Part 23

After Tskel killed Gopher, he and Tcûskai went home, but Tskel didn’t want to stay there. He thought about his cousin, Kaiutois. One day he said to Skóŭks: “I am going to see my cousin,” and he sent Tcûskai to ask Gäk if he would go with them. Gäk was willing and the three started off. As they traveled, people told them they mustn’t go near the Leméis family, that they were killing everybody, that each day they carried off men to eat. Tskel said: “I am traveling around the world to see people; I’m not afraid of Leméis.”

When they got near Leméis’ house, Tskel put on his gopher-skin cap and put little Tcûskai under his arm, where he couldn’t do any mischief. Then he gave Gäk a sharp bone, and said: “When they give you dead men’s meat to eat, make a hole in your throat and let it out; don’t swallow it.”

The five Kaiutois brothers and old man Leméis with his wife and five boys lived in one house. The five Kaiutois lived on one side of the house and old Leméis on the other. When Tskel went to the house, the Kaiutois brothers and Leméis boys were off hunting for deer.

Old Leméis and his wife saw Tskel’s gopher-skin cap and they were so scared that they ran out of the house. They built a fire and began cooking; they were afraid to go inside. The wives and children of the Kaiutois brothers were frightened, too.

Tskel sat in the house with his head down. Tcûskai teased him to let him put the cap on and run out and scare the old man, but Tskel pinched him and told him to keep still where he was, under his arm. Gäk was lying on the ground and looking at Tskel.

Soon old Leméis’ eldest son came home. When he saw his father and mother outside, he asked: “What are you doing out here?”

The old man said: “There is something strange in our house. We can’t stay there. We have never seen anything like it before. It is terrible!”

“What is there stronger than I am?” asked the son. “I have been off killing men. I am not afraid of this thing.”

“You haven’t seen it,” said old Leméis. “You can’t go into the house.”

The young man went to the house. He took one step down the ladder, saw Tskel’s cap, and turned back, screaming so loud that the ground shook. He said to his father, “There is something there stronger than I am; I can’t go in.”

The second brother came home. He saw his father outside and asked: “Why are you out here?”

“There is something in our house stronger than we are. We can’t go in,” said the father.

The young man laughed, and asked: “What is there stronger than I am? There is nothing I can’t kill.” He was down two steps of the ladder when he saw the cap; he screamed and ran out.

One after another the five brothers came home. Each brother got one step farther into the house; each one screamed and ran out. The fourth brother said: “I am stronger than anybody. If this man had ever heard of me, he wouldn’t have come here.” He took four steps into the house, roared with fright, and ran away. The fifth brother was the strongest of all the brothers. There were five steps down into the house; he was on the last step when he saw Tskel’s cap. He roared and with one step was out.

The five Kaiutois brothers came home just at sundown. When Tskel saw them, he looked up and they knew him. He took off his cap, put it behind him, and they all went in. Then they called their wives, and asked: “Why didn’t you cook for this man? He is hungry. Come in and cook deer meat for him.”

Tskel said: “Tell Leméis and his sons to come in. It is cold outside.” They were glad; they went in, and right away they began to cook dead men.

Kaiutois’ meat was done first, and Gäk and Tskel ate deer meat. Little Tcûskai said: “Let me down, brother; I want to eat. I am hungry.” Tcûskai pinched him and told him to keep still, but Tcûskai said: “I can’t, you don’t give me enough to eat.”

When Leméis’ meat was done, the eldest son gave some of it to Gäk. Gäk put it in his mouth, but it came out of the hole in his throat and dropped on the ground.

Tskel put some strong sticks in Gäk’s arms, for he knew that the Leméis brothers would try to kill him. They sat down by the fire and asked Gäk to come and sit near them. Then they said to one another: “Let’s twist arms,” and the eldest brother said: “Come and play with us, Gäk.”

Gäk said: “I never play that way.” After they had teased him a long time, Tskel said: “Play with them; I won’t let them hurt you.”

The eldest brother took hold of Gäk, twisted his arm hard, but couldn’t break it; it was soft. “Stiffen your arm,” said Leméis. Gäk stiffened his arm, but Leméis couldn’t break it. Then Gäk took hold of Leméis’ arm, twisted it hard, and broke it. Leméis ran out of the house and died.

The second brother was ashamed. He said: “That is the way my brother always does. If he gets beaten, he runs away. Try me.” He twisted Gäk’s arm, but no matter how he twisted he couldn’t break it. Then Gäk twisted his arm and broke it, and he ran outside and died.

Gäk killed four of the brothers; then the youngest and strongest wanted to try. Gäk didn’t want to twist arms with him, but Tskel said: “Don’t be afraid, he can’t kill you.” Gäk held out his arm and Leméis twisted it terribly. Gäk screamed; he couldn’t help it, it hurt so.

Then Tskel said to Leméis: “Let me twist your arm.” He took hold of Leméis’ hand with a tight grip and broke every bone in it; then he twisted his arm and broke it.

When all five of the old man’s sons were dead, Tskel said: “Hereafter you will be of no use in this world. You will be persons no longer. You will go up to the sky and all you will do there will be to frighten people by making a big noise.”

He told the five Kaiutois brothers not to live in the house with old Leméis and his wife. “Their house is dirty,” said he. “It smells of dead people. The juice of dead people runs on to your meat; you have the taste of it now, and in after times you will try to kill people.”

The Kaiutois brothers moved away. Old Leméis and his wife felt badly; they were lonesome for their children. Tskel said: “You can go to your sons; you are of no use in this world,” and he sent them to the sky.

Now Tskel and Tcûskai went home. Skóŭks was mourning; she thought they were dead.

The next day Tskel went to hunt. He killed five deer and was home at midday. He was dry and he sent his brother to bring him some water. Tcûskai ran to the spring, and there, sitting in the spring, was an old, white-haired man.

“What are you here for?” asked Tcûskai. “We don’t want old men in our spring. My brother is dry. I am after water for him. Get out of our spring!” He told him two or three times to get out. The old man didn’t move, but at last he said: “Go and tell your brother to come and wrestle with me.” Tcûskai ran back to the house.

“Why didn’t you bring me some water?” asked Tskel.

“There is an old man sitting in the spring,” said Tcûskai. “He won’t let me get a drop of water.”

“Go back and get me some water!” said Tskel.

Tcûskai went back and screamed: “Get out of there, old man! You are all dirt; you’ll spoil our water!”

The old man didn’t move, but he said: “Tell your brother to come and wrestle with me. I hear that he has killed all the Leméis people. I am their kin. I have come to wrestle with him.”

Tcûskai said: “Let my brother have some water to drink; then he will come.”

The old man turned around and let Tcûskai take a little water out of the spring. Tcûskai carried it to his brother, and said: “That old man has come to fight you for killing the Leméis people. He wants you to come to the spring and wrestle with him.”

Tskel drank the water and ate pounded seed. Then he went to the spring and wrestled with the old man. They wrestled till dark, then the old man threw Tskel, rolled him up in a skin blanket, took his own form,—an animal with great horns,—put Tskel on his horns, and carried him down in the water and off under the ground. He carried him a long distance, then came out near a large lake. He took Tskel off his horns, unrolled him, and said: “Look around, before I kill you.”

Tskel saw that they were on a narrow ridge of rock that ran, like a little trail, to the middle of the lake.

The old man said: “When I get to the end of this trail, I will cut you into small pieces and throw you to my children. They are hungry for your flesh. As I throw the pieces, I will say: ‘Here is a piece of Tskel. Eat it.’ They will be glad, and all my kin will be glad that you are dead.”

When he was through talking, he rolled Tskel up again, put him on his horns, and started. Tskel moved a little.

“What are you doing?” asked the old man.

“I am scratching myself.”

“You needn’t scratch; you will die soon.”

“I itch; I can scratch while I live,” said Tskel. He moved again.

“What are you doing now?” asked the old man.

“I don’t lie easy.”

“Why bother about that? you will die soon.”

“I don’t want to suffer while I live,” said Tskel. He was getting his stone knife out. It was tied up in his hair and the old man hadn’t seen it. With the knife Tskel cut holes in the skin blanket for his eyes and his hands, and just as he got to the end of the trail, he stuck the knife into the old man and killed him. Then he cut the body up and threw it piece by piece into the lake. As he threw the pieces, he called out: “Here is Tskel’s shoulder! Here are Tskel’s ribs! Here are his legs! Here are his arms!” As fast as he threw the pieces, the old man’s children caught and ate them. At last he threw the head. It was an awful-looking thing, enough to scare any one.

When the children saw it and knew that they had eaten their father, they were so mad that they sent everything they had to find Tskel and kill him. They sent what they thought he would like,—knives, hatchets, beads, shells, blankets—to lie in his path. If he took up any one of them, he would die.

Tskel passed them all till he came to the last, a stone knife sharp on both edges, that looked so nice that he picked it up. Right away the ends of his fingers were burned off. He dropped the knife, rubbed his fingers with his own stone knife, and they were well again. Then he went on till he reached home. Skóŭks and little Tcûskai had covered their hair with deer fat and pounded coal; they were mourning for him.

When Tskel saw Tcûskai, he asked: “What are you doing? Why are you so dirty?”

Tcûskai said: “I was just going to look for you.”

Skóŭks said: “He should be whipped for telling lies. He has been everywhere in the world hunting for you. Just now he came home and put coal on his head, for when he couldn’t find you he thought you were dead.”

Tskel was chief in the Klamath country. He was the strongest person living. No other man could have killed the old man of the lake.

Now Tskel stayed at home for a long time. He killed deer and dried the meat and told his brother many things about the people in the world.

One day when he was out hunting, he heard somebody singing a beautiful song; he listened and wondered who it was. Then he followed the sound. It drew him along till he came to a big cedar tree. A woman was sitting on a bough of the tree and throwing cedar berries on to a blanket spread under the tree. When she saw Tskel, she called out: “Come and sit on the blanket!” He knew she was the old man’s daughter, and he wouldn’t go near her; he went home.

The next day he heard the song again, but he didn’t follow it. He went home and told Skóŭks that the old man’s daughter had come to kill him. He didn’t hunt again. One day the woman came and sat in a clump of bushes near Tskel’s house and told the crows to fly over her. Little Tcûskai saw the crows and said to his brother: “The crows are eating something. You had better go and see what it is.”

“Don’t go near that place,” said Tskel.

Tcûskai thought: “Why does my brother tell me not to go to those bushes? I am going.” He went around the house, out of Tskel’s sight, and crept toward the bushes. He found a woman sitting on a low stump; as he went up to her she spat out beautiful beads. The second time she spat, Tcûskai picked up some of the beads. Each time she spat the beads were more beautiful than before.

“What kind of a woman are you?” asked Tcûskai. She didn’t answer.

Tcûskai went home, and said: “Oh, brother, there is a beautiful woman over there in the bushes. You must have her for a wife. Send Skóŭks off and take her.” Tskel said: “Why don’t you get her for a wife; she must have come for you.” He was sleepy. He had been in a half dream since the first day he heard the woman’s song.

Tcûskai went three or four times to see the woman and each time she spat beads. When she found that Tskel wouldn’t come to her, she went to the house. Skóŭks saw her coming and she fixed herself up. She had power and could do things. Tskel was lying on the ground. When the woman came in, she sat down by him and began spitting beads. Then Skóŭks spat, and her beads were nice. The woman was frightened a little; she spat long white beads; Skóŭks spat more beautiful beads. They kept spitting beads till, just as the sun went down, the woman by her power made sleep come over Tskel and Tcûskai, and made Skóŭks grow so sleepy she could scarcely see. When darkness came the woman began to wrap Tskel in a skin blanket to carry him off.

Right away Skóŭks was wide awake. She jumped on the woman and fought with her. They fought all night. First one would have Tskel and then the other. He was sound asleep all the time. There was such a dust from their fighting that Tcûskai was covered with it. Just at daylight Skóŭks gave out; she couldn’t fight any longer.

The woman snatched up Tskel and carried him off. She went under the ground, and as she went she made a furrow on the surface. Skóŭks followed for a long time, but she couldn’t get at the woman, for she couldn’t travel underground. At last she went home, struck Tcûskai with his neck rattles, and said: “You had better get up and follow your brother. You found him a nice wife, nicer than I am. Now you can go and live with them!”

Tcûskai woke up and went off to look for his brother. The trail had disappeared; he couldn’t find even one track.

When the woman went into the ground, she was just such an animal as her father had been. She carried Tskel on her horns till she came out at the lake, then she put him down and said: “I will let you rest twice before I kill you. How do you like this place?”

“I like it. I have been here before,” said Tskel.

She carried him to the middle of the trail in the lake, then she put him down, and asked: “What did you do when you were here before?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you think you will ever go home?”

“No.”

“What do you think you will do when you die? Will you come to life, or will you stay dead?”

“I don’t know,” said Tskel.

She took him up to carry him to the end of the trail where she could throw him into the lake. He got his knife out, a little at a time, and just as she was going to put him down again, he cut her head off. From each side of the ridge the water rushed up; the ridge shook and made a terrible noise. Tskel cut the woman’s body up, and threw the pieces into the water. As he threw them, he called out, “Here are Tskel’s ribs! Here is Tskel’s arm!” He threw the head; then ran with all his might. When the old man’s sons saw the head and knew that they had eaten their sister, they were so mad that they sent stone knives, beaded blankets and skins of all kinds to lie on the trail in front of Tskel. He had hard work to jump over them without getting burned, but he didn’t touch or hit even one. When he got home Skóŭks and little Tcûskai were mourning. Their hair was cut and pitch was running over their faces. They sat with their heads down and didn’t look up.

Tskel sat down by Tcûskai, and asked: “Why are you so dirty?”

Tcûskai jumped up, and cried out: “Are you here? I was just going to look for you.”

Tskel said: “Heat some water. I am going to wash Skóŭks’ head, and yours, too.”

After he had washed their heads, he wrapped a skin blanket around them, and the next morning Skóŭks and Tcûskai had nice long hair.

Now Tskel moved off a little way from his old home. He made arrow points and killed deer.

Kāhkaas was kin of Tskel and one day she came to visit him. Soon Tcûskai ran in, and said: “I see lots of little tracks around here. Twist me some strings, Kāhkaas, so I can trap the things that make the tracks.”

Tskel said to Kāhkaas: “Maybe they are the tracks of your children. Where did you leave them?”

“I left them high on a tree off in the middle of the great water. My children are safe.”

Kāhkaas twisted strings for Tcûskai and he set his trap. Soon he came back bringing the five Kāhkaas boys in his trap. Kāhkaas was terribly angry and sorry; she said: “Give them to me; I will go off in the woods and roast and eat them.” (She went to bury them.) Tcûskai watched Kāhkaas. Tskel knew that trouble would come, that Kāhkaas would try and kill them. He lay down, he felt sorry.

Soon Tcûskai cried: “Get up, brother! A great elk is coming. I’ll go and kill it.”

“Don’t go in front of it,” said Tskel. “Shoot it from behind!”

Tcûskai shot three times at the elk; each time he hit its horns. Then the elk turned, caught him on her horns, and ran off to the mountains. She ran a long way, then changed into Kāhkaas and flew, with Tcûskai, to the tree on the island in the middle of the ocean.

When the elk ran off with Tcûskai, Tskel fell on the ground and cried. Then he jumped up and started off to find him. He went everywhere, stopped at every house, and asked every person he met if they had seen little Tcûskai. But nobody had seen him. At last he came to a house where a sick woman lived; she was covered with sores. When she saw Tskel, she called out, “Don’t come in here!” Tskel asked: “Have you seen my brother?” “I haven’t seen anybody, I never go anywhere, and nobody ever comes here. You can ask at the next house.”

Tskel went on till he came to a rock house right on the trail. He couldn’t see a door. He walked around the house, but couldn’t find an opening. Then he called out: “Who lives here?” The rock answered, “I live here!”—The house was a person.—Tskel asked: “Have you seen my brother? Kāhkaas has carried him off.” “I go nowhere, and nobody comes here. I have no eyes, I can’t see. You can ask at the next house. The people there see a great deal; maybe they can tell you where your brother is.”

When Tskel got to the house, there were five persons inside and one said to another: “Make room for that man to come in and sit down.” “I can’t,” said that one. “I’m just finishing my work. You can make room for him.” “I can’t, I’m just beginning my work.”—Some of the men were braiding threads and others were twisting them.—When each man had refused to make room for Tskel, it was just sunset. He went into the house, gave the fire a kick, and sent it everywhere. It burned up all the threads and ropes the men were making.

“I feel lonesome,” said he. “I can’t listen to your words; they make me mad. I have lost my little brother; Kāhkaas has carried him off. Do you know anything about him?—Sprinkle your threads with water and roll them up; they will be whole again.—I have been everywhere in the world, but I can’t find Tcûskai. I want to ask Súbbas if he can tell me where he is. I can do everything, but I can’t find my brother. I want you to go up to Súbbas’ house and ask him if he has seen Tcûskai.”

Old man Kaltsik said: “We never go to Súbbas’ house. No one ever goes there.”

Tskel said: “I will give you anything you want if you will go.” Tskel teased a long time, and at last Kaltsik said: “I will go.”

He started just at daybreak. He traveled fast, going up all the time. He reached Súbbas’ house in the middle of the sky before Súbbas got there. He turned himself into a little clump of bushes, right on Súbbas’ trail. When Súbbas came hurrying along, he stumbled against the bushes, and said: “What is here? I never saw anything on this trail before.”

Kaltsik took his own form, jumped up, and said, “I am here.”

“What are you here for?” asked Súbbas.

“Tskel has lost his brother, little Tcûskai, and he wants you to tell him where he is.”

“I can’t wait to talk,” said Súbbas. “I am always hurrying along; I only stop here at midday. I’m afraid Lok will catch me.”

“Oh,” said Kaltsik, “you should tell Tskel where his brother is. I’m sorry for him; he feels lonesome.”

“Come to-morrow,” said Súbbas, and he hurried along. It was night when Kaltsik got down to the ground. The next morning he started and before midday he turned himself into weeds and lay on Súbbas’ path. When Súbbas came rushing along, he said: “What is this? I never saw anything on my trail before.” Kaltsik sprang up. “Why have you come here?” asked Súbbas. “I have no time to spend talking.”

Kaltsik said: “Tskel will give you anything you want if you will tell him where Tcûskai is. He has all kinds of things; beautiful beads—”

“I am brighter than beads. I don’t want beads!” said Súbbas, “but I want a ring and a string of green shells to hang on my ears, and a white blanket to cover me on bright days. Tell Tskel to send you up to-morrow, if he has those things to give me.”

Súbbas went on and Kaltsik got back to earth just before dark. He told Tskel what Súbbas wanted, and Tskel began to make the things. He worked all night; in the morning they were ready, and Kaltsik took them up to Súbbas. Súbbas was glad.—He still wears the ring. People can see it just before a storm. (Circle around the sun. It is called Wänämsäkät­saliyis.) They can see his green shells and his white blanket, too.—When he had them all, he said: “This morning when I was over that mountain in the east, I heard a man chopping wood and off on an island I caught the smell of burning flesh. That old man on the mountains has Tcûskai.”

When Tskel found out where his brother was, he turned himself into an old woman, with a hump on her back, and went to the mountain.

When the man saw him, he said: “I think you are Tskel.”

Tskel said: “I’m not a man, I’m an old woman. I heard that you had caught Tskel’s brother and were going to kill him; I want to see him.”

“I have him on an island; he’ll die soon. He killed all of my sons. Now I am going to kill him. Help me with this wood.”

Tskel helped pack up a load of wood, then the old man bent over and Tskel put the load on his back and gave him a cane to help himself up by. “Bend,” said he to the cane. “Break and go into the old man’s heart.”

The cane broke and one half of it struck the old man in the heart and killed him. Tskel put the pieces together and the cane was whole again.

The old man had told Tskel that he was so glad to have Tcûskai that he danced all the time he was carrying wood to smoke him. Tskel strapped the pack of wood on his own back and danced along with it till he came to the canoe; then he danced in the canoe.

Old Kāhkaas had two servants, Kéis and Lok. Kéis guarded the landing. When Tskel got out of the canoe, Kéis wanted to spring at him, but Tskel said: “Don’t touch me. I am your master!” He said the same to Lok, who was sitting by the smoke hole on top of the house, and Lok let him go down the ladder into the house. As soon as he was at the foot of the ladder, he saw Tcûskai hanging over the fire. Old woman Kāhkaas was smoking him. He cut Tcûskai down and put him under his arm. Then he caught Kāhkaas and tore her to pieces. He threw the pieces off in different directions, and they became hills and mountains. He took Tcûskai home and cured him.

After a time Tskel said to his brother: “We will go and hunt for Wŏn.”—Wŏn was so large that he had to bend down to cut off the branches of trees.—When Skóŭks gave them seeds to eat, Tskel said: “If we don’t come back soon, you will know that we have killed Wŏn.”

They hadn’t gone far when Tcûskai cried out: “I see a big deer!”