Part 12

"Very well," said the brothers. "This work which we are doing is not for us. It is for others. Perhaps you think this work is for us; it is not, it is done at command of another. This work is for Olelbis. Olelbis sent us down here to make this great road."

"What!" cried Sedit, "are you working for Olelbis? Did he send you down here to do this? Did he tell you to make this road, and have you come here to make it for him, my grandsons? Do you believe what Olelbis says to you? Do you believe what he says to other people? Do you mind him and work for him? I don't believe in Olelbis. I don't believe what he says, I don't care for what he says."

"My grandfather," said the elder Hus, "hold on, stop talking. I don't like to hear you say such words, I don't like to hear you talk in that way. I am going to tell you why all this work is done, why this road is made. I have told you nothing."

Sedit sat down and said: "Well, tell me. I am glad to hear what you say. I am glad to hear why you are making this road."

The elder brother began: "Olelbis says that a new people will come on this earth soon, that they will live and go around, and after a while they will grow old. When very old, they will come to this road to go to Olelpanti and be young again. When half-way up, it will be evening. They will drink water from a spring and pass the night there. Next day they will go on, and be at the end of the road in the evening,--they will be in Olelpanti, where Olelbis lives. They will find water there. They will drink from one spring and bathe in the water of another. When they come out, they will be young. Next day they will come down half-way, drink of the water, stay one night, then come to the earth, and be young and fresh as they were at first.

"No man will have a wife, no woman a husband. They will be to one another as brothers and sisters. That is what Olelbis wishes, and because he wishes it he has sent us to make this road. When the road is built to Olelpanti, where Olelbis lives, these trees around here, which are small now, will be large. They will grow up and be very tall. They will have no limbs except those near the top, where branches will run out. On those branches acorns will come, and the acorns will have no shells on them. They will be all ready and fit to eat. The people who are to come out of the earth will not be able to climb these trees, and they will have no need to climb, for the acorns will fall, and the people will pick them up and have plenty of food without work, without trouble."

Sedit listened and looked at the elder Hus brother. Then he turned to the younger Hus and said sneeringly,--

"Hu! Do you believe all that? Do you think that every word is true which Olelbis says? Do you think it is wise? Do you think it is good? Now, my grandsons, you wait awhile, and I will tell you something. You ought to know that an old man like me has words to speak,--that he knows something wise. I have something to tell you which is better than all this. I will tell you what it is. I will tell you now. Suppose an old man goes up this road all alone, drinks from one spring, bathes in the other, and comes down young. He will be all alone just as he was when he went up."

"Suppose an old woman and an old man go up, go alone, one after the other, and come back alone, young. They will be alone as before, and will grow old a second time, and go up again and come back young, but they will be alone, just the same as at first. They will have nothing on earth to be glad about. They will never have any friends, any children; they will never have any fun in the world; they will never have anything to do but to go up this road old and come back down young again.

"Now, my grandsons, I will tell you something better, and you will like what I tell you. I like it because it is good. I am going to say something wiser than anything Olelbis has told you yet. It will be better, very much better if trees have limbs to the ground, and if acorns have husks and shells on them. When trees have limbs to the ground, a man can climb them, take a long stick in his hand, and knock acorns to the ground. Others will come under the tree and gather them. When the acorns fall, women will jump and say, 'Oh! oh!' and laugh and talk and be glad and feel well. I think that is better. People can take the acorns home and put them on the ground. Then they will say, 'Come, let us husk these acorns.' Men and women will go and sit down and husk the acorns. When they are doing this, they will throw husks back and forth at each other. They will have fun and laugh and be pleased and feel well. I think that this is better; I know that you will like it.

"Besides, what are people to eat if nothing dies? Deer will not die, fish will not die; the coming people cannot kill them. What are they to eat? They will have nothing to eat except acorns.

"I think it is better for women and men--young men and young women--to marry, live day and night with each other. When they get up in the morning, the man will work for the woman, the woman will work for the man, and they will help each other. I think that the better way. If a man has a wife, he will catch fish and kill deer, he will bring them in, and give them to his wife to cook. She will cook them, and both will eat. I think that is the right way. If people live in this manner, and a woman has a child, her neighbors will say, 'There is a nice baby over there,' and they will go to see it, and will say, 'What a nice baby that woman has!' I think this is better than anything Olelbis told you.

"When that baby grows up and another baby grows up, they will be a man and a woman, and the two will get married and have children themselves, and in that way there will be plenty of people always; new people, young people. When a man grows old, he will die; when a woman grows old, she will die. When they die, others will go around and tell their neighbors about it, and say, 'A woman died over there,' or 'A man died over here. They will bury him to-morrow.' Then all the people will make ready to help the relatives of the dead man; they will cry, the dead man's relatives will cry and mourn. I think this is better. When a man dies, his nearest relatives will cut their hair very close, paint the face black; and when people see one of them coming or going, they will say, 'His father is dead,' or 'His wife is dead,' or 'His mother is dead,' and they will talk about that man and his dead father, or dead mother, or dead wife, and say, 'Poor man, he has lost his father, or his mother, or his wife.' I think this is better.

"When an old woman dies, she will leave a daughter, and that daughter will have a daughter, or an old man dies, he will leave a son, and that son will have a son. As men and women grow old, they will die, and their places will be taken by young people. I think this is the right way. I think this is the best way. All living things should go this way,--all should grow old and then die. When the new people come on this earth, they ought to go this way. When those people come and live all around on this earth, they will die in many ways,--they will fight with each other and die; when trees grow old, they will die and fall down; everything will die in like manner.

"When a man dies, his friends will put mempak on him, like this which I have around my neck, and an otter-skin band around his head, and give him a quiver, dress him, and then put him in the ground. When a man goes to some place, a grizzly bear may catch and kill him, or a rattlesnake will bite and kill him, and when people fight they will use flint and kill one another. People will get angry and fight. When there is a gathering, somebody will come running in and say, 'People over there are fighting.' Those inside will hurry to see, and will find a man killed, and say, 'A good man is killed;' then they will punish the others for killing him."

The two brothers sat there, made no answer.

"Well, my grandsons," continued Sedit, "I know that what I tell you is right. What do you think?"

The brothers said nothing at first. They thought and thought. After a while the elder looked at Sedit and said,--

"I think what you say is better. I think that it is right. I suppose it is true. I believe that you are old enough and ought to know. I think that you are right."

"Grandfather," said the younger brother, "would you like to die, too, the same as others, and be lying in the ground and not rise any more; never go around with an otter-skin band on your head, and a beautiful quiver at your back, and fine things such as you are wearing to-day? You want others to die; you want death in the world. What would you say if you had to die yourself? You want all the coming people to die, and all living things hereafter to die and be gone from here. Olelbis does not want any one to die, but you want all living things on this earth to die. You want to spoil all the work which Olelbis sent us down here to do."

When the younger brother said this, the two stood up and walked off a little way, and Sedit said,--

"My grandsons, come back, come back. We have not finished talking yet. We must talk more. We will talk this all over again. Come back, my grandsons, come back."

But the two brothers did not turn back; they walked on, walked toward the east always--said nothing. After a time they turned and went to where their road was. They pulled out some great stones, and the whole road fell to the ground.

The two brothers flew up then, circling around for a while. They went higher and higher, till at last they disappeared and went to Olelpanti.

Sedit saw them fly up, watched them till they disappeared. He stood looking around for a long time. At last he said,--

"What am I to do now? I wish I had not said all that, I wish I had not said so much. I wish I had not said anything."

He stood around there and kept repeating: "What am I to do now? I am sorry. Why did I talk so much? Hus asked me if I wanted to die. He said that all on earth here will have to die now. That is what Hus said. I don't know what to do. What can I do?"

He looked around and found a plant with long, broad leaves, the wild sunflower. He found this plant in great plenty, and took many leaves from it. He pulled off all his fine clothes, threw them aside, then stuck the leaves into his body, all the way up and down his legs, body, and arms, and said,--

"Now I will go up to Olelpanti. I am not going to stay down here where people die. I am going up to the place where the Hus brothers went."

He made a tail of leaves; then he rose and flew around and around, rose pretty high; the leaves began to get dry and break one after another. After a while Sedit, whirling round and round, came down with great force, struck the ground, and was crushed to pieces.

The Hus brothers went up to Olelpanti. Olelbis said,--

"There are rocks at the south not far from the sweat-house; go there and stay."

Olelbis looked down, and saw Sedit trying to fly to Olelpanti; he saw him fall.

"It is his own fault," said Olelbis. "Sedit is the first to die, killed by his own words; hereafter all his people will fall around and die and be found dead at roadsides and places where people pass. The people to come will see them there."

The name of the place where the ruined road was is Sonomyai.

Our Wintu people say that ever since white men settled in the country they have been drawing away the stones which the Hus brothers piled up. They have taken them as far as fifteen miles to build chimneys.

HAWT

PERSONAGES

After each name is given that of the beast, bird, or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.

=Chírchihas=, mountain squirrel (red); =Handokmit=, striped snake; =Hau=, red fox; =Hawt=, eel; =Hus=, turkey buzzard; =Kanhlalas=, weasel; =Karkit=, raven; =Kinus=, wood dove; =Kiriú=, loon; =Lutchi=, humming-bird; =Memtulit=, otter; =Múrope=, bull snake; =Nomhawena=, ----; =Nop=, deer; =Patkilis=, jack rabbit; =Patit=, panther; =Sedit=, coyote; =Tichelis=, ground squirrel; =Tsaik=, bluejay; =Tsárarok=, kingfisher; =Tsaroki Sakahl=, brown-green snake; =Tsihl=, black bear; =Tsileu=, yellowhammer; =Tsudi=, mouse; =Tunhlucha=, frog; =Waida Dikit=, Dolly Varden trout; =Waida Werris=, Polar star; =Wai Hau=, silver-gray fox; =Waiti=, north side; =Watwut=, mountain bluejay; =Wima=, grizzly bear; =Yípokos=, black fox.

* * * * *

On the south side of Bohem Puyuk is a small mountain called Tede Puyuk. Near that small mountain lived Waida Dikit Kiemila. He lived all alone, without neighbors. There was no house near his. He lived long in that place, thinking what was best for him to do, thinking, thinking. After a great while he thought: "The best thing to do is to build a sweat-house."

He built a sweat-house about a mile west of the place where he was living. When he had finished, he took a kind of red earth and painted the eastern half of the house red on the outside. The western half he painted green with paint made from leaves of bushes. After he had painted the western half, all the different kinds of bushes whose leaves he had used for paint grew out of that side of the sweat-house.

The sweat-house was ready for use now, and Waida Dikit went to see a man, Tsaroki Sakahl, who lived farther south.

"My grandson," said Waida Dikit, "I wish you would come up and stay in my house. I have no one to keep me company. I wish you would come and live with me."

"I will go with you," said Tsaroki, and he went to live with the old man.

Waida Dikit had not told Tsaroki of the sweat-house, he took him to the old house. After two or three nights Waida Dikit said,--

"My grandson, what shall we do? What would you like to do? What will be best for us? We must talk about something. There should be something for us to talk about. We must have something to say."

"Well," said Tsaroki, "I think that you want what is best; you want to see somebody, to see something. I think that is what you want. I think I know what you want. The best way to get what you want is to build a sweat-house."

"That is wise talk, my grandson, I like to hear it. I have a sweat-house built--all finished."

"Where is it?" asked Tsaroki.

"I will show it to you soon," answered Waida Dikit.

Putting his hand behind him, he picked up a small basket, took out yellow paint with his thumb and forefinger, and drew a yellow streak from Tsaroki's head down his back. The young man had been all green; now there was yellow on his back. Next Waida Dikit took a net woven of grass fibre, like a woman's hair net, and put it on Tsaroki's head. "You are ready now," said he. Then he led him out of the house and said, pointing to the west,--

"Look! There is our sweat-house. Now, my grandson, I am going to take you to that house. The east side is painted red. When we are there, don't go near the sweat-house on this eastern side; pass by, but not too near, a little way off. When we go in I will take the eastern half and stay in it; you will take the other half and stay on the western side, where there is green paint. That is where you are to lie, on the green side."

They started. The old man walked ahead. When they went in, Waida Dikit took the eastern half of the house and Tsaroki the western. The young man sat down, and then Waida Dikit took a pipe which was in the sweat-house.

"My grandson," said he, "you will find a pipe right there on your side of the house and a sack of tobacco. You may smoke if you wish."

Tsaroki took the pipe, looked at it, liked it well. This pipe was from Wai Hola Puyuk. When he drew in the smoke and puffed out the first whiff, the whole house was filled so that nothing was seen in it. Waida Dikit put his head outside the door. There was smoke outside everywhere. He could see nothing. Then he turned back and said,--

"My grandson, you are a good man. You are a strong man. You smoke well. This will do for the first time.--If he does that again," thought the old man, "there will be nothing seen in this world; all will be covered with smoke;" and he said, "You are a strong man; that is enough for this time."

"I should like to know why he says, 'That is enough.' What does he want to do with me?" thought Tsaroki. "Maybe he is trying me in some way."

"My grandson," said the old man, after a while, "I should like to see somebody; I should like to see something, see people; I should like to have fun and see games of some sort."

"I should like to see them too," answered Tsaroki; "I should like to see them, my grandfather. You are older than I; if you tell me what to do, I will do it."

"My grandson, can you play on anything?"

"I should like to play if you would teach me," said Tsaroki.

The old man put his hand behind him into a basket of things, drew out a flute and gave it to Tsaroki, who took it quickly, he was so glad. He sat down, crossed his legs, and before he had blown into the flute, just as he touched his lips with it, beautiful sounds came out.

The young man was glad, wonderfully glad. The old man, who sat looking at him, asked,--

"How do you like the flute, my grandson?"

"I like it well," said Tsaroki.

"I am glad to hear you play, my grandson; I am glad when you do something good. When I was young, I used to say good things, I used to do good things. Now, my grandson, think what you would like best to do."

"I should like to hear something nice, to hear music, to hear beautiful sounds."

After he had taken the flute Tsaroki did not sleep; he played for three days and three nights without stopping; then he stopped and asked,--

"What is this flute? What is it made of? It sounds so sweetly."

"My grandson, I will tell you; that flute is of wood,--alder wood. That is an alder flute, but the wood is people's bones. There were people long ago, and that alder wood grew out of their bones. My grandson, would you like to have another young man with you, or do you wish to be alone? I think it would be better for you to have company."

"My grandfather, I should like to have another man with me; I could talk with him. I could live then more pleasantly."

"My grandson, to see another young man you must go to the west; you must go in the middle of the night, when it is very dark, so that no one may see you. My grandson, it is better for you to go to-night."

"Where? Which way do you want me to go, my grandfather?"

"Go west from here, far away; you will start when it is dark; you will get there in the dark. You will go to where the old woman Nomhawena Pokaila lives: she is your grandmother. When you go to her house, ask her about your brother; she will tell you where he is."

"My grandfather, I don't believe that I can find her house. I don't know what kind of house it is."

"You cannot miss it, my grandson. The night will be very dark; no one will be able to see anything, but you cannot miss the house. It is a little house; no one can see it, but you cannot miss it. You will go there very quickly, though 'tis far from here and the night is dark."

Then the old man showed him a small sand trail; it was bright, just like a ray of light in the darkness, though it was very narrow, as narrow as a hair, and all around it was dark night. The old man had made this trail purposely.

Tsaroki started, and could see the trail straight ahead of him; he went over it as swiftly as an arrow goes from a bow. He travelled right on, and at the end of the trail, just on the trail itself, was a little bark house. He went into this house, and saw an old woman lying there with her back to the fire; she was sleeping on the south side of it. He walked in and stood at the north side. He sat down then, and was sitting a while when the old woman woke, turned her face to the fire, and saw some one opposite. She rose, stirred the fire to make light, looked at the young man, and said,--

"I see some person over there; who is it?"

"My grandmother, I am Tsaroki Sakahl. I have come because my grandfather, Waida Dikit, sent me to see you, so that you might tell me about my brother. I should like to know where my brother lives. I have come to see my brother and speak to him."

"Very well, my grandson, I will tell you. He lives right over here on the west."

As soon as she had finished speaking, Tsaroki stood up and went toward the west. He had not made many steps when he saw a large space, a broad space on which a great many people were sitting. The place was dark, but the people could see one another. Tsaroki saw all, and looked around carefully. He saw that all were at work except one man, who was sitting in the middle in a good place. He looked a long time, not knowing what to do, for Waida Dikit had said to him,--

"You must not let any one know but your brother why I sent you, and tell him not to tell others."

No one present saw Tsaroki, and he thought: "I don't know how I shall go to my brother without letting any one know." At last he made up his mind what to do. He went down under the ground where he had been sitting, and came up just in front of the great man, his brother.

The people were dressing skins, making arrow-points, and finishing arrows. All were at work but the man in the middle. Tsaroki came up in front of him and whispered,--

"My brother, I have come for you. My grandfather sent me to ask you to go to him and not to tell any one."

"That is well. I will go. Let us start."

That was all he said. This big man was Hawt. Tsaroki had brought his flute, but he could not use it, for he had to keep his journey secret and not let himself be seen; he held the flute hidden under his arm.

"Let us go," said Hawt; "you go ahead."

Tsaroki went into the ground, came out where he had been sitting at first, and then went to the house of the old woman, his grandmother. Hawt stood up to make ready for the journey. The people kept on working. They were all of the Hawt people, and the big man was their chief.

Hawt dressed, and took his bow and arrows. When ready, he turned and said,--

"My people, I am going to leave you, to be gone two or three days, perhaps longer."

That was all he said; he did not say where he was going, nor why. He walked away and went to Nomhawena's house, where Tsaroki was waiting. The two brothers had been sitting just a little while when the old woman said to them,--

"Now, my grandsons, you must go; you must be at Waida Dikit's before daylight; you must travel while it is dark, we do not wish to let other people know of your journey. Go. I shall be in this house, but shall hear all that is happening at your place."

They left the old woman, and reached Waida Dikit's before daylight. The old man was up already, and standing by the fire in the middle of the sweat-house combing his red hair, which touched his feet. The moment he went into the house Tsaroki took his flute, lay on his back, and began to play. Hawt stood a while; didn't know where to sit. At last Waida Dikit said to him,--

"My grandson, I am living here in a small house. There isn't much room in it, but go north of the fire and sit there."

Just as Hawt was sitting down at the appointed side, daylight came. Tsaroki played two nights and two days. Hawt lay in his place and listened.

"My grandson," said Waida Dikit to Tsaroki, "I should like to hear you both play. You must give that flute to Hawt some of the time."

Tsaroki gave the flute to his brother, and from time to time they passed it from one to the other. Both played; both made beautiful music. They played day after day, night after night, ten days and ten nights.

"You play well now, both of you, my grandsons. Would you not like to hear other persons play?"

"Oh, we should like that very much; we should like to hear other persons play," said Tsaroki and Hawt.

"I used to hear a friend of mine long ago," said Waida Dikit, "and he played very well. Would you like to have him play with you?"

"Yes, yes; maybe he would teach us to play better."