Part 15
Now, when the Coyote had heard the Mountain Lion coming, he had sneaked off into a corner; but he stuck his sharp nose out, and the Mountain Lion espied it. “_Hu-hu-ya!_” said he. “Sling that bad-smelling beast out of the house! Kick him out!” cried the old man, with a growl. So the sister, fearing that her brother would eat her husband up, took the Coyote in her arms and carried him into another room.
“Now, stay there and keep still, for brother is very cross; but then he is always cross if things don’t go right,” she said.
So when evening came her brothers began to discuss where they would go hunting the next day; and the Coyote, who was listening at the door, heard them. So he called out: “Wife! Wife!”
“_Shom-me!_” remarked old Long Tail. “Shut up, you dirty whelp.” And as the sister arose to go to see what her husband wanted, the Mountain Lion remarked: “You had better sling that foul-smelling cub of yours over the roof.”
No sooner had the girl entered than the Coyote began to brag what a runner he was, and to cut around at a great rate.
“_Shom-me!_” exclaimed the Mountain Lion again. “A Coyote always will make a Coyote of himself, foul-smelling wretch! _Hu-hu-ya!_”
“Shut up, and behave yourself!” cried the Wolf. “Don’t you know any better than to talk about your brother-in-law in that way?” But neither the Coyote nor the girl could sleep that night for the growlings and roarings of their big brother, the Long Tail.
When the brothers began to prepare for the hunt the next morning, out came the Coyote all ready to accompany them. “You, you?” said the Mountain Lion. “You going to hunt with us? You conceited sneak!”
“Let him go if he wants to,” said the Wolf.
“_Hu-hu-ya!_ Fine company!” remarked the Mountain Lion. “If you fellows want to walk with him, you may. There’s one thing certain, I’ll not be seen in his company,” and away strode the old fellow, lashing his tail and growling as he went. So the Coyote, taking a luncheon of dried meat that his wife put up for him, sneaked along behind with his tail dragging in the dust. Finally they all reached the mountain where they intended to hunt, and soon the Mountain Lion and the Bear started out to drive in a herd of antelope that they had scented in the distance. Presently along rushed the leaders of the herd.
“Now, then, I’ll show your cross old brother whether I can hunt or not,” cried the Coyote, and away he rushed right into the herd of antelope and deer before anyone could restrain him. Of course he made a Coyote of himself, and away went the deer in all directions. Nevertheless, the brothers, who were great hunters, succeeded in catching a few of them; and, just as they sat down to lunch, the Mountain Lion returned with a big elk on his shoulders.
“Where is our sweet-scented brother-in-law?” he asked.
“Nobody knows,” replied they. “He rushed off after the deer and antelope, and that was the last of him.”
“Of course the beast will make a Coyote of himself. But he can go till he can go no longer, for all I care,” added the Mountain Lion, as he sat down to eat.
Presently along came the Coyote.
“Where’s your game, my fine hunter?” asked the Mountain Lion.
“They all got away from me,” whined the Coyote.
“Of course they did, you fool!” sneered the Mountain Lion. “The best thing that you can do is to go home and see your wife. Here, take this meat to sister,” said he, slinging him a haunch of venison.
“Where’s the road?” asked the Coyote.
“Well,” said the Wolf, “follow that path right over there until you come to where it forks; then be sure to take the right-hand trail, for if you follow the left-hand trail it will lead you away from home and into trouble.”
“Which trail did you say?” cried the Coyote.
“_Shom-me!_” again exclaimed the Mountain Lion.
“Oh, yes,” hastily added the Coyote; “the right-hand trail. No, the left-hand trail.”
“Just what you might expect,” growled the Mountain Lion. “Already the fool has forgotten what you told him. Well, as for me, he can go on the left-hand trail if he wants to, and the farther he goes the better.”
“Now, be sure and take the right-hand trail,” called the Wolf, as the Coyote started.
“I know, I know,” cried the Coyote; and away he went with his heavy haunch of venison slung over his shoulder. After a while he came to the fork in the trail. “Let me see,” said he, “it’s the left-hand trail, it seems to me. No, the right-hand trail. Well, I declare, I’ve forgotten! Perhaps it is the right-hand trail, and maybe it is the left-hand trail. Yes, it is the left-hand trail. Now I’m certain.” And, picking up his haunch of venison, away he trotted along the left-hand trail. Presently he came to a steep cliff and began to climb it. But he had no sooner reached the middle than a lot of Chimney-swallows began to fly around his head and pick at his eyes, and slap him on the nose with their wings.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” exclaimed the Coyote. “Aye! aye!” and he bobbed his head from side to side to dodge the Swallows, until he missed his footing, and down he tumbled, heels over head,--meat, Coyote, and all,--until he struck a great pile of rocks below, and was dashed to pieces.
That was the end of the Coyote; but not of my story.
Now, the brothers went on hunting again. Then, one by one, they returned home. As before, the Mountain Lion came in last of all. He smelt all about the room. “Whew!” exclaimed he. “It still smells here as if twenty Coyotes had been around. But it seems to me that our fine brother-in-law isn’t anywhere about.”
“No,” responded the rest, with troubled looks on their faces. “Nobody has seen anything of him yet.”
“_Shom--m-m!_” remarked the Mountain Lion again. “Didn’t I tell you, brothers, that he was a fool and would forget your directions? I say I told you that before he started. Well, for my part, I hope the beast has gone so far that he will never return,” and with that he ate his supper.
When supper was over, the sister said: “Come, brothers, let’s go and hunt for my husband.”
At first the Mountain Lion growled and swore a great deal; but at last he consented to go. When they came to where the trails forked, there were the tracks of the Coyote on the left-hand trail.
“The idiot!” exclaimed the Mountain Lion. “I hope he has fallen off the cliff and broken every bone in his body!”
When at last the party reached the mountain, sure enough, there lay the body of the Coyote, with not a whole bone in him except his head.
“Good enough for you,” growled the Mountain Lion, as he picked up a great stone and, _tu-um!_ threw it down with all his strength upon the head of the Coyote.
That’s what happened a great while ago. And for that reason whenever a Coyote sees a bait of meat inside of a stone deadfall he is sure to stick his nose in and get his head mashed for his pains.
Thus shortens my story.
HOW THE COYOTES TRIED TO STEAL THE CHILDREN OF THE SACRED DANCE
In the times of the ancients, when our people lived in various places about the valley of Zuñi where ruins now stand, it is said that an old Coyote lived in Cedar Cañon with his family, which included a fine litter of pups. It is also said that at this time there lived on the crest of Thunder Mountain, back of the broad rock column or pinnacle which guards its western portion, one of the gods of the Sacred Drama Dance (_Kâkâ_)[13], named K’yámakwe, with his children, many in number and altogether like himself.
[13] The _Kâkâ_, or Sacred Drama Dance, is represented by a great variety of masks and costumes worn by Zuñi dancers during the performance of this remarkable dramatic ceremony. Undoubtedly many of the traditional characters of the Sacred Drama thus represented are conventionalizations of the mythic conceptions or personifications of animal attributes. Therefore many of these characters partake at once of the characteristics, in appearance as well as in other ways, of animals and men. The example in point is a good illustration of this. The K’yámakwe are supposed to have been a most wonderful and powerful tribe of demi-gods, inhabiting a great valley and range of mesas some forty miles south of Zuñi. Their powers over the atmospheric phenomena of nature and over all the herbivorous animals are supposed to have been absolute. Their attitude toward man was at times inimical, at times friendly or beneficent. Such a relationship, controlled simply by either laudatory or propitiatory worship, was supposed to hold spiritually, still, between these and other beings represented in the Sacred Drama and men. It is believed that through the power of breath communicated by these ancient gods to men, from one man to another man, and thus from generation to generation, an actual connection has been kept up between initiated members of the _Kâkâ_ drama and these original demi-god characters which it represents; so that when a member is properly dressed in the costume of any one of these characters, a ceremony (the description of which is too long for insertion here) accompanying the putting on of the mask is supposed not only to place him _en rapport_ spiritually with the character he represents, but even to possess him with the spirit of that character or demi-god. He is, therefore, so long as he remains disguised as one of these demi-gods, treated as if he were actually that being which he personates. One of the K’yámakwe is represented by means of a mask, round and smooth-headed, with little black eyes turned up at the corners so as to represent a segment of a diminishing spiral; the color of the face is green, and it is separated from the rest of the head by a line composed of alternate blocks of black and yellow; the crown and back of the head are snow-white; and the ears are pendent and conical in shape, being composed of husks or other paper-like material; the mouth is round, and furnished with a four-pointed beak of husks, which extends two or three inches outward and spreads at the end like the petals of a half-closed lily; round the neck is a collar of fox fur, and covering the body are flowing robes of sacred embroidered mantles, which (notwithstanding the gay ornaments and other appurtenances of the costume) have, in connection with the expression of the mask, a spectral effect; the feet are encased in brilliantly painted moccasins, of archaic form, and the wrists laden with shell bracelets and bow-guards. When the long file of these strange figures making up the K’yámakwe Drama Dance comes in from the southward to the dance plazas of the pueblo, each member of it bears on his back freshly slain deer, antelope, rabbits, and other game animals or portions of them in abundance, made up in packages, highly decorated with tufts of evergreen, and painted toys for presentation to the children. In one hand are carried bows and arrows, and in the other a peculiar rattle or clanger made of the shoulder-blades of deer. The wonder expressed by the coyote as the story goes on, and his excessive admiration of the children of the K’yámakwe may therefore be understood.
One day the old Coyote of Cedar Cañon went out hunting, and as he was prowling around among the sage-bushes below Thunder Mountain, he heard the clang and rattle and the shrill cries of the K’yámakwe. He pricked up his ears, stuck his nose into the air, sniffed about and looked all around, and presently discovered the K’yámakwe children running rapidly back and forth on the very edge of the mountain.
“Delight of my senses, what pretty creatures they are! Good for me!” he piped, in a jovial voice. “I am the finder of children. I must capture the little fellows tomorrow, and bring them up as Coyotes ought to be brought up. Aren’t they handsome, though?”
All this he said to himself, in a fit of conceit, with his nose in the air (presumptuous cur!), planning to steal the children of a god! He hunted no more that day, but ran home as fast as he could, and, arriving there, he said: “Wife! Wife! O wife! I have discovered a number of the prettiest waifs one ever saw. They are children of the _Kâkâ_, but what matters that? They are there, running back and forth and clanging their rattles along the very edge of Thunder Mountain. I mean to steal them tomorrow, every one of them, and bring them here!”
“Mercy on us!” exclaimed the old Coyote’s wife. “There are children enough and to spare already. What in the world can we do with all of them, you fool?”
“But they are pretty,” said the Coyote. “Immensely fine! Every Coyote in the country would envy us the possession of them!”
“But you say they are many,” continued the wife.
“Well, yes, a good many,” said the Coyote.
“Well, why not divide them among our associated clans?” suggested the old woman. “You never can capture them alone; it is rare enough that you capture _anything_ alone, leave out the children of the K’yámakwe. Get your relatives to help you, and divide the children amongst them.”
“Well, now, come to think of it, it is a good plan,” said the Coyote, with his nose on his neck. “If I get up this expedition I’ll be a big chief, won’t I? Hurrah! Here’s for it!” he shouted; and, switching his tail in the face of his wife, he shot out of the hole and ran away to a high rock, where, squatting down with a most important air and his nose lifted high, he cried out:
“_Au hii lâ-â-â-â! Su Homaya-kwe! Su Kemaya-kwe! Su Ayalla-kwe! Su Kutsuku-kwe!_
[Listen ye all! Coyotes of the Cedar-cañon tribe! Coyotes of the Sunflower-stalk-plain tribe! Coyotes of the Lifted-stone-mountain tribe! Coyotes of the Place-of-rock-gullies tribe!]
I have instructions for you this day. I have found waif children many--of the K’yámakwe, the young. I would steal the waif-children many, of the K’yámakwe, the young. I would steal them tomorrow, that they may be adopted of us. I would have your aid in the stealing of the K’yámakwe young. Listen ye all, and tomorrow gather in council. Thus much I instruct ye:
“Coyotes of the Cedar-cañon tribe! Coyotes of the Sunflower-stalk-plain tribe! Coyotes of the Lifted-stone-mountain tribe! Coyotes of the Place-of-rock-gullies tribe!”
It was growing dark, and immediately from all quarters, in dark places under the cañons and arroyos, issued answering howls and howls. You should have seen that crowd of Coyotes the next morning, large and small, old and young,--all four tribes gathered together in the plain below Thunder Mountain!
When they had all assembled, the Coyote who had made the discovery mounted an ant-hill, sat down, and, lifting his paw, was about to give directions with the air of a chief when an ant bit him. He lost his dignity, but resumed it again on the top of a neighboring rock. Again he stuck his nose into the air and his paw out, and with ridiculous assumption informed the Coyotes that he was chief of them all and that they would do well to pay attention to his directions. He then showed himself much more skilful than you might have expected. As you know, the cliff of Thunder Mountain is very steep, especially that part back of the two standing rocks. Well, this was the direction of the Coyote:
“One of you shall place himself at the base of the mountain; another shall climb over him, and the first one shall grasp his tail; and another over them, and his tail shall be grasped by the second, and so on until the top is reached. Hang tight, my friends, every one of you, and every one fall in line. Eructate thoroughly before you do so. If you do not, we may be in a pretty mess; for, supposing that any one along the line should hiccough, he would lose his hold, and down we would all fall!”
So the Coyotes all at once began to curve their necks and swell themselves up and strain and wriggle and belch wind as much as possible. Then all fell into a line and grabbed each other’s tails, and thus they extended themselves in a long string up the very face of Thunder Mountain. A ridiculous little pup was at one end and a good, strong, grizzled old fellow--no other than the chief of the party--at the other.
“Souls of my ancestors! Hang tight, my friends! Hang tight! Hang tight!” said he, when, suddenly, one near the top, in the agitation of the moment, began to sneeze, lost his hold, and down the whole string, hundreds of them, fell, and were completely flattened out among the rocks.
The warrior of the _Kâkâ_--he of the Long Horn, with frightful, staring eyes, and visage blue with rage,--bow and war-club in hand, was hastening from the sacred lake in the west to rescue the children of the K’yámakwe. When he arrived they had been rescued already, so, after storming around a little and mauling such of the Coyotes as were not quite dead, he set to skin them all.
And ever since then you will observe that the dancers of the Long Horn have blue faces, and whenever they arrive in our pueblo wear collars of coyote-skin about their necks. That is the way they got them. Before that they had no collars. It is presumable that that is the reason why they bellow so and have such hoarse voices, having previously taken cold, every one of them, for the want of fur collars.
Thus shortens my story.
THE COYOTE AND THE BEETLE
In remote times, after our ancients were settled at Middle Ant Hill, a little thing occurred which will explain a great deal.
My children, you have doubtless seen Tip-beetles. They run around on smooth, hard patches of ground in spring time and early summer, kicking their heels into the air and thrusting their heads into any crack or hole they find.
Well, in ancient times, on the pathway leading around to Fat Mountain, there was one of these Beetles running about in all directions in the sunshine, when a Coyote came trotting along. He pricked up his ears, lowered his nose, arched his neck, and stuck out his paw toward the Beetle. “Ha!” said he, “I shall bite you!”
The Beetle immediately stuck his head down close to the ground, and, lifting one of his antennæ deprecatingly, exclaimed: “Hold on! Hold on, friend! Wait a bit, for the love of mercy! I hear something very strange down below here!”
“Humph!” replied the Coyote. “What do you hear?”
“Hush! hush!” cried the Beetle, with his head still to the ground. “Listen!”
So the Coyote drew back and listened most attentively. By-and-by the Beetle lifted himself with a long sigh of relief.
“_Okwe!_” exclaimed the Coyote. “What was going on?”
“The Good Soul save us!” exclaimed the Beetle, with a shake of his head. “I heard them saying down there that tomorrow they would chase away and thoroughly chastise everybody who defiled the public trails of this country, and they are making ready as fast as they can!”
“Souls of my ancestors!” cried the Coyote. “I have been loitering along this trail this very morning, and have defiled it repeatedly. I’ll cut!” And away he ran as fast as he could go.
The Beetle, in pure exuberance of spirits, turned somersaults and stuck his head in the sand until it was quite turned.
Thus did the Beetle in the days of the ancients save himself from being bitten. Consequently the Tip-beetle has that strange habit of kicking his heels into the air and sticking his head in the sand.
Thus shortens my story.
HOW THE COYOTE DANCED WITH THE BLACKBIRDS
One late autumn day in the times of the ancients, a large council of Blackbirds were gathered, fluttering and chattering, on the smooth, rocky slopes of Gorge Mountain, northwest of Zuñi. Like ourselves, these birds, as you are well aware, congregate together in autumn time, when the harvests are ripe, to indulge in their festivities before going into winter quarters; only we do not move away, while they, on strong wings and swift, retreat for a time to the Land of Everlasting Summer.
Well, on this particular morning they were making a great noise and having a grand dance, and this was the way of it: They would gather in one vast flock, somewhat orderly in its disposition, on the sloping face of Gorge Mountain,--the older birds in front, the younger ones behind,-and down the slope, chirping and fluttering, they would hop, hop, hop, singing:
“_Ketchu, Ketchu, oñtilã, oñtilã, Ketchu, Ketchu, oñtilã, oñtilã! Âshokta a yá-à-laa Ke-e-tchu, Oñtilã, Oñtilã!_”--
Blackbirds, Blackbirds, dance away, O, dance away, O! Blackbirds, Blackbirds, dance away, O, dance away, O! Down the Mountain of the Gorges, Blackbirds, Dance away, O! Dance away, O!--
and, spreading their wings, with many a flutter, flurry, and scurry, _keh keh,--keh keh,--keh keh,--keh keh_,--they would fly away into the air, swirling off in a dense, black flock, circling far upward and onward; then, wheeling about and darting down, they would dip themselves in the broad spring which flows out at the foot of the mountain, and return to their dancing place on the rocky slopes.
A Coyote was out hunting (as if he could catch anything, the beast!) and saw them, and was enraptured.
“You beautiful creatures!” he exclaimed. “You graceful dancers! Delight of my senses! How do you do that, anyway? Couldn’t I join in your dance--the first part of it, at least?”
“Why, certainly; yes,” said the Blackbirds. “We are quite willing,” the masters of the ceremony said.
“Well,” said the Coyote, “I can get on the slope of the rocks and I can sing the song with you; but I suppose that when you leap off into the air I shall have to sit there patting the rock with my paw and my tail and singing while you have the fun of it.”
“It may be,” said an old Blackbird, “that we can fit you out so that you can fly with us.”
“Is it possible!” cried the Coyote, “Then by all means do so. By the Blessed Immortals! Now, if I am only able to circle off into the air like you fellows, I’ll be the biggest Coyote in the world!”
“I think it will be easy,” resumed the old Blackbird. “My children,” said he, “you are many, and many are your wing-feathers. Contribute each one of you a feather to our friend.” Thereupon the Blackbirds, each one of them, plucked a feather from his wing. Unfortunately they all plucked feathers from the wings on the same side.
“Are you sure, my friend,” continued the old Blackbird, “that you are willing to go through the operation of having these feathers planted in your skin? If so, I think we can fit you out.”
“Willing?--why, of course I am willing.” And the Coyote held up one of his arms, and, sitting down, steadied himself with his tail. Then the Blackbirds thrust in the feathers all along the rear of his forelegs and down the sides of his back, where wings ought to be. It hurt, and the Coyote twitched his mustache considerably; but he said nothing. When it was done, he asked: “Am I ready now?”
“Yes,” said the Blackbirds; “we think you’ll do.”
So they formed themselves again on the upper part of the slope, sang their songs, and hopped along down with many a flutter, flurry, and scurry,--_Keh keh, keh keh, keh keh_,--and away they flew off into the air.
The Coyote, somewhat startled, got out of time, but followed bravely, making heavy flops; but, as I have said before, the wings he was supplied with were composed of feathers all plucked from one side, and therefore he flew slanting and spirally and brought up with a whack, which nearly knocked the breath out of him, against the side of the mountain. He picked himself up, and shook himself, and cried out: “Hold! Hold! Hold on, hold on, there!” to the fast-disappearing Blackbirds. “You’ve left me behind!”