Part 20

"My husband went up into a pine-tree; he threw down a great many pine-cones. Then he began to throw himself down; first he threw one arm, then the other. We must hurry and hide somewhere; he will be bad very soon; he will kill us all if he finds us."

The people asked, "Where can we go to hide from him,--north, south, east, or west?"

"I know a good place," said one man, "and it is not too far from here,--Wamarawi."

"Well, we must go to that place, and go very quickly," said Hitchinna's wife; and all the people agreed with her.

The people ran to Wamarawi, which is a round mountain; they ran the whole way and went into a cave in the mountain. When all were inside, they closed the entrance very firmly, shut it up tight. Nothing could get in through that door.

After his wife had run home, Hitchinna threw down his ribs one by one, and kept asking his wife if she was there. He got no answer. She was gone and he did not know it. He threw down first all the ribs of his right side, then all of his left side. Every time he threw a rib he called, "Uh! Uh!" to his wife.

At last there was nothing left of him on the tree but his head, and that came down soon after. His eyes were very big now, sticking out, staring with a wild and mad look. The head lay under the tree a while. Hitchinna had become another kind of people. He had become a Putokya. He was one of the skull people, a very bad terrible people. Each one of them is nothing but a skull.

Putokya is new now. He has a new mind, new wishes. He is under the tree, and lies there a little while. He cannot walk any more. He can only roll on the ground like a ball. After resting and thinking a while, he starts to find his wife; rolls till he comes to the fire. There is no woman there. He looks around, cannot find her, looks again, and sees the baby. He rolls to the baby, catches it in his mouth, eats up the baby in one moment. The head talks then, and says,--

"I dreamed last night that I ate up my own son."

He is dreadful now. He scatters the pine-cones, quenches the fire, rages, roars awfully, a real Putokya. He rolls, bounds, knocks against a tree, cuts it down, breaks it to pieces, scatters it.

Next he starts for the village, springing and bounding along like a football, making a terrible wind as he goes, reaches the house, looks through it. All are gone from the house and from the village. All have run off to Wamarawi.

First he knocks against his own house, breaks it, smashes it to pieces, and then he breaks all the other houses in the same way, one after another. He scatters and smashes up everything, wrecks the whole village, just as if a strong whirlwind had gone through it. The people are all in Wamarawi, in the stone cave in the mountain, a very great crowd of them.

Putokya looks around, finds tracks, follows the people southward, goes with a terrible roar, raising a storm as he moves. He breaks everything he strikes, except rocks. From these he bounds off like a football.

He follows the people of the village, follows on their tracks, stops before Wamarawi, rolls up to the entrance, listens quietly, hears a sound inside like the buzzing of bees. Putokya is glad. He stops a while and thinks what to do. "You cannot go from me now," says he.

All the people were inside except Metsi; he had gone north somewhere.

"I will break in the cave," said Putokya.

He began at the west side, went back a whole mile, bounded, rushed, hurled himself at the mountain, whistled through the air with a noise like the loudest wind, struck the mountain, made a great hole in it, but could not go through to the cave. Putokya felt sure that he could break through. He went back a whole mile again from the north side, bounded, rushed forward, made a tremendous hole in the north side; but he could not go through, and the rock closed again.

The people inside are glad now; they are laughing, they think themselves safe,--jeer at Putokya. Putokya hears them. He is angrier than ever, he is raging. "I will try the east side," said he; "that is better."

He went back as before, bounded forward, made a deep hole in the east, but it closed again, and he left it. He tried the south. It was just like the other sides. Putokya stops a while, is afraid that he cannot get in, that he cannot get at the people.

"The Yana are not very wise," said he. "I should like to know who told them what to do. They did not know themselves. Who told them to go to Wamarawi?"

He tried to go to the top of the mountain and make a hole there. He could not roll up in any way. He fell back each time that he tried. He could travel on level ground only, he could only rise by bounding.

"I cannot go up there, I am not able," said he.

He lay down close to the entrance of the cave and thought a while. He made up his mind to bound like a ball, to spring from point to point, higher and higher, on neighboring mountains, till he got very high, and then come down on the top of Wamarawi. He did this, went far up on the top of other and higher mountains till at last he was very high; then with a great bound he came down on the top of Wamarawi, came down with a terrible crash. He made an awfully big hole in it, bigger than all the four holes he had made in the sides put together; and this hole did not close, but it did not reach the cave.

After that blow he came again to level ground. He lay there and said to himself: "I have tried five times to get at those people. I will try once more. I may get at them this time."

He went high up in the sky, higher than before. He was angrier and madder than ever, and he came down with a louder crash; the whole mountain shook and trembled. No one inside the cave was laughing now; all the people were terrified.

Putokya went almost through to the cave. The rock above the people was very thin after this blow, and the hole did not close again.

"I will not try any more," said Putokya; "I cannot get at the people." He was discouraged, and left Wamarawi.

All the people within were in terror. "If he tries once more, we are lost," said they. "He will burst through and eat us, eat every one of us."

The great hole remained on that mountain top, and people say that there is a lake up there now with goldfish in it.

Putokya started north, went toward Pulshu Aina, his own village. As he went toward home, he made a great roaring and wind, cut down trees and brush, people, beasts, everything that he met; he left a clean road behind. He swept through Pulshu Aina, and went farther north, went almost to Jigulmatu.

Metsi was coming down to the south, along the same trail; he was very well dressed. Metsi always dressed well. He wore a splendid elkskin belt and a hair net; he was fine-looking.

Metsi was right in the middle of the trail. He had learned that Putokya was out killing people in the south; he heard the roar a great way off, and said to himself,--

"I hear Putokya; he is killing all the people."

Metsi thought over what he was to do. "I will meet him. I will say to this Putokya, 'You are smart, you are good, but you are sick. I will cure you.'"

Metsi took off all his fine clothes in a hurry and hid them, made himself naked. "I must be quick," said he; "the noise and wind are coming nearer and nearer. I wish a rusty old basket to be here before me." The basket was there. He wished for an old strap to carry it. The old strap was there with the basket.

Metsi made buckskin rings around his arms and legs, turned himself into an old, very old woman, all bent and wrinkled, with a buckskin petticoat. He put the rusty basket on his back.

Putokya was hurrying on; the roar grew louder and nearer. Metsi knew that Putokya was very dangerous, and that he must be careful. He took white clay, painted his face, made a regular old woman of himself. Putokya came near. Metsi was ready, the basket on his back and a stick in his hand. He was walking along slowly, a very old woman and decrepit. The old woman began to cry, "En, en, en!"

Putokya stopped on the road, made no noise, listened to the old woman.

"He has stopped; he is listening to me," said Metsi; and he cried more, cried in a louder voice and more pitifully.

Putokya was quiet. Metsi walked right up to him, looked at him, and said, "I came near stepping on you." Metsi was crying more quietly now.

"Are you a dead person?" asked Metsi.

Putokya was silent.

"I heard you from where I was," said Metsi; "when you had a bad dream, I heard you in the south, heard you everywhere, heard you when you turned to be a Putokya, one of the head people, and wanted to kill everybody. You used to be good, you used to be wise, but now you are sick; you will die, and be among people no longer unless you are cured. That is why I started to come south; I started south to find you, to see you. It is a good thing that you came up here; now I see you. I am your relative, your cousin. I want you to be healthy, to be as you were before; to have your arms and legs again, to feel well. I want to cure you."

Metsi was sobbing all this time. He pretended to be awfully sorry; he wasn't, for Metsi wasn't sorry for any one, didn't care for any one on earth; he only wanted to put Putokya out of the way, to kill him. Metsi was a great cheat.

"A good while ago," said Metsi, "I met a man like you. He had had a dream, and he was nothing but a head, just like you. I travelled then as I am travelling to-day, and met this man just as I meet you now on this road. If you believe what I tell you, all right; if you don't believe, it's all the same to me. I will tell you what I did for that man, how I cured him. Do you want me to tell you what I did for him?"

Putokya was looking all the time with great wildcat eyes at the old woman. Now he spoke, saying: "Talk more, tell me all, old woman. I want to hear what you have to say."

"Well, I made a man of that head," said the old woman. "I cured that Putokya; I made him over. I made him new, and he walked around as well as before; I gave him legs and arms; all the bad went out of him; I made him clean and sound and good again."

"How did you do that, old woman?" asked Putokya. "How can you make a man over again? I want to see that."

"I will tell you how I do it. I will fix you; I will fix you right here on this road, just as I fixed that other man. I made a hole in the ground; a long hole, a pretty big one. I lined it with rocks; I made a little fire of manzanita wood, and when it was nice and warm in the hole, I put plenty of pitch in, and put the man on top of the pitch. It was good and soft for him, and nice and pleasant on the pitch. I put a flat rock over the hole. He stayed there a while and was cured."

Putokya believed all this; had full faith in Metsi, and said,--

"Very well, you fix me as you fixed that other man; make me new again, just as I used to be."

Metsi added: "I put pitch very thick, one foot all around, and put him in the warm hole; covered him up. Pretty soon he began to stretch and grow; grew till he was as good as ever. That is how I cured that man."

"That is good," said Putokya. "Fix me in that way; fix me just as you fixed him."

"I will," said Metsi. "I will fix you just as I fixed that man, and you will come out just as he did; you will be in the right way and have no more trouble; you will never be sick again."

Metsi did everything as he had said; made a long deep hole, put in fire and a great deal of pitch, a foot thick of it.

He placed Putokya on the pitch; put a wide flat stone over him, put on others; put the stones on very quickly, till there was a great pile of them.

The pitch began to burn well, to grow hot, to seethe, to boil, to blaze, to burn Putokya.

He struggled to bound out of the pitch; the stones kept him down, the pitch stuck to him. He died a dreadful death.

If Putokya had got out of the hole, there would have been hard times in this world for Metsi.

When Putokya was dead under the pile of rocks, Metsi threw away his old things, his basket and buckskin petticoat, put on his nice clothes, and went along on his journey.

Metsi was a great cheat. He could change himself always, and he fooled people whenever he had a chance; but he did a good thing that time, when he burned up Putokya.

TIRUKALA

PERSONAGES

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

=Chíchepa=, spotted chicken-hawk; =Chikpina=, weasel; =Hapawila=, water snake; =Jewinna=, chicken-hawk; =Jewinpa=, young chicken-hawk; =Kedila=, soaproot plant; =Matsklila=, turkey buzzard; =Pakálai Jáwichi=, water lizard; =Tirúkala=, lamprey eel; =Wirula=, red fox. =Weanmauna= means the hidden one.

* * * * *

Tirukala lived near Jamahdi, on the Juka Mapti Mountain, and he was thinking, thinking for a long time, how to change this world, how to make it better.

"I have to fix this country. I will fix it now," said Tirukala. "I will make it better to live in."

When he had said this he went off walking and began to sing. All the mountains stood too near together at that time, and Tirukala pushed the mountains apart from one another, made room between them. He put creeks everywhere, and big and little rivers. He made springs in different places and swamps. He put salmon and other fish into rivers and creeks, plenty of them everywhere.

Tirukala had two persons to help him, Pakalai Jawichi and Hapawila. The three lived together, working and making the world better to live in.

Tirukala never ate anything; never took food of any kind. He worked always, and sang while at work. Hapawila made salmon traps and caught many salmon. Just like Tirukala, he sang all the time. After a while two young girls heard this singing. They were the two daughters of Kedila. They went out to get wood one day and heard the singing.

They filled their baskets and went home, put the wood down, then went out and listened to the singing. They thought it was very sweet and beautiful.

"Let us go nearer to the singing," said the younger sister.

They went a little way from the house, sat down, and listened. Again they stood up and went on. Two or three times they did this, going farther and farther. Soon they came in sight of a salmon trap and went up to it.

"I see no one here," said each of the sisters. "Who can be singing?"

They looked on all sides of the trap and saw no one. They looked up and down the river. There was no one in sight. They sat down near the trap, watched and listened. At last the younger girl saw who was singing. She saw Hapawila in the river, where he was singing.

When he saw the girls sitting and listening, Hapawila came out to them.

"Which way are you going?" asked he.

"We heard singing, and came out to listen. That is why we are here," answered the elder.

"Let us go home," said the younger.

"Take some of my salmon to your father," said Hapawila; and he gave them two very nice salmon.

They took the salmon home to their father.

"Where did you get these salmon?" asked Kedila.

"A man who sings and has salmon-traps sent them to you."

That evening Hapawila went to old Kedila's house. The girls saw him coming and were frightened. They liked his singing, but they did not like his appearance. They ran away, found a great tree, climbed it, and thought to spend the night there. But Hapawila tracked them, came to the foot of the tree, looked up, and saw the two sisters near the top. He walked around, and looked at the tree.

"Let him come up," said the elder sister, "let him talk a while: we may like him better if he talks to us."

"No," said the younger sister, "I don't like him; I don't want to talk with him."

He tried to climb the tree, but could not. The trunk was smooth, and the tree had no branches except at the top. Now the elder sister fixed the tree so that he could climb to them; she wished for branches on the trunk--they were there at once, and Hapawila climbed up to Kedila's two daughters.

The younger sister was angry at this; hurried down the tree, ran home, and told her father that her sister and Hapawila were talking to each other in the tree-top.

Old Kedila said nothing, and went to bed. A few minutes later the elder sister was at home. She, too, ran from Hapawila when she saw him the third time.

Early next morning Kedila was very angry. He caught his elder daughter, thrust her into the fire, burned her, and threw her out of doors. The younger sister took up her sister's body, and cried bitterly. After a while she carried it to a spring, crying as she carried it. She washed her sister's body in the water. It lay one night in the spring. At daylight next morning the elder sister came out of the water alive, with all her burns cured and not a sore left on her.

"Where can we go now? Our father is angry; he will kill us if we go home," said the younger sister.

Both started west, singing as they travelled.

"I wish that I had a basket with every kind of nice food in it," said the younger sister toward evening. Soon a basket was right there. It dropped down in front of her. She looked. There were pine nuts in the basket, different roots, and nice food to eat.

Now, Jewinna lived in the west. He had a very large sweat-house and many people. His youngest and only living son he kept wrapped up and hidden away in a bearskin.

At sunset the two girls came to Jewinna's house, and put down their basket of roots near the doorway. Jewinna's wife went out and brought in the two girls. Jewinna himself spread out a bearskin and told the girls to sit on it. He said to his son, who was wrapped up and hidden away,--

"Come out and sit down with these two young girls who have come to us."

The youth looked through a small hole in his bearskin; saw the two women, but said nothing; didn't come out. When night fell, the two girls went to sleep. Next morning they rose, washed, dressed, and combed nicely. Then they went eastward, went toward their father's house.

Jewinna's son, Jewinpa, came out soon after, swam, dressed, ate, and followed the two girls. They went very fast, went without stopping; but Jewinpa caught up and went with them to their father's house.

Kedila was pleased with Jewinpa, and treated both his own daughters well. He spoke to them as if nothing had happened.

Old Jewinna in the west called all his people and said: "I want you, my people, to sweat and swim, then come here and listen to me."

After they had done this, Jewinna said: "I am sorry that my son has gone. I must follow him to-morrow. I don't know why he went. I do not wish him to go far from this place. Be ready, all of you, and we will go to-morrow."

Jewinna rose before daylight, called all his people, and said: "I cannot eat. I am sorry that my son has gone."

All took plenty of arrows and beads and otter-skins and red-headed woodpecker scalps, and started to follow the young man. As he started, Jewinna sang,--

"I-no-hó, i-no-hó no-há, i-no-hó!"

A great many followed and repeated,--

"I-no-hó, i-no-hó no-há, i-no-hó!"

They went on all day, went quickly, and at sunset they were on a smooth plain, not far from Kedila's place. Kedila had a large, rich sweat-house, and it was full of people. The old chief had a great many sons-in-law, and a great many people to serve him.

Jewinna and his men reached the place some time before nightfall, and Kedila went to the top of his sweat-house and said to the strangers,--

"I want you all to come in and enjoy yourselves. Perhaps my house is small; we will make it bigger."

He blew toward all the four sides then, and said, "Be bigger, my sweat-house, be bigger!"

The sweat-house stretched out and was very large. There was room for every one, and all came in.

"Bring food, my sons-in-law, for Jewinna and his people," said Kedila.

They brought in all kinds of good food, and fed every one gladly.

"Bring your beads, otter-skins, and red-headed woodpecker scalps, and put them down here at this side of the sweat-house," said Jewinna to his people.

All were brought in and given to Kedila. He took these rich things gladly, and put them away.

Kedila put down on his part wolfskins with deerskins and gave them to Jewinna.

"Let ten of you go out and hunt squirrels," said Jewinna to his people next morning; "let others fix heads on their arrows."

One of the ten saw a squirrel on a tree; he took a club, climbed after the squirrel, and killed it; he saw another and another; the tree was filled with squirrels. A second man saw squirrels in a second tree, and then a third and a fourth in other trees. Right away the ten were killing squirrels on ten trees, and soon they had ten piles of squirrels, each pile as large as one man could carry.

The two chiefs were delighted when they saw the ten loads of game, and there was a great feast of squirrel flesh that day at Kedila's.

Both sides sat down then to gamble, played with sticks, gambled all day, played till sunset. They bet all kinds of skins. Jewinna's men won a great many things, and won more than the presents.

Next morning Kedila's sons-in-law wanted to win back the beautiful skins and other things which they had played away, but before noon they had lost everything. When all was gone, Kedila's men were angry.

"You don't play fairly," said they to Jewinna's men; "you shall not have these things."

"We have won everything fairly," said Jewinna's men, "and we will take these things home with us."

They began to fight at once. Kedila's sons-in-law attacked Jewinna's men as soon as they were outside the sweat-house.

"We are here to fight if there is need," said Jewinna; "go ahead, my men, you are likely to die, every one of you."

Jewinna's men fought, going westward, fought carrying with them what they had won. Jewinna fought bravely, and sang as he fought. Kedila's people followed.

They fought till near sunset. All were killed now but eight men, four on each side,--Jewinna, his half-brother, and two more western people. Kedila and three others of the eastern people were alive yet.

These eight closed once more in fight; both chiefs fell with Jewinna's half-brother and Kedila's youngest son-in-law. Matsklila was so sorry for this last one that he threw away bow and arrows and fell to the ground crying bitterly. Seeing this, Chikpina picked up a rock and beat Matsklila's brains out. Wirula on Kedila's side killed Chikpina, and there were only two left,--Chichepa, the last of Jewinna's men, and Wirula, the last on Kedila's side.

"Now," said Wirula, "we have fought enough. You are alone. Go home and tell the women that your people are all killed. I am alone. I will go home and say that all our people are dead."

Jewinna had taken his son with him when he left Kedila's house, and he, too, had been killed in the struggle.

Now Wirula and Chichepa started off in opposite directions; went a little way; lay down and rolled along the ground, crying and lamenting. Wirula sprang up and said,--

"I will kill that Chichepa. I will kill him surely, and there will not be one left of our enemies."

Wirula turned and followed Chichepa slowly; drew his bow and sent an arrow after him. But Chichepa dodged; the arrow missed. Then Wirula ran away.

"I will kill that Wirula now," said Chichepa.

He turned and followed carefully, cautiously; came up with him, and struck him fairly on the skull. Wirula dropped dead.

Chichepa turned homeward now, crying all the time. When he was near home, the women saw him stagger, then saw him fall. When he reached the top of the sweat-house, he fell in, rolled along the floor, and cried. He ate nothing that night; he was too sorry for his people. He slept a while and then woke up crying.

Early next morning he took ten otter-skins; went back to the dead people, pulled one hair from the head of each one of them, and filled the ten otter-skins with the hairs. He had the work done before sunset.