, truly  as  so it night long (is).

Oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ,            dāyatʹgĕⁿ          neʻʹ        degiksăʼʹgōwā        oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,
 Now   too, also, thence two (f.) they arose the  two they (f.) maidens (are)  now   too,  it is said,

         oʼgikhoñʹnĭʼ             neʼʹ    neʻʹ                 gyadeʼʹgĕñʼ.                 Dāʹ  gāʹnioʼ
did they two (f.) food prepare that it is the  they two (f.) elder and younger sisters are. So  as soon as

  oʼgakʹhwaiʻ    oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ   wainondekhoñʹnīʼ.     Neʼʹ      nāʹeʻ neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ
did it food cook   now   it is said  they food ate.   That (it is)  truly the  he elder one (is)

         waoñwäʹgwăs,            giʼʹoⁿʻ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ      waⁿwănonʻ        sgadjĕⁿonʹdīʻ      waiʻ    neʻʹ    neʼʹ
did she him take a portion for, it is said,  now   did she it him give one it fireside of of course the  that it is

tʻhanyoʹʻcyot. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ neʻʹ haʹoⁿhaⁿʼ            (haʹoⁿhwaⁿʼ)            nekhoʹgwā nāʹeʻ   naʼgadjĕⁿonʹdĭʻ
there he sits. So   now   truly the  he himself he himself] [[for honoⁿʹhaⁿʼ-geaʻ here-ward truly such it fireside of

oʹnĕⁿʻ wainondekhoñʹnĭʼ           oʼtʻhĕñnonʹdon          nāʹeʻ      neʹyoʼsʻhoⁿʼ      neʻʹ    Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ.
 now   did they food eat did they themselves eat together truly husband and wives-just the  Dooädaneʹg&eb reve;ⁿʼ.


    Waādikhwĕñʹdăʼt      dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,       waiʹĕñʼ     neʻʹ   hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,    “Hiwaⁿdĕⁿʼ ĕⁿʻʹsăsăwĕⁿ&mlapos ;
Did they food cease from so   now,   it is said, did they it say the  he old one (is) “My nephew  wilt thou it begin

nāʹeʻ    dĕⁿsădawĕñʹnyeʼ    heʻʹ      yoĕñʹdjădeʼ.     Dāʹ    neʼʹ    diqʹ   ĕⁿseʼnigoⁿʹʻhäʼk       neʼʹ     neʻʹ
truly wilt thou self travel where it earth is present. So  that it is too  wilt thou careful be that (it is) the

   doōnondawĕñnyeʹ­ʻhoⁿʼ      sgāʹse   heʻʹ         nionondyăʼdatʹgoⁿʼs.         Oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ nāʹeʻ   ĕⁿsadōʹwäd.
they travel about in numbers unmatched where so much they are wizards severally.  Now   too  truly wilt thou hunt.

Ganioʼʹsʻhoñ  nāʹeʻ năʼgayăʼdoʼʹdĕⁿ& mlapos;    ogwēʹnyoñ         ĕⁿʻsīʹyoʼ     sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ nāʹeʻ
Any kind-just truly   such it body kind of   it possible (is) wilt thou it kill because truly

            deʼsanoⁿʼgōʹwäs.”
not it thou affects.” (thou art immune.”)


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ hĕⁿwâⁿdĕⁿʼʹsʻhä&mlap os; waaʻʹdĕñdĭʼ,  oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ    waādoätʹʻhăʼ-khoʻ       waiʹĕñʼ-khoʻ,
So   now   the     he the nephewship     did he start,  now   truly did he it to hunt go and did he it say and,

  “Aʹdĭʼgwă      dōʹgĕⁿs    neʻʹ    năⁿʼʹot       waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ hāknoʼʹsĕⁿ.  Neʼʹ diqʹ neʻʹ
I do not know it is certain the  kind of thing did he it say the  he my uncle. That too  the

        ĕⁿdgadyeʹĕⁿt         neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ.”
will I it begin (= do first) the   raccoon.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ    waāyăʹgĕⁿʼt    waaʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.       Tchi-iʻʹheʼ        waāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʼʹhoʻ      gäʹit       agwasʹ
So   now   too  hence he went out did he start. While he walked along did he it see  there  it (tree) stands  very

   oʼeʻʹdāʼ        aʹdiʼgwăʻ          năʼgayăʼdoʼʹdäⁿ      neʼʹhoʻ gĕⁿʼʹdyoⁿʼ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ   wāäʼʹtʻhĕⁿʼ   heʻʹ
it clawed (is) uncertain (it is) what it body kind of (is)  there  it abides.  So   now   truly did he it climb where

     gäʹit       dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ   waāʹgĕⁿʼ    djoʼäʹgăʼ dyunandeʻsändonʻnioⁿʼ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ     waayăʼdădăʻʹgoʼ
it (tree) stands so   there  did he it see  raccoon    they are in array.   So   now   did he its body take out

oʻsoñwăʹgoñ  neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʼ eʻdăʼʹgeʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      wooyăʼdoñʹdĭʼ;      oʹyăʼʹkhoʻ      waayăʼdădăʻʹgoʼ      neʼʹ-khoʻ
it hollow-in that and the  earth-on,  it is said, did he its body cast; it-other and did he its body take out that-and

neʻʹ eʻdăʼʹgeʻ    wooyăʼdoñʹdĭʼ;      oʹyăʼʹkhoʻ      waayăʼdădăʻʹgoʼ      neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ eʻdăʼʹgeʻ    wooyăʼdoñʹdĭʼ;
the  earth-on  did he its body cast; it-other-and did he its body take out that-and the  earth-on  did he its body cast;

 oʹyăʼʹkhoʻ      waayăʼdădăʻʹgoʼ      neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ eʻdăʼʹgeʻ     wooyăʼdoñʹdĭʼ.     Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ    waiʹĕñʼ
it-other-and did he its body take out that-and the  earth-on   did he its body cast. So   now   did he it say

wăʼasʹnyeʼt,  “Neʼʹhoʻ-sʻhoñ oʹnĕⁿ&tcomm a;   waiʻʹ,”   oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ            dondaadyăʼʹdĕn.
did he speak,  “Enough-just       now       of course,”  now   too  thence he his body caused to descend.


 Gāʹnioʼ   eʻdăʼʹgeʻ oʼtʻhāʹdăʼt  oʹnĕⁿʻ wăʼasʹnyeʼt,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Neʼʹhoʻ   noñʹ
As soon as earth-on  did he stand  now   did he speak, it is said, did he it say, “Enough, perhaps,

    hăʼdegayeʹiʼ      heʻʹ   nigeʼhasʹdeʼ        hĕⁿsgatgeʻʹdāt.”
just it is sufficient where so I am strong hence will I body bear away.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ       waātʻheʻnoñʹnĭʼ,      neʼʹ neʻʹ  hōʹyĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ     găsʹʻhāʼ      neʻʹ neʼʹ
So   now   of course did he it bundle make of, that the  he it has the  it forehead-strap the  that

waăsʻhädĕⁿʻʹdāĕ&s upn;ʼ. Oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ        waāyăʼdageʹoñʼ         neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ-sʻhoⁿʼoⁿ ,
did he it strap lay out.   Now   it is said,  there  did he its body lay severally the       raccoon-s,

   waadeyĕñnoñʹnĭʼ               waā­wăhăsʹyoñʼ.            Gāʼnioʼʹ     waadyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ     dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
did he it do with care did he it wrap with care severally. As soon as did he it task complete so   now

    oʼtʻhatʻhēʹ­naⁿk         agwasʹ                  waātʻgeʻʹdāt              neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
did he his bundle take up very, indeed, did he it bear with the forehead-strap that and the   now

         saāʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.
again he started (= went home).


Neʼʹhoʻ     niyuʼʹdäⁿ           gaʻhenodāʹdieʼ             hoñsaāʹyoⁿʼ         hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
 Thus   so it was in form it bundle stood out moving thither he returned home there where

        tʻhonadegăʼʹdoⁿ,         neʼʹhoʻ oñʹgyeʻ     waātʻhenoñʹdĭʼ        waiʹĕñʼ    khoʻ, “Hauʼʹ, hagnoʼʹsĕⁿ, nĕⁿʻʹ
there they it fire have kindled,  there  indoors did he his bundle cast did he it say and,  “Come,   my uncle,  here

igāʹyĕⁿʼ         desesʹnyeʻ,         dĕⁿsĕⁿʼnyāʹĕⁿ& mlapos;-khoʻ.”
it lies  two they hands put to (it),   wilt thou it care -and.”


Oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,  neʻʹ hagĕⁿʹdjĭ  oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ    oʼtʻhăsʹnyeʼ.     “Hōʹ,       niyāʹwĕⁿ        hiʹwâⁿdĕⁿʼ,”
 Now,   it is said the  he old one  now   truly did he it attend to. “Hō,  so it is in-gratitude my nephew,”

   waiʹĕñʼ    neʻʹ honoʼʹsĕⁿ, “Oʹnĕⁿʻ  waiʻʹ      oʼgāiʻwayeʹiʻ       tchi-săʼāʻʹsʻhoñ     sʻhăʼdegoñsʹnyeʼ
did he it say the  his uncle,   “Now   indeed did it matter fulfill while thou small-just I thee attended to

  dăsadodyĕñʹaⁿdieʼ    dyawĕⁿʼʹoⁿ   degoñsʹnyeʼ    neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ         goñdäñʹäs.         Oʹnĕⁿʻ nĕʹwăʼ
thence thou grew apace   always   I thee cared for that and the  I thee pitied customarily.  Now   in turn

   oʼsadodiʹāk,     dāʹ neʼʹkhoʻ    gĕⁿsʹ         tchiʹ-wi      oʹnĕⁿʻ nĕʹwăʼ  naⁿʹdă     gayăʼdăgēʹoñʼ.     Dāʹ
didst thou grow up, so  that and customarily while I it thought  now   in turn  this  it body lie severally. So

          niyāʹwĕⁿ            diqʹ.”
let it happen (I am thankful) too.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ hagĕⁿʹdjĭ    waāyĕñʹsēʼ    heʻʹ   nīʹyoñ   neʻʹ  djoʼäʹgăʼ.     Waādyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ    dāʹ
So   now,   it is said, the  he old one did she it skin  as  so it many the  the raccoon. Did he his task finish so

oʹnĕⁿʻ    waiʹĕñʼ,    “Neʼʹ nāʹeʻ neʻʹ găʼcyoʹsăʼ     ĕⁿgadoʻsoñʹnĭʼ,     neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ neʼʹ ʼăʻʹsoⁿ
 now   did he it say, “That truly the   it skin   will I self pouch make, that and the  that  still

  ĕⁿtchădoätʹʻhăʼ,    neʼʹkhoʻ  näⁿʹgäⁿ      gayăʼdăgēʹoñʼ    heyonēgāsʹdeʻ       neʻʹhoʻ       deyodogĕⁿʹdoⁿ
wilt thou to hunt go, that and this it is it body lie several “pot-roasted” as a matter of fact it it requires

 huiʹgĕⁿ   djoʼäʹgăʼ.”
that it is  raccoon.”


Neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ      waāgoōnʹdoñʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ neyoʼʹsʻhoⁿʼ neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ neʼʹ Dōʹ        nĕⁿdjikʹhwayēʼ?
That and the  did he her ask several that the   his wife-s  the   his nephew  that How so will you two food prepare?


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      dondagīʹdăʼt      oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ       oʼgyăʻʹtcōʼ        neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ;  gāʹnioʼ
So   now,   it is said thence they two arose  now   truly did they (du.) it cut up the   raccoon;  as soon as

     oʼwadyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ       dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ       oʼginaⁿʼdjōʹdĕⁿʼ.        Heʻʹ    niyuʹweʼ       oʼgāiʻʹ    yonegāsʹdeʻ
did they their task complete so   now   d id they two (f.) pot set up.  As  so far as it is did it cook it boiled down

  waiʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   oʼwāʹdoⁿʼ.   Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ        degiksăʼʹgōwā        neʼʹ neʻʹ oʼʹwāʼ  gaʼoñʹwăgoñ    neʼʹ
of course  now   did it become. So   now   the  two they (f.) (du.) maidens that the  it meat it-bowl-in  that it is

neʻʹ găʹsnoⁿʼ    năⁿʼʹot    neʼʹhoʻ         oʼgiʹondäʻ,         neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ wainandekʹhoñnĭʼ   hadigweʹgoⁿ.
the  it bark  kind of thing  there  did they two (du.) it part, that and the   now   did they food eat they together.

Dāʹ   “Niyāʹwĕⁿ,    hōʹ,   niyāʹwĕⁿ,      niyāʹwĕⁿ,”        hāʹdoⁿ,      giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ.
So  “I am thankful, hōʹ, I am thankful, I am thankful,” he kept saying, it is said, the  he old one (is).


 Wăʼōʹhĕñʼt,    giʼʹⁿʻ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ āʹeʼ      saādoätʹʻhăʼ      neʻʹ     Dooäʼdaneʹgĕⁿʼ.      Dāʹ neʼʹ
It became day, it is said  now   again again he to hunt went the  Dooäʼdane&mlpr ime;gĕⁿʼ. So  that

      tchīʹieʼs        neʻʹ gaʻhadăʹgoñ  neʼʹhoʻ   waāʹgĕⁿʼ       gäʹitgowāʹnĕñ,     agwasʹ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      oʼeʻʹdāʼ
while he walked around the  it-forest-in  there  did he it see it tree stands great,  very   it is said, it clawed (is)

neʼʹ neʻʹ owădjisdăʼʹgeʻ heʻʹ      gäʹit.      Oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,       waādeʻcyonyāʹnoñʼ       waāäʼʹtʻhĕⁿʼ-khoʻ .  Dāʹ
that the    it-bark-on   where it tree stands.  Now,   it is said did he his preparations make did he it climb-and. So

oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ neʼʹhoʻ   năʼaⁿʹwĕⁿ    āʹeʼ,  neʼʹhoʻ   waayăʼdā­dyĕñʼtʻhoʼ    neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ neʻʹ  oʻswĕⁿʼdăʹgoñ
 now   truly  there  so it happened again,  there  did he its body draw out the   raccoon  the  it dead tree-in

   goñniʼʹdioⁿʼ    eʻdăʼgeʻʹkhoʻ    wooyăʼdoñʹdĭʼ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ  oʹyăʼkhoʻ        hoⁿsaāyăʼdadyĕñʹ­tʻh oʼ
they (anim.) abide earth-on-and  did he its body cast,  now   it-other-and thence again he its body drew out

eʻdăʼʹgeʻ-khoʻ āʹeʼ     wooyăʼdoñ ʹdĭʼ,    oʹnĕⁿʻ,  oʹyăʼkhoʻ   āʹeʼ     ho& supn;saayăʼdadyĕñʹtʻhoʼ    neʼʹ neʻʹ
 earth-on-and  again did he its body cast,  now,   it other and again thence again he its body drew out that the

 oʻsweⁿʼʹdăgoñ  eʻdăʼʹgeʻ-khoʻ āʹeʼ    wooyă&mla pos;doñʹdĭʼ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,    oʹyăʼkhoʻ
it dead tree-in  earth-on-and  again did he its body cast down,   now   it is said, it other-and

      hoⁿsaayĕʼdadyĕñʹtʻhoʼ        eʻdăʼʹgeʻkhoʻ āʹeʼ       wooyăʼdoñʹdĭʼ,       neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ, yēʹiʼ   giʼsʹʻhäⁿ,
t hence again he its body drew out earth-on-and  again did he its body cast down the   raccoon,   six  it is believed,

djāʹdŭk   giʻsʹhäⁿ,          nigayăʼʹdăgeʻ        neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ     waiʹĕñʼ,    “Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ neʼʹhoʻ
 seven  it is believed so many its body in number the   raccoon.  So   now   truly  did he it say,  “Now   truly  there

   hăʼdegayēʹiʼ,”     oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ neʼʹ nāʹeʻ           dondaadyăʼdĕn(t)            hoñsāĕⁿʼdyoñʹdăʼt-kho&tc omma; neʻʹ
just two it suffice,”  now   the  that truly thence again he his body brought down  there did he again step-and   the

eʻdăʼʹgeʻʹ.
 earth-on.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ āʹeʼ          waasʻhädĕⁿʹdāĕⁿʼ          neʻʹ      osʹʻhāʼ,      dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ   neʼʹhoʻ āʹeʼ
So   now   again di d he it forehead strap lay out the  it forehead strap, so   now   of course  there  again

     waayăʼdăsodjōʹdĕnʼ      neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ    waatʻheʹnoñnĭʼ     neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
did he it body put in a pile the   raccoon  that and the  did he it bundle make that and the

       waahwăhăʹcyoñʼ        neʻ      hotʻhēʹnaiyĕⁿʼ         waadyĕñnñoʹnĭʼ.   Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ
did he it wrap up repeatedly the he his bundle lying there did he it care use. So   now   too

        doñsaatʻhēʻnaⁿk                      waatgeʻʹdāt-khoʻ,              oʹnĕⁿʻ    saaʻdĕñʹdĭʼ    oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹhoʻ
did again he his bundle take up did he it bear with and the forehead strap-  now   again he departed  now    there

      saatʻhēʹnaⁿk                 waatge&tcomm a;ʹdāt-khoʻ             oʹnĕⁿʻ       diqʹ            saaʻdĕñʹdĭʻ
again he his pack took up did he hit bear with and the forehead strap now (then) too, (also), again he started homeward

neʼʹhoʻ       hoñsāʹēʼ         hĕⁿʹoñweʻ       tʻhodinoⁿʹsot       neʻʹ   neyoʼʹsʻhoⁿʼoⁿ.
 there  thither again he went there where there their lodge stands the  the spouses several.


Neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ         hoñsaāʹyoⁿʼ        neʼʹhoʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,     waātʻhēʹnayĕⁿʼ    oñʹgyeʻ  hĕⁿoñweʻ
The  now (time) thither again he arrived  there   it is said, did he burden place indoors there where

    niʻānyoʹcyot      neʻʹ          honoʼʹsĕⁿ.           Dāʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ,     giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ
there his form abides the  his uncle (mother’s brother). So,  now, (then), it is said, the  he old person (is)

  waāsʹnyeʼt       waiʹĕñʼ,    “Hōōʹ,          niyāʹwĕⁿ,          hōōʹ,          niyāʹwĕⁿ,
did he it speak did he it say,  “Oh,  thence may it come to pass,  oh,  thence may it come to pass,

         niyāʹwĕⁿ           waiʻʹ.   Oʹnĕⁿʻ     noñʹ      ĕⁿwagōʹdjĭs     neʻʹ deʹgioⁿʼ, giʼsʹʻhäⁿ,   nigayăʼʹdăgeʻ
thence may it come to pass, truly. Now, (then) perhaps will it-me suffice the   eight,   it may be  so-it-body-number

neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ.”
the   raccoon.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ     hagĕⁿʹdjĭ       waayĕñcyoñʹgoʼ (waayĕñ­zyoñʹgoʼ)    heʻʹ            nīʹyoñʻ
So,  now   verily the  he old person (is) did-he-it-skin-remove respectively as (many) so-many in number (are),

 neʼʹhoʻ;    waadyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ        gagweʹgoⁿ.     Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ         waăʼʹsädoñnyoñʼ (waăʼʹzädoñnyoñʼ)
there (so) did he-it-task finish it-entire (whole).  Now   verily did he it-skin stretch (on frames) respectively

    gagweʹgoⁿ.
it-entire (whole).


Gāʹnioʼ    oʹnĕⁿʻ,     giʼʹoⁿʻ,   oʼgāʹʻhĕⁿ oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ   oʼhăʻʹsawĕⁿʼ   waāʼdōʻsoñʹnĭʼ (waādōzoñʹnĭʼ), hōʹ agwasʹ
Whenever now, (then), it is said, it dried   now   indeed did he-it-begin         he tanned them         oh,  very

         wīʹyō          neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ    waādyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿʼ.    Dāʹ     neʼʹ     nāʹeʻ    haʻgwasʹtʻhăʼ
it-fine, beautiful (is) the   now   indeed did he-it-task-finish. So  that (it is) truly he-it-wrap-used for

    neʼʹ      neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ īyosʹ.
that (it is)  the   raccoon  robe.


 Dyawĕⁿʼʹoⁿ  nāʹeʻ-sʻhoñ neʻʹ        degiksăʼʹgōwāʻ         odikhoñʹnī, agwasʹ  skĕñʹnoⁿʼ  gagweʹgoⁿ hĕⁿnĕñnoⁿdoñʹnioⁿ.
All the time  just only  the  two they children large (are)  they ate,   very  contentedly  it-all   they were thinking.


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ oʼgasʹnyeʼt   oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ       dyegōʹwănĕⁿ,
So  now (then), it is said,  there   it spoke   now (then) did it say the  she, the elder one (is),

      “Ĕⁿdiyĕñdāʹgwăʼ        nāʹeʻ, yeyĕñdāʹgwăs   gĕⁿsʹ  neʻʹ neʼʹ        yenĕñwăsʹʻhĕⁿʼ.        Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
&l dquo;Thou-will I wood get truly, one gets wood usually the  that one husband’s people is with. Come, now (then)

  dyăʻdĕñʹdĭʻ.”
let us two start.”


Dāʹ neʼʹ   diqʹ     oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ          hoʼgniyăʹgĕⁿʼt           heʻʹ        odinoⁿʹsot       neʼʹhoʻ
So  that moreover now (then) truly thence they two went out of doors there their two lodge stands  there

      wăʼʹgnēʼ         hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      tgahadāʹyĕⁿʼ,     neʼʹhoʻ hōʹgwā,   giʼʹoⁿʻ       oʼgniʹgĕⁿʼ
thither they two went there where there it forest (is),  there  aside,  it is said, did they two it see

       tgäʹit           oʹhĕⁿ.
there it-tree stands it dry (is).


    Neʼʹ     neʻʹ    dyeʹgōwanĕⁿ     ganĕñyagäⁿʹĕⁿt (ganĕñyaʹgän)    yēʹāʼ    deyotʻhweʼnoñʹni     neʼʹ     neʼʹhoʻ
That (it is) the  she elder one (is)     it stone white (is)      she-it held  it round (is)   that (it is)  there

    wăʼēʹyĕn      heʻʹ      gäʹit        gagweʹgoⁿ   nāʹeʻ  wăʼotʹkāeʻ  neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ    tcoyĕñdăsodjotʹsʻhoñ.     Dāʹ
did she it strike there it tree stands it whole (is) truly did it sound that-and the  only it wood pile left (is). So

 oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ    oʼgyatʻhēʹnoñnĭʼ            oʼgisʻhäyĕñʹdoñʼ         neʼʹ neʻʹ    hoʼ­gisʹʼŭt    neʻʹ
now (then) it is said,  there  did they two pack make did they two cord fasten to each that the  did it-it exhaust the

    sgäondatʹ-gĕñoⁿʼ;      dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ               oʼgyatgeʻʹdāt             neʻʹ   degaʻhēʹnăgeʻ
one it tree number(s)-was; so  now (then) moreover did they two it bear by forehead-band the  two it pack number

  oʹnĕⁿʻ     diqʹ       sagyăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.
now (then) moreover back they two started.


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ          hoñsagnīʹyoⁿʼ          hĕⁿʹoñweʻ        tyodinoⁿʹsot         oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ heʻʹ   gaʻʹhogain
So  now (then) there again they two arrived there where there their lodge stands now (then)  there  where it-door (is)

neʼʹhoʻ         hoñsagīʹyoⁿʼ           oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ   oʼtgyadekhăʹʻsĭʼ    heʻʹ   gaʻʹhogain,    oʹnĕⁿʻ,
 there  there again they two entered now (then)  there  did they two separate where it-door (is), now (then),

 giʼʹoⁿʻ,       dagyādyĕñʹtʻhoʼ      neʻʹ   gasʹʻhāʼ    dedjāʹoⁿ-gwā     năʼganoⁿʹsădĭ      oʼdwatʻhwădāʹseʼ neʻʹ
it is said, thither they two it draw the  it-pack-strap  both-sides  there it lodge side(s) did it around go the

  ganoⁿʹsot    neʻʹ oyĕñʹdăʼ.
it-lodge stand the  it-wood.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ            hoñsagīʹyoⁿʼ          neʻʹ ganoⁿsgoñʹwă. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,    wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ  neʼʹ neʻʹ
So   now,   it is said thither again they two entered the  it-lodge-in.  So   now,   it is said, did she say that the

   dyeʹgowănĕⁿ,          “Yondyĕñdayēʹoⁿʼ       gĕⁿsʹ  waiʻʹ neʻʹ          yenĕñwăsʻhĕⁿʼ,”             wăʼoñwaōʹwĭʼ
she, the elder one, “One wood for fire gathers usually truly the  she is with her husband’s people,” did she-him tell

neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ.     “Hōōʹ, niyāʹwĕⁿ; niyāʹwĕⁿ, waiʻ,”   waiʼĕñʼ   neʻʹ    hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,     agwasʹ oñgwătʹganoñniʻ
the  he, old man (is). “Hōōʹ,  thanks;   thanks,  truly,” did he say the  he, old man, (is)  very  we are wealthy

waiʻ.”
truly.”


  Oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹ neʻʹ  wēʹĕⁿʻ       dwĕñniʼʹdioⁿʼ      neʻʹ  goñtʻhoñwīʹsăs    oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  oʼwĕⁿnĕñninaⁿʼdog neʼʹ
Now (then) that the  far away there they (fem.) abide the  they women (are) now (then) verily  did they notice  that

neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ     waādōʹdiāg   neʻʹ    Hatʻhonʹdas      neʼʹ    neʻʹ   Hotkwisdadegĕⁿʹʼăʻ      neʼʹ    neʻʹ
the  now (then) did he grow up the  He, the Listener, that (is) the  He, the Scorched Paunch that (is) the

        Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ,          gēʹiʻ     nigoñʹdi.     Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ   yegĕⁿʹdjĭ,      “Oʹnĕⁿʻ
Two, He, Feathers Together (is), four  so many they are. So  now (then) verily the  she, old woman, “Now (then)

   hĕⁿswatgondŭk      oʹnĕⁿʻ           hĕⁿseswanaⁿʹgwăgwāāʼ           giĕⁿʼʹ­sʻhoⁿʼoⁿ, ” neʼʹ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ.    Sĕⁿʹ
thither will you go now (then) thither will you him fetch as a spouse   my children,”    that did she it say. Three

   năʼdewännondĕⁿʹnondēʼ.      Oʹnĕⁿʻ     wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ yegĕⁿʹdj&i breve;, “Isʹ   ĕⁿtchadyeʹĕⁿt   neʻʹ
s o many they (are) sisters. Now (then) did she it say the   she, old woman,   “You will you be first the

   segōʹwănĕⁿ    neʼʹ neʻʹ       hĕⁿsenaⁿgwagwăʹhăʼ.&rdquo ;
you eldest (are) that the  thither wilt thou fetch him as spouse.”


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,     oʼwadiäʻgoñnĭʼ    neʼʹ neʻʹ deganăⁿʼhoñsdyăʼʹgoⁿ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ oʼwadīʹtʻheʼt  neʻʹ
So  now (then), it is said, did they bread make that the  it “marriage” bread,  now (then) truly did they pound the

sĕⁿʹ     niwĕñnonʹdĭʻ     neʻʹ wĕⁿnondeʼgĕⁿʼʹsʻho ⁿʼoⁿ, neʼʹ neʻʹ   gagaiʻdĕⁿʼʹdoⁿ    năⁿʼʹot neʻʹ oäʻʹgwăʼ. Neʼʹ neʻʹ
three so many they number the    they sisters (are),    that the  it-boiled-in-ashe s kind of the  it-bread. That the

waiʻʹ neʻʹ tuʻʹ, tuʻʹ, tuʻʹ, tuʻʹ,  soʼʹgĕⁿʼ   hĕⁿʹoñweʻ    oʼwaditʻheʼt.
truly the  tuʻʹ, tuʻʹ, tuʻʹ, tuʻʹ, it sounded there where did they pound it.


Dăʼdjīʹăʻsʻhoñ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ       wăʼodiäʻʹgwaiis      neʻʹ     gonyākʹtʻhăʼ,     oäʻʹgwăʼ
In a short time, it is said, now (then) did their bread get done the  one it uses to marry, it bread

deganaⁿʼhoñsdyăʼʹgoⁿ   gayāʹsoⁿ,   dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   gaʼăsʹʻhägoñ  waʼagonʹdäʻ   neʼʹ neʻʹ    dewăsʹʻhĕⁿ
it “marriage” bread  it called is, so  now (then) it-basket-in did one it put that the  two-tens (twenty)

     niyoäʻʹgwăgeʻ,      neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   yegĕⁿʹdjĭ      oʹnĕⁿʻ     wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ        gāʹtcĭ
so many it loaves number that-and the  she, old woman now (then) did she it say, “Come,  now (then) hith er come thou

neʹkhoʻ    dĕⁿsʹdăʼt.”    Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʻʹ   goāʹwăk    neʼʹhoʻ   oʼdyēʹdăʼt,   neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
 here   wilt thou stand.” So  now (then) the  her daughter  there   did she stand, that-and the  now (then)

    wăʼagaotʹgăʼ      neʻʹ   goāʹwăk    neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ      găsĕñnagăʼʹoⁿ          wăʼagoʻʹgāʼ     neʼʹ neʻʹ
did she her hair comb the  her daughter that-and the  it-perfume (smell-sweet) did she her anoint that the

gonoʼĕñʼʹgeʻ, neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ wăʼagonyăʻtchiʼdōʹd&eb reve;ⁿʼ, agwasʹ      dayeʻdoʹes      neʻʹ găʼheʻʹsăʼ, agwasʹ
her head-on,  that-and the   did she-her-top-knot set on,    very  did she it taut make the   it-band,    very

   dedjagogaoʼgwāeʼʹsʻhoñ     soʼʹdjĭʻ      wăʼeʻniʹäd.
did she eye-sockets-have-only too much did she it taut make.


Dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼoⁿʻ,   neʻʹ   yegĕⁿʹdjĭ      wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ     hoʼseʻʹ      hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
So  now (then) it is said the  she, old woman did she it say, “Come, now (then)  there  thither go thou there where

 weʹĕⁿ        itʹʻheʼs       neʻʹ    Dooäʼdan&e macr;ʹgĕⁿʼ;    neʼʹ neʻʹ    ĕⁿwiʻhēʹagʹ     hăʼʹdegagon
far away there he goes about the  Two He Feathers Together Are that the  will I be thinking without fail

  ĕⁿhoñwâⁿoʹwĭʼ.   Dāʹ       djāʹgoⁿ          diqʹ.   Agwasʹ nāʹeʻ  otʻhyoʻʹgwanīʻ   hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
will she him tell. So  do thou take courage moreover.  Very  verily it is frightful there where

     dĕⁿsyayăʼkʹdăk         näⁿʹgäⁿ     ganyōʹdāeʼ.”  Dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,
wilt thou it use to cross this (it is) it lake (is).” So  now (then) it is said,

             wăʼoñdadegeʻʹdād                 näⁿʹgäⁿ    găʼăsʹʻhäʼ oäʻʹgwăʼ     īʹwad.
did she-her place it on, with forehead band this (it is) it basket  it-bread it contains it.


Oʹnĕⁿʻ năʹeʻ  wăʼoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ  neʻʹ dyeʹgowănĕⁿ. Wăʼe&ml prime;yoⁿʼ nāʹeʻ   hĕⁿʹoñweʻ    tʻhadinaⁿʹgeʼ    neʼʹ neʻʹ
 Now   verily di d she start the  she, eldest.   Did she arrive   verily there where there they inhabit that the

       Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ        haʻwadjīʹäʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻʹ  weĕⁿʹsʻhoñ        dedyegāʹneʼ      neʼʹhoʻ  deyegāʹneʼ  neʼʹ
Two He Feathers Together Are  his clan   now (then) truly far away only there she looked from  there  did she look that

neʻʹ      tʻhonoⁿʹsot       neʻʹ         Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.         Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   agwasʹ  oʼyoʹnisʻheʼt     neʼʹhoʻ
the  there his lodge stands the  &l dquo;Two Feathers Together.” So  now (then)  very  it was long time there (thus)

niyoʼʹdĕñ dăʼāʹoñʻ   auñʹwâⁿʹgĕⁿʼ    nāʹeʻ.
so it was not able could she him see verily.


Dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ      daāyăʹgĕⁿʼt    neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ      neʼʹkhoʻ  neʻʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ
   Suddenly,    it is said, now (then) thence he emerged the  “Two Feathers Together” there-and the  none then

  oʼtʻhatʹgăʻdoⁿ.   Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  waăʻʹdĕñdĭʼ,  oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   hogwāʻʹsʻhoñ neʼʹhoʻ    dedyeʹgāneʼ    neʻʹ
he did look around.  Now   verily did he start,  now,   it is said,  aside-just   there  thence she looked the

  yeksăʼʹgōwā.   Neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ     waādowäʹtʻhăʼ   neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ    wāʹāt    doskĕñoⁿʹsʻhoñ  hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
she maiden (is). That-and the  now (then) did he to hunt go that-and the  did he stop  nearby-just   there where

   dedyegāʹneʼ    neʻʹ   yeksăʼʹgōwā.
thence she looked the  she maiden (is).


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ   waātgonʹdŭk     hĕⁿʹoñweʻ    detʻhado­wäsʹtʻhăʼ.     Neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ neʼʹhoʻ
So  now (then)  there  did he start for there where there he it to hunt uses  That-and the   there

     deyeganēʹdieʼ      heʻʹ      wāʹeʼ,      neʼʹhoʻ-khoʻ nāʹeʻ       hoʼwaʻʹdoⁿʼ.        Djokʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,
thence she looked-along where thence he went,  there -and  verily thither it disappeared. Quickly,  now,   it is said,

neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼʹĕⁿʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ    wauñwăⁿsʹʻheʼ    -khoʻ wăʼoñwayăʼdi­sākʹh&abreve ;ʼ -khoʻ   dwadādesʼăʻʹdoⁿ
 there  thither she went  now   verily did she him pursue -and        did she him seek       -and  did she her best do

nāʹeʻ.
verily.


Agwasʹ  wēʹĕⁿʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ    niyuʼdäⁿʹādieʼ         hosʹʻheʼ.     Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se
 Very  far away, it is said,  there  so it continued to be she-him followed.   Suddenly

         hoʼdyeganäʹdieʼ           neʼʹhoʻ          tʻhäʹdieʼs          heʻʹ         tgäʹit            neʼʹ     neʻʹ
thither she is looking as she went  there  there he went climbing about where there it tree stands that (it is) the

   gäoñdăsʹdĕñʼ.    Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  neʼʹhoʻ      wăʼʹĕⁿʼ,            wăʼēʹyoⁿʼ      -khoʻ hĕⁿʹoñʹweʻ
it tree large (is). So  now (then) verily  there  thither did she go, thither she arrived -and  there where

       tgäʹit        tĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ   diqʹ   nāʹeʻ        deonoⁿʹdoⁿʼ;       doskĕñʹoⁿ neʼʹhoʻ  oʼdyēʹdăʼt    hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
there it tree stands   not   moreover verily not he it aware of (is);   near     there  did she stand there where

      nigäʹit.           Neʼʹhoʻ     gäoñdākʹʼăʻ     īʹyet    tʻhiyagodyēʹĕⁿ. Dāʹ neʼʹ khoʻʹ neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ
there it tree stands. There (it is) it tree beside she stands she kept still. So  that  and  the   raccoon

              odyăʼdădēʹnyoñʻ,               agwasʹ nāʹeʻ    oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   näⁿʹ        niyoyăʼdăʻsōʹdjes
did it exchange, body(s) (= body after body)  very  verily now (then), it is said,  so  so it-body pile high (long) (is)

neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ. Dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ   deyegāʹneʼ    neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ        hoyoʼʹdeʼ   neʼʹ neʻʹ   yeksăʼʹgōwā.   Dāʹ
the   raccoon.  So   there  she is watching the  “Two Feathers Together” he is working that the  she maiden (is). So

neʼʹhoʻ hoʼdyē ʹdăʼt   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ   wăʼesʹnyeʼt  neʼʹ neʻʹ  wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,  “Hauʼʹ,         Doⁿdasadyăʼʹdĕn
 there  did she stop now (then) verily did she speak that the  did she say, “Come,  thence thou thy body bring down

(doⁿdasadyăʼʹdĕnt)   oʹnĕⁿʻ    noñʹ   nāʹeʻ              dasesʹʼăʻt.”              Dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ neʼʹhoʻ  oʼgasʹnyeʼt
                   now (then) perhaps verily thence you (thou) it hast exhausted.”    Suddenly     there  did it cry out

neʻʹ gwĕⁿgwĕñʹoⁿ,  “Kwĕⁿʹ, kwĕⁿʹ, kwĕⁿʹ,”  oʼʹgĕⁿʼ;     wăʼēʹgĕⁿʼ    ni­găhadăgĕñʻyatʹʻs&tcom ma;hoñ neʼʹhoʻ
the  yellowhammer, “Kwĕⁿʹ, kwĕⁿʹ, kwĕⁿʹ,” did it say; did she it see      just it forest-edge-        there

       wăʼotʹʻhädieʼ.
thither it flying sang along.


Oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹ neʻʹ yeksăʼʹgōwā  wăʼesʹnyeʼt     waiʹĕñʼ       diqʹ,   “Āʹgi,    gĕñʼʹ       ăwĕñdoñʹnyăʼt,     oʹnĕⁿʻ
 Now   that the  she maiden  did she speak did she it say moreover, “Āʹgi, exceedingly it discouraging (is),  now

waiʻʹ waāknaⁿʼkhwăʼʹdĕⁿ&m lapos;  neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.”       Djokʹ   ogondaʹdieʼ   wăʼoⁿtgeʻdăʹʻsĭ& mlapos;
truly      did he me anger        the  “T wo Feathers Together.” At once it it followed  did she burden unloose

hōʹgwāʹ-khoʻ    wăʼāgosʹʻhoʼ     neʻʹ oäʻʹgwăʼ-gĕñʹoⁿ&mlapos ;, neʼʹ neʻʹ dewăsʹʻhĕⁿ      niyoäʻʹgwăgeʻ.       Dāʹ
 aside-and   did she it pour out the      it bread-it was,      that the   two tens  so many it loaves number. So

 oʹnĕⁿʻ    diqʹ   sayoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ, neʼʹhoʻ     hoñsāʹyĕⁿʼ      hĕⁿʹoñweʻ   dwĕñniʼʹdioⁿʼ   neʻʹ dewĕñnondäⁿʹ­nondeʼ
now then moreover she went home,  there  again she arrived, there where there they abide the   they are sisters

godinoʼʹĕⁿ-khoʻ.  Gānioʼʹsʻhoñ nāʹeʻ  oʹnĕⁿʻ      hoñsayeʹyoⁿʼ,       dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ  neʻʹ   yegĕⁿʹtcĭ,
their mother-and. As soon-just verily  now   there again she arrived, so   now   verily did she say the  she, old woman,

“Gwēʹ,  naⁿʼ­āʹwĕⁿʻ-hegō wā           dēʼsʻhāʹwĭʼ?”          Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ   yeksăʼʹgōwā       dayesʹnyeʼt
“Well, what happened-so great not thou him bring with thee?” So   now   the  she maiden (is) thence she answered

   waiʹĕñʼ,     “Neʻʹ Iʼʹ dăʼāʹoⁿʻ agegwēʹnĭʼ  soʼʹdjĭʻ  ĕñʼʹ    noñʹ     doōnoⁿʼgōʹwäs         sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ.”
did she it say, “The   I  not able I it can do because  I think perhaps not it him affects indeed.” (in fact.”)


Dāʹ  wăʼesʹnyeʼt  neʻʹ  onoʼʹĕⁿ      waiʹĕñʼ,     “Nāʹeʻ-khoʻ    deʼgoñ­yăʼʹdāāʼs    soʼʹdjĭʻ neʻʹ īsʹ
So  did she speak the  her mother did she it say, “Verily- and no t I thee depend on because  the  thou

      nisadyēʹäʼt,              sanăʼgōʹwäs.        Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ      wayagwēʹnĭʼ.      Oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ   neʼʹ
so thou not smart (art), thou liable to attack art. So  now (then) verily did he thee overcome.  Now   moreover that

    ĕⁿyoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ      neʻʹ     gosʹtʻhoⁿ,     neʼʹ nāʹeʻ  agwasʹ  kheyăʼʹdāāʼs.   Oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ   nāʹeʻ
did she start moreover the  she youngest (is), that verily  very  I her depend on.  Now   moreover verily

   ĕⁿswaäʻgoñʹnĭʼ     neʼʹ neʻʹ deganaⁿʼhoñsdyăʼʹgoⁿ neʼʹ neʻʹ    dewăsʹʻhĕⁿ            nĕⁿʹyoñk.        Hauʼʹ, oʹnĕⁿʻ.”
you bread make (Imp.) that the   “marr iage-bread”   that the  two tens (twenty) so many will it number. Come,   now.”

“Hauʼʹ,” oʹnĕⁿʻ oʼwadītʹʻheʼt  neʻʹ oʹnĕñʹoⁿʼ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ       oʼwadiäʻgoñʹnĭʼ       neʼʹ neʻʹ    dewăsʹʻhĕⁿ
“Come,”   now   did they pound the   it corn.  So   now   verily did they (fem.) bread make that the  two tens (twenty)

      nīʹyoñ,        dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ         oʼwadiäʻʹgōʼ        neʼʹ neʻʹ    dewăsʹʻhĕⁿ           nīʹyoñ,        dāʹ
so many they number, so   now   verily did they (fem.) bread make that the  two tens (twenty) so many they number, so

oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ         oʼwadiäʻʹgōʼ        deganaⁿʼhoñsdyăʼʹgoⁿ   gayāʹsoⁿ.    Ganioʼʹ     oʼgaiʹʻ   dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ
 now   verily did they (fem.) bread boil  “marr iage-bread”   it is called. As soon as did it cook so  then (now) verily

găʼăsʻʹhägoñ     wăʼagonʹdäʻ.
it basket-in did one it place in.


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,        wăʼagoyotʹgăʼ      neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ       găsăñnagăʼʹoⁿ
So  now (then) verily it is said, did she her hair combed that-and the   it smell sweet (perfume)

     wăʼagaoʻʹgāʼ       neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ wăʼagonyăʻtchiʼdōʹd&eb reve;ⁿʼ, agwasʹ       wăēʹnīäd       neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
did she her anoint with that-and the   did she her top-knot fix on,    very  did she it taut make that-and the

     wăʼewăhăʹʻcyoñʼ      agwasʹ  dōʹgĕⁿs    deʼdjagogaoʼgwāeʼʹsʻhoñ.
did she it wrap severally  very  it certain not she eyebrows has just.


Dāʹ  ganioʼʹ   wăʼoñdyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿ&mlapo s; neʻʹ   yegĕⁿʹdjĭ   neʼʹ neʻʹ goñwayăʼdăsĕñnōñʹnī&tco mma; dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ
So  as soon as  did she her task finish   the  she old woman that the      she her body adorns      thus  now   verily

            wăʼoñdadgeʻʹdāt             (for wăʼ­oñwageʻʹdāt) neʻʹ găʼăsʹʻhäʼ neʼʹ neʻʹ oäʻʹgwăʼ    īʹwād,    “Hauʼʹ
did she her pack with the forehead band                       the  it basket  that the  it-bread it it in is, “Come,

oʹnĕⁿʻ   saʻdĕñʹdĭʻ,”     wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ   yegĕⁿʹdjĭ,      “djāʹgoⁿ      diqʹ,   isʹ  waiʻʹ hăʼdegāʹgon
 now   thou, do start,” did she it say the  she, old woman, “Take courage moreover, thou truly without fail

    ĕⁿsʻhegwēʹnĭʼ,      agwasʹ goñyăʼʹdāāʼs sĕⁿʼʹĕⁿ, hăʼdegāʹgon       dĕⁿtʻhesʹʻhāwĭʼ       neʻʹ
wilt thou him overcome,  very  I thee trust in fact,   without   t hence wilt thou him bring the

    Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.        Djāʹgoⁿ      diqʹ.”
‘Two Feathers Together.’ Take courage moreover.”


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,    wăʼoⁿdĕñʹdĭʼ  neʻʹ   yeksăʼʹgōwā   neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼoñtgonʹdŭk       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
So  now (then), it is said, did she depart the  she maiden (is)  there  did she herself direct there where

 tʻhadinaⁿʹgeʼ   neʻʹ    Hotkwisdădegĕⁿʼʹăʻ    haʻhwădjīʹäʼ.         Goʼăsʻhägeʻʹdeʼ         neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
there they dwell the  &ldq uo;Scorched Paunch”   his clan.   She basket bore by the forehead the  now (then)

     hwăʼēʹyoⁿʼ       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ   tʻhadinaⁿʹgeʼ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  neʼhoʻʹsʻhoñ          godăʻseʻdoñʹdieʼs
there did she arrive there where there they dwell,  now   verily  there just  she herself hid from place to place

doskĕñʹoⁿ  hĕⁿʹoñweʻ       nihodinoⁿʹsot       neʼʹ neʻʹ goñwayăʼʹdiʻsăkʹhă&m lapos;.  Agwasʹ āʹeʼ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,
 nearby   there where there their lodge stands that the  they (fem.) him to seek went.  Very  again, it is said,

   oʼyonisʹʻheʻ     āʹeʼ  neʼʹhoʻ          godăʻseʻdoñʹdieʼs.          Dyĕñgwăʹ-se    daāyăʹgĕⁿʼt     agwasʹ āʹeʼ
it was a long while again  there  she herself hid from place to place.  Suddenly   thence he came out  very  again

  oʼtʻhatʹgăʻdoⁿ   agwasʹ  waādyĕñnoñʹnĭʼ,    oʹnĕⁿʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,   waăʻʹdĕñdĭʼ  neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ       waātgonʹdŭk
did he look around  very  did he take pains, now then, it is said, did he start  there  verily did he himself direct

 hĕⁿʹoñweʻ       tʻhadoäsʹtʻhăʼ.      Oʹnĕⁿʻ khoʻʹ āʹeʼ  neʼʹhoʻ      wăʼʹĕⁿʼ,       oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ   wăʼoñwăsʹʻhēʼ,
there where there he it to hunt uses.  Now    and  again  there  thither did she go,  now   truly did she him pursue,

neʼʹhoʻ      wăʼʹĕⁿʼ,        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      heāwēʹnoñ.     Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ      oʼyoʹnisʻheʼt      neʼʹhoʻ   nidyagoyĕʹĕⁿ
 there  thither did she go, there where thither did he go. So   now   did it last a long time  there  so she continued

oʹnĕⁿʻ dyĕñgwăʻʹsʻhoñ āʹeʼ  oʹnĕⁿʻ  wăʼoñwāʹgĕⁿʼ   heʼʹtkĕⁿ neʼʹhoʻ         tʻhäʹdeʼs.           Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ
 now   suddenly just  again  now   did she him see  above    there  there he is climbing about.  So  now (then) verily

   wăʼoñdeyĕⁿʹoⁿs    neʼʹ neʻʹ          godăʻseʻdoñʹdieʼs          neʼʹhoʻ. Neʼʹ neʻʹ     gäʹit       gĕⁿsʹ
did she do carefully that the  she herself hid from place to place  there.  That the  it tree stands usually

       sayoñdäwĕⁿʹdāt,         neʼʹhoʻ  gĕⁿsʹ   wăʼʹĕⁿʼ    hĕⁿʹoñweʻ   ōʹyăʼ          tgäʹit.        Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
again she herself interpolate,  there  usually did she go there where it other there it tree stands. So   now

          wăʼäʼtʹʻhē            neʼʹhoʻ      wăʼeʹyoⁿʼ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      gäʹit,      oʼnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ   neʼʹhoʻ
did she him overtook (overhaul)  there  did she there arrive there where it tree stands,  now   moreover  there

    wăʼoñʹdyĕñʼ;      neʼʹhoʻ yenyoʻʹcyot  gäoñdākʹʼăʻ   neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ neʼʹhoʻ wăʼoñdyăʼdăʼʹd&ibreve ;ʻ heʻʹ
did she herself seat;  there    she sat   it tree beside that and the   there        did she lean       where

    gäʹit.      Dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ khoʻʹ gaʼăsʻhäʹyĕⁿʼ neʼʹ neʻʹ oäʻʹgwăʼ          gaäʻgwădāʹnioⁿʼ.            Doʼosʹtʻhoñ
it tree stands. So   there   and  it basket lay that the  it bread it bread contained were severally. Not in the least

daāninon­dokʹhăʼ  neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ,     agwasʹ, neʻʹ neʼʹ   odyăʼdădeʹnyoñ    neʻʹ djoʼäʹgăʼ. Neʼʹhoʻ
did he it realize the  “Two Feathers Together”  very,  the  that it its body changed the   raccoon.   There

     oʼyoʹnisʻheʻt       nāʹeʻ    tʼhiyagodyeĕⁿʹsʻhoñ    neʻʹ   yeksăʼʹgōwā.
did it last a long while verily just she kept quiet just the  she maiden (is).


Neʼʹ  gwāʹ  neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ  oʼtʻhatgăʻʹdoⁿ   khoʻʹ  wēĕⁿʻʹsʻhoñ    waātʻhwădāʹseʼ   eʻdăʼgeʻʹ-khoʻ.
That indeed the  “Two Feathers Together”  now   did he look about  and  far away just did he circle make   below-and.

Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se oʹnĕⁿʻ dondāādyăʼʹdĕn (dondāādjăʼʹdĕn) skeñnoⁿʼʹoñʻ neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ     hoĕñʼheʼcyoñʹneʼ
  Suddenly    now         thence he descended          slowly    that and the  he stopped betimes moving

 tchi-dondaoñdyăʼdĕndoñʹdyeʼ,  agwasʹ hăʼdoⁿsaĕñʼ­dyonʹdă ʼt neʼʹ neʻʹ  gäoñdăkʹʼăʻ,          sgäoñdăʹdĭʻ        gwāʹ
while thence he descended came  very  back again he stopped  that the  it tree beside, it tree on the other side just

 hĕⁿʹoñweʻ    niyenyoʻʹcyot.
there where just she is seated.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,        dondayedăsʹdăk      agwasʹ   oʼdyagoʼsaiʹyĕⁿ    wăʼoñtʻhwădāʹseʼ  heʻʹ      gäʹit
So   now,   it is said, thence she arose quickly  very  did she move quickly did she go around where it tree stands

neʼʹhoʻ  īʹyād   neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.      Tʻhăʼgwisʹdĕⁿʼ nāʹeʻ  noñsāāʹyēʼ neʼʹ neʻʹ   haādeʼʹgoʼ    neʼʹsʻhoñ
 there  he stood the  “Two Feathers Together.”  Not Anything  verily can he do  that the  could he escape that only

nāʹeʻ  oʼsʻhagotgāʹtʻhoʼ,   woōyonʹdĭʼ  neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ woōiʻwănääʹgoʼ heʻʹ         niyeksăʼʹgōwā.
verily did he her look at, did he smile that and the  did he marvel  where so she beautiful maiden (is).

  Oʼgowandigweʹnĭʼ    neyōʼʹsʻhoⁿʼoⁿ,  neʼʹ sēⁿʼʹĕⁿ    oiʻwănääʹgwăt    hāʹeʼgwăʻ   degiksăʼʹgōwā.
Did they him overcome the his wives,   that in fact it matter marvelous   also    they are beautiful.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ neʻʹ yeksăʼʹgōwā    oʼgoñwagwēʹnĭʼ    neʼʹ khoʻʹ neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,  “Hauʼʹ,
So   now   truly the  she, maiden did she him overcome that  and  the   now   verily did she say, “Come,

    sadoñʹisʻhĕñ      de­sasgēʹyoñ   noñʹ   dyawĕⁿʼʹoⁿ (djăwĕⁿʼʹoⁿ) heʼtkĕⁿʹsʻhoñ      säʹdeʼs,      neʹkhoʻ
do thou thyself rest thou weary art perhaps       continually        above-just   thou art climbing,  here

      ĕⁿsaʹdyĕñʼ       neʼʹ neʻʹ   ĕⁿgoñiʻsāʹgĕⁿʼ   neʹkhoʻ   diqʹ          ēⁿsatʹ­goĕñʼ        heʻʹ     dekhōʹgĕñʻ
wilt thou thyself seat that the  will I thee search  here   moreover wilt thou recline thy head where between my thighs

neʹkhoʻ   diqʹ      dekhōʹgĕñʻ      dĕⁿsegāʹneʼk.   “Hauʼʹ, neʹkhoʻ oʹnēⁿʻ       sāʹdyĕñʻ.”
 here   moreover between my thighs shalt thou gaze. “Come,   here    now   do thou thyself seat.”


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ      waāʹdyĕñʼ      neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ     niganăʼʹdoⁿʼ    neʻʹ
So  now (then), it is said,  there  did he himself seat the  “Two Feathers Together” there where just she indicated the

yeksăʼʹgōwā neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ neʼʹhoʻ      waātgoⁿʹhĕñʼ.       Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  wăʼoñwāiʻʹsăkĕⁿ&m lapos;
she maiden  that and the   there  did he his head recline.  Now   verily    did she him search

    oʼyoʹnisʻheʼt,      giʼʹoⁿ&tcom ma;, neʼʹhoʻ    niyoʼʹdäⁿ.    Neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   waōʹdăʼ,    oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  agwasʹ
did it long while last,   it is said,     there  so it continued. That-and the  did he sleep,  now   verily  very

 noñʹ       woeʻsĕⁿdāniʼʹheʼt.      Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ wăʼesʹnyeʼt,     waiʹĕñʼ,     “Gwēʹ,    īʹdjeʻ.”
perhaps did his sleep become sound. So    now   it is said,  there  did she speak did she it say, “Come, do thou awake.”

Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹsʻhoñ gagwēʹgoⁿ    oʼwadodyāʹnoñʼ     neʻʹ hayăʼʹdăʼgeʻ neʼʹ khoʻ neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ    goyäʹgoñʻ
So   now   that-just it entire did it move severally the  his body on  that and  the  now (then) her pouch in

 wăʼoñwăʼnoⁿʻʹdäʻ    wăʼagosʹʻhoʼ-khoʻ   nāʹeʻ  yāʹeʼ neʻʹ oäʻʹgwăʼ   iwāʹdăk.    Djokʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ
did she him enclose did she it empty-and verily first the  it bread did it hold. At once  now

     wăʼoñdăs­ʻheoʹdĕⁿ&m lapos;                       wăʼoñtgeʻʹdād,                   agwasʹ nāʹeʻ     osʹdeʼ
did she it attach to a forehead band did she it bear on her back by the forehead band,  very  verily it heavy (is)

   hodăʼʹoⁿ    waiʻʹ neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.
he asleep (is) truly the  “Two Feathers Together.”


 Weʹĕⁿʻ       niyuʹweʼ           hetcyagawēʹnoñ      neʼʹhoʻ   gaʻstĕñʹdeʼ    neʼʹ neʻʹ     oʻstĕnʹñēt      gaʹnioʼ
Far away so it distant (is) thither she returned has  there  it-rock projects that the  it rock sharp (is) as soon as

neʼʹhoʻ   wăʼēʹyoⁿʼ      oʹnĕⁿʻ   neʼʹhoʻ     wăʼoñʹdyĕñʼ        wăʼewăhăʻʹsĭʼ    neʼʹ neʻʹ      gotʻhēʹnaiĕⁿʼ
 there  did she arrive now (then)  there  did she herself seat  did she it unbind that the  her bundle lying for her

neʼʹ neʻʹ     goñwadigwenyoñʹādieʼ     neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ oʼtʻhoñwanoⁿʼĕⁿʻʹh ĕñt. Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   khoʻ neʻʹ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,
that the   she him overcame, returning that and the  did she his head shook. So  now (then) and  the  did she it say,

“Hauʼʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ      īʹdjeʻ.”     Agwasʹ āʹeʼ      dayoñdeʼʹhāsdoñʼ,      “Hauʼʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ      īʹdjeʻ,”
“Come  now (then) do thou awake.”  Very  again thence she force employed, “Come,  now (then) do thou awake,”

       yoñʹdoⁿʻ.
she it continued to say.


Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,     wăʼāʹyeʻ.   Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   waiʻ,   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,          “Cyĕñdeʹi-gĕⁿʻ       neʹkhoʻ?”
  Suddenly    now,   it is said, did he awake. So  now (then) truly did she it say, “Thou it knowest-dost thou  here?”

Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      oʼtʻhatʹgăʻdoⁿ    neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ    waiʹĕñʼ,      “Tgayēʹiʼ   gyĕñdēʹi.  Neʹkhoʻ  gĕⁿsʹ
So   now,   it is said, did he his eyes open that-and the  did he it say, “It full (is) I it know.  Here   usually

 deyaknĕⁿnisdayĕñdăʻʹgwă ʼ  neʻʹ djonaĕñʼʹdăʼ.”
two we it snares to set use the      elk.”


Oʹnĕⁿʻ neʻʹ yeksăʼʹgōwā dayesʹnyeʼt    waiʹĕñʼ,         “Cyĕñdeʹi      waiʻʹ,   oʹnĕⁿʻ   gwāʹ  noñʹ   āʹeʼ
 Now   the  she, maiden she replied did she it say, “Thou it dost know truly, now (then) just perhaps again

    ĕⁿsgoñiʻsāʹgĕⁿʼ     neʼʹhoʻsʻhoñ khoʻʹ āʹeʼ         dĕⁿtchegāʹnäʼk         hĕⁿʹoñweʻ   gĕⁿsʹ       deʻsegāʹnēʼ
wil l I thee search for  there-just   and  again again wilt thou keep looking there where usually dost thou keep looking

neʼʹ neʻʹ    dekhōʹgĕñʻ.”     Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   āʹeʼ  neʼʹhoʻ         waātgoⁿʹĕñʼ         neʼʹhoʻ deyeʻhōʹgĕñʻ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,
that the  between my thighs.” So  now (then) again  there  did he his head rest (lean)  there   her lap on.  So   now,

 giʼʹoⁿʻ,   āʹeʼ       waoñwaiʻsāʹgĕⁿʼ       neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ  āʹeʼ       deāgāʹneʼ,      neʻʹ neʼʹ
it is said, again did she him search for him  there  verily again did he keep looking, the  that

       gaioñʹñĭʻ         neʻʹ deowaĕⁿʼgĕñʹnyoñ.
it it makes it it causes the  she him overcame.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,  āʹeʼ       waōʹdăʼ,       neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ wăʼ­oiʻsĕⁿdānī&mlprime ;ʼheʼt. Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ oʹnĕⁿʻ
So   now,   it is said again did he fall asleep, that-and the   did his sleep become sound.   Suddenly just  now

nāʹeʻ  āʹeʼ   dayesʹnyeʼt    wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    neʻʹ yeksăʼʹgōwā, “Hauʼʹ,    īʹdjeʻ.”     Dăʼāʹoⁿ nāʹeʻ     dăʼāʹyeʻ.
verily again did she reply did she it say, the  she, maiden, “Come,  do thou awake.” Not can verily could he awake.

Oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   āʹeʼ           oñsaoñwăʻhăʹcioⁿʼ;            gāʹnioʼ   wăʼoñdyĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿ&mlapo s; oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ
 Now,   it is said, again again did she him bind up repeatedly; as soon as did she her task complete   now   truly

           sayoñtʻhēnaⁿgeʻʹdād-khoʻ,             oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ āʹeʼ    sayoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.   Dăʼaonisʻhēʼʹoñʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ
again she her pack bore by the forehead band-and  now   truly again again she started. Not a long while now (then)

     hoñsayēʹyoⁿʼ         hĕⁿʹoñweʻ     tganyōʹdāeʼ,     oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   āʹeʼ  neʼʹhoʻ     sāoñwāʹyēt.      “Hauʼʹ,
again she returned home  there where there it lake (is),  now,   it is said, again  there  again she him awoke. “Come,

  oʹnĕⁿʻ      īʹdjeʻ,”       wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ.    Neʼʹ nāʹeʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,   agwasʹ    oʼyoʹnisʻheʻt      oʹnĕⁿʻ     wāāʹyeʻ.
now (then) do thou awake,” did she it say. That verily, it is said,  very  it was a long while now (then) did he awake.


 Gănioʼʹ     wāāʹyeʻ      oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,     wăʼāʹgĕⁿʻ,    “Gwēʹ,       cyĕñdēʹi-gĕⁿʻʹ             neʹkhoʻ?”
As soon as did he awake now (then), it is said, did she it say,  Say,  dost thou it know dost thou here (this place?)”

Agwasʹ   oʼtʻhatgăʻʹdoⁿ   yāʹeʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ     giʼʹoⁿʻ      waiʹĕñʼ,    “Gyĕñdēʹi  neʹʼhoʻ. Neʹkhoʻ  gĕⁿsʹ
 Very  did he look around first now (then) it is said, did he it say, “I it know indeed.   Here   usually

  deyagniʼskodanisʹtʻhăʼ   neʻʹ haknoʼʹsĕⁿ.”
he-I-it to cure (meat) use the   my uncle.”


 “Niyoʻʹ,”    wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ āʹeʼ         sgoñiʻsāʹgĕⁿʻ.         ʼĂʻʹsoⁿ-khoʻ āʹeʼ      nĕⁿcyeʹäʼ
“So be it,” did she it say,  “Now   truly again again I thee search for thee.   yet-and    again so will thou it do

neʼʹhoʻ       dĕⁿsegāʹnäʼk        neʻʹ dekhōʹgĕñ&tcom ma;.” Dāʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ,    giʼʹoⁿʻ,    āʹeʼ
 there  wilt thou keep looking at the  between my thighs.”  So  now (then) it is said, again,

      waoñwāiʻsāʹgĕⁿʼ,       neʼʹ neʻʹ honoⁿʼʹĕñgeʻ. Dăʼdjiăʻʹsʻhoñ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   āʹeʼ       waōʹdăʼ,       dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
did she him search, for him, that the  his head on.    Soon-just    now (then) again did he fall asleep, so   now

  diqʹ           sayewăʻhăʹcyoñʼ,            oʹnĕⁿʻ   āʹeʼ  waiʻʹ                sayoñtgeʻʹdād                 neʼʹ neʻʹ
moreover again she it wraps up repeatedly, now (then) again truly again she her pack bore by the forehead-band that the

  goyäʹgoñ       hăʼʹnonʻ     (hăʼʹnont).
her pouch in he is contained.


Oʹnĕⁿʻ   sayoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.   Oʹnēⁿʻ neʼʹ neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿ&tcomma ;      hoñsayēʹyoⁿʼ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ       dwĕñniʼʹdyoⁿʼ
 Now   again she started.  Now   that the    now (then)   there again she arrived there where there they (fem.) dwell

neʻʹ        dewäⁿnondäⁿʹnondeʼ         goñdinoʼʹĕⁿ-khoʻ,       oʼwăⁿnondyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ               dondayēʹyoⁿʼ
the  they are sisters one with another their mother-and, d id they (fem.) become surprised thence she entered (in lodge)

       sgainodăʹdieʼ.
again she as a pack returns.


Dāʹ neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ ganesdäʼʹgeʻ   wăʼoñtʻheʹnondĭʼ    neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ     gayäʹgoñ
So  that moreover the  it-floor-on  did she her pack cast that and the  did she it say,  “There  verily it-pouch-in-he

hăʼʹnonʻ (hăʼʹnoñt) neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.      Hauʼʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ        seswăʼnoⁿʻdăʻʹgo&tcomma ;
  contained (is)    the  “Two Feathers Together.” Come,  now   moreover do you him loose from his container

ogondăʹdieʼ.”
  at once.”


Oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ  gonoʼʹĕⁿ    wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ dayesʹnyeʼt,    “Niyāʹwĕⁿʻ   giyĕⁿʼʹ.   Oʼgāiʻwăyeʹiʻ
 Now   moreover verily the  her mother did she it say the   now   she answered, “I am thankful my child. It is fulfilled

heʻʹ  soʼʹdjĭʹ    goñyăʼdāāʼs.”    Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   khoʻʹ     yoñʹdoⁿ,     “Hauʼʹ,   agnĕʹhoñs,      īʹdjeʻ.”
where so much   I thee depend on.” So    now   it is said,  and  she kept saying, “Come,  my son-in-law, do thou awake.”

Neʼʹ gwāʹ neʻʹ agwasʹ  oʼyoʹnisʹʻheʼt  oʹnĕⁿʻ   waāʹyeʻ     waātʹgĕⁿʻ-khoʻ,  hōʹgwā-khoʻ      waāʹdyĕñʼ.
That just the   very  did it last long  now   did he awake did he arise-and,  aside-and  did he himself seat.

Waā­dyĕñgwăʻdjĭʻʹs ʻhoñ   agwasʹ           wadiksăʼgōwāʹsʻhoñ         neʼʹ neʻʹ ganoⁿsʹgoñ  wäⁿniʼdioⁿʼ (wäⁿniʼʹdjoⁿʼ)
 He surprised was-just  very (much) they (fem.) are fine looking just that the  it-lodge-in     they (fem.) abide

neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ  godinoʼʹĕⁿ.
that-and the  their mother.


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ     wăʼoʼʹgäʻ     oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   nāʹeʻ    waayĕñʼʹtʻhoñʼ    neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ
So   now   it evening became  now,   it is said, verily did he her lie with the  “Two Feathers Together” that the

  hoñwĕⁿnoñkhōnʹnoⁿʼ.
she-him to fetch did go.


Dāʹ neʼʹ   diqʹ   nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ    wăʼoʹhĕñʼt     oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʼʹ neʻʹ  nēʹyōʼ  neʻʹ    gosʹtʻhoⁿ,
So  that moreover verily the   now   did it day become  now   did she it say that the  the wife the  she youngest is,

“Oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ oʼdyoñkhiyăʼdăʹgwĕⁿ&mla pos; neʼʹ näⁿʹgäⁿ   wēʹĕⁿ     dwadinaⁿʹgeʼ.    Neʼʹ nāʹeʻ  neʼʹ   neʼʹhoʻ
 “Now   truly  did she us body take from   that this, is far away they (fem.) dwell. That verily that there (thus)

   wăʼoñwaⁿdīʹyeʼ.    Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ   Iʼʹ waiʻʹ ĕⁿskheʻnoⁿkʹhăʼ.  Isʹ   diqʹ     dĕⁿdjadīʹāk   neʻʹ  hagĕⁿʹdjĭ,”
did she them do unto. So   now   moreover  I  truly will I-him fetch. You moreover two will you be the  he, old man,”

neʼʹ neʻʹ honoʼʹsĕⁿ.”
that the  his uncle.”


Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  waasdāʹĕñʼ  neʻʹ  hagĕⁿʹdjĭ  neʼʹ  gayoñʹnĭʻ   neʼʹ neʻʹ  deʼonoⁿʹdoⁿʼ   gaäⁿgwăʹsʻhoñ
 Now   verily did he weep the  he, old man that it it makes, that the  not he it knows  where-just

         nīʹeʼs          neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ, dyawĕⁿʼʹoⁿ        hāʹdoⁿ,       “Hāʹgīʻ, hāʹgĭʻ, hāʹgīʻ,   giʼʹ;    wăsʹʻhĕⁿ
there he goes to and fro the   his nephew,  continually he it keeps saying,  “Alas,   alas,   alas,  of course,   ten

     niyosʹʻhägeʻ         oʹnĕⁿʻ   ĕⁿgadăʻdăgwăʻʹd& ebreve;ⁿʼ. Hāʹgīʻ,   giʼʹ.”
so many it-years number now (then)     will I it give up.       Alas,  of course.”


Dāʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   nāʹeʻ  neʼʹ neʻʹ       gosʹtʻhoⁿ       wăʼoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ    wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ-khoʻ,    “Ĕⁿsʻhēʹnoⁿkhă&mlapo s;
So  now (then) verily that the  she youngest one (is) di d she start d id she it-say-and, “Will I him to fetch go

oʹnĕⁿʻ.” Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   neʼʹhoʻ  deniʼʹdyoⁿʼ   neʼʹ neʻʹ     dyeʹgōwănĕⁿ      neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ
 now.”   So   now,   it is said,  there  two they abide that the  she, elder one, (is) that-and the

    Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ      honoʼʹsĕⁿ.
“Two Feathers Together” his uncle.


Dăʼonisʹʻhēʼoñʼ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ    wăʼēʹyoⁿʼ     hĕⁿʹoñweʻ         tgäʹit         neʼʹ neʻʹ    hadoäsʹtʻhăʼ    neʻʹ
Not long after   now   verily did she arrive there where there it-tree stands  that the  he it to hunt uses the

djoʼäʹgăʼ. Oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ   oʼdyoñtgăʻʹdoⁿ    neʼʹhoʻ   wăʼēʼgĕⁿʼ    tʻhigĕⁿdjīʹwĕⁿʻ  heʻʹ   tcagawēʹnoñ   neʻʹ
 raccoon.   Now   truly did she look around  there  did she it see it is very plain where again she went the

     heoñwaⁿʹâⁿ       neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.      Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  wăʼoⁿʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.  Oʹnĕⁿʻ aʹeʼ
hence she him carried the  “Two Feathers Together.”  Now   verily d id she start.  Now   again

        wăʼoñdĕñnōʹdĕⁿʼ,            wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,   gaĕñnăʹgoñ,     “Hăʻʹ-ho-wi,      hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, oʹnĕⁿʻ
 did she sing (exert her orenda), did she it say it song-in, “Hăʻ&mlpri me;-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi,  now

wăʻheyăʼdiʻʹsăkhe&mla pos;, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, neʻʹ    Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ-geʻ,    hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi,
 thither I him to seek go,  hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, the  &ldq uo;Two Feathers”-at, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi, hăʻʹ-ho-wi,

    wăʻheyăʼdiʹsăkheʼ,     neʼʹ neʻʹ   Hatʻhonʹdās,    ēʼ-ĕⁿ-hĕⁿ.”    Neʼʹhoʻ    nāʹeʻ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,
th ither I him to seek go, that the  He, the Listener, ĕʼ -ĕⁿ-hĕⁿ.” Thus (There) verily, it is said,

     niyoʼdäⁿʹaⁿdieʼ.
so it continued on the way.


Dāʹ neʼʹ   diqʹ   neʻʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ        wăʼēʹyoⁿʼ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ      niwadi­naⁿʹgeʼ      neʼʹ neʻʹ gēʹiʻ
So  that moreover the  now (then) did she arrive there there where there they (fem.) abide that the  four

    nigonʹdi     neʼʹ neʻʹ    wänoñʹgweʻ    neʼʹ neʻʹ        dewäⁿʹnondäⁿʹnondēʼ         khoʻʹ neʻʹ     godinoʼʹäⁿ,
so many they are that the  they women (are) that the  they sisters, one to another, are,  and  the  their (fem.) mother,

neʻʹ neʼʹ    wäⁿnondyăʼdātʹgoⁿʼs,         wăʼoñdyĕñʹgwă        sīʹ        tganoⁿʹsot.       Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ neʼʹhoʻ
the  that they (fem.) are sorcerers, did she become surprised yonder there it lodge stands. Suddenly just  there

 oʼdyēʹdăʼt.   Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   diqʹ      wăʼondauⁿʻdīʹyos     khoʻʹ neʻʹ   oʼdyontgăʻʹdoⁿ    heʻʹ       tganoⁿʹsot.
did she stand. So   now   moreover did she listen intently  and  the  did she look around where there it lodge stands

Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ oʹnĕⁿʻ gotʻhonʹdeʼ  neʼʹhoʻ     tʻhăsĕⁿʹtwăs          oʼwoñwäⁿnayĕñʹdēʼ      neʻʹ   nēʹyōʼ.   Ogondăʹdieʼ
Suddenly-just  now   she it heard  there  there he weeping was did she his voice recognize the  her spouse. Immediately

oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹhoʻ    wăʼedākʹheʼ.         Wăʼēʹyoⁿʼ      ganoⁿsăkʹdăʼ   oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,    hĕⁿʹoñweʻ
 now    there  did she running go. There she arrived it-lodge-beside  now,   it is said, there where

 deyoʻhagwĕñdeʹnioⁿ,   neʼʹhoʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   wăʼoñtgăʻʹtʻhoʼ. Dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se neʼʹhoʻ oñʹgyeʻ    ītʹʻhāt     neʻʹ
it crevice opens many,  there,  it is said,  did she look.     Suddenly    there  indoors there he stood the

    Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ      neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ      goñwayăʼʹdōt      neʼʹkhoʻ neʻʹ  deoʻsĕⁿʹtwĕⁿ.
“Two Feathers Together”  there  verily they (fem.) him stood that-and the  he weeping was.


Neʼʹhoʻ wăʼoñtgǎʻʹtʻhoʼ  hĕⁿʹoñweʻ  deyoʻhagwĕñʹdeʼ  oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ   wăʼēʹgĕⁿʼ    heʻʹ   nīʹyot.   Neʼʹ neʻʹ  godinoʼʹĕⁿ
 There    did she see   there where it-crevice opens  now   truly did she it see where so it was. That the  their mother

neʻʹ sĕⁿʹ    năʼdewäⁿnondäⁿʹnondeʼ   neʼʹhoʻ   īʹyet   găʼăsʹhäʼ nāʹeʻ     yēʹāʼ.    Dāʹ neʼʹ  gĕⁿsʹ
the  three  so many they are sisters  there  she stood it-basket verily she it held. So  that usually

         dondayagoʼgonʹdăgoʼ          neʻʹ găhăsʹʻhäʼ neʼʹ  gĕⁿsʹ,   giʼʹoⁿʻ,     wăʼoñʹgăʼt    neʻʹ
thence she brand took out of the fire the   it-brand  that usually, it is said did she it touch the

hāʻnoⁿʻʹdăkʼă&tco mma; neʼʹ  gĕⁿsʹ  waiʻʹ  gaioñʹnĭʻ  oʼtʻhăsĕⁿʹtʻhoʼ neʼʹ neʻʹ  gĕⁿsʹ  otkoʼʹäʼ       daāgăʻsäit.
     his arm-pit       that usually truly it it makes   did he weep   that the  usually it wampum thence he tears shed.

Neʼʹhoʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   gatgoñwăʼdădĕⁿʻʹd&amacr ;ʼ neʼʹhoʻ  gĕⁿsʹ  nāʹeʻ     oʼgageonʹdăʼt    neʻʹ otgoñwăʼdăʼʹgeʻ. Dāʹ
 There,  it is said, one buckskin spread (has)   there  usually verily did it in heap fall the  it buckskin on.  So

oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ neʻʹ   yegĕⁿʹdjĭ    goʼ­ăsʹʻhägoñ   wăʼagonʹdäʻ    neʻʹ otkoʼʹäʼ.
 now   truly the  she, old woman her basket-in did she it place the  it-wampum.


   Deyegāʹnēʼ      nēʹyōʼ   neʼhoʻʹsʻhoñ heyoʼʹdĕñ  awĕñdoñʹnyăʼt   ĕñʼʹ;   neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ     hwăʼēʹyoⁿʼ      neʻʹ
She it looked at her spouse  there-just  so it was it discouraging I think; the   now   thither she entered the

ganoⁿʹsăkoñ    tchi-yedākʹ­heʼsʻhoñ      wăʼoñwayeʹnañʼ    djokʹ  oʹnĕⁿʻ  doñdaoñwayăʼditʹgĕⁿʻ  neʼʹ neʻʹ ganoⁿʹsăkoñ.
it lodge-in while she running went just did she him seize at once  now   thence she him brought that the  it lodge-in.

Dāʹ  ganioʼʹsʻhoñ        doñdāīyāʹgĕⁿʼt       oʼdyagōʹēt,     wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Hauʼʹ, gāʹoʼ      dondāʹswēt
So  as soon as-just thence they two came out did she shout, did she it say, “Come,  hither thence do you come

  swadjīʹnaⁿ    neʼʹ neʻʹ  agadäʼswăʻʹdoⁿ,  Isʹ neʻʹ djotʻhoñwandoⁿ,”  ganioʼʹ   wăʼoñd­wĕñnoʼkʹdĕⁿ& mlapos; dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ
you, brave ones that  my  guardian spirits, You the  humming-birds,”  as soon as    did her voice die out    so   now

 oʼtʻhiĕⁿʻʹdād    oʼdyoñtʻhwădāʹseʼ  heʻʹ     ganoⁿʹsot    neʼʹ-khoʻ neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Deʼsoñʹgaʼ
did they two run did they it circled where it lodge stands that-and  the   now   did she it say, “Not any one

 tʻhayeyāʹgĕⁿʼt  sīʹgwā heʻʹ      niyagotʹgoⁿʼ,     neʼʹkhoʻ neʼʹ dĕⁿgan­ĕñyoñʹdĕⁿʼ neʻʹ naⁿʼgoñʹgwā heʼtgĕñʹgwā-khoʻ.
shall one escape  more  where so one is a sorcerer, that and the  wil l it red-hot  the  under-side   upper-side-and.

Dāʹ   djāʹgoⁿ    diqʹ   agadäʼswăʻʹdoⁿ.    Hauʼʹ,   djāʹgoⁿ    diqʹ.”
So  take courage too  my guardian spirits. Come,  take courage too.”


 Djokʹ   oʹnĕⁿʻ   oʼwadīʹyoⁿʼ   neʻʹ    godäʼswăʻʹdoⁿ,     “dauñʻʹ,”   oʹdoⁿ   heʻʹ     odiyoʼʹdeʼ.    Dyĕñgwăʹsʻhoñ
At once,  now   did they arrive the  her guardian spirits, “dauñʻʹ,” it sounds where they are at work. Suddenly-just

oʹnĕⁿʻ     oʼdyoʼdoⁿʻʹgwăk      heʻʹ     ganoⁿʹsot.    Oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹ neʻʹ oñʹgyeʻ     dewĕñnoⁿʻsĕñʹtwăʻso&sup n;
 now   did it burst into flames where it lodge stands.  Now   that the  indoors they (fem.) were weeping severally

wäⁿnondatʻhāwăkʹsʻhoⁿ&mlap os;oⁿ, neʼʹhoʻ nāʹeʻ  skĕñnoⁿʼoñʹsʻhoñ   oʼgāiʻ­sdaʹgēēʼ,    neʼʹhoʻ
    they, mothers-daughters,       there  verily   slowly-just    did it sound die out,  there

     oʼgāiʻwăʻʹdoⁿʼ.       Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ        ĕⁿdjidyăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ         neʼʹhoʻ
d id it become destroyed.  So   now   did she it say,  “Now   truly will thou-I depart homeward too  there

      hĕⁿdjidʹneʼ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ   dyoñgwanoⁿʹsot.”  Oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      wayăʻdĕñʹdĭʼ.       Sĕⁿʻʹgeʻ       īʹeʼ
thither will thou I go, there where our lodge stands.”  Now,   it is said, did they two start. With difficulty he walked

soʼʹdjĭʻ   oʼgoñwaĕⁿyăʹgĕⁿʼt        tchi-haʻnĕⁿ­ʻwăsʹʻh ĕⁿʼ       neʼʹhoʻ.
too much  did they him torment while he abode in his wife’s lodge  there.


Dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ      hoñsăʻhnīʹyoⁿʼ       hĕⁿʹoñweʻ  ganyodāʹeʼ. Oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ    neʻʹ yeksăʼʹ gōwā, “Hauʼʹ,  gāʹoʼ
So   there  thither they two arrived there where it lake is.  Now   did she it say the   she maiden,  “Come,  thither

      dāʹset         dagiyăʼdageʹʻhă,   īsʹ  näⁿʹgäⁿ    sogwăʻdisʹgōwā       syāʹsoⁿ.”
hither do thou come do thou us two aid, thou this, is blood sucker great thou art called.”


 Neʼʹgwā  neʻʹ neʼʹhoʻ dyĕñgwăʻʹ-se  ganyodäʹʻhĕⁿ      dawadoʼ­ʹdaĕñʼ.      Dăʼdjiăʹsʻhoñ neʼʹhoʻ   oʼgāʹyoⁿʼ
That just the   there    suddenly   it lake-middle thence (it) waves arose.   Soon just    there  did it arrive

 hĕⁿʹoñweʻ     dēʹʻnit.     Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ   wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Hauʼʹ,  dagiyăʼʹdăgeʻhă   neʼʹ neʻʹ oñgiʹdĕñstʻheʼt neʼʹ
there where they two stood. So   now   did she it say, “Come,  do thou us two aid that the  I poor am made  that

näⁿʹgäⁿ   deyagyaʹdĭʻ  neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ        hayāʹsoⁿ,     hoʻsĕñnăoñʹgăʼt    neʼʹhoʻ. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ
this, is one-I are one the  “Two Feathers Together” he is called, his name famous (is) indeed.  So   now   too

 ĕⁿyagyadäʹ­dĕⁿʼ.  Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ, oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹhoʻ       hoʼsadōʹgĕⁿt        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ     nidyoñgyăʻdĕñʹdyoñ.”
will we two mount. So   now,    now    there  hither do thou steer for there where there we two started from.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,   deʼaonisʹʻheʼoⁿ oʹnĕⁿʻ   oʼtgayaʻʹyăʼk.   Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  oʼdyoñdĕⁿnoñʹnyoñʼ,    “Niyāʹwĕⁿ,”
So   now,   it is said, not long after   now   did it cross over.  Now   verily did she thanks give, “I am thankful,”

  wăʼāʹgĕⁿʼ,    “Oʼtgonoñʹ­nyoñʼ oʼsgiyăʼdăgeʹʻhă&mlap os;. Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ  tchădādwĕñniʹyoʼ.”
did she it say,  “Thee-I thank     didst thou us two aid.   So   now   again thou art free.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  neʻʹ      deyāʹdĭʻ      oʹnĕⁿʻ neʼʹhoʻ      oñsāʹneʼ        hĕⁿʹoñweʻ   tʼhoñnăʻdĕñʹdyoñ.
So   now   verily the  they two one (are)  now    there  again they two went there where there they started.

Doskĕñoⁿʹsʻhoñ         oñsāʹneʼ          heʻʹ       tganoⁿʹsot       oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  hoñnatʻhonʹdeʼ  tʻhasdaʻʹhăʼ  neʻʹ
 Nearby-just   again they two were going where there it lodge stands  now   verily they it heard  there he weeps the

honoʼʹsĕⁿ hodĕñʹnot-khoʻ,     hāʹdoⁿ,      “Hiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ, hiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ, hiwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ, wăsʹʻhĕⁿ    nĕⁿyogĕnhâⁿʹgek     oʹnĕⁿʻ
his uncle  he sings-and   he keeps saying, “Oh, nephew, oh, nephew, oh, nephew,   ten    will it seasons number  now

ĕⁿwagadăʻdăgwăʻʹ dĕⁿʼ,  wăsʹʻhĕⁿ    nĕⁿyogĕnhâⁿʹgek     oʹnĕⁿʻ ĕⁿwagadăʻdăgwăʻʹ dĕⁿʼ, hāʹgīʻ,  giʼʹ.”  Dāʹ neʼʹhoʻ
   will I it cease,       ten    will it seasons number  now      will I it cease,     alas,  indeed.” So   there

   wanīʹyoⁿʼ     neʼʹ neʻʹ   hadadedjisdäoñʹtwăs    honoĕñʼgĕñʹyat.       Daāgawĭsōʹdjĕn        gĕⁿsʹ  neʼʹhoʻ
they two entered that the  he himself coals cast on his head top of. He would dip a paddle-ful usually  there

  wäoñtʹʻhoʼ   honoʼĕñgĕñʹyat.  Oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ  hohĕⁿʻdjiʼädēʹgĕⁿ  nāʹeʻ     deʼʹdjōʼ    neʻʹ honoʼʹsĕⁿ. Agwasʹ
did he it pour his head top of.  Now   verily he it scorched has verily not it is left the  his uncle.  Very

  hăʼnigoⁿgwĕⁿʹdāʼ.
his mind was downcast.


Neʼʹgwāʹ  neʻʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ     saāʹyoⁿʼ      neʻʹ hĕⁿwâⁿdĕⁿʼʹsʻhä&mlap os; oʹnĕⁿʻ    wāāʹgĕⁿʼ    heniyoʼʹdäⁿ. “Oʹnĕⁿʻ
That just the   now   again he returned the       his nephewship       now   did she it say  so it is.    “Now

      sāʹgyoⁿʼ         hagnoʼʹsĕⁿ,”     waiʹĕñʼ     neʻʹ     Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ.      Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ nāʹeʻ   dăʼaiⁿniʹʻhĕñʼ
again I have returned oh, my uncle,” did she it say the  “Two Feathers Together.” So   now   verily not he it ceased

neʻʹ hagĕⁿʹdjĭ.  Agwasʹ gwāʹ    woōyeʹnâⁿʼ,        waiʹĕñʼ,    “Oʹnĕⁿʻ waiʻʹ       sāʹgyoⁿʼ         hagnoʼʹsĕⁿ.  Iʼʹ
the  he old man.  Very  just did he him seized, did he it say,  “Now   truly again I have returned oh, my uncle.  I

 niʹgĕⁿʼ        sāʹgyoⁿʼ        neʼʹ neʻʹ      Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ        gyāʹsoⁿ.”
so it is, again I have returned that the  “Two Feathers Together.” I am called.”


Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ,  giʼʹoⁿʻ,      saoyĕñʹdeʼ     neʻʹ hauñwâⁿʹdĕⁿʼ oʹnĕⁿ, diqʹ    waiʹĕñʼ,    “Wuʼʹ, Īsʹ  neʼʹ  giʼʹ.  Dāʹ
So    now   it is said, again he him knew the   his nephew   now   too  did he it say, “Wuʼʹ, Thou that indeed. So

  niyāʹwĕⁿ    diqʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ         săʹcyoⁿʼ.         Dāʹ oʹnĕⁿʻ diqʹ  sĕñnoⁿʹ-sʻhoñ    oyăʼʹdjĭ       hăⁿtcʹheʼ.
I am thankful too   now   again thou hast returned. So   now   too  thou do not-just other place hence wilt thou go.

Ĕⁿdwĕñʼdyoñʹdăʼk-s&tcom ma;hoñ. Neʼʹsʻhoñ doskĕñoⁿʻʹsʻhoñ    ĕⁿsado­wäsʹʻhek.    Neʼʹ waiʻʹ  gaioñʻniʻ  oʹnĕⁿʻ tʻhoʹhă
     Will we remain-just.       That-only   nearby-only   wilt thou to hunt use. That truly it it makes  now   almost

   ĕⁿyoñdeʼʹdoñʼ    neʻʹhoʻ, huiʹgĕñ dōʹgĕⁿs     yeneʹoⁿ     neʼʹ   yegowāʹnĕñ.”
will she give birth in fact, that is certain she is enciente that she, elder one.”


Dāʹ   neʼʹhoʻ       niyawĕⁿʼʹoⁿ     neʻʹ Dooäʼdanēʹgĕⁿʼ hoiʻwăʼʹgeʻ.
So  thus (there) so it came to pass the  “Two Feathers”  his story.


Dāʹ   neʼʹhoʻ          nigagāʹis.
So  (thus) there so it story long (is).







NOTES


1. Son of the Whirlwind. This “Son” married a daughter of man, showing
the belief that the sons of the gods marry the daughters of men. The
Being represents the evil side of the Whirlwind, while Sʻhagodiyowe
represents the beneficent side.

2. An exclamation of contempt.

3. A device of cannibalistic personages in myth tales. Compare story of
Sʻhagowenotʻha, p. 705.

4. It is plain that this story is made up of incidents common to
several other stories; for example, the reference to the robe of eyes,
and this metamorphosis into animals.

5. These guardians of the pathway to the Lodge of the Seven Sisters
also appear in other recitals; for example, in those describing the
alleged journey of the human soul to the Land of Souls. These obstacles
are, first, the Pine or other variety of tree having leaves or
thorn-like points charged with deadly venom; second, the two
Rattlesnakes or other monsters; third, the two Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa or
Benign Wind Gods (erroneously introduced in this category of malign
creatures); fourth, the two Blue Herons; and fifth, the inflated entire
skin of a human being, usually placed on a platform, to watch for
strangers. These wonder animals, creatures of fear and ignorance, bar
the way to some goal—to success—and test the spirit of him who seeks to
attain some desired end.

6. The reference to the wampum belt is in all probability a modern
touch, since there is no available evidence that wampum belts are
prehistoric.

7. The race of Whirlwind Man-Beings.

8. In the older time it was a common belief that these vermin were
always found in the medicine pouch or chest of a sorcerer.

9. It is alleged that this was a characteristic device of witches and
wizards for the purpose of rendering themselves immune from death;
sometimes they were concealed under a pet duck’s wing.

10. It was a common Seneca and Iroquoian belief that the Thunder Man
and his sons fed on the flesh of serpents.

11. The Skunk.

12. The Porcupine.

13. The Buffalo.

14. The Rattlesnake.

15. Black Face, a descriptive epithet in mythic lore applied to the
rattlesnake.

16. The public assembly lodge, or lodge of public meetings or councils.
In the literature relating to the Iroquois, the word “long-house”
generally designates this lodge. It never denoted the League or
Federation.

17. A dwarf man or pigmy.

18. The Great Mythic Bear Monster.

19. The Wind Man-Being.

19a. The expression, “one rib,” is intended to signify that there was
only a single rib on each side, broad enough to occupy the space
usually filled by the ordinary number of ribs in an animal body, in the
carcass of this mysterious being. The same statement is also made of
the Ganiagwaiʻhegōwa, the Monster Bear.

19b. This sentence is a very clear statement of the native Seneca
belief that the life of the animal world is something different from
the body of the flesh and blood and bones. The same belief is expressed
in other stories, especially in that of the child adopted by the Bear
Mother.

20. The Great Crow, or the Man-Being Crow.

21. The Follower (?).

22. “Stone Skin,” commonly called Stone Coat. Cf. characterization of
the stories in the Introduction.

23. Her magic power or potency.

24. This peculiar finger appears in most stories concerning the
so-called Stone Coats, Stone Giants, or Stone Skinned Beings.

24a. This is paralleled by the story in the Odyssey about the skins of
the cows of the Sun-god becoming alive. These had been killed by the
sailors of Odysseus, although he had forbade such an act.

25. This is also a Tuscarora story.

26. Blackbird, or the Man-Being Blackbird.

27. The Robin, or the Man-Being of that name.

28. The Sparrow.

29. This is in modern usage the Iroquoian name of the Christian devil;
it means “dweller in the soil,” i.e., under the surface of the ground.

30. Grasshopper.

31. A similar stratagem is employed in No. 10. Others appear in this
story.

32. This is the native Iroquoian name of the Meteor or Firedragon and
the Man-Being of this name; it signifies the traveling torch or light.

33. She who deceives as a habit.

34. She who thrusts into apertures.

35. Literally, The Shingled-Haired Female.

36. This alleged feat of disgorging quantities of wampum was one
essayed by all budding sorcerers while spending their honeymoons in the
lodges of their parents-in-law. Failure to do this task inevitably
stamped the luckless pretender as a fraud and weakling, in so far as
the arts of the wizard are concerned.

37. The living and inflated human skin, flayed entire, serving as a
guardian or watchman for its owners and the strawberry patch, appears
in a number of other recitals. In this story such a skin of a man bears
the name Hadjoqda.

38. The circumstances mentioned in this statement are not peculiar to
this story; with a change of names they appear in other stories. In
this paragraph, cannibalism is described as a habit of certain wizards.
Human flesh is preferred to that of elk, which are here a pest.

39. This is the literal meaning of the Seneca term. The original
personage was probably the Wolf Man-Being. But the hero and Hadjoqda
and the grandmother were Turkey people, while the others were Quail and
Partridge people.

40. Tradition relates that Hatʻhondas remained at the home of his
sister during the following winter and that during this time he was
visited by a stranger, who advised him to attend the great New Year
festival, at which one or more white dogs are immolated, not as a
sacrifice, as some report, but only as messengers to bear the
thanksgivings of the entire people to the Master of Life for the rich
gifts of life and welfare; he was further advised to walk around the
“new fires,” as ritually prescribed for persons suffering from the evil
effects of enchantment. This advice he followed, but he received no
immediate relief. As spring came, however, his sister was able to draw
out the bark dart from his spine, and Hatʻhondas at once recovered from
the malign influence of the evil spell cast upon him by Tehdoonh Oisʻha
(i.e., Woodchuck Its-Leggings), or, in the meaning of the tale,
The-Little-Old-Man-With-The-Woodchuck-Leggings, who was in collusion
with the notorious Great Witch to destroy this young man.

Tradition further says that on the first day Hatʻhondas heard the
clarion notes of the blue jay, Cyanocitta cristata (Dihdih); on the
second day the gleeful notes of spring made by the robin, Merula
migratoria (Djoñiaik); on the third day the notes of the chickadee,
Parus atricapillus (?Djidjoñkʹ­ʻhwĕⁿʼ); and, on the fourth day, the
drumming of the partridge, Bonasa umbellus (Djoqkweʹʼiăniʼ). These
facts are interesting because it is said that the women came seeking
Hatʻhondas in the spring of the year; with his friends he followed the
women two days after their departure.

The people who shot at the eagle perched on the top of the tall hickory
tree went home before the beginning of the following winter. Such tests
of orenda or magic power following the acceptance of the challenge of
some great sorcerer or witch often lasted several months, and sometimes
were renewed in later years. The narrative relates that Hatʻhondas shot
the eagle by shooting through the lodge’s smoke hole. The old woman in
the lodge asked him to desist after he had made two attempts, saying,
“That will do for a while.” It is also said that when Hatʻhondas parted
from his uncle, Dooeʼdanegĕⁿʼ, the uncle told him that in the event
anything evil befell him the uncle would know it by the sky in the west
becoming red. See also Note 44.

41. This precaution was regarded as necessary in order to avoid being
made the victim of a spell, the “tobacco” used being medicated.

42. He-who-has-two-feathers-set-side-by-side. This is a man’s name.

43. It was customary for women who went to make proposals of marriage
to take with them loaves of corn bread of a specified form, prepared
from pounded corn meal and boiled, wrapped in corn husks; the form of
the loaves resembled modern dumb-bells.

The name Hatʻhondas, in which th do not form a digraph, may be more
correctly written Hatʻhondās; it is a modified form of the combination
Hatʻhonʻdāts, “He holds out his ear customarily.” As a name it
signifies, “The Listener,” and “The Obedient One.”

The name Dooehdanegen may be more correctly written Dooeʼdănēʹgĕⁿʼ; as
an appellative it signifies, “He who has two feathers placed side by
side,” or as a statement, “He has placed two feathers side by side.”

Dooehdanegen having a presentiment that a well-known witch, for the
purpose of attempting the destruction of his nephew, was about to make
a proposal of marriage between her youngest daughter and his nephew who
had been under his tutelage and protection since his nephew’s birth for
the purpose of teaching him the family medicines and orenda or magic
power of their fetishes, sent his nephew to the ravine to listen for
any premonitory sounds of the approaching messengers from the great
witch, since it was a custom to chant on the way words declarative of
their mission.

Dooehdanegen smoked not only tobacco but also potent medicines mixed
therewith, whose orenda or magic power was designed to thwart the
malign influences emanating from the great witch which had for their
object the destruction of Dooehdanegen and Hatʻhondas, for the old
uncle was the sole surviving custodian of the medicines and fetishes of
his ohwachira or blood kin, and was therefore solicitous of the safety
of his nephew until after reaching the age of puberty, when he could
demonstrate his ability to employ them fortified by his own inherent
orenda.

44. De LaMothe Cadillac (ca. 1703), in speaking of the tribes in the
neighborhood of “Missilimakinak et Pays Situés au dela,” writes that at
the feasts held periodically for the propitiation of the names of the
dead of the entire community they erect a cabin about 120 feet in
length of pieces of bark which are new and which have not been used
before for any other purpose; at either end of the structure they set a
pole, and another, exceeding these in height, in the middle; these
poles are greased, oiled, and painted; and at the top end of each is
fixed a prize, which belongs to the first who can reach and seize it
with the hand. (Margry, Découv., V, 104, 1883.) A similar erection of a
pole, which was greased and which held a prize at its top, is mentioned
in an account of a feast for the dead held by the Nipissings, Hurons,
and the Chippewa in 1642. (Jesuit Relations for 1642, 95, ed. 1858.) It
was on the top of a similar pole that the eagle was perched at which
Hatʻhondas was required to shoot to test his orenda or magic power.

45. Partridge.

46. This is a statement of the Iroquoian common law which placed the
value of a woman’s life, in case of murder, at twice that of a man.

47. This is a ritualistic phrase which is a summary of the statement
that there are grades of beings classified spatially; i.e., some live
and work below the surface of the earth, others on its surface, others
in the waters, others among the grasses and weeds and low shrubs,
others among the bushes and taller shrubs, others among the trees,
others in the air and winds, others in the clouds, and still others in
the sky where stands the lodge of the Master of Life.

48. In this story the following native words occur: Yegondji, meaning
the eldest woman, or the mother; Awaeh, the Swan; Donyonda, the Eagle;
Doendjowens, the Earth Cleaver; Tagonsowes, He, the Long-faced; and
Ohohwa, the Owl.

49. The Dwarf Human Being.

50. This story is an extravaganza.

51. Ooⁿʻdawiyo is the Seneca word.

52. This taboo of certain regions, places, directions, and times, is
clearly based on the well-known doctrine of tribal men that the
jurisdiction or sphere of action of the spirits or the nonhuman
beings—daimons, divine messengers, and gods—was limited to specific
places, regions, and times; tribal men habitually do not think in the
universal terms of modern thinking in the more intensively cultured
circles.

53. The words “nephew” and “uncle” in story-telling do not always
denote real kinship or relationship by affinity or consanguinity, but
rather a male person living in the same neighborhood with another who
is “uncle” or “nephew” according to relative age. The neighborhood
usually includes all accessible territory. This statement is true of
Iroquoian reciters and, perhaps, others.

54. The dice man, the ball man, and the ice pond man occur in other
stories, just as the use of the horn in the second preceding paragraph
is not unusual.

55. This is not an uncommon incident which is taken from the myth of
the beginnings and is there represented as the work of a
personification of one of the months, which are presented as 13
man-beings.

56. The signification of the two names in the title is respectively,
“He, the last or the remaining one,” and “She, the planter.”

57. Mush-eater.

58. Spotted.

59. A young hunter must not eat the first bird or animal he killed;
this was one of the first taboos learned by the youth.

60. Redbreast.

61. The Wild Pigeon.

62. Striped Rump.

63. Skin-headed (?).

64. Pendent Snout.

65. Having a tassel of pine leaves.

66. The Raccoon.

67. He who has a great headdress; i.e., antlers.

68. The Cloven-hoofed Ones.

69. The Buck = the Great-Horned-One.

70. The Large-footed Man, the Bear.

71. The Bear.

72. The Angleworm (?).

73. The Snipe.

74. The Chipmunk.

75. The Heron.

76. Long-snouted One.

77. Long-Upper-Eyelids.

78. The Netmaker = the Spider.

79. This is a proper name.

80. The nephew of Spider.

81. In the details of cannibalism in this and the other paragraphs of
this story there is no protest against the eating of human flesh; this
is probably a reflex of the attitude toward this abominable practice.

82. The three native terms are the descriptive epithet which was
applied to a cruel old wizard who was a cannibal; they signify,
“He-puts-them-on-an-island-habitually Potato-Duck or Tuber-Duck.” This
species of duck was enslaved by him.

83. The two native words together signify, “He is a man-eater,” hence,
a cannibal.

84. This deliberation in torturing a victim was characteristic also of
the burning of war prisoners; the latter being fed and cared for and
rested lest they should die too soon and so deprive the ceremony of its
sacrificial character and the company of full satisfaction at seeing an
enemy suffer.

85. This is the hell-diver, as some say, or the mudhen, as others say.

86. This term means simply “Great Duck.”

87. Canada Wild Goose.

88. The Great Blue Lizard, a mythical animal, which probably arose from
describing an ordinary lizard in terms of the alligator.

89. The Humming Bird.

90. This is another mythical animal, which appears under various forms
in different stories.

91. This is the common name of the meteor, the so-called firedragon;
but as a Man-Being, the meteor endowed with human life and faculties,
it is prominent in many stories.

92. The original meaning of this term is “He is master or controller or
ruler of it”; i.e., any object of conversation. It is now a name of the
God of the Christian Church, and so is applied here to the one whom the
earlier story-tellers would have called ‘Teʻharoⁿʻhiawăʹʼgoⁿʼ’, the
Master of Life.

93. This native term at present is applied to the imported idea,
“devil,” which was quite foreign to the thinking of the early Seneca.
It is also the name of the muckworm.

94. This native term is an epithet applied to a mythical character well
known in story-telling. It signifies “The Trickster,” or, more
literally, “He who abuses people by craft often.” Cf. Note 155.

95. This long epithet signifies, “He is the ruler” or “the chief
personage.”

96. The Rattlesnake.

97. The Large Woodpecker.

98. The Locust, literally, “Corn-ripener.”

99. The Crow.

100. The Large Owl.

101. The Vulture (?), or other high-flying, large, half-mythical bird.

102. The Great Bumblebee.

103. The Winged Ant.

104. Phebe (?) Bird; some say, the Gull.

105. The Speaker or Preacher and the Definer or Interpreter.

106. This paragraph shows that even trees and shrubs were endowed with
human speech.

107. This is a vague statement of the change held to be needful in the
human body before it can enter the realm of the departed—of those who
have died.

108. See preceding note.

109. The Master of Life.

110. In this and the immediately preceding paragraphs are stated some
ideas concerning the world of the departed—heaven.

111. There are a number of other tales in which these ideas are set
forth in slightly varied form.

112. The Speaker and the Interpreter, as already explained in the
title.

113. This is the Man-Being represented by the husk mask in various
forms.

114. The Stone Coats are the Genonsgwa, which are a class of beings
developed from the conception of the Winter God, Tawiskaron, of the
Iroquoian genesis myth.

115. This paragraph shows plainly a reminiscence of the defeat of the
forces of Winter by the powers of the Spring, evidenced in the thawing
and sweating of ice and snow banks.

116. This description of the Whirlwind applies well to the wooden masks
which represent the Wind Powers.

117. This statement emphasizes the constant taboo against women seeing
or touching the utensils and implements and medicines which belong
strictly to the activities of the men.

118. In story-telling the white deer is ever endowed with superior
orenda or magic power.

119. The devices employed in this and the several following paragraphs
for deceiving pursuing enemies are not peculiar to this story.

120. The Toad.

121. The Crow.

122. The Fox.

123. These birds were the great ancestral Man-Beings of a mythic past
cosmic age; a study of the language of this paragraph shows this to be
a statement of the action of great nature forces. The next three
paragraphs will bear out this remark. Blood is obtained from a mythic
cornstalk.

124. Here the singing of the birds is made the sign of the exercise of
the orenda of these animals to bring about Springtime; and this orenda
is declared to be efficacious.

125. Here again singing is made the evidence that these so-called
animals are exercising their powers, but these powers are the
life-giving activities of nature.

126. This injunction is still observed among the medicine priests of
the Iroquoian peoples.

127. This is the name of the Evil Trickster, whose delight is to abuse
and to deceive innocent people. Compare note 94.

128. The Yellow Hammer or Yaril.

129. This statement of the leaving of a trail in the air by arrows and
by persons who are aided by such arrows probably refers to the sun’s
rays coming from behind broken clouds in the morning or evening.

130. See preceding note.

131. This indicates belief in transmission of thought.

132. Cannibalism taken for granted.

133. In this sentence there appears one of the Wind Goddesses.

134. In many stories this use of boiling oil to destroy monsters
appears; hot oil or grease was probably the hottest common thing known.

135. Doonongaes for Doonăʼʹgāes signifies “He has two long horns,” or
“His two horns are long,” or, as appellative, “The one whose horns are
long,” but restricted by the pronominal affix to persons of the male
sex.

One of the most firmly held beliefs of the Seneca and other Iroquoian
peoples was that there is a species of serpent of monstrous size,
having horns like a buck, which dwells in the depths of deep rivers and
lakes and springs of water, and which comes on land for its prey and
also to bask in the sunshine. It may be suggested that such a peculiar
notion may have been derived from noting the hornlike fixtures on which
the eyes of the snail are fixed. The poetic license of legend would, of
course, exaggerate these details. This inference is strengthened by the
circumstances mentioned in this story that Doonongaes stole a lodge by
bearing it away on his horns; the snail in somewhat similar fashion
bears its shell along. The common Iroquoian name for the snail is
onoⁿʻsăgeʹʻteʼ, i.e., “It bears a lodge along by means of the
forehead-strap.” Doonongaes was a reptile that haunted “Long Lake,” and
was probably a water moccasin.

But this reptile should not be confounded with the so-called
firedragons or meteors which were believed to dwell also in the deepest
portions of lakes and rivers; these were known under the name
Gaasyendietʻha by the Seneca and other northern Iroquoian dialects; the
Tuscarora name is kahăstiʹnĕⁿs, a corrupt form of the Mohawk word,
Kăhăserīʹneʼs, “It-light-goes-about-habitually.”

These firedragons (i.e., the meteors of nature) were forced by an
inflexible spell or enchantment, exercised by the orenda or magic power
of the God of Life, to remain in these watery depths because the
shedding of sparks of fire and lambent flames by their bodies would
otherwise set the world on fire were they permitted to dwell out of the
water for any great length of time, so they are permitted only to fly
from one deep river or lake to another through the air.

These mythical horned serpents were reputed to have the power to assume
the human form and faculties and sometimes even to marry among men, and
so they form the burden of many weird tales and stories which are told
around the fires of the lodge during the winter season. This
circumstance, so it is said, gave rise to the custom of telling legends
only during the winter months, for the reason that these reptiles, like
the natural serpent, hibernated during the winter months and so could
not overhear what might be said about them in these legends. Thus
legends become in some measure “sacred,” or what is the same thing,
“tabooed,” within limits.

These mythical serpents were reputed to have been endowed with most
potent orenda or magical power which was usually inimical to human
welfare. So great was this imputed potency that at times it would even
infect the waters in which these serpents abode, and that water became
an active agent in defense of these serpents when attacked by some
adversary; and so the stories repeat the statement that some hero was
attacked by a flood rising from some body of water in which resided
some such serpent which was the object of the hero’s attack. The flood
usually soon spent itself and did not pursue its adversary far. Such
infected water was reputed to have the power of annihilating whatever
thing it might come in contact with; should it fall upon the leg of an
adversary of its master the leg of the victim would simply disappear.

The Thunder God, Hiʹʼnoⁿʼ, and his sons were regarded as the active
enemies of these and other reptiles. And so in some of the stories are
found accounts of the rescue of some woman or human being from these
mythical serpents. It is even said that these serpents serve as a part
of the food of the Thunder Man-beings. But the Thunder Man-Beings had
but little power to attack these reputed serpent monsters below the
surface of the water, i.e., outside of their jurisdiction. It is said
that these monsters stood in great fear of the Thunder Man-beings, and
when the serpents were out of the water, i.e., out of their
jurisdiction, basking in the sunshine on the shore, and heard in the
horizon the voice of Hiʹʼnoⁿʼ, the Thunder God, they would lose no time
in seeking safety in the depths of the water.

The firedragon (i.e., the meteor of nature) was regarded as one of the
most powerful sorcerers known to mankind, but they were not regarded as
persistent foes of the welfare of men. There are tales in which the
firedragon befriended some unfortunate human being from his pursuing
enemies. Like all the fanciful or rather poetic creations of these
legends, the firedragon became multiplied into a large group and some
were reported to have been killed by some very powerful human sorcerer.

136. Ganyodaes for Skăniōʹdaes or Tkăniōʹdaes is a proper name. The
prefixed s-sound has an intensive force that is characteristic of
descriptive appellatives; it denotes a marked degree of the quality or
property named by the adjective or a noteworthy proficiency in the
action stated by some verbs; with nouns it connotes the meanings,
“large,” “important,” or “noted.” Hence, Skăniōʹdaes signifies, “It is
a very long lake,” or idiomatically, “It is the well-known long lake.”
The prefixed t-sound in Tkăniōʹdaes is the affix t or ti of remote
place, meaning approximately, “there,” “yonder,” and it is applied to
sentence words of the second and third persons. So Tkăniōʹdaes means,
literally, “There it-lake long (is),” or freely, “There where the long
lake (is).”

137. Skahnowa is correctly written Skăʼnōʹwā, which is not the usual
Seneca form of the name. Hăʼnōʹwā is the customary form of this word
denoting the turtle. But the text form is that employed in proper
names. The initial s-sound is an intensive affix which is explained in
note 136. The following kă is the zoic pronominal affix of the singular
third person, meaning, “it” or “its.” And -ʼnōwā is the noun stem,
denoting “the carapace of the turtle.” The whole means, “Its carapace
(is) very great,” freely, “It is the-great-turtle.” The initial hă of
the customary form is the anthropic pronominal affix of the singular
masculine third person, meaning “he.”

138. In story and tradition the fungus growing on trees and rocks was a
favorite substance with which those who sought to deceive intended
victims, in the matter of food, prepared dishes inviting to the eye but
deadly when eaten. Puffballs, mushrooms, and lichens, especially
Umbilicaria arctica, or rock tripe (i.e., the tripe de roche of the
French voyageurs) were not infrequently made into stews and soups for
food, and so they readily lent themselves as a means of deception of
the unwary.

139. Djidjoʹgwen, correctly written Djidjōʹgwĕⁿʼ, or as pronounced by
some, Djidjōñʹkʻhwĕⁿʼ, is the fishhawk or osprey, Pandion haliaetus.
The Seneca term is apparently a compressed form of a sentence word
meaning, “What habitually takes fish out of the water.”

140. A “gift in payment” is required because the magic power of the
thief has been overcome by the wronged individual and the life of the
culprit is forfeited to him.

141. Dediosteniagon, correctly written Dediioʻstĕñniăʹʼgoⁿ, is a name
of the Seneca for Wolf Run, New York. The name signifies literally
“There in-two it-it rock has broken,” and is a common descriptive
appellation of rock cliffs or steep precipices or deep chasms of broken
rocks.

142. The Seneca, like all the other Iroquoian peoples, apply the term
oñʹgweʻ, “man,” “human being,” not only to human beings like themselves
but also to such beings as arise from the personification of the
phenomena of nature and life which assume the form and faculties and
activities of human beings. It was a habit of these languages to
qualify this term oñʹgweʻ by the adjective oñʹweʻ, meaning “native,
original, true, natural,” to distinguish the real human beings from the
creations of their poetic fancy; and upon the advent of trans-Atlantic
peoples the term oñgweʹʻoñweʻ remained to distinguish the Indian man
from the newcomer.

143. See Note 138.

144. The word “opening” is a literal rendering of the Seneca for a
“clearing” surrounding a lodge or village; in formal or ceremonial
language it is sometimes used for “village” or “settlement.”

145. The meaning of the Seneca words of this song is, “Now, the game
animal has come in to visit us”; a cannibalistic reference.

146. The correct written form of Gaintho is Gāĕñʹtʻhoʻ; it signifies,
“Let the wind cease blowing,” “Let there be a calm.”

147. The correct form of “Hwu” is hwuʹʼ; it is an exclamation
indicating that the act of a sorcerer is recognized in whatever may
have taken place, expressing surprise at the power exhibited.

148. The name Gwidogwido, correctly written Gwidōʹgwidoʼ, is an
onomatopoetic word, designating the flicker, highholder, or
golden-winged woodpecker (Colaptes auratus).

149. The word Djihonsdonqgwen, correctly written Djiʼhoⁿsdoñʹʻgwĕⁿʼ, is
the Seneca name for the ant or emmet.

150. The word Djoñiaik, correctly written Djoñʹiaik, is the Seneca name
of the robin redbreast (Merula migratoria). In the story it is called
by the epithet of the “Laughing Man,” which refers to a certain series
of notes of this bird, which resemble exultant laughter among men.

151. This reference to the use of the pipe calls attention to a
well-known habit of reputed sorcerers of smoking in order to gain
immunity from the apprehended spell or enchantment in the presence of
strangers. Every sorcerer of any repute prepared his tobacco with magic
herbs which were supposed to protect him from any malign influence
which might be exercised by a visitor or visitors. Hence the custom of
smoking when about to hear some startling information.

152. The expression “hindered by the lake” is a veiled reference to the
fact that this lake, or rather its waters, had been charged with magic
power or orenda to defend its owner. The particular method by which
this orenda or magic power accomplished this object was by rendering
its victims unconscious, as the epithet, Ganigonhadontha Ganiodae
(i.e., Găʼnigoⁿʻäʻdoⁿʼʹtʻhăʼ Ganiōʹdaeʼ), meaning, “It it-mind
to-be-lost causes,” or the “delirium-causing” lake, indicates. Thus,
the haunts of the allies of sorcerers were usually made impenetrable to
persons who possessed a lesser measure of orenda or magic power.

153. The name Ganiagwaihegowa, written Niāʼgwaiʼhegōwā, or correctly
Ganiăʼgwaiʹhegōwa, is the name of a mythic monster which was described
as a huge bear, being vulnerable only in the soles of its forefeet;
keen of scent, it never allowed anything to escape that crossed its
circular track or path; it was represented as hairless except as to its
tail, and that it had over its forequarters a large ridge or fold of
flesh. These characteristics sufficed to make this fanciful creature a
source of abject terror. Its reputed form may have been due to a
confusion of buffalo form and that of a grizzly bear. The meaning of
the sentence here is that this monster was one of the animal fetishes
of the speaker. The final -gōwā, meaning “large, great,” signifies here
“the well-known” or “the noted,” bear monster.

154. The word Hasʻhonyot, correctly written Hasʻhoñʹʼiot, is an
epithet, meaning “His back stands out, is protuberant,” which is
applied by story-tellers to the crawfish or lobster because its back
ever seems turned toward the observer. The name Odjieqdah, correctly
written Odjiʼeʹʻdăʼ, is the common designation of the lobster or
crawfish and crab; the word signifies “The claw.”

155. The word Sʻhodieonskon, correctly written Sʻhodieʹoⁿskoⁿʼ, is the
name of a fanciful creature who went about playing tricks on all kinds
of people. He was reputed to be a brother of Death. He was in fact the
God of Mischief.

156. The word sentence Hasdeaundyetʻha, correctly written
Hăsdeauñdiēʹ­tʻhăʼ, is an epithet applied to Hiʹʼnoⁿʼ, the Thunderer,
and signifies “He it to rain causes,” or the Rainmaker. But here it may
possibly refer to a species of worm which bears this name.

157. The expression or epithet, “Complete power,” does not in the least
convey the idea of a single overruling Being, but rather of a Being who
possessed such exceptional power as to require no outside aid in
accomplishing his purposes. In this Bloodsucker episode there is a
touch of the extravaganza in story-telling.

158. The Seneca words signify “Now, it has returned, that by which he
lives; so now again he shall stand upon the earth.”

159. The expression “blew into the mouth” indicates how closely life
and breath were connected in the minds of the story-telling ancestors
of the Seneca.

160. The expression “of stone” is probably an exaggeration of the clay
or mud shelters of the crawfish or lobster.

161. See Note 149.

162. The expression “end of the earth” evidently can mean the horizon
only; it could not mean aught else here. This expression perhaps
strengthened the tendency to belief in a limited earth. And this is,
too, a good example of the reification of an illusion.

163. The word Tsodiqgwadon, correctly written Tsodĭqʹgwãdoⁿʼ, is the
name of a species of copperhead snake.

164. The question to be decided with all sorcerers is that of the
potency of the orenda or magic power possessed by them.

165. The reference here is to the implied challenge in the contest just
ended with the life of the loser as the conceded prize of the winner.
So Doonongaes having lost in the test of the power of his orenda must
make, if possible, composition for his life with his vanquisher.

166. This struggle continuing “day and night for one month” is probably
a reference to the fact that the moon once a month waxes and wanes and
yet is not overcome or destroyed.

167. The expression “people of orenda, or magic power,” signifies that
these are people who make a business of sorcery, and so the line should
begin, “We sorcerers,” etc.

168. The word Dagwanoenyent, correctly written Dagwanoʼĕñʹiĕn, is the
name of the Cyclone as a personified thing. The name seems to refer to
the habit of cyclones to hurl things against the heads of people. The
term means apparently, “What habitually hits or knocks our heads.”

169. This term “Niagwaihe” is evidently an error for the full form
“Ganiagwaihegowa.” See Note 153.

170. The word Djainosgowa, correctly written Djaiʹnosgōwā, is the name
of a more or less fanciful creature. It probably received its
characteristics from hearsay reports of the alligator which were
transferred to the fence lizard, or swift. The native interpreters
usually translate the word by the words “blue lizard.” In story and
legend it is a most ferocious antagonist, because of its reputed
invulnerability. The final two syllables, gōwā, signify “large, great,”
while the remainder of the word means, “lizard,” so that literally the
combination signifies, “The Great Lizard,” and in legend, “The
Monstrous Lizard.”

171. The reference here to the power of “becoming alive again” very
probably rests on the hibernating habits of reptiles, shedding their
skins, indicating change of bodies.

172. The word Hanondon, correctly written Hanonʹdoⁿ, is the ordinary
Seneca name for the water snake, probably the Tropidonotus sipedon.

173. The word Hawiqson(t), correctly written Hawiqʹson, is the common
Seneca and Iroquoian name of the milk snake, Ophibolus doliatus.

174. The word Gasaisdowanen, correctly written Gasʻhaisʹdowănĕⁿ, is the
name of a large serpent in Iroquoian mythic lore. The name signifies,
“It-serpent great (is),” or “The Great Serpent.”

175. Diagoisiowanens, correctly written Diagoiʻcioʹwănĕⁿs, is a
descriptive epithet applied as an appellative to the meadow lark,
signifying, “Her-leggings-large (are),” or “She whose leggings (are)
large.”

176. Hononeowanen, correctly written Honoⁿʼeʹowanĕⁿ, is the name of a
species of snake, probably the copperhead, and signifies,
“His-head-large (is),” or popularly, “Big Head.”

177. One of the dominant notes of these stories is that when one of the
great sorcerers, mentioned so often in them, is cornered, stress of
circumstances force them to resume their true natures; so Doonongaes
must do here.

178. The native word rendered “man” here is the ordinary designation
for “human being.” These deities were classified with the human race of
beings. See note 142.

179. The word Hostoyowanen, correctly written Hostoiōʹwănĕⁿ, is an
epithet used as an appellative noun, descriptive of the buck of the
deer; it signifies, “His headdress large (is),” referring to the crown
of antlers.

180. This statement evidently refers in an exaggerated way to the long
periods of fasting which hibernation enforces on snakes and other
reptiles.

181. The expression Deyenegonsdasden, correctly written
Deyenegoⁿsdăʹsdĕñʼ, is a descriptive appellative which is applied to
the partridge; it signifies, “Her two wings large (are).”

182. The erection and use of a pole in this manner was quite common at
great feasts or holidays. And the great wizards and sorcerers employed
this means, too, for testing the orenda or magic power of visitors and
guests. The statement that this one reached the clouds shows that it
was an adjunct to the means of amusement and of testing out at the same
time the orenda or magic power of those who came seeking the hand of
the Partridge’s daughter. Shooting at an eagle on such a pole is a
common incident in the stories.

183. He sent a woman in order to neutralize the malign infection given
his arrow by being touched by alien wizards.

184. The usual rule among Iroquoian tribes is for the mother or some
other female kin to superintend the marriage of a girl. This may be a
story which has been modified by ideas of father right, or descent in
the male line, possibly adopted from an alien people having this
custom.

185. This reference is to the chief’s lodge.

186. The number 16 is unusual in stories of this character. It was
probably a vague estimate of the size of the earth’s surface—16 days in
one direction from the speaker, roughly a half month.

187. Dedyosdenhon for dedyoʻstĕñʹʼoⁿ was a place name, which signified
“At the place of the fallen rock.”

188. The Partridge people are here represented as weak in sorcery.

189. Deienensowanens for Dienĕⁿsoʹwănĕⁿs signifies “Her shoulders (are)
large or broad.”

190. Deanohdjes for Deanoʹʼdjes is the descriptive name of the walrus;
the term signifies “His two teeth (are) long.”

191. Geia is the generic name for a walrus.

192. The time of one year here apparently refers to the period of
hibernation—the absence from his ordinary home.

193. Nitgendasadieha for Nitgĕñdăʹʼsădieʹʼa signifies “At the narrow
opening or clearing.”

194. The numeral “10” here and in the fourth line above appears to be
simply a round number indicative of a long time.

195. Osigweon for Oʻsiʹgweon is the name of the rattlesnake, and
signifies “What has a (?) spear affixed to it.”

196. The smoke from the pipe would have magically overpowered
Doonongaes, and so it must not arise without protest.

197. Hinon for Hiʹʼnoⁿʼ, one of the oldest names among Iroquoian
peoples for the Thunder Man-Being, was the uncompromising enemy of all
serpents, and was at the same time the especial guardian of mankind.

198. Gendagwen(t) for Gĕñdăʹgwĕn is a place name, signifying “At the
broad or flat clearing or field.” The final t-sound of the original is
elided in modern Seneca pronunciation.

199. The meaning here is not clear, but it would seem to refer to the
fact that a cyclone in a forest embraces in its sweep all manner of
birds.

200. Ganos for gāʹnoʼs is the name of a species of frog.

201. This is a reference to a native notion that the earth was a flat
surface not more than 16 days’ journey from the center to the edge.

202. This number “10” is probably only a round figure denoting a long
time and a difficult journey. Compare Note 194.

203. This number is probably a reflex of the last number mentioned.
Sixteen days were consumed in the outward journey. The use of definite
numbers for these journeys is perhaps an attempt to make unhistorical
dates seem probable.

204. Gaisonhe for Gaiʻsoⁿʹʻheʼ is the daddy-long-legs (harvest-man,
carter, and grand-daddy-long-legs are other names for this insect).

205. Ohohwa ohnoh for Oʼoʹwāʼ Oʹʼnonʼ mean “Owl its arrow.”

206. Odjiʼeqʹdăʼ is the name of the crab and signifies “It (is) the
claw.”

207. Sʻhodieonskon for sʻhodiʹoⁿskoⁿʼ is the name of a mythic character
whose chief activities were to play pranks on all persons. In some
tales he is represented as a brother to Death. See note 155.

208. Odauhdjah for Odauⁿʹdjăʼ is the name of a small white root.

209. Deiehnies for Deieʹʼnies is a proper name signifying
“Her-two-claws-(or hands) (are) long.”

210. This was because her magic power or orenda was overcome by that of
Doonongaes.

211. Dagwennigonhge for Dagwĕⁿʹʼnigoⁿʹʻge is the name of a lizard about
18 inches long; the name signifies “What deceives us,” literally, “What
gives us two minds.”

212. These were cyclones, and the behavior of such phenomena perhaps
gave rise to the epithet cited in Note 168.

213. Hahnyusdais for Haʼniuʻsʹdais is a proper name and denotes “His
upper lip (is) long.”

214. Deagonstwihes for Deagoⁿstwiʹʼes is the name of the lobster, and
signifies “His whiskers (are) long.”

215. Haunhdji for Hauⁿʹʼdji signifies “He (is) black,” possibly
referring to the blacksnake, but the name of the rattlesnake in
disguise is “His face black (is).”

216. This was the epithet applied to the robin who had killed
Doonongaes, taken from its note in flight.

217. Hatkwisʹdowanen for Hatkwisʹdowănĕⁿ is a proper name, signifying
“His belly (is) large.”

218. Hushewathen for Hosʻhewāʹtʻhĕñ is a proper name, signifying “His
paunch is dry.”

219. Every reputable sorcerer possessed a pouch of the entire skin of
some rare beast, in which were kept all his charms, fetishes, and
medicines.

220. Hagondowanen for Hagoⁿʹʼdowănĕⁿ signifies “He whose forehead is
large or high.”

221. These words signify “Now all those animals which are game have
returned,” which has a seasonal reference—return from hibernation.

222. Gonyahsgweont for Goniăʹʼsgweon is the descriptive epithet applied
to the toad, signifying “Her throat is swollen.”

223. Nosgwais for Nosʹgwais is the common name of the toad.

224. The time of sunrise marked, in the belief of the early Iroquois, a
change in the exertion of orenda or magic power; so the flint knife was
withdrawn because the bewitching power was off guard at this
moment—among wizards.

225. Yondekhonyatha Ganondayen for Yondekhoñniaʹtʻha Gananʹdayĕⁿʼ
signifies “They use it for eating It-village-(is).”

226. This expression is not modified or influenced by European thought;
the native conception requires the name of such a power.

227. Stone Coat is the name of a mythic being commonly called by the
Seneca Gĕⁿnoⁿʹʼsgwāʼ. See the Introduction for an explanation.

228. Other instances occur in these stories in which basswood is
employed to overcome individuals of the Stone Coat people.

229. Hinon for Hiʹʼnoⁿʼ is the name of the Thunderer; later in Iroquois
thought there were four who bore this name and who were the foes of all
manner of reptiles and snakes, and the friends of mankind. The word is
singular in form but with a plural implication, according to the
context.

230. These words, correctly written Ogwēʹnioñ dĕⁿkēʹnooñk ganioʹʼsʻhoñ
ĕⁿkeʹgĕⁿʼheioĕñʹdjădeⁿʼ, signify, “It is permitted to scalp a person if
it be so that I will see him here on earth.”

231. Gendagahadenyatha for Gĕⁿʼdagaādeniăʹʼtʻhăʼ is the name of the
common scarabæid beetle, usually called the tumblebug.

232. These Seneca words signify, “It is not possible that I should
scalp you, although I have now, indeed, entered the place where you
abide.”

233. Nanisheʹonon for Neʹ hanisʻheʹonoⁿʼ signifies “He who dwells in
the earth, or in the ground,” and it is the name of the muckworm, the
larva of the scarabæid beetle (Ligyrus relictus). The name being that
applied to the Christian concept of Satan, the story-teller here endows
the larva with the character of Satan, based solely on the etymology of
the term.

234. Deanoʹʼdjes, “He who has two long teeth,” is the name of the
walrus.

235. Haiwanenqgwi for Hāiwăʼnĕⁿʻqʹgwĭʻ is the name of the council
messenger, meaning, “He who sweeps away the affairs.”

236. Gaha Gastende for Gäʹʻhăʼ Tgaʻstĕñʹdeʼ signifies, “Wind Cliff,”
literally, “It-Wind There-It-Rock-Stands.”

237. Gahsgwaa Tgawenot for Gaʼsgwāʹāʼ Tgawēʼnot signifies “It-Rock
There-It-Island-Stands,” or Rock Island.

238. Othegwenhdah Tgawenot for Otʻhägwĕⁿʹʼdăʼ Tgawēʹnot signifies
“It-Chert or Flint It-Island-Stands,” or Flint Island.

239. Oosah Tgawenot for Oōʹsäʼ Tgawēʹnot signifies “It-Basswood
It-Island-Stands,” or Basswood Island.

240. Gaiⁿsoⁿʹheʼ is the name of the daddy-long-legs.

241. Nitgawenosatieha for Nitgawenoⁿʼ satiēʹă signifies “There at the
Narrow Island.”

242. Djinonhsanon for Djinoⁿʹsănoⁿ is the name of the cricket, meaning
literally “Lodge watch or guard.” The name was given because this
insect cries when the lodge or house becomes silent.

243. Tgawenogwen for Tgaweʼnōʹgwĕn is a place name signifying “There,
at the Broad Island.”

244. Onowehda for Oʼnoweʹʻdăʼ is the name of the angleworm.

245. Djisdaah for djisdāʹa is the name of the grasshopper. So that
Djisdaah Tgawenot means “Grasshopper Island.”

246. See note 237.

247. Hoonkgowanen for Hooⁿʼkgowāʹnĕⁿ is the name of the Pelican (?) and
signifies, “His throat or gullet is large.”

248. See note 239.

249. Shayades for Sʻhayăʹʼdes is the name of the blacksnake, meaning
“His body (is) notedly long.”

250. Deanohsgwis for Deanoⁿʼsʹgwis is the name of a kind of grasshopper
(?), meaning “His jump (trajectory) (is) long.”

251. See note 243.

252. See note 244.

253. Hononhengwen for Honoⁿʼĕⁿʹʼgwĕn is a proper name, meaning, “His
head (is) broad.”

254. Ganehdaiikhon Tgahadayen Tgawenot for Ganeʻdaiikʹhoⁿʼ Tgahādāʹiēⁿʼ
Tgawēʹnot is a place name, meaning, “It is green It-forest-is
there-it-island-is,” or “The Island of the Green Forest.”

255. Degatengowa for Degatĕⁿʹʻgōwa is the name of the large
dust-colored grasshopper, about 2 inches long. Its habit of leaping up
in the air 3 or 4 feet and remaining almost stationary by a fluttering
of the wings is referred to in the next line in the story.

256. Henhgadji for Hĕⁿʹʻgädji signifies, “His tail (is) black,”
referring to the marking of the tail.

257. See note 245.

258. The use of the pipe was to fortify himself against any evil
influence that might be employed by the stranger.

259. Hodehondasiowanen for Hodeʻon dăsiōʹwănĕⁿ signifies “His quid (is)
large.”

260. Gaasyendietʻha for Gaăʻsioñdieʹtʻhăʼ is the name of the meteor or
so-called firedragon, and signifies, “He emits or casts out flames of
fire.”

261. Gaonhiahge Tgastendeh for Gäoⁿʻiăʹʼgeʻ Tgaʻstĕñʹdeʼ signify “On
the Sky, or in the Sky, there It-Rock-Island Stands forth,” or freely,
“The Rock Cliff or Peak in the Sky.”

262. Tkwendahen Niohsiowesiohden for Tkwĕⁿʻdäʼʹĕñʼ Nioʻciowecioʹʼdĕñ
signify “His jacket (is) red.”

263. Gaahgwa Tgawenot for Gääʹʻgwāʼ Tgawēʼnot signify, “Sun
there-it-island,” or “Island of the Sun.”

264. Djahgwiyu for Djăʹʼgwiyu is the name of the tanager.

265. Ohnonqgon(t) Tgawenot for Oʼnoⁿʹʻgon Tgawēʹnot signify, “Bumblebee
There-It-Island,” or “Bumblebee Island.”

266. Djihtkwahen Niothwahasyohʹden for Djiʼtkwäʹʼĕñʼ
Niʻotʻwahăʻcioʹʼdĕⁿ signify, “His belt is yellow”, which is the name of
a kind of bee.

267. Gainhdoya Tgawenot for Gaiⁿʼdoʹʼiăʼ Tgawēʹnot signify “At Blanket
(or perhaps better Robe) Island,” i.e., “It-Robe There-It-Island.”

268. Djihtkwahen Haos for Djiʼtwăʹʼĕñʼ Hāós signify “His robe or
blanket is yellow,” the name of a kind of bee.

269. Hahnowa Tgawenot for Haʼnōʹwa Tgawēʹnot signify “At the Turtle
Island.”

270. Honoʼtsăgagiʹyĭt, the correct form, signifies “His teeth (are)
sharp;” but it may signify “His tooth (is) sharp.”

271. Ohneqsah Tgawenot for Oʼneʹʻsăʼ Tgawēʹnot signify “At Sand
Island,” or “It-Sand There-It-Island.”

272. Sowek-shohon for Sōʹwĕk-sʻhoʼoⁿ, the plural form of Sōʹwĕk,
signifies “Ducks,” but sometimes meaning “All kinds of ducks.”

273. Hahnyahses for Hāniăʹʼses signifies “His neck (is) long.”

274. Awaeh for Awäʹʼeʼ denotes “the Swan.”

275. See note 264.

276. See note 262.

277. This was done by means of sorcery. A reed was a usual means for
“shooting” a person by sorcery.

278. Goanyahge Diyoendjadeh for Gäoⁿiăʹʼgeʻ Diioʻĕñʹdjădeʼ signify “It
Sky-On There-it-Land-Stands.”

279. Sʻhadahgeah for Oʻsʻhāʹdăʼgeāʼ signifies “Pertaining to the region
of the clouds,” or, perhaps, “On or against the clouds.”

280. Odahnoqgwiyah Haos for Odäʼnoⁿʻgwiʹiäʼ Hāʹos signify “His Robe
(is) of down.”

281. The number “7” is sometimes used, while at other times the number
“4” is latterly used, to represent the number of people who are called
Hinon or the Thunder People. See note 229.

282. Shedwaqsot for Shedwăʹʻsot signifies “Our grandfather.”

283. Hahasdensyowanen for Hăʼsʻhasdĕⁿsʹiowanĕⁿ signifies “He whose
power (is) great.”

284. Odonseh for Odoⁿʹseʼ is the name of a kind of worm.

285. Shagoewatha for Sʻhagoewatʹʻhăʼ signifies “He punishes them
(mankind)” and is the name of the muckworm. This peculiar office is
probably due to the identification of this worm with Satan.

286. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa for Shagadiioweq gowa is the name of the Wind,
or Whirlwind.

287. Ganiagwaihegowa for Ganăiʼgwaihēʼgōwā is explained in Note 153.

288. Oqtchihgah Ongwe for Oqtciʹʼgäʼ Oñʹgweʻ signify “It-Cloud Human
Being”, or “Cloud Man”, i.e., a personified cloud.

289. Sadjāʹwĭskĭ is the name of the thousand-legged worm.

290. See note 285.

291. The word “man” here signifies “human beings” of the “first
people.”

292. Odjisdanohgwah for Odjisdanoʹʻgwăʼ is the name of a star.

293. Gaaqgwaah for Gääʹʻgwāā is the name of the orb of the sun. But as
its derivation shows that it is the name of anything that is present to
view, the word is also applied to the orb of the moon. Strictly used,
it requires the limiting term, “daytime,” to denote the sun, and
“nighttime,” to denote the moon. So the expressions, “day sun” and
“night sun,” which are sometimes heard or seen, are inaccurate, as the
word simply means “What is present to view.”

294. See note 169. Niagwaihegowa of this line differs from that cited
in Note 169 by having the adjective gōwā “great, large, monstrous,”
suffixed to it.

295. Tgawenosdenh for Tgawēnōsʹdĕñʼ signifies “At the broad island,” or
“At the great island.”

296. Othowege for Otʻhowēʹgeʻ signifies “At or in the north,” literally
“At or in the place of cold.”

297. Hathogowa for Hatʻhoʹʼgōwā signifies “He is the Great Cold,” which
is evidently the name of the Winter Power (God).

298. Otho for Otʹʻhoʼ signifies “It is cold.”

299. Onenonhge for Onēʹnaⁿʼgeʻ signifies “At the place of sunshine.”

300. Dedioshwineqdon for Dedioʻsʻhwineqʹdoⁿ is the name of the “Warm
spring wind.”

301. Ongwe Honwe for Oñgweʹ-ʻHoñweʻ signifies “real, or native,
people,” people in contrast with pseudohuman beings, or beings that
assume or have had the human form and attributes belonging to the
myth-making epoch. In modern times, the name was applied to the native
Indian person in contrast with the European person.

302. Gaasyendietʻha for Gaăʻsioñdieʹtʻhăʼ is the name of the
firedragon, or the meteor. See note 260.

303. Stone Coats is the legendary name of the sons of the Winter God.
This brood of harmful fictitious creatures owe their being to an
erroneous folk-etymology of the word Tawiskaroⁿʼ, the name of the
Winter God. Cf. Introduction.

304. Ongwe Hanyos for Oñʹgweʻ Hāʹnioʻs signify “He is in the habit of
killing human beings,” sometimes meaning a cannibal.

305. There is a well-known Wyandot tradition that in some former
country of their ancestors the winters were very severe and the snows
fell excessively deep—so deep sometimes that the poor people had to dig
their way out of their wigwams in quest of sustenance. Consequently,
food was often scarce and famine rife, because the hunters were unable
to go out on account of the great depth of the snow. And, in some
instances, it is said, the pangs of hunger were so pressing that some
famishing persons were driven to kill and devour some of their own
neighbors and friends. Others, more fortunate, learning of these
cannibalistic acts, decided to leave the country at once. So, digging
their way out through the drifted snows, they finally reached,
southward from their former homes, a river which they crossed and,
continuing their journey some time, they at last reached a land in
which they found a much milder climate. But those who remained became
monsters—man-eaters, giants, stone coats, stone giants—and were very
strong in body. This is the popular explanation of a lost myth
incident—the activity of the Winter God.

In later times, it is said, one of these Stone Coats found his way to
the river which the fugitives had crossed and stood on the farther
bank, where he was seen by one of the fugitive hunters. The Stone Coat
would not attempt to cross the river for he was afraid of water, but he
called out across the river to the hunter, who had escaped from the
northern country, saying, “Cousin, come over here.” It is held that he
wanted to eat the hunter, who, however, did not obey his summons. But,
in a canoe, he went close to the opposite shore of the river, carrying
with him a quantity of hot deer fat, which he gave to the Stone Coat,
telling him to drink it. When the Stone Coat drank it his coat or skin
of stone fell off from him, and he ceased being a man-eater, and he
then was willing to cross the river with the hunter, whom he called his
cousin. In the course of time the shows melted in that northern country
and the Stone Coats dispersed in various directions.

Afterwards, an old Stone Coat woman came to the village of the
fugitives on the south side of the river (which is said to be the St.
Lawrence River), and the people dwelling there at once surmised that
she came there with the desire of eating some one of its inhabitants.
But a young man and his wife took a basswood paddle (basswood is
reputed in legendary lore as having the power of depriving a Stone Coat
of strength and life) and they beat the old Stone Coat woman until she
fell, exclaiming, “The Little Turtles are killing me.” Then the Stone
Coat woman arose and fled northward and escaped. The other Stone Coats
also departed northward, going to their native home, which was in the
far northland.

306. In addition to these striking characteristics this peculiar
monster was said to have only a single rib on either rib, which filled
the space occupied by the normal number.

307. It is said that this monster was vulnerable only in the soles of
its feet.

308. This statement that a warrior’s courage was in inverse ratio to
the size of the shield he carried is true to-day among the
shield-bearing tribes of the United States.

309. The notion expressed here that the members of the human or other
animate body, possessing marked orenda or magic power, have the uncanny
potency to fly back into place when dismembered, unless prevented from
doing so until cold, is not uncommon among people having strong faith
in sorcery.

310. Protest is here made against the abuse or mutilation of the dead.

311. See Note 52.

312. Turkey.

313. This use of a horn to pierce the foot of a competitor is not
uncommon in these stories.

314. This statement is probably only a waggish addition of some relator
rather than the expression of a belief that the sun may be pushed back
by any means.

315. This is another instance of the use of the eyes of living birds
instead of the usual plum pits in this game.

316. This incident occurs in another story of this collection. See Note
118.

317. This statement gives this incident a cosmical implication.

318. This implies plainly that the so-called “naked dance” was a fetish
of this person.

319. This term signifies, “He, the Cold One.” It is a name of Winter.

320. This is a story of the Wind-Beings or Gods.

321. The number 10 is connected with certain rites pertaining to the
lifting of the period of mourning.

322. This is not the historical origin of the “Mask” societies among
the Iroquois.

323. There is here also a vague cosmical implication.

324. This shows that the Iroquois and the Seneca believed that the
personality was different from the flesh of the body.

325. This term with the suffix -gowa signifies, “Great Whirlwind or
Cyclone,” and is here used to awe the Genonsgwa or Stone Coat kidnaper.

326. This is the plural, or rather distributive plural, form that is
added to the noun Genonsgwa, making it signify “all kinds of Stone
Coats.”

327. The meaning of this title is “Thunder, His Son and his
Grandmother.”

328. This title means “He, the Chief, and Flint.”

329. These two words signify “At the high rock.”

330. He spears fish.

331. Turtle.

332. The meanings of the names of these ten sons of the Chief who
married Hongak, the Wild Goose woman, are, in their order, as follows:
(a) Red-headed; (b) Long-headed; (c) Long-billed; (d) Long-mandibled;
(e) Long-footed; (f) Bow-legged; (g) Long-clawed; (h) Large-clawed; (i)
Fat-headed; and (j) Flint. With the possible exception of the last,
these names are not inappropriate for goslings.

333. The Dagwanoenyent is the Cyclone or Whirlwind which is here
represented as striking the vault of the sky with a crash, as the sky
was regarded as a solid body.

334. This whirlwind of snakes is a weird conception, like some other
incidents of the story.

335. These two native terms signify, respectively, “At the deep lake”
and “There where it has passed through the earth.” The last meaning is
that the water is so deep that it protrudes on the other side of the
earth.

336. Blue Jay people.

337. “At the Mountains.”

338. Partridge.

339. This is not a Seneca word.

340. Mosquito.

341. “Having roots” and “He who plants.”

341a. In the Odyssey Odysseus constructed his dwelling place in a
similar way and place.

342. This is a name of Winter = “He, the Cold.”

342a. This name signifies, “They (fem.) are clouds going about from
place to place.”

343. This trail is the dramatizing of the sun’s rays in the morning or
in the evening passing through broken clouds and casting rays and
shadows across the sky. An illusion arising from regarding what is
visible as having a solid surface.

344. One of Okteondon’s men had just paid the penalty of disobedience
of his leader’s order.

345. This name seems to mean “He has lost his leggings.”
Hoisʻhäʻtoñʹniʻ is the correct form.

346. This is the name of a large bird which soars so high that it has
won the name “pertaining to the clouds.”

347. This is evidently reminiscent of an earlier age when human pelts
were regarded as trophies of cannibal hunters.

348. The Seneca terms signify, “Human beings, they, both men and women,
eat,” i.e., both men and women were cannibals.

349. This method of bringing dry bones to life again, so frequent in
these stories, is not, of course, peculiar to the Seneca.

350. Blood and the color red appear to be signs of ill omen in the
belief of the early story-tellers.

351. The method of the dream testing is virtually identical with that
in legend No. 70, even to the words used.

352. This method of destroying the lodges of vanquished sorcerers is
frequently employed in these tales.

353. “He whose body is bright” and “Thousand-legged worm.”

354. This word signifies “He who tortures them.” According to the
following line he belonged to the Toad people.

355. Here there is implied a mythic reference in the use of the number
7.

356. Blue Jay.

357. Crow.

358. The superheated flint lodge to destroy evil-minded wizards by some
hero is a common device in these stories.

359. This native term is very broad in its extension, as it includes
the Man-Beings of the first cosmic period, the first people, the
ancients, as well as mankind of the last cosmic period of these tales.

360. This statement that blood and pain were given the body for its
protection is singular, to say the least.

361. This story resembles No. 11, “The Snake with Two Heads,” in some
of its details.

362. Raccoon.

363. Deer.

364. The Great Heads were the Dagwanoenyent.

365. The Arrow.

366. This term signifies “People of the Land of Reeds.” It Is not at
all certain that the name applied to any place in the southland, for
the modern Iroquois apply it to certain people coming from
Ononʻhoʻgwaʹʼgeʻ near Binghamton, N. Y.

367. The Roué.

368. These two words signify “‘Cherokee’; there they dwell.” That is,
it was the country of the Cherokee.

369. The words “Ne Hononhsot” signify “the lodge tenant,” but “Endekha
Gaahgwa” signify “the sun,” i.e., “Diurnal It-Orb-of-Light.”

370. This is an official title; it denotes “the chiefess”; that is, the
woman chief, who is such by election, and not by being a wife of a
chief.

371. This conception of a river of land is picturesque, to say the
least.

372. This is a protest against prevalent cannibalism.

373. Hăʼdegaunʹdăgeʻ, i.e., “All kinds of trees,” and the Dwarf Man,
respectively.

374. “She, the Proud One.”

375. This story is identical with one published by Lafitau in his
“Moeurs, etc.”

376. Thunder or the Thunder Man-Being.

377. This is the statement of an early form of anthropic
parthenogenesis; its enduring implication is that air (wind)—that is,
breath—is the source of life. In later development it becomes an
immaculate conception.

378. The Wind Man-Being and Winter Man-Being.

379. The use of the epithet “cannibal” is justified only by the thought
that persons are killed to be eaten; a natural inference to
cannibalistic peoples.

380. The name is not easily translatable; it was probably partly
misunderstood.

381. A Fishhawk.

382. Flint-worker or Flint-maker, i.e., Arrow-head-maker.

383. Net-Maker.

384. He, the Eunuch.

385. Corn soup.

386. The Thunderers = They whose voices go about.

387. Crow and “The Other Side,” sometimes Left-handed.

388. Cyclone and Meteor.

389. This is the descriptive epithet applied to a dark or black
cyclonic wind cloud.

390. A Hawk.

391. A cloud or fog.

392. The Great Blue Lizard, a mythic being.

393. The Mother or Eldest Woman of the Whirlwind People and She, the
Stone Coat.

394. This is a very good definition of faith.

395. “The Lake Where the Stone Giants Lie Buried.”

396. This is the usual description.

397. The Great Head is only another name of Dagwanoenyent, who is the
Tornado or Cyclone.

398. This particular method of raising the dead is common to a large
number of other stories. They differ only in minor details; in this a
number of trees is mentioned, while in other stories only a single tree
is mentioned.

399. These two words together signify “He eats human beings as a
habit;” i.e., he is a cannibal.

400. This name is sometimes applied to a person who after being in a
long swoon regains consciousness.

401. This refers to the grinding of the rocks and stones by the force
of cyclonic winds.

402. This signifies “the small dose.” It is the name of a famous
medicine, and it is so called because only a very small dose is
required. Erroneously it has been commonly rendered “the small water.”

403. The term hochinagen is the name commonly applied to the native
healer and exorcist.

404. A maid or woman during the period of her catamenia became sacred
or taboo to all men and ill persons; it was therefore dangerous to have
her around; her sacredness or taboo was infectious.

405. This is an abbreviated form of the name Ganyăʼgwaiʻheʹgōwā, the
great monster-bear.

406. This denotes the spike of a flowering plant.

407. This was an underhanded method of ascertaining whether a person
lying near a fire was sound asleep or not; it was practiced chiefly by
wicked persons in order to injure other persons.

408. These perils barring a path are employed in a number of other
stories. The same monsters are not always mentioned, but their common
provenance seems to be indicated, nevertheless.

409. This human skin flayed off whole is an example of the methods of
torture practiced by the ancestors of the story tellers. It was
believed that wizards and sorcerers could remove the flesh-body from
the skin without destroying the life of the victim, which then was
supposed to animate the empty skin. These skins retained the powers of
the body and were usually called “a pouch.” This retaining of life by
these skins, flayed whole, is mentioned in the Odyssey of Homer, where
he speaks of the slaughter of the cows of the Sun. In the native
conception this was regarded as a refined species of slavery.

410. It was customary in some families making pretensions to sorcery to
conceal the child who had been born with a caul. This was done in such
manner that no one other than one of the nearest of the child’s kin
should be charged with the wardship of the hidden child, and so should
have access exclusively to the initiate. One of the means employed in
shielding the initiate from the view of other persons was to strew
carefully about the place of concealment cat-tail flag down in such
wise that any displacement of it would indicate intrusion by some
unauthorized person. Thus is derived the epithet “down-fended,” or
“warded by down.” Secondarily, it may have meant “mat-warded,” because
mats were in some instances made from this kind of flag. (See 21st Ann.
Rept. Bur. Amer. Ethn., p. 127.)

411. This is literally what the native term signifies.

412. It was believed, and so reported traditionally, that usually the
arrow of a sorcerer could not be removed from a wound except by its
owner without injuring the arrow.

413. This is the literal meaning of the native term, and was the name
of a ceremonial feast, the virtues of which were believed to be rooted
in the fact of the complete consumption of the food offered by those
who had been invited to eat up what was set before them. It was
permissible for such a guest, however, to pay another to eat up what he
himself or herself was not able to devour, for if anything of the feast
should be left over the purpose of the feast would be defeated—by the
malign influence of hostile sorcerers.

414. See note 409.

414a. This is one form of what is commonly called kinnikinic, a term
which signifies “a mixture,” although it is also applied to the several
plants which commonly form the ingredients in the mixture.

415. The native term here rendered “amulet” has a number of meanings,
another being the dried spike of a plant—that of the mullein, for
example. So this might be translated “The Spike-Hitter.” It also is
applied to any black object or toy.

416. This feature of the shrinking path is interesting.

417. The rendering of the native term by “owls” is literal, but the
word “owl” is taken in the sense of any nondescript bird of ill omen.

418. The Seneca for this name is Hotkwĕⁿʼdadegĕⁿʼʹăʻ, i.e., “He, the
Burnt Belly, Small.” Otherwise, “Small Mr. Burnt Belly.”

419. It was a common belief among the Seneca and the other Iroquoian
people that a sorcerer was usually aware of what another was doing,
even though they might dwell far apart.

420. This returning of human life to the body of a simulated animal is
also quite common in stories recounting the fanciful exploits of
sorcerers.

421. This is the name of a woman who belonged to a class of ferocious
women who gained notoriety by seeking to destroy their sons-in-law on
their wedding nights. This name denotes the habit of these women of
casting themselves into the fire as a challenge. The name signifies,
“She who is burned in many places.”

422. See note 410. This is the masculine form of the Seneca expression.

423. This is the indefinite form of the expression cited in the
preceding note.

424. This is the Seneca form of the name for a human skin, flayed off
whole, which was made to serve as a warder for some noted sorcerer or
sorceress. See note 409.

425. This method of heating and hardening wooden instruments was
employed by Ulysses. See Homer’s Odyssey.

426. This expression is the nearest approximation in sense to the
native term which signifies, literally, “He who has achieved or
perfected our faculties.”

427. This description recalls the Homeric contests for prizes between
the Greek warriors before Troy.

428. The following recital of the obstacles along this mysterious path,
occurring in slightly varying versions elsewhere, reminds one of the
seven guarded passageways along the path of Ishtar’s descent to the
regions of the dead.

429. The term rendered “mother” denotes in the vernacular the “matron”
or head woman, although “mother” is better.

430. The Partridge.

431. The Seneca name is Oʻsoʹon(t). The “t” sound is obsolescent.

432. These are offerings to the genii of the place.

433. He is the last remaining person.

434. This is the method formerly used to “guess” the meaning of one’s
dream.

435. It will be noted that most of the proper names in this story
indicate reference to some process or object of nature.

436. This rising and falling of the sky appears as an incident in a
number of other tales of this character.

437. This term is used as both noun and adjective; here it is used as a
noun; it signifies, “What customarily uses its orenda or magic power
destructively.”

438. This term refers to the Wind God whose activities earned for him
the epithet, “Evil-minded.”

439. This form of the generic noun oñʹgweʻ signifies “The male
Man-Being.”

440. This address is made as a part of the ceremonies at the harvest
festival, commonly called the “Green Corn dance.” In this expression
the word “green” stands for “new,” i.e., newly harvested corn.

441. This woman in the original story is Mother Earth. Here she has
become the representative of the expression of Mother Earth—the
offspring of her life-giving powers.

442. This appears to be a sort of parable teaching the virtue of
gratefulness for what one receives of the bounties of nature on earth.

443. The evil of one man is visited on the members of the community to
which he belongs; this represents the method of avenging a wrong by the
early Iroquoian people.

444. This old woman was the matron of the family, or ohwachira.

445. This is the Winter God, but here he is called “He who is robed in
flint.”

446. This has reference to the dances of the women and maids in which
they dramatize the waving of the stalks of standing corn.

447. The expression “You two cousins” denotes the two symbolic sides of
the tribe—the two phratries, or, rather, sisterhoods, of clans.

448. It will be noted that the framework of this story is in some
respects exactly like that of the next preceding.

449. This is a fine example of the native regard for all living things;
even the plants find a place in their sympathy.

450. This story has a number of interesting weather signs.

450a. This is a very interesting statement, because it connects this
mythic porcupine with Sunlight. The porcupine, the mythic being, is
usually connected with sunlight in American myths, especially the
quivering or dancing spring sunlight.

451. This is the act of exorcism by blowing up the evil persons.

452. The native word literally means, “One—it one’s word uses to make,”
i.e., “One uses it to make one’s word”; briefly, it is one’s pledge,
the token of a vow.

453. The imitative sounds or utterances which certain activities were
thought to emit are no small part of the interest these stories have
for the students of the origin of words and sentences. The recorder was
at all times careful to write down these very naïve but most expressive
sounds.

454. The remainder of this incident belongs to the story of
Sʻhodieonskon; this version, however, is much longer.

455. This circumstance gave rise to the name of this hero,
Hahadodagwatʻha, i.e., “He who pulls out the branch customarily.”

456. This name signifies “Standing Rock” or “Projecting Rock.”

457. This native word is usually rendered variously in popular
translations as “Stone Coat,” “Stone Shirt,” “Stone Giant,” “Giant,”
“Monster Man.” Its real significance and correct translation has been
given in the introduction to these stories.

458. As explained in the introduction, this represents poetic license,
i.e., the use of the word for flint or chert for ice.

459. The foregoing recital details certain customs pertaining to
ambassadors to hostile tribes, which are of marked interest.

460. The matter of this symbol is fully carried out in the dedicatory
language of the League or Federation of the Iroquois.

461. The following incident on the island is found in other stories,
especially in that of Hayanoweh.

462. This incident shows that the story-tellers believed that the
so-called dead were really not dead, and that these well knew what was
transpiring on earth among mankind.

463. This is the psychological counterpart of the familiar “Fear not”
of the Sacred Scriptures.

464. This is the slavery or servitude imposed by the evil use of orenda
(or magic power) by a hostile person; in its original sense the English
“spellbound” had this signification.







FOOT-NOTES


[1] The manuscript of this Journal was discovered in Amsterdam in 1895
by the late Gen. James Grant Wilson, who published it in the Annual
Report of the American Historical Association for the year 1895, under
the caption “Arent Van Curler And His Journal of 1634–35.” But the Van
Rensselaer Bowier Manuscripts, edited by the learned Mr. A. J. F. van
Laer, show that van Curler could not have made the journey, as he did
not reach Rensselaerswyck until 1637, then a youth of only eighteen. It
seems probable that Marmen Meyndertsz van den Bogaert, the surgeon of
the fort, was the author of the Journal. Consult the Introduction to
this same Journal as published in “Narratives of New Netherland,
1609–1664,” ed. by J. Franklin Jameson, in Original Narratives of Early
American History (Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, 1909).

[2] This village of Ongniaahra (Ongiara, Onguiaara, and Ondgiara are
other forms found in the literature of the Jesuit Fathers) was situated
very probably on or near the site of the village of Youngstown, New
York. It is the present Iroquoian name of this village, but not of the
river nor of the Falls of Niagara.

[3] The Aondironnon probably dwelt at or near the present Moraviantown,
Ontario, Canada, although some Iroquois apply the name to St. Thomas,
some distance eastward. Another form of the name is Ahondihronnon. The
nominal part that is distinctive is thus Aondi or Ahondin, as written
in the Jesuit Relations. The modern Iroquoian form is ĕⁿʻ.tiʹhĕⁿ, ‘The
middle or center of the peninsula.’

[4] Curtin, Jeremiah, Myths and Folk-Tales of the Russians, Western
Slavs, and Magyars, p. vii, Boston, 1890.

[5] Ibid., p. x.

[6] Ibid., pp. x–xi.

[7] Curtin, Jeremiah, Myths and Folk-Tales of the Russians, Western
Slavs, and Magyars, p. ix, Boston, 1890.

[8] Ibid., p. xvii.

[9] Curtin, Jeremiah, Hero-Tales of Ireland, pp. ix, x, Boston, 1894.

[10] Curtin, Jeremiah, Hero-Tales of Ireland, pp. x, xi, Boston, 1894.

[11] Ibid., p. xi.

[12] Ibid., pp. xii, xiii.

[13] Ibid., p. xiii.

[14] Curtin, Jeremiah, Hero-Tales of Ireland, p. xiv, Boston, 1894.

[15] Ibid., p. xv.

[16] Ibid., p. xvi.

[17] Ibid., pp. xlix-l.

[18] Curtin, Jeremiah, Hero-Tales of Ireland, p. xlviii, Boston, 1894.

[19] Ibid., pp. xlvi, xlvii.

[20] Curtin, Jeremiah, Creation Myths of Primitive America, pp.
xxxi–xxxii, Boston, 1898.

[21] Ibid., p. xxxii.

[22] Curtin, Jeremiah, Creation Myths of Primitive America, pp.
xxxvii–xxxviii, Boston, 1898.

[23] Ibid., pp. xxxviii–xxxix.

[24] Curtin, Jeremiah Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland, pp. 22–27,
Boston, 1890.

[25] Ibid., p. 22.

[26] For an extended etymologic demonstration of the facts stated in
the text, consult articles Tawiskaron and Nanabozho by the editor in
the Handbook of American Indians (Bulletin 30 of the Bureau of American
Ethnology).

[27] Handbook of American Indians, pt. 2, p. 720.

[28] The superior figures refer to notes on pages 791–812.

[29] Woodworker and Long-Tooth.

[30] Small-dose medicine.