Chapter XI: Part 11

“Go and help the women cook meat,” said Blaiwas.

“I won’t do it,” said Tusasás; “I wouldn’t do it if Leméis or Súbbas told me to.”

“Throw him out!” cried Blaiwas.

Men took hold of Tusasás by his thick hair and pulled him out of the house. His hair was as long as he was himself. It was all of the same length; not one hair was sticking up. It was black and glossy and stood out around him.

Kalaslákkas won the first game. Kumal was frightened; he said: “Some great gambler has come; maybe we shall get beaten.”

Tusasás put his mouth against a crack, and called out: “That game wasn’t hard to win; I could have won it myself.”

“Go and bring water for the women,” screamed Blaiwas. “Keep away from here!”

The women pounded Tusasás, pulled him away and told him not to make Kalaslákkas mad.

The young man began to sing the song he had heard the gamblers sing at the swimming place. The song made every one happy. It sounded like many persons singing. It was beautiful, but nobody could learn it. Blaiwas had the girl brought on a gambling plate and put down with her face turned to the wall. When she looked over her shoulder at the gamblers, she saw Kalaslákkas and looked at him so long that her eyes ached.

Before midday he had won back half of all Blaiwas and his men had lost. When they stopped to rest, he said: “No one on either side can eat meat or fish till we are through gambling.”

While the gamblers were resting, the young man went home. His grandmother said: “Take some good smelling leaves and put in your nose, so you won’t smell what the women are cooking, for it isn’t long since you were at the swimming places and traveling on the mountains. Every morning, while you are gambling, you must go, before the sun is up, and swim in the lake.”

When they began to gamble again, Ndukis said to the chief: “You should drive Tusasás away. If he makes Kalaslákkas mad, we shall be naked again. You don’t know what kind of a man he is. He has been to all the swimming places on the mountains.”

They gambled all night. Kalaslákkas won every game. The next day he said to Blaiwas: “My swimming place said that just before midday you must say to me: ‘Now be strong. Be like the chief of gamblers’!”

At midday the chief said: “My nephew, you must be strong; you must be like the chief of gamblers at the swimming place.”

Those words frightened Kumal’s people. Tusasás looked through an opening, and called out: “He can’t do more than I can!” Men ran after him, drove him away, and said: “You will lose your life if you meddle with that man. His grandmother can do anything.”

At dark they stopped playing. Kumal’s people were naked; they had lost everything they had.

Old Kletcowas and his five sons were ashamed. The eldest said: “I don’t want any one to have our nice things; we will bet our sister. If Kalaslákkas wins her, we will get everything back.”

The old man said: “That is what our girls are for;” then he said to Blaiwas: “I want that young man to play for my daughter. If he wins her he can have her for a wife.”

“Will you play for the girl?” asked Blaiwas.

Kalaslákkas didn’t speak; he hung down his head. He was ashamed. Blaiwas asked him a second time. He didn’t answer. Then Blaiwas asked for the last time: “Well, what will you do?”

“I will play for her,” said the young man, “but if I win I will stop playing; I will never gamble again.”

“If you win her, I shall be glad,” said his grandmother. “My body is worn out; she will take care of me.”

“How many games must I play to get her?” asked Kalaslákkas.

“You must win ten games from us,” said old Kletcowas.

Kalaslákkas played the ten games and won the girl.

Tusasás said: “I could have won the girl long ago, if they had let me play.”

“Keep still,” said Dúduois, “or you will no longer be a living person.”

“Let him say all he wants to,” said the old woman. “This earth will punish him. This earth hears every word he says, and when a man says bad things, she throws them back to him.”

The next day Tusasás was sick. He begged of Blaiwas not to let him die. “I have no power to save you,” said Blaiwas.

Kalaslákkas gave old man Kletcowas and his sons all the things he had won from them, and they went home. He took the girl to his grandmother’s house; she was his wife.

The next day Kalaslákkas went with Blaiwas and his people to hunt deer. “Can you call deer to the mountains?” asked Kalaslákkas.

“There is no way to call them,” said Blaiwas.

“I will call them,” said the young man. He tied his hair up in a bunch on the top of his head, then he whistled like an elk.

Down where the elks were they talked to one another. Kalaslákkas heard them ask: “Are any of our people gone? Somebody, our brother or sister, is calling us. We must go and see who it is.”

All the elks went in a crowd toward the place where they heard the whistle; when they saw Kalaslákkas they ran off. As the last one was getting out of sight, the young man shot at him and killed the whole line; only two were left.

All night Blaiwas’ people were cutting up meat. In the morning, Kalaslákkas told his wife to carry some deer meat to her father and brothers. When the youngest brother saw his sister coming with something on her back, he called out: “Our sister is coming!”

The brothers were glad, and the father said: “That is what daughters and sisters are for, to feed us from whatever family they marry into.”

They got ready and went back with her. When the old man saw the meat and skins, he said: “My son-in-law is the strongest man in the world,” and he began to boast.

Blaiwas’ people made elk-skin coats, then they made sharp arrows to see which man could send an arrow through the skins. Soon they got mad at one another and began to fight.

Now Kalaslákkas’ wife had a little boy. The father, to keep awake five days and five nights, went off to the mountains to roam around. When the grandmother came, she asked: “Is the baby a boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” said the mother.

“Oh, my poor grandson,” cried the old woman, “he will lose his life. For a girl, it is right to go to the mountains, but for a boy he should have stayed here. What mountain did he go to?”

“To Sláptcatcak.”

“Oh, my grandson, my poor grandson,” cried the old woman, “he is lost.”

That night the mother shut her eyes and nodded; she thought some one said to her: “Look this way.” She looked and saw men in elk-skin coats fighting, and the man who talked to her said: “This will grow and grow. Hereafter people will always fight.” When she woke up, she cried: “Grandmother, I couldn’t keep awake; I nodded and dreamed,” and she told the dream.

“You have brought great misfortune on your people,” said the old woman.

The mother couldn’t help closing her eyes again. This time she saw the elk-skin coats lying piled up; their wearers were dead.

Kalaslákkas walked around the swimming place on the mountain; he piled up stones and then sat down to rest. He couldn’t keep his eyes open; he fell asleep and dreamed that the great bear of the swimming place was angry with him, and said: “If your child had been a girl, you could have come here, but it is wrong to come here when a boy is born.” The bear roared at him terribly, then the young man saw his grandmother there by him. The bear sprang at her and tore her to pieces.

When Kalaslákkas woke up, he knew that he had done wrong. He sat on the mountain all day, afraid to go anywhere. He thought: “My grandmother told me that whenever I dreamed of my kin it meant me.” Toward dark he got up and started for home; when he got to the house, he found his wife and grandmother crying.

The grandmother said: “I am sorry that I raised you and tried to teach you our laws. It was wrong for you to go to the mountain without asking me. I have been long in this world. You will die soon unless the child dies. If he dies he will take the dream back. You must build a fire on top of the mountain and talk to the mountain, tell it everything, tell it how sorry you are. If you make a big fire in the evening and it burns bright and fast, it is a sign that your dream will soon come to pass. But if you have to work a long time to get the fire lighted, it is a sign that the drill delays the dream, and the earth wants you to live a little longer.”

Kalaslákkas took his drill out of his quiver and started. At sundown he got to the top of the mountain and began to build a fire. The drill worked hard and the fire was long in kindling. Then he said to the mountain: “My mountain where I traveled when I was a boy, be good to me. Fire, you can burn up everything; I want you to burn up my dream and my wife’s dream. My earth and wind, I want you to let me live a little longer.” He talked to everything, talked a long time. Then he started for home. He had gone to the mountain slowly, for he was sorry to die, but he went home quickly, for he felt stronger.

Blaiwas and his people had moved away, scattered to different places. Kalaslákkas camped by a spring. “Who owns this spring?” asked he. “The one who made it,” said his grandmother. “Old Kówe lives way down under the water; she is in every spring in the world. She is our grandmother. If she gets mad at anybody, she can dry up the deepest water.”

“There are many roots around here,” said Kalaslákkas; “we had better stay and dig them.”

“I am afraid here,” said the old woman. “Nobody can stop a dream. This is a dangerous place.”

“What can I do?” asked the young man. “We must have something to eat.” He went to a small lake, not far away, to hunt for duck eggs. He found all he could carry.

“Don’t go on the south side of the lake,” said his grandmother; “that is the side that Lok always comes on.”

That day Kalaslákkas’ wife broke her digging stick. Kalaslákkas said: “I will go to the mountain and get you another.”

“You mustn’t go,” said his grandmother, “I will go.”

But the young man went. His wife and grandmother cried: they were afraid. He went to the top of the mountain, where there were large pine trees. He cut two long sticks, then started for home. There were trees and brush on the side of the mountain. As Kalaslákkas was coming out of a clump of brush, he heard something following him. He looked and saw a great bear right there near him. He ran to a tree, caught hold of a limb, and was pulling himself up, but the bear sprang at him, pulled him down, and tore him to pieces.

When he didn’t come home, the grandmother knew that the dream had come to pass. As soon as it was daylight, they tracked him to the tree where he cut the digging sticks. Not far away the old woman saw crows and she screamed: “There is where my grandson is!” They found only bones. The old woman said to the bones, “You see what this earth can do when she gets mad with us. She has large eyes, she can always see us. You didn’t do as I told you.”

They gathered up the bones and put them in their basket. As they went down the mountain, they built fires to let old Kletcowas know that they were in trouble.

Kalaslákkas couldn’t be brought to life while his child lived. The mother wanted to have the child killed, but Blaiwas said: “He is too old to kill.”

When the boy heard people talk about killing him, he laughed, and said: “Do you think my father would come to life if I died? No, he will never come to life. I will not die, but I will turn to something else, and I will live on the mountains. I killed my father and I shall kill many people. My life will last always in this world.”

Right away he lost his mind and went off to the mountains. Every evening he ran around the place where his grandmother lived and called out to her, but he wouldn’t go into the house.

Kalaslákkas’ son is on the mountains yet, a little person, so small that he can scarcely be seen, but he often appears to doctors. He can throw an arrow into a person’s body. The arrow is so small that a man cannot see it, but it hits his life and kills him.

If Kalaslákkas’ son meets a man, he turns him to a bird or a creeping thing.

THE SLOÄ BROTHERS

CHARACTERS

Blaiwas Eagle
Gäk Crow
Kéis Rattlesnake
Sloä Wildcat
Tskel Mink
Wámanik Bull Snake
Wûlkûtska Marten

Five Sloä brothers and their two sisters lived together. All the brothers were married, except the youngest. That one was beautiful; he had long blue hair, and his face was white and bright. His father and mother kept him in a basket under the ground. Every night his mother brought him out, washed his face, combed his hair, and gave him nice things to eat; then put him back before his brothers and sisters were awake.

The sisters hadn’t seen him since he was a little baby, but the elder sister liked him so well that she wouldn’t marry anybody else. Each night she lay on the ground near the hole where his basket was. The eldest brother didn’t like that. He said: “Our sister has no sense. She acts as if she were no kin of ours.”

There were many people in the Sloä village. One day all those people went off to hunt deer. When they came together to roast meat, Wûlkûtska said to Blaiwas: “Why doesn’t your son marry Sloä’s sister?”

“My son isn’t old enough yet; he hasn’t much sense. She is a nice-looking girl; you should marry her yourself.”

“I will try,” said Wûlkûtska. He told old man Yaukûl to ask Sloä’s mother if he could have her daughter.

That evening Yaukûl said to old woman Sloä: “You must be tired of keeping your daughter after she is old enough to marry. The chief’s youngest brother wants her. He will give you nice things for her.”

The old woman told her daughter that Yaukûl said Wûlkûtska wanted her. Her father said: “You are growing old; the chief’s son is a nice-looking young man; you should marry him.”

The girl was mad; she said to her mother: “If you want him in the house, you can marry him yourself; I don’t want him.” The girl was cross. She wanted to make everybody do as she liked.

The next morning, after the brothers had started off to hunt, and the sisters had gone to swim in the river, the father and mother took their youngest son out of the basket to bathe him and give him roots to eat.

He said: “My sister uncovers my basket and talks to me. I want you to hide me in some other place.”

Out in the ocean there was a little island as big as a house; the eldest brother made a place there to keep his blue-haired brother. While he was making the place nice, he pretended to be off hunting; when it was finished, he carried his brother there and hid him under the ground. One day, when he took roots to the island, his little sister went with him to watch that her older sister didn’t follow them. They went home after dark, for they didn’t want their sister to see which way they came.

The elder sister spent all of her time out of doors, swimming and gathering wood. The third time the brother went to the island, he left his little sister there to take care of her brother and keep the elder sister away.

For five days the sister hunted for her brother. She hunted everywhere,—over the mountains, under the rocks, and out on the flats. Then she said: “I wonder where my little sister has gone. If I find her, maybe I will find my brother, too.”

When she asked her mother, the old woman said: “Your sister is in the south, with your brother.”

“Why did you stop bathing my brother and why have you carried him away?” asked the girl. “Some day I will kill you all.”

When she had hunted everywhere else, she went to the island and there she found tracks, then she knew that her brother and sister were somewhere on the island. She pulled up the tula grass and looked under each blade of it, but she couldn’t find them.

When the little girl saw her sister coming straight toward the island, she took a spear of tula grass and scraped it out with her finger nail, made it like a canoe; then she put her brother in it and they went under the water, went home.

When the elder sister couldn’t find them, she knew that they had seen her and had gone away. That made her mad. She said: “We will see who is the most powerful!” When she got back to dry land, she lay down, and rolled over and over on the sand, and cried “Wah-ha-ha! Wah-ha-ha!” Then she sat up on her knees and began to travel fast; all the time calling out “Wah-ha-ha.” Right where she had rolled and along the trail she traveled, fire roared and blazed up to the sky. She went around the village where her father and mother lived and each minute she called: “Wah-ha-ha! Wah-ha-ha!”

The whole place began to burn. The people were terribly scared. Gäk turned to a crow and flew up to the sky; Blaiwas became an eagle; Witkátkis turned himself to a hawk and flew away. Tskel and Wámanik and Kéis and their kin went deep under the ground and were saved. All the other people, and the girl’s own family, except her little sister, were burned up.

The little girl was like her sister; she was powerful, could do anything she wanted to, and she got outside the ring of fire.

The elder sister took her brothers’ hearts, put them on a string and tied the string around her neck; then she swam back to the island. She was glad now.

The little sister wandered around and cried, she felt so lonesome. At last she stopped crying and began to watch her sister when she swam in the lake. The sister would call in different ways, sometimes like a duck or a water bird, sometimes like an animal, but she always looked like a woman. Once, when she had been all day swimming and dancing in the water, she went to the island and right away fell asleep. The little sister made her sleep.

Then the girl took a spear of tula grass, changed it into a canoe, and went to the island; she cut the string of hearts from her sister’s neck and put it in her bosom: then she cut her sister’s head off and went back to land.

The head went back to the body, and the young woman was alive again. She made a mournful noise, like an animal crying.

The little sister heard her, and said: “Cry all you want to; you can’t kill me!” She took up a handful of ashes, threw them toward the island, and said: “You can never burn people up again. You will always live in the water. When the coming people taste of you, they will say: ‘This meat doesn’t taste good,’ and they will spit it out.”

The young woman heard what her sister said. She was mad; she made a motion up and down with her hands; they were turning to wings. Right away she became a large, spotted sea bird and swam off on the lake.

The little sister got dry grass from the mountain and spread it down on the ground where each house had been. In one day there were as many houses as there had been before the fire. She gathered all the bones she could find and put them in a basket of boiling water; then she said to herself: “I mustn’t get up when they call me. No matter what they say, I must lie still and not answer.” She rolled herself up tight in a mat and lay down.

At sunset the people began to come out of the basket. Each person went to his own house and soon the houses were full again. The five brothers came back to life. Their father was the last one to get out of the basket; he stepped on the little girl’s feet, and then she got up. Her brothers and father and mother were lying by the fire. She saw smoke coming out of all the houses and knew that everybody was alive. Then she was glad, and all the people were glad.

COLTZ AND WUS

CHARACTERS

Coltz Porcupine
Wŏn Elk
Wus Fox

Coltz started to travel. On his journey he came to a deep river; he followed it up, and then followed it down, but couldn’t find a crossing place. Then he sat down on the bank, and looking at the water, wondered what made it so deep. He sat there three days, then some of the Wŏn people came to the river to cross. One of them, an old man, traveled slower than the others. He waited, and when the rest had crossed, he said to Coltz: “Why do you sit there looking at the water? Why don’t you cross?”

“I can’t,” said Coltz.

“Why don’t you swim, as we do?”

“The water is deep. I feel scared.”

“Get on my back,” said Wŏn, “I will take you over.”

“I am afraid that I would get washed off.”

“Sit behind my head.”

“You might turn your head around and drop me off.”

“Creep into my ear.”

“You might shake your head, and I would fall out.”

“Take hold of my neck and hang on tight.”

“I couldn’t hold on long enough; I should get tired and drop off. Then I would get drowned.”

“I don’t want to leave you here looking at the water. It makes me feel sorry. You must come. Hurry, now, my people have left me; they are far off by this time. Creep into my mouth; I won’t chew you.”

Coltz crept in, then went down and sat right by Wŏn’s heart.

When Wŏn got across the river, he felt sharp things sticking into his heart; he forgot that he had let Coltz creep into his mouth. The sharp things hurt worse and worse. He lay down on the ground and died.

Coltz crept out of Wŏn’s mouth and went to hunt for a piece of sharp rock (obsidian) to cut up the body. As he hunted, he talked to himself, said: “I wish I could find something to skin Wŏn with. I’ve nothing to scrape my arrows on.” He said different things, so if any one heard him, they wouldn’t know what he was talking about.

Wus was near by; he heard Coltz talking and he listened. He thought: “I wonder what that old man is saying.” He waited, heard Coltz say the same words again, then he said: “Hach! hach! hach!” and ran a little nearer. He heard the same words a third time, then he scratched his head and thought hard. “I believe that old man has killed an elk,” said he. Then he called out: “Hach! hach! hach!” ran right up in front of Coltz, and asked: “Old man, what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything; I’m hunting for a stone to sharpen my arrows with.”

Coltz was terribly scared.

“No,” said Wus, “you said you had nothing to skin Wŏn with. I’ll lend you my knife, if you will tell me where your elk is.”

“I haven’t any elk. I was just talking to myself, and making believe I had one.”

“You have killed an elk. Tell me where it is, and I’ll help you cut it up. You are an old man, but I am young; I will skin the elk for you.”

“I haven’t any elk. How could I kill a big elk? I have no bow or arrows.”

“You are wise,” said Wus. “You have power; you can do anything. You are a big man.”

Coltz began to feel proud. At last he said: “Come and see what a big elk I have killed.”

When Wus saw the elk, he said: “Now, Coltz, let’s play a game. We’ll run and try to jump over the elk. The one that jumps best and farthest will have him.” Wus had made Coltz think he could do anything.

“How far shall we jump?” asked Coltz.

“Not far,” said Wus.

Coltz said “Chi! Chi! Chi!” and ran. He jumped and fell on top of the elk. Wus tried; he hit the elk and fell back. (He was fooling Coltz.)

Wus said: “We’ll try again; I’m sure you will beat.”

“It is mine, anyhow,” said Coltz.

Wus ran first, hit the elk, and fell back. Coltz landed on top of the elk.

“You’ll beat,” said Wus.

“What will you bet?” asked Coltz.

“I’ll bet my knife; then the elk and knife will be yours, and you will have something to skin the elk with.”

Coltz was glad. He wanted the knife. “This is the last time,” said Wus. “If neither of us get over, we will divide.”

Wus ran hard this time, jumped, and went over. Coltz came down on the elk. “The elk is mine!” said Wus.

“Let’s try again,” said Coltz. Wus jumped over six times, then he said: “I am through jumping. The elk is mine.”

“Won’t you give me a piece?” asked Coltz. “Give me the heart.”

“Go away,” said Wus. “If you make me mad, I’ll kill you. This is my elk. I want it all.”

“Give me a little piece of the fat,” begged Coltz.

Wus drove him away, but he came back. Wus jumped on him, took a stone and pounded him till he thought he was dead. Then he divided the meat, said: “This is for my mother; this is for my children; this is for myself.”

Coltz began to move. Wus jumped on him and pounded him till he was dead. He made a great pack of some of the meat, and when he was ready to put it on his back, he took off his cap (it was full of holes, like a little round sieve), put it down by the elk, and said: “My cap, if Coltz moves, shout for me.” He put the load on his back and started.

Coltz moved a little. Cap called out: “He’s alive! He’s alive!” Wus went back, pounded Coltz, smashed him all up. Then he said: “My cap, shout if Coltz moves!” He put the pack on and started again.

Cap called: “He’s moving! He’s alive!” Wus dropped his pack, ran back, and smashed Coltz up again. But he hadn’t gone far when Cap called: “He’s alive!”

Wus was mad. He said: “I wonder what kind of old man that is. Why can’t he die?” He pounded him a long time, broke him all up, then he threw the pieces away. “He is dead now!” thought Wus, and he ran off as fast as he could, got beyond the mountain. Coltz came to life, but he didn’t move for a long time: he was watching Cap.

At last he said: “I’ll kill you, old Cap.” He sprang at it, and before Cap could shout, he tore it to pieces, and said: “I never heard a cap talk before. This kind of person has no mind. You’ll never talk again, you’ll never be alive again!”

When Wus got home, he fed his children. They were glad to eat meat; they were almost starved. Then he said to his mother: “You must get up early in the morning and help me pack all the meat home. We will dry it. There will be lots to eat.”

When Cap was dead, Coltz carried to the top of a high tree, all the meat Wus had left; he built a fire, and began cooking.

When Wus and his mother and children came, the meat was gone. Wus tracked Coltz to the tree; he called him “brother,” and teased him to give him some of the meat. At last he said: “Brother, drop us down just a little piece. We are hungry.”

“Stand in a row and shut your eyes,” said Coltz. “I’ll throw you a piece.” When they were in a row, he threw down the backbone of the elk and killed Wus and his children and his mother.

Then Coltz said to Wus: “As long as this world stands, you will live by stealing.” Wus’ spirit answered: “Hereafter you will not be a person. You will never have an easy time again; you will live on grass and not kill game.”

THE BAD BROTHER

CHARACTERS

Blaiwas Eagle
Dásläts California Lion
Djáudjau Flying Squirrel
Kai Jack Rabbit
Kékina Lizard
Kúja Rat
Kujasûp Rat’s Mother
Kówe Frog
Lok Bear
Pakol Deer
Sloä Wildcat
Tcakonŭs Duck (gray-headed)
Tcûskai Weasel
Tohós Duck
Tskel Mink
Wámanik Bull Snake
Wisnik Garter Snake
Wéwenkee Whip Snake
Wŏn Elk
Wûlkûtska Marten

A woman had two children, a boy and a girl. She lived with them at Yáni.

The mother gave the boy dry red roots to eat, but she always fed the little girl fresh white roots; for herself she pounded seeds. The boy was jealous. One day, when his mother was digging roots, he said to his sister: “Let us go and play. I am lonesome here.”

While they were playing, he kept saying to the little girl: “Our mother loves you better than she does me.”

His sister said: “No, she doesn’t; but I am little.” The boy wouldn’t give up; he kept saying: “Our mother loves you better than she does me.”

At last the girl said: “I don’t want to play any longer; I want to go back to the house.”

“All right,” said the boy, “but we will stay where we can see mother.”

When they got to the house, he told his sister to sit where she could look out, then he began to sing: “Nénûm, nénûm!” (Up, up!) After a while he asked: “What is our mother doing?”

The girl said: “She is down by the pond digging roots and putting them in her basket.”

Again the boy sang: “Nénûm, nénûm!” then he said: “Look again. What is our mother doing now?”

“She is putting the basket on her back.”

“Nénûm, nénûm!” sang the boy. “Look now.”

“She is starting for home.”

“Nénûm, nénûm! What is she doing now?”

“Oh! the pond is coming up!” screamed the girl. “Mother’s feet are in the water! Rain is coming down just where she is!”

“Nénûm, nénûm!” sang the boy. “What is she doing now?”

“The water is up to her ankles.”

“Nénûm, nénûm! Look again, sister.”

“The water is up to her knees; she can’t walk!”

“Nénûm, nénûm! Look now.”

“Oh, the water is half-way to her body!” cried the little girl.

“Nénûm, nénûm! Look out again, sister.”

“The water is up to her arms.”

“Nénûm, nénûm! Look now.”

“Oh, it is up to her neck!” He kept singing.

“The water is rising fast now; I can only see mother’s eyes!” cried the girl.

“Nénûm, nénûm! How is it now?”

“Our mother has gone down in the water; I can’t see her!” cried the little girl, and she fell on the ground and screamed. She cried all day, cried herself to sleep.

The boy was singing and fixing his arrows. He was glad that his mother was dead.

The next morning, while his sister was sleeping, the boy shot an arrow into her leg. When she cried, he said: “Get up! You are a young woman now. You must go and hire somebody to sing for you, so you can dance your maturity dance. You must dance five nights without sleeping.” He gave her rattles, and said: “When you get to a spring, stand there till Kówe comes for water. She will see you and take you home with her. When the five nights are over, you can come back here. I will stay on the mountains while you are gone.”

The girl started; with each step she took she grew a little taller. When she got to the spring, she was a young woman. She was covered with red bark. She drank water from the spring, then stood in the low grass and waited.

Soon Kówe came to get water. As she was starting away, she saw a shadow in the water and stopped to look at it. “Oh,” said she, “I didn’t know I was so nice! I’m glad!” She looked a long time, then turned to go away, but she came back and looked a second time. She looked a third time, then she saw a beautiful girl dressed in red. She jumped at her, caught hold of her arm, and said: “Oh, my grandchild, where did you come from?”

She wrapped her blanket around the girl, took her under her arm, and carried her home.

That night she called to Tohós and all the Kówe people to come and sing for her grandchild to dance.—She called the girl grandchild, but she was no kin to her.—When they came and began to sing, Kówe danced with the girl to show her how.

Not far from old Kówe’s house there was a village where all kinds of people lived. They heard Tohós and the Kówes singing and came to see what young girl was dancing. Kówe hid the girl under her dress, wouldn’t let them see her. Wámanik tried to peek at her; Kówe scolded him and drove him away. Other men came, but they couldn’t see the girl. Kówe hid her under her clothes, and Tohós and the Kówes stopped singing as soon as they knew that some one was around.

The third night the Wámanik people tried hard to see the girl, but Kówe hid her in the straw of the house and put the fire out.

Kówe always knew when people were near. She heard Blaiwas as he went up high in the air and looked down. Right away the singing stopped, and the fire went out.

Tskel tried to steal up and look at the girl, but Kówe heard him and hid her. Gäk said: “I shall see that girl!” But he talked so loud that Kówe heard him as soon as he started from home. When he got to her house, nobody was singing, and it was dark all around.

The fourth night Wisnik went to Kówe’s house. He went under the ground and stuck out his head near her fireplace. It was early, and the Kówes hadn’t begun to sing. He saw the girl and looked at her till his eyes got dim. He couldn’t look enough. When he went home, he said: “There is a beautiful girl in old Kówe’s house; I have spoiled my eyes looking at her.”

Kówe knew that somebody had been in her house. The girl said: “I saw a man, but I thought that you knew he was here.”

That morning they held a council in Wámanik’s village, to decide who should go to Kówe’s house and get the girl for a wife.

Kówe knew of the council and she said to the girl: “Many men are coming here to get you for a wife. You mustn’t have anything to say to the men from that village over there. They are not the kind of people for you. The Wámanik people and the Wéwenkee and Wisnik people live there. Tcûskai and Tskel and Wŏn and Wus live there, too. You don’t want any of those men. Far away from here there are five brothers; each one is a chief and has great power. If they come, you mustn’t look at them, unless you are willing to marry them.”

That evening all the men in the village went to Kówe’s house. When the first one came, the house was a little grass hut, but right away it began to grow big and nice-looking. As the people came, each man had plenty of room. The largest and most important men came first: Wŏn, Lok, Kaiutois, Blaiwas and Wámanik. The girl made fun of them all; she said to Dásläts: “I don’t like you; you are too proud of your spotted blanket.”

She told Tcûskai his mouth was too sharp! She laughed at Tskel, told him his eyes were jumping out of his head; to Pakol she said: “You are proud of your warm blanket.” She told Lok his hands and feet were too big, and he ate too much. To Tcakonŭs she said: “You are proud of your white hair.” When Wámanik came, she said: “You are proud of your spotted blanket and your big mouth.” She told Wisnik that his eyes were small and dim. When she saw Kékina, she laughed, and asked: “How could a woman like your big flat feet and rough skin?”

When the five Wûlkûtska brothers came, they stood outside. The youngest brother said: “Why should we go into this house? There is no woman there that we want.” The eldest brother said: “I will go in and see her; you can stay here.” When he went in, the girl looked up, but right away she looked down again. She looked at four of the brothers in the same way. The youngest brother stayed outside a good while, and when he went in he sat down near the wall, but the girl looked at him; she was glad to see him.

All the people from the village went away; then the five brothers went. The eldest went first, then the second and the third and the fourth; the youngest was the last one to go.

Kówe loosened the girl’s hair, took off her red bark dress, and put on one covered with beads, then told her to follow Wûlkûtska. When the girl overtook the young man, he said: “I don’t travel on the ground or under it. You should have taken some other man. We were visiting Wus; we didn’t go there to get a wife. Our home is a long way off; I don’t think you can go there. We travel on the tops of trees; you will have to look up all the time. You should have taken Kai or Sloä or Wámanik.”

The girl cried, and said: “I followed you because Kówe told me that I belonged to you.”

The girl was beautiful. Her hair touched the ground and it was black and glossy. The young man was sorry for her.

He said: “You can come if you can track us.” Then the brothers sprang up and began to travel from one tree to another. The girl had to hurry; she stumbled often, for she had to look up to see which way the brothers went. When they camped, they waited a long time for her to come up. The girl followed them for ten days; she was only skin and bones. The brothers never hunted and never ate anything.

The tenth time they camped, the youngest brother said: “I feel badly. I have a nice wife, and she is starving.” The elder brother said: “You shouldn’t have gone to old Kówe’s. You knew that the girl didn’t live as we do.”

The younger brother cried, but he said to his wife: “You can’t follow us any longer. You are skin and bones; you will die soon. We are only half-way home. Djáudjau is our cousin; he lives near here. You must go to him; he is a great hunter, and will get you plenty to eat. He is as good-looking as I am. You will forget me.”

The young man felt lonesome; he liked the girl and didn’t want to leave her.

The eldest brother said: “Djáudjau’s mother wears a cap made of deer fat. She is digging roots. You will see her a long way off, for her cap is white and bright. But the Kújas live around there, and maybe old woman Kúja will be out digging roots, too. She is thin, and wears an old cap. When she sees you, she will jump and be afraid; she will think you are the ugliest thing she has ever seen. But Djáudjau’s mother will take hold of your hand and lead you to her house.”

When the brothers started off, the youngest one was crying; he turned back and called to his wife: “You mustn’t care for that man; he eats only horns. But his mother will be good to you and feed you.”

When the girl looked far off she saw two houses, one was covered with deer meat, the other was made of sticks and dry grass. The first woman she saw was Kúja’s mother; she walked up behind her. When the old woman saw her shadow she jumped and ran away. Then the girl saw Djáudjau’s mother; she knew her by her white cap. Djáudjausûp took her by the hand and was glad to see her. She took off her cap, turned it inside out, and rubbed the girl’s body with it; then she took her to the house and fed her deer marrow.

Kujasûp stood a little way off and watched; when she saw the marrow, she said: “That belongs to me!”

Kúja went to the house, and said: “That girl is for me; she didn’t come here to get your son.”

The old woman said: “You are a thief. You come here every night to steal our deer meat,” and she drove him away.

When Djáudjau came, he lay down in the house. The girl saw that he was white and nice-looking, and had long black hair; she liked him.

Old Kujasûp began to quarrel with Djáudjau’s mother; she said: “That girl must go with me; she is my son’s wife.”

Djáudjausûp said: “You have lived here always. Nobody ever came to see you or your son. My nephews sent this girl to us. She followed them, but they travel on the tops of trees. She couldn’t live as they do, and they sent her to my son.” The Kújas called the old woman names, said she didn’t tell the truth, said the girl belonged to them.

Djáudjausûp got so mad she called her son and told him to kill Kúja. The young man shot Kúja in the breast, and said: “You will no longer be a person; you will be a rat, and you will be a thief, as you have always been. You will make little houses of sticks, and people will call them Stcäkaltis (stick houses).”

Kúja and his mother and all their kin became common rats and ran off to the mountains.

Not long after that, the young woman had a baby. Her husband asked her if she had a father or a mother. She told him how her brother got jealous and killed her mother. Djáudjau said: “I want to see my brother-in-law.”

His mother gave them a bundle of dried deer meat and they started. When they came to the pond where her mother was drowned, the young woman cried; she felt badly. Her brother was living in the house where they had lived with their mother. He was married and had two children. When they got to the house, he was off on the mountain hunting deer.

The woman said: “He hunts all the time, but he never kills a deer; sometimes he gets a rabbit or a squirrel.”

The sister put her bundle of dried meat on the ground. It got big; there was a great pile, plenty for everybody to eat. Soon the brother came; he was old and thin. He didn’t say much to his sister or his brother-in-law.

The next morning Djáudjau went to hunt deer. The brother asked: “Why does he go? He won’t kill a deer. I am a good hunter, but I never find a deer.”

That evening Djáudjau came home with ten deer in his belt. He carried them as other men carried rabbits. The brother looked mad. He didn’t like his brother in-law.

The sister said to Djáudjau: “We must go home. I want to start now. My brother doesn’t like you: I am afraid to stay here.”

They started in the night, and early the next morning they came to a swimming place on top of a high mountain. Djáudjau got some green twigs, rubbed himself all over with them, then he rubbed the twigs on the ground, and said: “I have been to see my bad brother-in-law; I have brought away some of his bad thoughts. Now, earth, take them all.” Then he swam in the pond and talked to the mountain. The mountain talked to him like a living person, and he forgot his brother-in-law.

When they got home, the five Wûlkûtska brothers were there. They all claimed the child.

Old woman Djáudjau said: “It isn’t right for you to take my daughter-in-law’s child away from her.”

The young woman said: “You didn’t care for me. You thought you were better than I was, because you could travel on trees and I had to travel on the ground. Now you want my baby. Hereafter you will travel slow, and it will make you sweat; you will no longer be persons.”

The brothers said: “Hereafter you and your husband and his kin will be Djáudjaus and roam around in the mountains.”

And so it was.

KÓWAM AND GÁHGA

CHARACTERS

Gáhga Heron
Kówam Red-billed Duck
Lok Bear

Kówam and his little brother lived on the south side of Klamath Lake. The little boy’s name was Gáhga.

Kówam had a nice-looking wife, and when he went to fish in the lake, he always told her that if any one came to bother her she must send Gáhga to tell him.

One morning, when Kówam had gone to the lake, and his old mother-in-law was out gathering wood, Kówam’s wife sat down by the fire and began to make a reed basket for Kówam to put fish in. After a while the old woman ran in and cried: “The big-footed people are coming!”

Soon the five Lok brothers came in and sat down by the fire. The eldest brother put his head on the young woman’s lap.

Gágha began to cry, and Lok said: “Why do you cry, little boy? Are you sorry for me because I haven’t a wife? This woman is my wife.”

Gágha kept crying. At midday his eyes were so swollen that he could hardly open them. “Stop crying,” said his sister-in-law. “Go and find your brother and tell him that the big-footed men are here. Maybe nothing has happened, and he doesn’t know there is trouble at home.”

Gágha cried all the time he was going to the lake. When he found his brother Kówam asked: “What’s the matter? What makes you cry? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” said Gágha, “five of the big-footed people from the north side of the lake are in our house, and one of them has his head on my sister-in-law’s knees.”

“Is she crying?” asked Kówam.

“No, but I’ve cried all the time, I’m so sorry they have taken my sister-in-law away from me.”

“If she isn’t crying, she doesn’t care for us, and there is no use in crying. If they had made her cry, I should kill those men.”

Kówam sat still a long time; he was thinking what he could do. Then he said to Gágha: “Stop crying and get some wood; we will cook fish to eat. You must hurry, so we can go home before it’s dark.”

Little Gágha could hardly stand; he had cried so long that he was dizzy.

Kówam said: “Don’t cry any longer. I know what I will do to those big-footed people.”

They built a fire and cooked fish. Gágha’s tears were dropping all the time he was eating.

“Stop crying and finish eating!” said his brother. “Whenever a man has a nice wife he is bothered. It will always be that way.”

Kówam filled an old basket with fish, picked it up, put it on his back, and said: “Now we will go home.”

“How can we go home while those big-footed people are there?” asked Gágha. He was crying again.

“I am not afraid of those men,” said Kówam. “That is my house; I will drive them out of it or I will kill them.”

When they were part of the way home, Kówam said: “Little brother, take my bow and arrow and shoot me in the heart.”

“How can I do that? You are my brother.”

“It won’t hurt me. I want you to practise shooting.”

“You are my own brother, all the one I have. I won’t do it,” said Gágha.

“You must,” said Kówam. “It won’t hurt me.”

“It will kill you; then I shall be all alone,” said Gágha.

Kówam talked a long time, asked in every way, but Gágha always said: “You are my brother; I won’t kill you.” At last Kówam said: “If you don’t shoot me and make me strong, I will let the big-footed people have your sister-in-law; I won’t try to kill them. You can’t kill me. Nobody can kill me; I shall live always.”

At last Gáhga took the bow and arrow and shot Kówam in the heart, killed him; then he ran, for he felt scared. Right away Kówam overtook him, and said: “Now shoot me in the heart and tear my body to pieces.” Gáhga did as Kówam told him to and then ran away. Again Kówam overtook him. That time he said: “Kill me and pound my body to pieces; then mix the pieces with dirt and stones.” Gáhga did as he was told. Soon his brother caught up with him, and said: “Kill me, then pound my body up and throw the pieces away.” Gágha did that, and went on; he didn’t run that time, he just walked; he didn’t feel scared any longer. Kówam came up behind him, and said: “Now, little brother, try again. Kill me, then build a big fire and burn up my body and let the wind carry the ashes away.” Gáhga did that. His brother overtook him again.

“What kind of a man are you?” asked Gáhga. “Is there any way to kill you?”

“I wasn’t made to die,” said Kówam, “I shall live always. Now kill me and cut off my feet and hands and carry them away. Hold them tight.”

Gáhga shot Kówam in the heart, cut off his hands and feet, held them tight in his own hands, and traveled on, went fast. Right away his brother called to him. Gáhga’s hands were shut, but the feet and hands that he had been carrying were gone, and Kówam was by his side. Then he cut Kówam’s head off and threw it away. At once the head and body came together.

The brothers were almost home now and Kówam said: “You must take my bow and quiver and wait on top of the house; I will go in alone. Don’t be scared when they throw me out; they can’t hurt me.”

Kówam went in, pulled Lok’s head off from the woman’s knees, and threw him out of the house. Lok came in, caught Kówam, killed him, and threw the pieces on the fire.

Right away Kówam had Lok by the throat. He choked him and threw him out.

When Kówam was killed and thrown out, his mother-in-law screamed: “I am glad you are dead, old Black Legs!” When Lok was thrown out, she screamed, “Now you are killed, old Big Feet, my son-in-law is a great man!”

The fight lasted all night. Just as daylight came, Lok tore Kówam’s head off; he kicked the body out and held tight to the head. That moment Kówam said to his brother: “Now I am ready to fight. I was just waiting for another sun to come up.”

He took his bow and arrows and shot at the Loks through the smoke hole, and killed them all. Then he covered the house with dry grass, piled up wood around it, and set it on fire.