Part 23

When she went to the mountain flat on the second morning, Titildi Marimi stood a while thinking. She knew that her brother was out of bed, that he was very angry. "My brother will go away to-day," thought she. "I must be home again soon."

She threw down her stick and basket quickly and hurried home. She saw that her brother was not in the house, that her sister was crying.

"Where is my brother," asked she; "tell me, my sister."

The sister would not speak, gave no answer; held down her head and cried bitterly.

"Tell me quickly. The sun is high. If I cannot come up with him, he will die; if I do not find him, his enemies will kill him." The sister did not answer.

"Tell me, you rock, which way my brother went; tell me quickly. Tell me, you poking-stick; tell me, baskets." Nothing gave answer. "Post, tell me, tell quickly; it is too late almost, he will escape me." She asked everything and got no answer, till at last she said, "Acorn flour, will you tell me?"

"Your brother is gone," said the acorn flour. "He is angry because you injured Topuna, his friend; he is very angry, and does not wish you to follow him."

"Which way did he go?"

"Under the post."

"That is well."

She was glad then. She made ready quickly; put on nice, new things, took her best bow and a big otter-skin quiver filled with arrows, put on leggings like a man.

"My sister, be well, take good care of yourself," said she. "I don't want my brother to die. He thinks that the journey is pleasant, that the journey is easy. I will go, too; I will help him."

She pushed up the post and followed her brother; went to the spring, came back, followed him everywhere; came out at last on the trail and tracked him, followed him, toiled along over Backbone Mountain. She followed hard and fast, gained on him, kept gaining; still she was afraid that she could not come up with her brother. She turned then to Sun and called out,--

"O Sun, I wish you to be slow. Go very slowly to-day, O Sun. Let the day be long. Give me time to come up with my brother."

The Sun went more slowly, gave her time, and she hurried on.

Titindi Maupa all this while was hurrying, going on quickly; and he sang as he went. His song was of Paiowa, Wakara's youngest daughter, a maiden far off in the west.

Wakara had a great many daughters. All the stars in the sky were his children, and all his daughters were married but this one, the youngest, the one whom Titindi Maupa was going to marry if her father would give her.

He went along the Daha, went as the stream flows, swam across and sat down to smoke. When he had emptied his pipe, he went up on the mountain ridge west of the river, reached the top, and walked some distance down on the western slope, sat again and smoked a second time. Now Titildi Marimi, his sister, had crossed the river and was following. She came to where her brother had sat to smoke the first time.

"I will come up with you soon," said she. "You cannot go from me now;" and she followed on, followed quickly.

The brother, when he smoked the second time, sat at a little spring on the western slope of the mountain ridge; the sister reached the ridge from the top; she saw her brother a little below her. He heard some one behind, looked up, and saw Titildi Marimi. He held his head down, he said nothing.

"I shall be with you soon," cried the sister. "We can go on together. You have come a long way to find a good smoking-place."

He said nothing, looked at the ground, waited for his sister. Soon she was there with him.

"My brother, I am tired," said she, "give me tobacco; I wish to smoke."

He gave her tobacco; she smoked.

"My brother," said Titildi Marimi, "I want you to shoot at that quartz rock over there on the mountain side."

He raised his bow with an arrow and took good aim.

"Now hit that rock," said she.

He sent one arrow, after it a second, and then a third. They hit the rock, but bounded back from it.

"You might go a long way to hurt an enemy with arrows of that sort!" laughed the sister. "Do you think those good arrows, my brother? You will see enemies enough in two days; you will see enemies in the house of Wakara."

She drew out her own bow then, took an arrow from her otter-skin quiver, and said, "Look now at me, my brother!"

She shot at the rock; hit it. Her arrow shivered the rock to pieces.

"This is what my arrows do!" said Titildi Marimi.

Titindi Maupa hung his head; said not a word, but rose and went down the mountain side till he came to a creek; then he crossed another mountain, going westward all the time till he was in sight of Wakaruwa, the place to which he was going; then he sat down a third time and smoked.

"O smoke," said he, "I wish you to make friends to-night and to-morrow for me."

He looked down into the valley, where he heard much noise; he saw many people playing games and shooting.

Just before this Wakara had called his youngest daughter, Paiowa, and said, "I want you to gather oak leaves for the acorn bread, and red earth to mix in it."

She went with a basket on her back, went up to the mountain side, gathered red earth to mix with the acorn flour and make the bread light. The leaves were to be put on the top of the dough and cover the bread while baking. Titindi Maupa put his sister with her quiver in an otter-skin and carried her. She had made herself small, and seemed just like an otter; he hid her on his shoulder in this form.

Paiowa, Wakara's youngest daughter, had put red earth in her basket and filled it with leaves. She turned around now to stoop and raise it, but could not, it was too heavy.

Titindi Maupa had slipped up and was holding the basket. She turned to see what the trouble was, and saw him right there almost touching her.

"Oh!" cried she, frightened and dropping her head; she was shamefaced before the stranger.

"Why are you afraid?" asked Titindi Maupa. "Is it because I am ugly?"

She raised the basket to her back, and rushed away. When she reached Wakaruwa, she threw down the basket outside, and ran into the house past her mother.

"Why are you so frightened? What is the matter?" asked her mother.

Not a word did she answer.

Old Wakara was sitting inside. "Why are you frightened, my daughter?" asked he. "Has anything happened, has any one hurt you?"

"I saw a man over there on the mountain."

"What kind of man was he?" asked Wakara.

"He has an otter on his back and wears buckskin; his hands are both red with deer blood."

Titindi Maupa had a large piece of fat venison in his otter-skin quiver.

"He is a good hunter, I think," said Wakara; and he took down an otter-skin, put it on the north side of the house, and said to his daughter, "Sit there and let this man come to you."

It was night soon. All the people came into the house, sat down, and ate supper. Titindi Maupa stopped outside for a while, and found a place where Wakara stored acorns. "I will leave you here for this night," said he to his sister. "To-morrow I will come to get you."

Titindi Maupa left his sister in the acorn crib, sank in the ground then, and came up inside the sweat-house right at the side of Paiowa. Old Wakara laughed when he saw him sitting near his daughter. He was glad.

"Give the stranger food," said he.

Paiowa brought food and gave it to the stranger.

Titindi Maupa ate some and said, "Look in my otter-skin, I have some venison."

She put her hand in, found a good piece, a nice saddle of venison. She could not draw the piece out, it was so heavy. She went then to her father and said, "I must have a big basket."

She took a large tray basket over to her place. Titindi Maupa drew out the venison and put it on the tray, saying,--

"Now, be no smaller, my venison, stay as you are, no matter how much they take from you."

Two girls carried the basket and put it down before Wakara and Hemauna Marimi, his wife. The two old people ate. After them all in the house ate, and the saddle of venison was as large as at first. When all in the house had eaten, old Wakara went out on the housetop and shouted,--

"My sons, I call you all to come in for a short while."

Now, all the stars in the sky were Wakara's children; they were his sons and daughters. The greatest, a son, came in first. When near the house, he had caught the odor of venison. Behind him came a great many people. All the stars were in Wakara's sweat-house; the whole place was filled with them. When they looked and saw Titindi Maupa sitting with their sister, they laughed. They were glad. Some sat down; others cut off the venison and roasted it. All ate what they wanted.

Now, old Wakara himself cut off venison, and gave a large share to each son to carry home for his wife and children. All went away laughing.

Titindi Maupa rose before dawn the next morning, took a deer head, and went hunting to a mountain. He put on the head. Deer came and stood before him, ten, then ten more, and soon there were a hundred. He killed the hundred deer. Taking the smallest, he opened it, made the others very little, and put them into the small one, which he carried in one hand.

All were sleeping in the sweat-house when Titindi Maupa came. He threw down the small deer, and the ninety-nine others were as big as at first; they burst out of the small one, made a great noise, and filled all the space before the sweat-house. Wakara's wife had got up to make acorn bread. She tried to go out, but could not, there were so many deer lying around everywhere. She hurried back and called her husband.

"There is something outside," said she; "I do not know what it is. Get up and look, get up quickly!"

Wakara went out and saw piles of deer; he ran back, took his knife and sharpened it. Then going to the top of the house, he called to the whole village, "Come here; come, all of you!"

All the people of the village came soon, and there were so many that the venison was dressed quickly. They cooked and ate in company. Others came from beyond the river south of them, and ate all the venison they wanted. Many sat down under oak-trees and gambled; some shot arrows at marks, and others raced.

All day they amused themselves; all day they feasted, and went home at sunset very glad and praising Titindi Maupa.

West of Wakaruwa, was a large village and many people, all Wakara's sons-in-law, all married to his daughters; and the chief was Lawalila.

"I wonder what my father-in-law is doing," said each of these people; "he has very loud talk in his sweat-house. There has never been such talk there before."

Lawalila called his two sons and said: "Go and see what your grandfather is doing. Your youngest aunt has a husband; perhaps that is why there is such loud talk at the sweat-house."

The two boys stole up to the house carefully, and peeped into it. The younger saw Paiowa, his aunt, in one corner, and Titindi Maupa sitting near her. Wakara saw the boy peeping in, and hurled a stick at him. The two boys ran home.

"My aunt has a husband," said the younger boy.

"She has not," said the elder.

"I saw him," said the younger.

"You did not," said the elder.

Lawalila stopped the boys; he was satisfied. He went out, and calling to all said, "Paiowa, the youngest daughter of Wakara, is married!"

All were very angry now, all were enraged, for there were many in that village who wanted Paiowa.

Next morning Lawalila roused the village early, and said: "I want you, my people, to play to-day. You must play your best; you must beat Titindi Maupa, Wakara's new son-in-law."

After they had eaten he called all his people together and said, "We will go over to my father-in-law's, to Wakara's, and shoot at a mark there with arrows."

They went to Wakara's and asked: "Where is Titindi Maupa? We wish to try him; we want to shoot arrows at a mark against him."

Titindi Maupa came out and shot. He won the first shot, the second; he won all the time, won everything that Lawalila's people wagered.

Just at noon Lawalila lost his temper, got angry, sprang up, tried to seize and take back all the things that his people had lost. Titindi Maupa would not let him do that; he stood in his way, would not let him take anything.

Lawalila struck Wakara's new son-in-law. Titindi Maupa threw down his opponent. Lawalila jumped up, ran toward his people, drew his bow, and tried to send an arrow through Titindi Maupa. A great fight now followed.

Wakara's sons came and took Titindi Maupa's part. Lawalila's people hurried to his side. Titindi Maupa's young wife ran out to help her brothers and her husband.

They fought very hard on both sides. In the middle of the afternoon all were killed on Lawalila's side except himself. New forces came to Lawalila. Titindi Maupa was so tired that he could not stand. At this moment his sister came. She picked up Titindi Maupa, put him on her back, and gave him her bow and arrows. He shot from her shoulder, and used her strong arrows. Every man that they touched fell that moment. Every one from the west was killed, Lawalila with the others.

Titindi Maupa rested, and went to the sweat-house. His sister went with him. The dead of both sides lay all night where they fell.

Before daybreak Titindi Maupa rose, took his fire-drill, went out, and turning the faces of all his brothers-in-law to the earth, struck them with the fire-drill. All came to life and went back to Wakaruwa.

Lawalila's people lay on the field all night, the next day, and the night following. Titindi Maupa did not like to see all those dead people lying there; so he went before daybreak of the second day and struck each with his fire-drill. All came to life, rose up, were glad, and went home. Next morning they came to Wakaruwa, and had games again, with good feasting and pleasure. They did not get angry a second time.

Titindi Maupa brought in deer every morning. His brothers-in-law came and ate with him; they were friendly and happy. Titindi Maupa stayed twenty days at Wakaruwa. He killed deer for all of them. On the twenty-first morning Wakara said to his daughter,--

"I think your husband would like to go home now."

Next morning Titindi Maupa set out for home with his wife and sister; they went in one day to Kurulsa Mauna.

Three nights later Topuna came to visit them; he came again to see Titildi Marimi. She let him come now. She was afraid that her brother might leave her a second time.

So at last Topuna got the wife he wanted, and they all lived together at Kurulsa Mauna.

THE TWO SISTERS, HAKA LASI AND TSORE JOWA

PERSONAGES

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

=Chuhna=, spider; =Haka hasi=, loon; =Hitchinna=, wildcat; =Jamuka=, acorn worm; =Juka=, silkworm; =Metsi=, coyote; =Tsanunewa=, fisher (a bird); =Tsore Jowa=, eagle.

* * * * *

At some distance east of Jigul matu lived old Juka. He had a great many sons and two daughters--a big house full of children.

Juka's two daughters were Tsore Jowa, the elder, and Haka Lasi, the younger. After a time Haka Lasi fell in love with her brother Hitchinna. One day she fell asleep and dreamed that he had married her.

Metsi lived, too, in Juka's house. He was no relative; he just lived as a guest there.

One day all the men were out hunting. It was then that Haka Lasi saw Hitchinna in a dream. She began to sing about him, and she sang: "I dream of Hitchinna; I dream that he is my husband. I dream of Hitchinna; I dream that he is my husband."

All the men came back from the hunt at night. At daylight next morning they went to swim, and Tsore Jowa made ready food for them. Haka Lasi took a very nice staff in her hand, and went on top of the sweat-house. She looked in and sang,--

"Where is my husband? Send him up here to me. I will take him away. We must go on a journey. Where is my husband? Send him up here to me."

All knew that she had no husband.

"You have no husband," said they.

Hitchinna was lying in one corner wrapped up in the skin of a wildcat.

"You have no husband in this house; all here are your brothers," said Juka.

"I have a husband, and I want him to come here to me," answered Haka Lasi.

"Well," said the eldest son, "I will go up to her. Let us hear what she will say." He went up.

"You are not my husband," said Haka Lasi. "Do not come near me."

She drove that one down, and called again: "Where is my husband? Send him up to me."

"Go you," said Juka to the second son.

"I don't want you," said Haka Lasi to the second son.

She refused one after another, and drove them away until none was left but Hitchinna. Juka went then to Hitchinna and said,--

"My son, get up and go to her; it looks as though you were the one she wants."

"He is the one," said Haka Lasi; "he is my husband. I want him to go away with me."

Hitchinna said not a word, but rose, washed, dressed himself nicely, and went to the woman.

"The sun is high now," said Haka Lasi; "we must go quickly."

She was glad when taking away the one she wanted. They travelled along, and she sang of Hitchinna as they travelled, sang of him all the time. They went a long distance, and at night she fixed a bed and they lay down on it.

Young Hitchinna could not sleep, he was frightened. When Haka Lasi was asleep, he rose very quickly, took a piece of soft rotten wood, put it on her arm where she had held his head, covered it, and then ran away quickly, hurried back toward Juka's sweat-house with all his might. About daylight he was at the sweat-house.

Now Chuhna, Juka's sister, lived with him. She was the greatest person in the world to spin threads and twist ropes. She had a willow basket as big as a house, and a rope which reached up to the sky and was fastened there.

"My nephew," said she to Hitchinna, "I will save you and save all from your terrible sister. She will be here very soon; she may come any moment. She will kill all in this house; she will kill every one if she finds us here. Let all go into my basket. I will take you up to the sky. She cannot find us there; she cannot follow us to that place."

"I will lie lowest," said Metsi. "I am a good man, I will go in first, I will go in before others; I will be at the bottom of the basket."

Metsi went in first; every one in the sweat-house followed him. Then Chuhna ran up, rose on her rope, and pulled the basket after her.

The sweat-house was empty; no one stayed behind. Chuhna kept rising and rising, going higher and higher.

When Haka Lasi woke up and saw that she had a block of rotten wood on her arm instead of Hitchinna, she said,--

"You won't get away from me, I will catch you wherever you are."

She rushed back to the sweat-house. It was empty; no one there. She ran around in every direction looking for tracks, to find which way they had gone. She found nothing on the ground; then she looked into the sky, and far up, very high, close to the sun, she saw the basket rising, going up steadily.

Haka Lasi was raging; she was so awfully angry that she set fire to the house. It burned quickly, was soon a heap of coals.

The basket was almost at the sky when Metsi said to himself, "I wonder how far up we are; I want to see." And he made a little hole in the bottom of the basket to peep through and look down.

That instant the basket burst open; all came out, poured down, a great stream of people, and all fell straight into the fire of the sweat-house.

Now, Tsore Jowa was outside on top of the basket. She caught at the sun, held to it, and saved herself.

Hitchinna went down with the rest, fell into the burning coals, and was burned like his brothers.

Haka Lasi was glad that they had not escaped her; she took a stick, fixed a net on it, and watched.

All were in the fire now and were burning. After a while one body burst, and the heart flew out of it. Haka Lasi caught this heart in her net. Soon a second and a third body burst, and two more hearts flew out. She caught those as well as the first one. She caught all the hearts except two,--Juka's own heart and his eldest son's heart.

Juka's heart flew high, went away far in the sky, and came down on the island of a river near Klamath Lake. It turned into Juka himself there. He sank in the ground to his chin; only his head was sticking out.

The heart of the eldest son flew off to the foot of Wahkalu and turned to be himself again. He fell so deep into the earth that only his face was sticking out on the surface.

Now Haka Lasi put all the hearts which she had caught on a string, hung them around her neck, and went to a lake east of Jigulmatu. She wanted to live at the bottom of the lake, but could not find a place deep enough. So she went northwest of Klamath Lake to Crater Lake, where she could live in deep water.

Two Tsanunewa brothers lived near the lake with their old grandmother. One morning early these brothers were out catching ducks, and just at daybreak they heard some one call.

"Who is that?" asked the elder brother.

"I don't know," answered the younger.

Soon they saw Haka Lasi spring up on the water and call. She had a large string of hearts around her neck. Then she sank again in the water. Again she came up at some distance and called a second time.

Now Tsore Jowa came down from the sun and went to the old sweat-house, where she found nothing but a heap of bones and ashes. Putting pitch on her head and on her arms, and strips of deerskin around her neck with pitch on them, she cried and went around mourning. After a time she began to look for her sister. She went everywhere; went to Klamath Lake.

For some time the two Tsanunewa brothers had heard a voice singing,--

"Li-wa-éh, li-wa-há, Li-wa-éh, li-wa-há."

This was old Juka. He was lying in the ground where he had fallen, and was crying.

Tsore Jowa searched, inquired, asked every one about Haka Lasi, and told what she had done,--that she had killed her own brothers and father.

Tsore Jowa came at last to the house of the two Tsanunewa brothers one day about sunset, and spoke to their grandmother. "My sister, Haka Lasi, has killed all my brothers and my father," said she; and she told the whole story.

The old woman cried when she heard what Tsore Jowa told her. The two brothers were away hunting; they came home about dark with a large string of ducks. "This woman," said the grandmother, "is looking for her sister, who has killed all her people."

The two brothers cried when the story was told to them. When they had finished crying, they said to the old woman, "Cook ducks and let this woman have plenty to eat."

When all had eaten, the two brothers said to Tsore Jowa: "Tell us what kind of a person your sister is. Which way did she go?"

"I don't know which way she went," said Tsore Jowa.

"Three days ago," said the elder brother, "just as daylight was coming, we saw a woman jump up in the lake where we were fishing. She seemed to have large beads around her neck. That woman may be your sister."

"Catch that woman for me. I will give you otter-skins and beads. I will give bearskins. If you wish, I will stay with you here, if you catch her."

"We want no beads nor otter-skins nor bearskins," said the brothers.

"What do you want?"

"We want red deer-bones and green deer-bones; small, sharp ones to stab fish with."

"You shall have all you want of both kinds," said Tsore Jowa.

Next morning she set out with a sack, went away to high mountains, gathered deer-bones, red and green leg-bones, and put them in her sack. At sunset she went back to the house, with the sack full.

The two brothers were glad, now. The elder took red, and the younger green bones. (The fat on the leg-bones of deer turns some red and others green.)

"You must catch her bad sister for Tsore Jowa," said the old woman to her grandsons.

All that night the brothers sat sharpening the bones and then fastening them to the spear-shafts. They did not stop for a moment. "Let us go now; it is near daylight," said the elder brother.