The Project Gutenberg eBook of Seneca Fiction, Legends, and Myths This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Seneca Fiction, Legends, and Myths Compiler: Jeremiah Curtin J. N. B. Hewitt Release date: December 30, 2020 [eBook #64176] Language: English Credits: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SENECA FICTION, LEGENDS, AND MYTHS *** 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.” ; 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.” ; 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.” ; 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.” ; 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 wăʼoñwayăʼdi­sākʹhă ;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, gatgoñwăʼdădĕⁿʻʹdā ;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⊃ 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. 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