Part 24

They started. When they reached the lake, they went out on the water. Every morning at daybreak. Haka Lasi sprang up to the surface and called from the lake. The elder brother took a stem of tule grass, opened it, placed it on the water, made himself small, and sat down in the middle of it. The younger brother fixed himself in another stem of tule in the same way. The two tule stems floated away on the water, till they came near the place where the brothers had seen Haka Lasi spring up the first time.

"Let me shoot before you," said the elder brother.

"Oh, you cannot shoot; you will miss her," said the younger. "Let me shoot first. You will miss; you will not hit her heart."

"I will hit," said the elder.

They watched and watched. Each had his bow drawn ready to shoot. Daylight came now. Haka Lasi rose quickly, came to the top of the water, and held out her arms before calling.

The younger brother sent the first arrow, struck her in the neck; the elder shot, struck her right under the arm. Haka Lasi dropped back and sank in the water.

The brothers watched and watched. After a time they saw two arrows floating, and were afraid they had lost her. She had pulled them out of her body, and they rose to the surface. After a while the body rose. Haka Lasi was dead.

The brothers saw that she had a great many hearts on a string around her neck. They drew her to the shore then, and carried her home. They left the body hidden outside the house, and went in.

"We did not see her," said the elder Tsanunewa to his grandmother.

All sat down to eat fish, and when they were through eating, the elder said to Tsore Jowa, "Come out and see what we caught this morning."

She ran out with them, and saw her dead sister with a string of hearts on her neck. Tsore Jowa took off her buckskin skirt, wrapped up the body, and put it in the house. She counted the hearts.

"My eldest brother's heart is not here, and my father's is not here," said she.

"Every morning we hear some one crying, far away toward the north; that may be one of them," said the two Tsanunewas.

Tsore Jowa started out to find this one, if she could, who was calling. She left the body and hearts at the old grandmother's house, and hurried off toward the north. She heard the cry soon and knew it. "That is my father," said she.

Tsore Jowa came near the place from which the cry rose; saw no one. Still she heard the cry. At last she saw a face; it was the face of Juka, her father.

Tsore Jowa took a sharp stick and dug. She dug down to Juka's waist; tried to pull him up, but could not stir him. She dug again, dug a good while; pulled and pulled, until at last she drew him out.

Juka was very poor, all bones, no flesh at all on him. Tsore Jowa put down a deerskin, wrapped her father in it, and carried him to the old woman's house; then she put him with Haka Lasi's body, and carried them home to the old burned sweat-house east of Jigulmatu.

She was crying yet, since one brother was missing. She put down the basket in which she had carried them, hid it away, covered it carefully.

At the foot of Wahkalu lived a certain Jamuka, an old man who had a wife and two daughters.

"Bring in some wood," said the old man one day to his daughters.

The two girls took their baskets and went to bring wood. Soon they heard some one singing,--

"I-nó i-nó, I-no mi-ná I-nó, i-nó I-no mi-ná."

"Listen," said the younger sister; "some one is singing."

They listened, heard the singing; it seemed right at the foot of Wahkalu. They went toward the place from which the sound came.

"That is a nice song," said the younger sister. "I should like to see the one who sings so."

They went near, saw no one yet. "Let us take the wood home," said the elder sister, "then come back here; our father may be angry if we stay away longer."

They took the wood home, put it down, and said nothing. Both went back to the place where the singing was and listened. At last the younger sister came to the right place, and said, "I think this is he who is singing."

There was a head sticking out of the ground, and the face was covered with water. The man had cried so much that he looked dirty and ugly.

The sisters took sharp sticks, and dug all around the head, dug deeply. They could not pull out the person; they had only dug to his waist when night came and they must go.

"Why did you stay out so late?" asked their father.

"We heard some one singing, and wanted to know who it was, but were not able. We will go back in the morning and search again."

"That is well," said Jamuka. He had heard how Juka's sons had been killed. "Perhaps one of those people is alive yet," said he; "you must look for him."

They went early next morning to dig, and drew the man out. They took off their buckskin skirts then, and wrapped him up carefully. He was nothing but bones, no flesh at all on his body. The younger sister ran home to get wildcat skins to wrap around him.

"We have found a man, but he is all bones," said she to her father.

"Take good care of the stranger, feed and nurse him well," said Jamuka; "he may be Juka himself, and he is a good man."

They wrapped the man in wildcat skins. A great stream of water was running from his eyes, and deer came down the hill to drink of that water.

The girls lay on each side of the man, and gave him food; stayed all night with him. Next morning they went home for more food.

"Feed him, give him plenty," said Jamuka; "he may get health and strength yet."

The sisters went back and stayed a second night. The man began to look better, but he cried all the time, and many deer came to drink the water that flowed from his eyes. The girls went home the second morning. "The man looks better," said they to their father.

"I have heard," said old Jamuka, "that Juka's sons were killed. This must be one of them."

They went back right away, and stayed another day and night with the stranger. The man looked as though he might get his health again. He began to talk. "Has your father a bow and arrows?" asked he of the sisters.

"He has; he has many."

"Bring me a bow and arrows; many deer come near me to drink, I may shoot one."

They took the man's words to their father. Jamuka gave them a bow and some arrows, and they went back to the sick man.

"You may go home to-night," said he. "I wish to be alone."

The girls left him. At sundown a great buck came and drank of the tears, he killed him; later another came, he killed that one; at midnight a third came, he killed the third; now he had three. At daylight a fourth buck was killed; he had four now. "That is enough," thought he.

When the girls came and saw four great bucks lying dead near the stranger, they were frightened; they ran home and told their father. Old Jamuka was glad when they told him. He sharpened his knife, hurried out to the woods and looked at the stranger. "That is Juka's son," said he; "take good care of him, daughters."

Jamuka dressed the deer, carried them home, and cut up the venison for drying. Next evening Juka's son sent the girls home a second time, and killed five great deer that night. Next morning the girls came to see him, and ran home in wonder.

Their father was very glad. He dressed the five deer as he had the four, and cut up the venison.

Tsore Jowa was hunting everywhere all this time to find her brother. She had left the hearts, her sister's body, and her father hidden away carefully; had done nothing yet to save them.

The night after Juka's son killed the five deer the two girls took him home to their father. He was well now and beautiful, in good health and strong. He cried no more after that. A salt spring was formed in the place where he had fallen and shed so many tears. The spring is in that place till this day, and deer go in herds to drink from it. People watch near the spring and kill them, as Juka's son did. Tsore Jowa went to every house inquiring about her brother. At last she came to Jamuka's house, and there she found him. She was glad now and satisfied. She left her brother with his two wives and hurried home.

Tsore Jowa made in one night a great sweat-house, prepared a big basket, and filled it with water. When the second night came, she dropped hot stones into the water; put all the hearts into the basket. Opening her sister's body, she took out her heart and put it in with the others. At this time the water in the basket was boiling. She covered the basket and placed it on top of the sweat-house. Then she went in, lay down and slept.

The water was seething all night. At daybreak the basket turned over, and there was a crowding and hurrying of people around the sweat-house. They began to talk briskly.

"We are cold, we are cold!" said they. "Let us in!"

Soon broad daylight came. Tsore Jowa opened the door, and all crowded into the sweat-house. Tsore Jowa said not a word yet. All the brothers came; behind them Haka Lasi. She looked well, she was good. Her heart was clean; there was nothing bad now in it.

"Where is our eldest brother?" asked all.

"He is well; I have found him. He has two wives," said Tsore Jowa.

Juka was in good health and strong. She had washed him and given him good food.

All were happy, and they went hunting.

"I think your husband would like to go home," said Jamuka one day to his daughters.

Juka's son and his two wives set out to visit his father; Juka saw his son coming; took a big blanket quickly, caught him, placed him in it, and put him right away.

Now the wives of Juka's son came in and sat down in the house. Two other brothers took them for wives. They stayed a long time, never saw their first husband again. Old Juka kept him secreted, made him a Weänmauna, a hidden one.

After a time the two women wished to go home to visit Jamuka. They took beads and blankets, nice things of all kinds, and went to their father at the foot of Wahkalu.

"We have never seen our husband," said they, "since we went to his father's. We have new husbands now."

"I think that is well enough," said Jamuka. "His father has put him away. His brothers are as good for you as he was."

The sisters agreed with their father, and went back and lived at Juka's house after that.

THE DREAM OF JUIWAIYU AND HIS JOURNEY TO DAMHAUJA'S COUNTRY

PERSONAGES

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

=Damhauja=, the moon just before renewal; =Darijua=, gray squirrel; =Halaia=, morning star; =Jupka=, butterfly of the wild silk worm; =Juiwaiyu=, acorn of the Eastern black oak; =Kechowala=, blue jay; =Mahari=, Eastern black oak; =Pahnino=, a kind of ocean-shell; =Periwiriwaiyu=, another kind of Eastern black oak.

* * * * *

Juiwaiyu lived far away in the east, in the southern part of it. His father, Periwiriwaiyu, was old. His mother, Maharia, was old, too; but both were very beautiful.

Juiwaiyu hunted, fished; was happy till one night he dreamed of two girls who lived beyond Wahkalu, lived north of that mountain.

"I dreamed of two sisters," said he to his father and mother next morning, "I saw two women last night. They are both very beautiful. I must find them; I will bring them home if I can."

"You must not go," said his father and mother. "If you go, you will never come back to this country. We shall not see you again if you leave us. We know that those people will kill you. We shall never see you again if you go from here." Then they cried bitterly, both of them.

But his father and mother could not stop Juiwaiyu; he would go. When he was ready to start, his mother said,--

"Your uncle lives at Shultsmauna, near Kamshumatu. Stop there. You must see your uncle, you must talk with him. His name is Jupka. He is very wise; he will help you. There will be thunder and a sprinkle of rain here when you touch your uncle's house. I shall know then that you have got that far in safety."

Juiwaiyu began to sing. He started, and rose through the air. He went very high, and cried--cried and sang as he travelled. Though he had made up his mind to go, he feared that his mother's words might come true, that the people beyond Wahkalu might kill him. He looked far ahead, and saw smoke near the edge of the sky. "That may be smoke from my uncle's house," thought Juiwaiyu.

He moved toward the smoke; went on till he was straight above his uncle's house. He went down to the roof then, and peeped in through the smoke-hole. The old man, who was lying with his back to the fire, saw him look in. Jupka stood up, looked again, grabbed his spear.

"Is that the way you look into my house? What do you want here?" cried Jupka, aiming his spear at the stranger.

"It is I, uncle,--I, Juiwaiyu."

"Why did you not call me uncle when you looked first? Why did you not say who you were when you came? I might have killed you; I came very near killing you with my spear. Come down, come down; let me see you, my nephew."

"I will," said Juiwaiyu; "I have travelled far to-day, I am tired."

He went down on the central pole.

"Uncle, I have come to talk with you, to let you know where I am going."

"You would better eat first," said Jupka; and he took Juiwaiyu in his arms, smoothed his hair, and was glad to look at him.

"You are tired, my nephew; you are hungry; you must eat."

"I am not hungry; I have no time to wait; I am in a great hurry."

"Where are you going, my nephew?" asked Jupka.

"I had a dream last night, my uncle; I dreamed of two sisters, daughters of Damhauja."

"You would better stay at home. My nephew, stay at home; you would better not go for those sisters. Forget them; don't think of those girls," said Jupka. "If you go, you will never come back. The place where they live is a bad one; every stranger gets killed who goes there. I have seen many men on the way to Damhauja's; many a man has passed here to look for those sisters, but never have I seen any come back with or without a woman. I have been in that country myself, I know it well. I had to fight for my life there, and came near being killed. I am many times stronger than you, know people better than you do, and I would not go to that country."

"No matter what kind of country that is, no matter what kind of people live in it, I must find those two sisters. I have dreamt of them. There is no use in trying to hold me back. I must go; I cannot stop, I cannot help myself."

"Well," said Jupka, "if you must go, I will go with you; you would be lost without me. I must save you, my nephew. I will make myself small; you can put me on your head, you can tie me up in your hair easily."

The old man made himself small, and Juiwaiyu put him on the top of his head, bound him firmly in his hair, bound him so that no one could see him. Then he went up on the sweat-house and turned toward the sun.

"Sun, O Sun, I wish you to be slow," said he. "I must go very far; I wish the day to last long."

"I will tell you now of the road," said Jupka. "When you come near a small mountain east of Wahkalu, there will be three roads there before you; one on the right hand very narrow. You can hardly see that road, it is so little beaten, but you must find it, for you cannot go by another. There is a middle road, smooth and wide; you will see fresh clover scattered on the road, just as if women had carried some over and dropped a little here and there. If you go over that road, you will be killed by lice and wind. On the left hand is a road; if you take that, you will lose yourself and never reach any place."

"I will sing now," said Juiwaiyu, "and my song will be heard everywhere, north, south, east, and west."

He began, and rose in the air as he sang; he rose, and as he moved forward, the whole world heard him; every one looked up to see who was singing, but no one saw anything.

"That sounds like the song of Juiwaiyu," said some of the people. "I think that is the voice of Periwiriwaiyu's son," said others; "I think that is he, for that's how he sings when he travels."

They tried to see who was singing, but saw no one. The song seemed just above them, but it was high up, very high in the air.

"Hurry, my nephew, hurry," said Jupka; "I don't like to camp on the journey, I want to be at that place before sunset."

Juiwaiyu sang faster now; he could not move without singing. He moved swiftly, and soon they were east of Wahkalu.

"Look down carefully," said Jupka; "if you see clover scattered on a road, you must not go over it. Go over that road on the right, do not look at the other."

Damhauja had sent people to scatter clover on the middle road and entice men, make them think that the road to his sweat-house.

"The middle road lies straight toward the mountain," said Jupka; "all people die who try to pass over it. A great many lie dead on that road now, my nephew; do not go near it."

Juiwaiyu kept on; soon they heard laughter ahead on the small mountain, loud laughter.

"You are on the wrong road," said Jupka. "Turn back, my nephew; if not, you will die surely. That was the laughter of people sent by Damhauja to kill all who go over the middle road."

Juiwaiyu kept on; he would not listen to his uncle. Soon a great wind came, bringing clouds of lice with it; the air was filled with them. They fell on Juiwaiyu, and ate the flesh off his body. The wind drove him far back on his journey, and blew the beads from his neck. The people of the mountain did this,--people put there and kept by Damhauja.

Juiwaiyu was angry. He rushed forward a second time.

"I will pass, I will go through this time," said he.

"I told you of this trouble," said Jupka, "I warned you. I said that this was an evil road over which no one can pass. Stop, or you will be dead before night comes. Stop! Let me down; I will save you."

Juiwaiyu came to the ground, and took out his uncle.

"I will save you," said Jupka; "I will give you back flesh and strength."

The old man took his pipe and drew smoke through it. The wind went away; the lice disappeared, not one was left anywhere. Jupka took up a rose-twig. With this he whipped Juiwaiyu, and he was as sound and strong as ever. He had all his flesh back in a moment.

The people of the mountain saw this. "We cannot kill him," said they; "he has too much power for us."

"You must turn back and start where the roads part," said Jupka. "On the right is a small narrow trail; you can barely see it, but you must find this trail. You cannot go to Damhauja's house by another way."

Juiwaiyu went back to where the paths parted.

"You are looking for the way," said Jupka. "If you see a narrow little trail, that is it."

He found that trail at last. "That is the right way," said the uncle.

It was so narrow that Juiwaiyu was barely able to see it. He went forward easily; went fast, like a man who is running down hill. They came to the small mountain, and when Juiwaiyu was above it, he heard laughing at a distant village. "That must be the place to which we are going," said he.

"My nephew, look out now, be careful. When you go into Damhauja's sweat-house and sit with his daughters, he will give you a pipe filled with crushed bones of people instead of tobacco. If you breathe smoke from that pipe, you will die the next moment. With this smoke he has killed those who escaped lice and wind from the mountain."

Juiwaiyu rested awhile, and thought of the beads he had lost. "I wish my beads would return to me," said he. That moment the beads were on his neck. They were as beautiful as ever.

"My beads, you must not go again from me. You must stay with me, and you must be in plenty. Pahnino Marimi, I wish you to send your daughters for leaves, wood, and water. Be kind when I come to you. Do not kill me. Let us go on," said he to his uncle.

They went forward, and soon they saw two girls, one holding the other by the hand. These girls were coming toward the mountain, swaying their hands and singing. Juiwaiyu came to the ground, hid behind a tree, and said, "Let there be wood here in plenty, wood for these women." The wood was right there in one moment.

The two girls set down their baskets and filled them. "I wish that man would come," said one sister to the other, "the man we dreamed of last night."

They put down their hands to take the baskets. Juiwaiyu caught their hands. They looked around, saw him, and were frightened.

"Why are you frightened? I dreamed of you last night, you dreamed of me. Go home, go ahead, hurry forward, I will follow; I will be at your father's house soon."

They put the baskets on their backs, ran quickly, reached home soon, threw down the baskets outside the doorway, and rushed into the sweat-house.

"What are you scared at, my daughters? You saw some young man in the woods, I think," said Pahnino, their mother, who was making acorn bread outside the doorway. "I think that some brother-in-law was watching you near the mountain."

"You have never seen the man we met," said the sisters.

Pahnino went to look; she looked carefully, but saw no man coming toward her from any side. The two sisters spread a black bearskin and sat on it, sat near each other and waited. The old man went out to look, put his hand over his eyes to see a new son-in-law, but could see no one. Juiwaiyu was on the house now; he went down through the central pillar, passed through the ground, and came up between Damhauja's two daughters. Pahnino Marimi walked in at that moment to scold her daughters. She looked, and saw Juiwaiyu between them.

"Some one is sitting with our daughters," said she to the old man.

Damhauja went for his pipe, put in crushed bones of Mapchemaina, and handed the pipe to his daughters.

"Give this to my son-in-law," said he.

They did not like to take the pipe, but they could not refuse their father, they could not help themselves. They were crying.

"You must not smoke this," whispered they; "we will give you another kind." They took the tobacco out and put in some of the common sort. The old man did not watch sharply at first; he was thinking only to see Juiwaiyu drop dead. The girls handed back the empty pipe to their father.

Jupka, who was sitting on his nephew's head, laughed in his own mind.

"I don't know what sort of man this is," thought Damhauja; "I have never seen such a person. I think he must have come to fight with me; I will try him once more."

He filled the pipe a second time, and gave it to his daughters. They handed it to Juiwaiyu. This time they could not change the tobacco. Damhauja was watching too carefully. Jupka smoked this pipe. No smoke could hurt him. Damhauja, who hoped to see Juiwaiyu fall dead, became frightened when he saw him as well as ever.

"What am I to do?" thought he. "I give this tobacco to every man who comes for my daughters, and every man who smokes dies right away. I am afraid of my new son-in-law. I will not fight with this man. Let my other sons-in-law try him. My daughters, I want you to give nice food to your husband; give him good things to eat, take the best care of him, treat him well. My boys, I want you to bring plenty of nice food to my son-in-law."

"I will give venison now to these sisters," thought Jupka; and he took out a small piece of fat venison as large as a walnut. This he gave to Juiwaiyu, and told him to ask for a large basket. They brought it.

"You, venison, keep this size," said Juiwaiyu; "be no smaller, you must not be gone;" and then he cut slices.

Damhauja carried off three great baskets of meat, then went out on the housetop and called all his sons.

"Come for venison, my sons," said he. "There is plenty for all of you."

Damhauja had a great many sons-in-law on the west beyond a river. All his daughters were married except two. These sons-in-law heard him call and wondered. "What has happened?" asked they of one another. "We've never heard the old man talk that way before. He must have found a new son-in-law; he must have found a husband for Halaia and Pahnino Marimi."

All Damhauja's sons came into the sweat-house.