Part 22
Not far from old Kówe’s house there was a village where all kinds of people lived. They heard Tohós and the Kówes singing and came to see what young girl was dancing. Kówe hid the girl under her dress, wouldn’t let them see her. Wámanik tried to peek at her; Kówe scolded him and drove him away. Other men came, but they couldn’t see the girl. Kówe hid her under her clothes, and Tohós and the Kówes stopped singing as soon as they knew that some one was around.
The third night the Wámanik people tried hard to see the girl, but Kówe hid her in the straw of the house and put the fire out.
Kówe always knew when people were near. She heard Blaiwas as he went up high in the air and looked down. Right away the singing stopped, and the fire went out.
Tskel tried to steal up and look at the girl, but Kówe heard him and hid her. Gäk said: “I shall see that girl!” But he talked so loud that Kówe heard him as soon as he started from home. When he got to her house, nobody was singing, and it was dark all around.
The fourth night Wisnik went to Kówe’s house. He went under the ground and stuck out his head near her fireplace. It was early, and the Kówes hadn’t begun to sing. He saw the girl and looked at her till his eyes got dim. He couldn’t look enough. When he went home, he said: “There is a beautiful girl in old Kówe’s house; I have spoiled my eyes looking at her.”
Kówe knew that somebody had been in her house. The girl said: “I saw a man, but I thought that you knew he was here.”
That morning they held a council in Wámanik’s village, to decide who should go to Kówe’s house and get the girl for a wife.
Kówe knew of the council and she said to the girl: “Many men are coming here to get you for a wife. You mustn’t have anything to say to the men from that village over there. They are not the kind of people for you. The Wámanik people and the Wéwenkee and Wisnik people live there. Tcûskai and Tskel and Wŏn and Wus live there, too. You don’t want any of those men. Far away from here there are five brothers; each one is a chief and has great power. If they come, you mustn’t look at them, unless you are willing to marry them.”
That evening all the men in the village went to Kówe’s house. When the first one came, the house was a little grass hut, but right away it began to grow big and nice-looking. As the people came, each man had plenty of room. The largest and most important men came first: Wŏn, Lok, Kaiutois, Blaiwas and Wámanik. The girl made fun of them all; she said to Dásläts: “I don’t like you; you are too proud of your spotted blanket.”
She told Tcûskai his mouth was too sharp! She laughed at Tskel, told him his eyes were jumping out of his head; to Pakol she said: “You are proud of your warm blanket.” She told Lok his hands and feet were too big, and he ate too much. To Tcakonŭs she said: “You are proud of your white hair.” When Wámanik came, she said: “You are proud of your spotted blanket and your big mouth.” She told Wisnik that his eyes were small and dim. When she saw Kékina, she laughed, and asked: “How could a woman like your big flat feet and rough skin?”
When the five Wûlkûtska brothers came, they stood outside. The youngest brother said: “Why should we go into this house? There is no woman there that we want.” The eldest brother said: “I will go in and see her; you can stay here.” When he went in, the girl looked up, but right away she looked down again. She looked at four of the brothers in the same way. The youngest brother stayed outside a good while, and when he went in he sat down near the wall, but the girl looked at him; she was glad to see him.
All the people from the village went away; then the five brothers went. The eldest went first, then the second and the third and the fourth; the youngest was the last one to go.
Kówe loosened the girl’s hair, took off her red bark dress, and put on one covered with beads, then told her to follow Wûlkûtska. When the girl overtook the young man, he said: “I don’t travel on the ground or under it. You should have taken some other man. We were visiting Wus; we didn’t go there to get a wife. Our home is a long way off; I don’t think you can go there. We travel on the tops of trees; you will have to look up all the time. You should have taken Kai or Sloä or Wámanik.”
The girl cried, and said: “I followed you because Kówe told me that I belonged to you.”
The girl was beautiful. Her hair touched the ground and it was black and glossy. The young man was sorry for her.
He said: “You can come if you can track us.” Then the brothers sprang up and began to travel from one tree to another. The girl had to hurry; she stumbled often, for she had to look up to see which way the brothers went. When they camped, they waited a long time for her to come up. The girl followed them for ten days; she was only skin and bones. The brothers never hunted and never ate anything.
The tenth time they camped, the youngest brother said: “I feel badly. I have a nice wife, and she is starving.” The elder brother said: “You shouldn’t have gone to old Kówe’s. You knew that the girl didn’t live as we do.”
The younger brother cried, but he said to his wife: “You can’t follow us any longer. You are skin and bones; you will die soon. We are only half-way home. Djáudjau is our cousin; he lives near here. You must go to him; he is a great hunter, and will get you plenty to eat. He is as good-looking as I am. You will forget me.”
The young man felt lonesome; he liked the girl and didn’t want to leave her.
The eldest brother said: “Djáudjau’s mother wears a cap made of deer fat. She is digging roots. You will see her a long way off, for her cap is white and bright. But the Kújas live around there, and maybe old woman Kúja will be out digging roots, too. She is thin, and wears an old cap. When she sees you, she will jump and be afraid; she will think you are the ugliest thing she has ever seen. But Djáudjau’s mother will take hold of your hand and lead you to her house.”
When the brothers started off, the youngest one was crying; he turned back and called to his wife: “You mustn’t care for that man; he eats only horns. But his mother will be good to you and feed you.”
When the girl looked far off she saw two houses, one was covered with deer meat, the other was made of sticks and dry grass. The first woman she saw was Kúja’s mother; she walked up behind her. When the old woman saw her shadow she jumped and ran away. Then the girl saw Djáudjau’s mother; she knew her by her white cap. Djáudjausûp took her by the hand and was glad to see her. She took off her cap, turned it inside out, and rubbed the girl’s body with it; then she took her to the house and fed her deer marrow.
Kujasûp stood a little way off and watched; when she saw the marrow, she said: “That belongs to me!”
Kúja went to the house, and said: “That girl is for me; she didn’t come here to get your son.”
The old woman said: “You are a thief. You come here every night to steal our deer meat,” and she drove him away.
When Djáudjau came, he lay down in the house. The girl saw that he was white and nice-looking, and had long black hair; she liked him.
Old Kujasûp began to quarrel with Djáudjau’s mother; she said: “That girl must go with me; she is my son’s wife.”
Djáudjausûp said: “You have lived here always. Nobody ever came to see you or your son. My nephews sent this girl to us. She followed them, but they travel on the tops of trees. She couldn’t live as they do, and they sent her to my son.” The Kújas called the old woman names, said she didn’t tell the truth, said the girl belonged to them.
Djáudjausûp got so mad she called her son and told him to kill Kúja. The young man shot Kúja in the breast, and said: “You will no longer be a person; you will be a rat, and you will be a thief, as you have always been. You will make little houses of sticks, and people will call them Stcäkaltis (stick houses).”
Kúja and his mother and all their kin became common rats and ran off to the mountains.
Not long after that, the young woman had a baby. Her husband asked her if she had a father or a mother. She told him how her brother got jealous and killed her mother. Djáudjau said: “I want to see my brother-in-law.”
His mother gave them a bundle of dried deer meat and they started. When they came to the pond where her mother was drowned, the young woman cried; she felt badly. Her brother was living in the house where they had lived with their mother. He was married and had two children. When they got to the house, he was off on the mountain hunting deer.
The woman said: “He hunts all the time, but he never kills a deer; sometimes he gets a rabbit or a squirrel.”
The sister put her bundle of dried meat on the ground. It got big; there was a great pile, plenty for everybody to eat. Soon the brother came; he was old and thin. He didn’t say much to his sister or his brother-in-law.
The next morning Djáudjau went to hunt deer. The brother asked: “Why does he go? He won’t kill a deer. I am a good hunter, but I never find a deer.”
That evening Djáudjau came home with ten deer in his belt. He carried them as other men carried rabbits. The brother looked mad. He didn’t like his brother in-law.
The sister said to Djáudjau: “We must go home. I want to start now. My brother doesn’t like you: I am afraid to stay here.”
They started in the night, and early the next morning they came to a swimming place on top of a high mountain. Djáudjau got some green twigs, rubbed himself all over with them, then he rubbed the twigs on the ground, and said: “I have been to see my bad brother-in-law; I have brought away some of his bad thoughts. Now, earth, take them all.” Then he swam in the pond and talked to the mountain. The mountain talked to him like a living person, and he forgot his brother-in-law.
When they got home, the five Wûlkûtska brothers were there. They all claimed the child.
Old woman Djáudjau said: “It isn’t right for you to take my daughter-in-law’s child away from her.”
The young woman said: “You didn’t care for me. You thought you were better than I was, because you could travel on trees and I had to travel on the ground. Now you want my baby. Hereafter you will travel slow, and it will make you sweat; you will no longer be persons.”
The brothers said: “Hereafter you and your husband and his kin will be Djáudjaus and roam around in the mountains.”
And so it was.
KÓWAM AND GÁHGA
CHARACTERS
Gáhga Heron Kówam Red-billed Duck Lok Bear
Kówam and his little brother lived on the south side of Klamath Lake. The little boy’s name was Gáhga.
Kówam had a nice-looking wife, and when he went to fish in the lake, he always told her that if any one came to bother her she must send Gáhga to tell him.
One morning, when Kówam had gone to the lake, and his old mother-in-law was out gathering wood, Kówam’s wife sat down by the fire and began to make a reed basket for Kówam to put fish in. After a while the old woman ran in and cried: “The big-footed people are coming!”
Soon the five Lok brothers came in and sat down by the fire. The eldest brother put his head on the young woman’s lap.
Gágha began to cry, and Lok said: “Why do you cry, little boy? Are you sorry for me because I haven’t a wife? This woman is my wife.”
Gágha kept crying. At midday his eyes were so swollen that he could hardly open them. “Stop crying,” said his sister-in-law. “Go and find your brother and tell him that the big-footed men are here. Maybe nothing has happened, and he doesn’t know there is trouble at home.”
Gágha cried all the time he was going to the lake. When he found his brother Kówam asked: “What’s the matter? What makes you cry? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No,” said Gágha, “five of the big-footed people from the north side of the lake are in our house, and one of them has his head on my sister-in-law’s knees.”
“Is she crying?” asked Kówam.
“No, but I’ve cried all the time, I’m so sorry they have taken my sister-in-law away from me.”
“If she isn’t crying, she doesn’t care for us, and there is no use in crying. If they had made her cry, I should kill those men.”
Kówam sat still a long time; he was thinking what he could do. Then he said to Gágha: “Stop crying and get some wood; we will cook fish to eat. You must hurry, so we can go home before it’s dark.”
Little Gágha could hardly stand; he had cried so long that he was dizzy.
Kówam said: “Don’t cry any longer. I know what I will do to those big-footed people.”
They built a fire and cooked fish. Gágha’s tears were dropping all the time he was eating.
“Stop crying and finish eating!” said his brother. “Whenever a man has a nice wife he is bothered. It will always be that way.”
Kówam filled an old basket with fish, picked it up, put it on his back, and said: “Now we will go home.”
“How can we go home while those big-footed people are there?” asked Gágha. He was crying again.
“I am not afraid of those men,” said Kówam. “That is my house; I will drive them out of it or I will kill them.”
When they were part of the way home, Kówam said: “Little brother, take my bow and arrow and shoot me in the heart.”
“How can I do that? You are my brother.”
“It won’t hurt me. I want you to practise shooting.”
“You are my own brother, all the one I have. I won’t do it,” said Gágha.
“You must,” said Kówam. “It won’t hurt me.”
“It will kill you; then I shall be all alone,” said Gágha.
Kówam talked a long time, asked in every way, but Gágha always said: “You are my brother; I won’t kill you.” At last Kówam said: “If you don’t shoot me and make me strong, I will let the big-footed people have your sister-in-law; I won’t try to kill them. You can’t kill me. Nobody can kill me; I shall live always.”
At last Gáhga took the bow and arrow and shot Kówam in the heart, killed him; then he ran, for he felt scared. Right away Kówam overtook him, and said: “Now shoot me in the heart and tear my body to pieces.” Gáhga did as Kówam told him to and then ran away. Again Kówam overtook him. That time he said: “Kill me and pound my body to pieces; then mix the pieces with dirt and stones.” Gáhga did as he was told. Soon his brother caught up with him, and said: “Kill me, then pound my body up and throw the pieces away.” Gágha did that, and went on; he didn’t run that time, he just walked; he didn’t feel scared any longer. Kówam came up behind him, and said: “Now, little brother, try again. Kill me, then build a big fire and burn up my body and let the wind carry the ashes away.” Gáhga did that. His brother overtook him again.
“What kind of a man are you?” asked Gáhga. “Is there any way to kill you?”
“I wasn’t made to die,” said Kówam, “I shall live always. Now kill me and cut off my feet and hands and carry them away. Hold them tight.”
Gáhga shot Kówam in the heart, cut off his hands and feet, held them tight in his own hands, and traveled on, went fast. Right away his brother called to him. Gáhga’s hands were shut, but the feet and hands that he had been carrying were gone, and Kówam was by his side. Then he cut Kówam’s head off and threw it away. At once the head and body came together.
The brothers were almost home now and Kówam said: “You must take my bow and quiver and wait on top of the house; I will go in alone. Don’t be scared when they throw me out; they can’t hurt me.”
Kówam went in, pulled Lok’s head off from the woman’s knees, and threw him out of the house. Lok came in, caught Kówam, killed him, and threw the pieces on the fire.
Right away Kówam had Lok by the throat. He choked him and threw him out.
When Kówam was killed and thrown out, his mother-in-law screamed: “I am glad you are dead, old Black Legs!” When Lok was thrown out, she screamed, “Now you are killed, old Big Feet, my son-in-law is a great man!”
The fight lasted all night. Just as daylight came, Lok tore Kówam’s head off; he kicked the body out and held tight to the head. That moment Kówam said to his brother: “Now I am ready to fight. I was just waiting for another sun to come up.”
He took his bow and arrows and shot at the Loks through the smoke hole, and killed them all. Then he covered the house with dry grass, piled up wood around it, and set it on fire.
Gáhga screamed and cried; he wanted his sister-in-law saved. Kówam wouldn’t listen to him and wouldn’t let his wife out. Then Gáhga got mad at his brother, and said: “Hereafter you won’t have a person for a wife. You will be an animal. People will call you by different names, and you will always live in the woods and make a great noise talking.”
Kówam said: “Punch a stick in where your sister-in-law was sitting.” She was dead, but a voice spoke out of the fire and said to Kówam: “You will always stick your bill up in the sun and look off on the water. And you, my little boy, will be like your brother.”—Ningádaniak.
MINK AND WEASEL
CHARACTERS
Blaiwas Eagle Gäk Crow Gapni Louse Kāhkaas Stork Kaiutois Wolf Kaltsik Spider Kéis Rattlesnake Kékina Lizard Kówe Frog Kûlta Otter Leméis Thunder Lok Bear Moi Squirrel Näníhläs Bat Skóŭks Woodtick Súbbas Sun Sukas Tcûskai Weasel Tskel Mink Tusasás Skunk Wŏn Elk
Two brothers, Tskel and Tcûskai, lived together not far from Klamath Lake. Tskel’s wife was Skóŭks. Tcûskai was a little fellow. One day when Skóŭks was outside cooking deer meat and was blowing the fire to make it burn, she saw Tcûskai watching her; that made her mad and she threw the meat into the fire. Tskel hit Tcûskai and told him to stay in the house when Skóŭks was cooking; then he said to Skóŭks: “Cook more meat; Tcûskai and I are going to the mountain to hunt for deer. If I kill a big deer, we will camp and stay all night.” Tskel never killed a deer; no matter how many he saw, he always let them get away.
When they got to the mountain, they saw a large deer; Tcûskai killed it, and they camped in sight of a big hole between the rocks. Tskel wouldn’t camp very near the hole, for he was afraid his brother would go into it and get hurt. Tcûskai would go anywhere, he wasn’t afraid of anything.
Tskel cut up the deer; then he and Tcûskai lay down, one on each side of the fire. As soon as Tcûskai was asleep, Gopher came and ran across him, just to tease him. Tcûskai woke up and called his brother: “Come here! Come and see this little fellow! I will give him a piece of our meat, and we will catch him.”
Tskel didn’t move; he was asleep. Tcûskai gave Gopher a small piece of meat. He took it and ran off to the rocks, then came back for more, carried that off and came back again. Each time he came Tcûskai gave him a larger piece. At last all the deer meat was gone; then Tcûskai went to Tskel, shook him, and said: “Get up! Get up! This little fellow has carried off all of our meat.”
Tskel didn’t move or say a word. Tcûskai gave Gopher all the roots Tskel had brought from home; then he took off Tskel’s belt and gave it to him. Gopher carried it under the rocks. He gave him Tskel’s deerskin cap and his rabbit-skin blanket.
In the morning when Tskel woke up, the north wind was blowing and he was almost frozen. He asked Tcûskai where the blanket was. Tcûskai said: “Gopher took it.”
“Then you gave it to him,” said Tskel; “Gopher couldn’t unwrap me.”
Tcûskai began to feel cold; he wanted to get into Tskel’s ear, but Tskel was mad, and threw him out. Then he tried to get under Tskel’s arm, but Tskel pushed him away and sat with his arms folded across his breast, for he had no blanket and he was cold.
“Why are you so mad?” asked Tcûskai. “I will get those things back; they are over there under the rocks.”
It was near daylight; Tcûskai was freezing to death. Tskel made a fire and told him to lie down near it and get warm. Then he made himself a bark blanket. When Tcûskai was warm, his brother said: “Now you must get back the things you gave to Gopher.”
Tcûskai ran to the rock and looked into the hole; he thought it was awful deep, but he ran back, and said: “The hole isn’t deep; we can build a fire and drive Gopher out.”
“I want my blanket,” said Tskel; “maybe you can crawl in and get it.”
The mountain was Gopher’s house. The rocks were only the roof of it. Tcûskai saw his brother’s belt, but he was afraid to go and get it. Tskel said: “Make a fire and blow the smoke into the hole. How long can you fan the fire without getting tired?”
“I can fan it till Gopher comes out,” said Tcûskai.
“But there are many holes,” said his brother. “You will have lots of trouble. Do you think you can fill the holes with stones?”
“I can fill them quickly,” said Tskel. He ran around, threw stones into the holes, then came back and blew the fire. But the smoke came out through other holes, and Tskel said: “Go and stop up every hole you can find.”
Tskel, to make Tcûskai sorry for what he had done, hid all the water in a hole where he couldn’t find it. Little Tcûskai got very thirsty. He ran from one spring to another but couldn’t find water; then he knew that his brother had hidden it and he said: “I want some water.”
“You can’t have any until you have killed Gopher,” said Tskel. “When he is dead, I will give you some.”
Tcûskai filled all the little holes and fanned smoke into the big hole. At midday he said to his brother: “I am stronger than you are; you never could have filled all these holes.” He went again to hunt for water. At last he found the place where Tskel had hidden it; then he drank and drank, drank nearly all the water there was in the hole.
Tskel wondered why Tcûskai didn’t come back. At last he thought: “Maybe he has found the water; I will go and see.” Tcûskai was still drinking, and only a little water was left. If Tskel hadn’t thought of the water and gone to look for his brother, he would have drunk it all and there would have been no water in the world.
Tskel caught hold of Tcûskai and threw him against the rocks so hard that he killed him; then he scattered the water. There was only a little left, but it spread fast, spread until there were rivers and lakes. Then Tskel went to his brother, took off the string of rattles he wore around his neck, and struck him five times with it. Tcûskai came to life. Tskel said: “The holes are stopped up; now I will help you kill Gopher. He is terrible to look at when he is mad. You must keep your eyes closed; if you see him, you will die.”
Tskel had two stone knives. He gave one to Tcûskai, then he built a fire and blew the smoke into the big hole. Tcûskai listened; there was a noise of some one moving around in the hole. He was so scared that he died. Tskel brought him to life, and said: “You mustn’t get scared. That was only a young Gopher; old Gopher hasn’t moved yet.”
Tskel blew more smoke into the hole. There was a roar as though the mountain was going to burst open. Tcûskai died again. Tskel brought him to life, and said: “You have played with these people and made all this trouble; now you must stay here till it is over. Don’t get scared every time you hear a noise.”
Just then old Gopher moved and the earth shook. Tcûskai was dreadfully frightened. (He was on one side of the hole and Tskel was on the other.) There was a shaking and roar, then a great, red, fiery head came out of the hole. Tskel cut the head off with his long knife, skinned it, and made a cap of the skin; then he buried the head under great flat rocks. Right away the rocks were as red as blood. (They are red to this day.)
Tskel said to Gopher: “Hereafter you will be of no account. You will dig in the ground and people will make fun of you.”
If Tskel hadn’t killed Gopher, there would be no one living in the world now.
In the hole where Gopher was it is always hot, no matter how cold it is outside. Gopher’s body, turned to stone, is still in the hole.