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1'HE BOY IN THE HOUSE OF THE 'l'RUES. (SEE PAGE I I 5.)
PUEBLO INDIAN
FOLK-STORIES
BY
CHARLES F. LUMMIS
AUTHOR OF" SOilfE STRA1\'GE CIJR1VJ:'RS OF OUR COUNTRY"
"A NEW MEXICO DAVID," ETC.
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D. APPLETON-CENTURY COMPANY
INCORPORATED
NEW YORK LONDON
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PUBLISHERS' NOTE
THIS book ,vas issued son1e years ago under the
title '' The Man vVho Married t11e Nloor1." The
publication of tl1e present edition, enlarged by
the additio.n of ne\v material, is made the occasion
of changing the title to one ,vhich more
accurately describes the contents-'' Pueblo Indian
Folk-Stories."
THE CENTURY Co.
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September,:)i',7i, o.·.,. ,:.. . ,:
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To
ntE FAIRY TALE THAT CAME TRUE l!\l
THE HoME OF THE TEE•W AHN
MY WIFE AND CHILD
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CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION: THE BRO\.VN STORY-TELLERS
I THE AN1'ELOPE BoY
II THE COY01'E AND 1'HE CRO\VS
III THE WAR-DANCE OF 1'HE MICE
IV THE COY01'E AND 1'HE BLACKBIRDS
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
xv
XVI
XVII
xvrrr·
XIX
xx
XXI
1'HE COYOTE AND THE BEAR
THE F1RS'f OF THE RATTLESNAKES
1.,HE COYO'l'E AND 1'HE \VooDPECKER
THE MAN \VHO MARRIED THE MOC)N
THE MoTHER 1viooN
THE TVlAKER OF THE THUNDER-KNIVES
THE STONE-1v10VING SONG
THE COYOTE AND 1'HE 'THlTNDER-KNIFE
TI-IE 11AGIC HIDE-AND-SEEK
THE RACE OF THE TAILS
HONEST BIG-EARS
THE FEATHERED BARBERS
THE ACCURSED LAKE
THE 1\10Qu1 Bov AND THE EAGLE
THE NoRTH vVrNn AND THE s.ouTH WrND
THE TOWN OF THE SNAKE-GIRLS
THE DRO\VNlNG OF PECOS
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12
22
27
30
34
49
53
71
103
106
108
122
127
130
1 37
. . .
Vlll CONTENTS
P,-\GE
XXII THE ANTS THAT PUSHED ON THE SKY 147
XXIII TI-IE l\1AN \VHO WOULD N'T KEEP SUNDAY 161
XXIV 1.,HE BRAVE BOBTAILS 169
XXV THE REVENGE OF THE FAWNS 178
XXVI THE SOBBING PINE 194
XXVII THE QUERES DIANA 200
XXVIII A PUEBLO BLUEBEARD 203
XXIX THE HERO TWINS 206
XXX THE HUNGRY GRANDFATHERS 215
XXXI THE COYOTE 222
XXXII DOCTOR FIELD-MOUSE 232
XXXIII P'A-I-SHIA 24-0
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE BOY IN THE HOUSE OF THE TRUES
PAGE
FRONTISPIECE
"As I COME IN, KINDLY OLD TATA LORENSO IS JUST BE-GINNING
A STORY" 7
THE COYOTE CARRIES THE BABY TO THE ANTELOPE
MOTHER 15
RAIN FALLS ON PEE-K'HOO 18
"THE T\.VO RUNNERS CAME SWEEPING DOWN THE HOME-STRETCH,
S1'RAINING EVERY NERVE" 20
"As HE CAUGHT THE Hoop HE WAS INSTANTLY CHANGED
INTO A POOR COYOTE ! " 37
'' CoYo'rE, ARE YOU PEOPLE?" 41
r, As HE SEIZED IT HE W/1.S CHANGED FR01 A TALL
YOUNG MAN INTO A GREAT RA1'TLESNAKE" 45
THE COYO'fES AT SUPPER WITH THE WOODPECKERS $0
THE lSLETA GIRLS GRINDING CORN WI1'H THE
"MANO" ON 1'HE '' METATE" 56
THE lVIooN-MAIDEN 5 7
THE YELLOW-CORN-MAIDENS 'THROWING MEAL AT THE
PEARL "0MATE"
THE GRIEF OF N AH-CHU-RU-CHU
"THE WITCH MADE HERSELF VERY SMALL, AND WENT
BEHIND THE Foor OF A BIG CRANE"
lX
59
65
95
X LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE H UNTET{ AND 1'HE LAKE-MAN
THE CURSING OF THE LAKE
Sou1·H, EAs1·, No1tTH, AND \\1EsT IN SEARCH OF KAHP-PAGE
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119
·roo-60-voo 153
1(1\HP-T00-60-voo CALLING THE RAIN l 58
rl'HE \\1oLI<', AND 1'HE COYOTE WITH THE T001'HACHE 183
TI-IE \Vor.F 11EE1'S THE BOYS PLAYING "\Vl'rH 1'HEIR
BO\VS AND ARRO\VS
'' 1'HE FAWNS APPEARED SUDDENI.Y, AND A1' SIGHT OF
THEI\1 THE \VoLF DROPPED THE SPOONFUL OF SOUP" 191
11 THERE THEY STOOD SIDE BY SIDE " 2 2 5
"' Ho\.v SHALT l GE'f I·r?' SAID THE CovoTE" 229
These illustrations are fron1 dra,vings by George \iVharton Edwards,
after photographs by the author.
THE BROvVN STORY-TELLERS
FAN CY that if almost a11 y of us vvere
aslzed, ''When did people begin to make
fairy stories?'' our first thought would
be, '' Why, of course, after mankind had
become civilizecl, and had i11vented vvriting."
But in truth tl1e making of myths,
\vhicl1 is no more than a dignified name
for '' fairy stories,'' dates bacl{. to the
childl1ood of the ht1man race.
Long before Cadmt1s invented letters
(and I fear Cadmus himself was as n1t1cl1 of a myth
as was his dragon's-teeth harvest), long before there
were true historians or poets, there vvere fairy stories
and story-tellers. And to-day, if vve vvould seek the
place ,vl1ere fairy stories most flourish, we must go,
not to tl1e 11ations whose countless edt1cated minds
are no,v devoted to story-telling for the young, but
to peoples who have no books, no magazines, no
alphabets - even no pictures.
Of all the aboriginal })eoples that 1emain in North
I I
2 TEE-vVAHN FOLK-STORIES
America, no11e is ricl1er in folk-lore tl1an the Pueblo·
Indians of N e,;v Mexico, who are, I believe, next to
the largest of tl1e native tribes left in tl1e United
States. They nL11nber 11i11e tl1ousand sot1ls. They
l1ave 11i11etee11 ''cities" ( called pL1eblos, also) in this
Territo,ry, and se\'en ir1 Arizona; anci each l1as its
little outlying-colonies. 1'11ey are not cities in size, it
is true, fo1· tl1e largest (Zuni) has onl )' fif-teen hundred
people, a11d tl1e sn1allest 011ly abot1t one hundred;
but cities tl1ey are, nevertl1eless. A11d each city,
with its fields, is a \Vee republic - tvvent)r-six of tl1e
sn1allest, and pe1·haps tl1e ol<lest, republics i11 the
,vorld ; for they ,vere already SL1cl1 vv l1e11 the first
European eyes savv America. Each has its go,1 -
ernor, its co11gress, its sl1eriffs, war-captains, and
other oficials ,v 110 are electecl annually; its laws,
un \.Vritten but t1nalterable, vvhicl1 are more respected
and better enforcecl than tl1e lav,rs of any, An1erican
co111n1unity; its permanent and ,,ery comfortable
houses, a11cl its broacl fields, confirmecl first by Spai11
and later by paten ts of the U nitec-1 States.
Tl1e architectL1re of the PL1eblo I1ot1ses is quaint
and characteristic. In tl1e re111ote I)t1eblos they a1·e
as many as six stories in l1eig-ht - built some,\1hat
in tl1e shape of an enor1110L1s terraced p)jran1id. The
Pueblos along tl1e Rio Grande, 110,vever, ]1a,re felt
the influence of Mexican ct1sto111s, and their l1ot1ses
l1ave but one and t\\ro stories. All tl1eir buildings,,
lncluding the l1uge, quaint cl1urcl1 vvhicl1 each pueblo
l1as, are n1ade of stone plasterecl ,ritl1 adobe n1t1d,
or of great, sun-driecl bricks of adobe. They are
the most comfortable dvvellings in tl1e South,;vest -
cool in st1n1n1er and ,var111 in v,ri11ter.
THE BROWN STORY-TELLERS 3
Tl1e Pueblos are divided into six tribes, each
speaking a distinct language of its own. Isleta,
the quaint village where I lived five >'ears, in an
Indian l1ot1se1 ,vith Indian neig·l1bors, and under
Indian lavvs, is tl1e southernmost of the pueblos,
the 11ext largest of the1n all, and the cl1ief city of
the Tee-,iVahn tribe.1 i\ll the la11guages of the Pueblo
tribes are exceedingly dificult to learn.
Besides tl1e cities novv. inl1abited, the ruins of
about fifteen hundrecl other pueblos - and s0111e of
thetn the 11oblest rui11s in tl1e coL1ntry- dot the
bro,v11 valleys and rock), mesa-tops of N e,v Mexico.
All these ruins are of stone, and are extremely i11-
teresting. Tl1e in1placable sa\rag·es by vvh,om they
were hemmed in made necessary the abandonn1ent
of hundreds of pt1eblos; and tl1is great number of
ruins does not indicate a vast ancie11t popL1lation.
The Pueblos 11.ever cot111ted above 30,000 souls.
The Pueblo Indians have for nearly tvvo ce11turies
given 110 trouble to the Et1ropean sharers of their
don1ai11; bt1t their ,vars of defe11se against tl1e savage
tribes vvho surrot1nded tl1em completely-,vith tl1e
Apaches, Navajos, Co111ancl1es, and U tes - lasted
u11til a very fevv yea.rs ago. Tl1ey a1·e valiant
fighters for tl1eir ho1nes, but l)refer any honorable
peace. They are not indolent, but industriot1s -
tilling their farn1s, te11ding tl1eir stock, and l<:eeping
all tl1eir afairs in 01·der. Tl1e ,vomen own tl1e
houses and their contents, and do 11ot \iVork outside;
and the 1nen control the fields and crops. An
unl1appy l1ome is almost a11 t1nl<.11own thing among
them; and tl1e universal afection of parents for
1 Spelled Tigua by Spanish authors.
4 TEE-\VAHN FOLK-STORIES
children and respect of cl1ildren for parents are extraordinary.
I have never seen a child unkindly
treated, a parent saucily addressed, or a playmate
abused, in all my long and intimate acquaintance
vvith tl1e Pueblos.
Isleta lies on tl1e Atlantic and Pacific Railroad,
t1pon tl1e ,vestern banl, of the Rio Grande, 011 a lava
pron1011 tor)' ,vl1ich ,vas once an island -,v l1ence tl1e
tov\'n takes its Spanisl1 name. ItsTee-\vahn title is
Sl1ee-el1-,vl11b-bal<:. 1 I ts populatio11, according to
the census taken in r 89 r, is a little less tl1an t\\"elve
hundred. It is nearly surrou11ded by fertile vineyards,
orcl1ards of peacl1es, a1)ricots, apples, cl1erries,
plums, pears, ancl qui11ces, a11d fields of cor11, ,vl1eat,
bea11s1 and peppers, all o,vned by il)' dusl,)' neigl1-
bors. Tl1e pueblo ovvns over one l1und red and ten
tl1ousand acres of land, the greater part of \\:l1ich is
reserved for pasturing horses and cattle.
Tl1e people of Isleta are, as a rule1 ratl1er short
in statL1re, but strongly built. i\11 l1ave a n1agnificent
depth and breadtl1 of cl1est, and a beautifully
confident poise of the head. Niost of the n1e11 are
very expert l1unters, tireless runners, and fine horse-
111en. Besides ordinary l1unting tl1ey l1a,·e con1-
muncll hunts-for rabbits in tl1e spring·, for a11telope
and deer in tl1e fall -tl1oroughly org-anized, in
,vhich great quantities of game are lzilled.
Tl1eir amt1sements are rnar1y and ,·ariecl. Asicle
from tl1e 11L1meroL1s sacred dar1ces of tl1 e ,,ear, their
most im1}ortant occasions, tl1ey l1a,.1e ,-ari0L1s races
1 The nan1e n1eans "l(nife-laid-on-the-grouncl-to-play-whib." T,f7hib is an
aboriginal foot-Tace in \Yhich the runners l1ave to carry a stick ,Yith their toes.
The name was perhaps suggested by the knife-like shape of the lava ridge on
which the pueblo is built.
THE BROWN STORY-TELLERS 5
wl1ich call for great skill and endu1·ance, quaint
social enjoyme11ts, and games of many kinds, some
of whicl1 are quite as dificL1lt as chess. Tl1ey are
very fair ,v. eavers a11d pottery-makers. Tl1e vvomen
are good hot1sevvi ves, and n1ost of them excellent
seamstresses.
Yet, vvith all tl1is 1:>rog·ress in civilization, cles1)ite
their mental a11d physical acuter1ess a11d tl1eir excellent
moral qL1alitiesJ the Tee-v,,al1n are in some
thi11gs but overgro,v11 cl1ilclren. Tl1eir secret i11-
ner religion 1 is one of the most con1plicated systems
on eartl1. Besides tl1e l1igl1est deities, all
the forces of 11ature, all a11in1als, as ,,,ell as n1any
thi11gs tl1at are inanin1ate, are i11vested by tl1em
,:vi tl1 s u perr1atural 1:>o,;vers. ,.f l1e)' do 11ot ,vorsl1ip
idols, l)ut in1ages and tolce11s of uns.ee11 po,vers are
revered. Tl1ey do notl1ing vvitl1out son1e reason,
generally a religious 011e, and ,vl1ate\rer tl1e)' observe
tl1ey ca11 explain i11 tl1eir 0,,,11 superstitious
way. Every custon1 tl1ey liave a11d every belief
they o,vn has a reason \V l1icl1 to tl1en1 is all- suficient;
and for eacl1 they l1ave a story. Tl1ere is no
dL1ty to vvl1ich a Pueblo cl1ild is trai11ed in vvl1icl1 he
ha·s to be content ,vith tl1e bare comma11d, '' Do
tl1us"; for eacl1 l1e learns a fairy tale desig·11ecl to
explain l1ovv people first came to k110,v tl1at it was
rigl1t to do thL1s, and detailing the sad rest1lts vvl1ich
befell tl1ose ,N"ho did otl1er,vise.
It is from this ,.vonderful follz-lore of tl1e Tee\
vahn tl1at I have learned- after long stucly of the
people, their language, customs, and mytl1s-a11d
1 For they are all devout, if not entirely understanding, n1en1bers of a
Christian church; bttt keep alsv mucl1 of their {)rehistoric faitl1s.
6 TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
taken, L1nchanged and unembellishecl, this series of·
I 11diar1 fairy tales. I l1ave be. en extren1ely carefL1l
to preser\1e, in 111y translatio11s, tl1e exact India11
spirit. An absolutely literal translation \vould be
almost unintelligible to E11glisl1 readers, but I have
taken no liberties ,vitl1 tl1e real 111ea11i11g·.
Tl1e L1se of books is not 011ly to tell, bL1t to preser,,
e; not 011ly for to-day, bL1 t for e,,er. v\111at an
Indian ,visl1es to 1)erpetL1ate n1ust be sa,,ed by
to11gL1e a11d ear, by '' telling-clovvn," as vvere the
vvorlcl's first histories and poems. This oral transmission
from fatl1er to son is of sacred im1)ortance
vvitl1 tl1e natives. U I)On it depe11ds tl1e preservation
of tl1e an1usen1e11ts, the history, tl1e beliefs, tl1e c1,1ston1.s,
a11d the lavvs of tl1eir nation. A people less
observant, less accl1rate of speech ai1d of n1en1ory·,
vvot1ld make a sad failure of tl1is sort of recorcl; bl1t
,vitl1 tl1em it is a ,vo11derful st1ccess. ,.fl1e story
goes do,,·11 fro1n generation to ge11eratio11, al111ost
vvi tl10L1t tl1e cl1ange of a vvord. The fact tl1;1t it is
tolcl in fixed 111etrical forn1-a sort of l)la11l<: v·erse
-l1elps tl1e 111e111ory.
Here i11 Isle ta, tl1e q L1ai11t pL1eblo of tl1e Teewal1n,
I became cleepl)' i11te1·estecl not onl)' i11 tl1e
folk-sto1·ies tl1en1selves, but also in tl1e 1nan11er of
har1cling tl1em do\vn. \t\Ti11ter is tl1e seaso11 for
story-telling. Tl1en the tl1irsty fielcls 110 long·er cry
for ,vater, the irrigati11g-clitcl1es l1a,,e ceasecl to
g·na\v at tl1eir banlcs, and tl1e n1e11 are often at
leist1re. Tl1en, of an eveni11g, if I go over to visit
son1e veci1zo (neigl1bor), I am likely to find, in tl1e
g·reat adol)e living-room, a grot1p of ver)' old 111en
and very yot1ng boys gathered about tl1e queer little
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corner fireplace with its blazing uprig·ht sticks.
They, too, have con1e a-visiting. Tl1e young men
are gathered in a11otl1er corner b)r themselves, eating
roasted cor11, and tall<ing in ,vhispers so as not
to distL1rb tl1eir elders, for res1)ect to age is the
corner-stone of all Indian training. Tl1ey are not
required to listen to the stories, being su1)posed to
l<novv them already.
If in tl1e far, sweet days vvhen I stood at my
grand111other's knee, and sl1ivered over '' Bluebeard,"
01 tl1rille<l at'( Jacl{ the Giant-1<.iller," some
one could l1ave sho\v11 t1s a pictt1re of me as I vvas
to be listening to 0tl1er fair)' tales t\vent1'-five years
later, I am sure tl1at her eyes ,vould l1a,,e ope11ed
wide as mine. Certainly 11eitl1er of us ever dreamecl
tl1at, thousancls of miles fro111 the olcl New En gla11d
fireplace, ,vhen the dear figures that sat witl1 me
before its blazing forestick had long been dust, I
would be sitting ,vl1ere I am to-night and listening
to the strange, darlz r>eople ,vho are around me.
The roon1 is long and lovv, and overl1ead are
dark, round rafters - the trt1nks of straight pinetrees
tl1at used to purr on tl1e sides of the 1nost fan1ous
moL111tain in N evv lVIexico. The \\rails are
white as snow, a11d yot1 ,vould never in1agine that
they are bL1ilt only of cut sods, plastered over and
whitevvasl1ed. Tl1e floor is of aclobe clay, packed
almost as l1ard as a rock, and upon it are brighthued
blankets, woven in strange figures. Along
the walls are bencl1es, with vvool mattresses rolled
up and laid u·pon tl1em. B)' and by these will be
spread upon the floor for beds, but just novv they
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10 rfEE-\\·AHN FOLK-STORIES
serve as cushioned seats. Ov·er in a corner are
strang·e earthe11 jars of ,,,ater, ,,rith little gourd dippers
floating, and l1ere a11d there u1Jo11 the ,,·all
l1a11g bo,\·s and arro,,·s i11 sheatl1s of tl1e ta,,.r n)' hide
of the mou11tain lio11; queer \\·o,,en belts of red ar1d
green. and l1eav1· necklaces of sil,·er a11d coral, ,,1itl1
cl1ar1ns of turquoise - the stone that stole its color
fron1 the sk)··
There is a fireplace, too, and 'i\·e are gathered all
about it, a dozen or more-for I ha,ie becon1e an
old friend l1ere. Bl1t it is 11ot lilze tl1e fireplace
v\:}1ere the little sister and I used to roast our apples
a11cl pop Ol1r corn. A ,,·ee l1earth of cla)· rises
a fe,v i11cl1es fro111 tl1e floor; a )·ard abo,,e it hangs
tl1e chimne)T, lile a big· ,,·hite hood; and a little
,,·all, four feet l1igl1, rur1s fron1 it out into the roon1,
that tl1e ,,·i11d fron1 tl1e OL1ter door rna)' not blo\v
the asl1es. Tl1ere is 110 big front log, bL1t tl1ree or
four g·narled cedar sticks, sta11ding or1 one encl)
crackle loudl)··
Son1e of us are seated on be11cl1es, and u1)on the
floor. His back against the ,,,all, squats ITI)' host,
,,;ho is just going· to begi11 anotl1er fairy· stor)··
Sl1ch a ,,ree, ,,·itl1ered, ,,rrir1l,led old n1a11 ! It seems
as thot1gh the hot ,,,inds of tl1e South,,·est i1ad dried
him as the); dr)' the forgotten last 11 ear's apples
tl1at sl1ri,,el here and there l1pon lonely bol1ghs.
He must be a ce11tL1r)· old. His cJ1ilclre11, granclchildren
) great-granclchild ren. and great-greatgrandchildren
are al1 re1)rese11ted here to-nigl1t.
Yet l1is black e);es are like a ha,vk's, under tl1eir
hea\'Y bro,,Ts, and l1is \'Oice is musical and deep.
I have ne\'er heard a more eloqL1ent story-teller,
THE BRO\VN STORY-TELLERS II
and I have heard some famous ones. I can tell
yoL1 the ,vords, but 11ot the impressive tones, the
anin1ation of eye a11d accent, the eloquent gestures
of this venerable Indian as he tells - v\7hat? An
Indian telling fairy stories?
Yes, indeed. He is the ver>7 man to tell them.
If this dusky old pla)rgrouncl for ,vrinkles, ,vl10
never sa,v the inside of a book, could \\'rite out all
the fairy stories he lno,vs, \\T ebster's U nabridgecl
Dictionary vvould hardly hold tl1em. His father
ar1d l1is father's fatl1er, a11cl so on back for cot1ntless
centuries, have l1an<led clovvn tl1ese stories
by telling, fr01n generation to generatio11, just as
Tata1 Lorenso is telling l1is great-great-granclsons
to-night. \".Then tl1ese bo)1 S gro\v t1p, tl1ey ,vill tell
these stories to their sons and grandsons; and so
tl1e legends vvill IJass on a11d 011, so long as tl1ere
shall be a Tee-,,ral1n Indian left i11 all N e,v l\1 Iexico.
But Lorenso is ready ,vitl1 l1is stor),.· 1-Ie pauses
only to n1alze a cigarette fron1 the 111ate1·ial i11 my
pouch ( they call n1e Po1,. todos, because I l1a,re tobacco
'' for all"), ex1)lains for ITI)' lJenefit tl1at this
is a story of tl1e begi11ni11g of Isleta, pats the head
of the chL1bby boy at his knee, and beg-ins again.
1 " Father."
I
THE ANTELOPE BOY
ON CE t1pon a time there vvere tvvo to,vns of the
Tee-vval111, called Nal1-bah-t60-too-ee (,,rl1ite
village) and N ah-cl100-ree-too-ee (yellow ,rillage ).
A man of Nah-bal1-t60-too-ee and l1is \.vife \\rere
attaclzed by A 1)acl1es ,v l1ile ot1 t 011 tl1e 1Jlains one
day, a11d tool< refL1ge ir1 a cave, ,vl1ere tl1ey ,vere
besieged. And tl1ere a boy. ,vas bor11 to tl1en1.
The f;:1tl1er vvas killetl ir1 an atte1npt to rett1rn to
his village for help; a11d starvatior1 finctlly forced
tl1e n1other to cra,,,l fortl1 1Jy night seel<i11g· roots
to eat. Cl1ased by tl1e Apaches, sl1e escaped to
her ovv11 village, and it vvas several days lJefore sl1e
coL1ld rett1rn to tl1e ca,re-only to find it em1)ty.
The balJ)' l1ad begu11 to cry s0011 after l1er departure.
Just then a Co>rote 1 vvas passi11g, a11d
heard. Tal(ing pit)' on tl1e cl1ild, l1e picked it L1p
and carriecl it across tl1e 1)lai11 t1ntil l1e tame to a
herd of antelo1)es. An1ong tl1em ,vas a l\!lotl1erAntelope
that l1ad lost her fa,i\,n; and goi11g to her
the Coyote said :
'' Here is an ah-boo (1Joor thing) tl1at is left by
its people. Will you take care of it?"
1 The s1nall prairie-,vo1f.
l2
THE ANTELOPE BOY 13
The Mother-Antelo1)e, re1nembering her ovvn
baby, with tears said '' Yes," and at once adopted
tl1e tiny stranger, while tl1e Coyote tl1anlzed her
and vven t home.
So the boy became as 011e of tl1e antelopes, a11d
gre\v lll) among them t1ntil he \Vas about t\velve
years old. Tl1en it happened that a hunter came
out fro1n Nah-bal1-t60-too-ee for ar1telopes, and
found tl1is l1erd. Stalling them carefully, l1e shot
one vvitl1 an arrovv. Tl1e rest started of, rt111ning·
like the ,vi11d; but aheacl of tl1em all, as long as
they vvere i11 sight, l1e saw a boy! The l1u11ter
,as n1 uch sur1)rised, and, sl1ot1lderi11g his game)
,;vallzed baclz to tl1e villag·e, dee1) i11 thot1ght. Here
he tolcl tl1e Caciq L1e 1 \vhat he l1acl seen. Next day
the crier ,vas sent out to call upon all tl1e people to
prepare fot a great l1unt, in four days, to capture
the India11 boy who lived with tl1e a11telopes.
Wl1ile preparations vvere going on in tl1e village,
the antelopes in some way heard of tl1e intended
hunt and its 1)urpose. Tl1e Mother-Antelope was
very sad vvl1en she l1eard it, and at first \i\TOt1ld say
t1otl1ing. Bt1t at last sl1·e called her adoptecl son
to her and said: '' S011, yot1 have heard tl1at tl1e
l)eople of Nal1-bah-t60-too-ee are coming to l1unt.
But they vvill 11ot lzill t1s; all tl1ey ,;visl1 is to take
you. Tl1ey vvill surround us, i11te11ding to let all
tl1e antelopes escape from the circle. You n1ust
follovv 1ne \vhere I break tl1rough the line, and )'Our
real n1other vvill be coming on the northeast sicle ir1
a vvhite manta (robe). I ,;vill pass close to her, a11d
you must stagger a11d fall vvhere she ca11 catch you,"
1 The highest religious oficial,
14 TEE vV AHN FOLIZ-STORIES
On tl1e fourtl1 da)' all tl1e f)eople vve11t out upon
tl1e- plai11s. Tl1ey fol1nd and surroL1ncled the l1erd
of antelopes, \\rl1ich ran abot1t in a circle ,vl1e11 tl1e·
hu11ters closecl t11)011 them. The circle g·re,v smaller,
a11d tl1e antelo1)es began to break tl1rough; bL1t the
hunters r)aid no attention to tl1em, l<ee1)i11g tl1eir
e)res t1pon tl1e bO)'· At last l1e a11cl l1is a11telope
n1other ,vere tl1e only ones left, ancl \\1 l1en sl1e
brol<:e tl1ro11 gl1 the li11e 011 the northeast he follovved
l1er and fell at tl1e feet of l1is 0,,,11 l111n1a11
motl1er, \\rl10 sp1·ang for,i\iard and clas1)ed l1i111 in
l1er arms.
Amid great rejoicing l1e ,,,a.s taken to Nal1-bal1-
t60-too-ee, and tl1ere he told the pri1zcipales 1 ho,v
he had bee11 left i11 tl1e cave, ho,;y the Coy'ote had
pitied him, and l1ovv tl1e J\1otl1er-Antelope hacl
reared l1in1 as l1er o,,,r1 son.
It was 11ot long before all tl1e country ro1111cl
alJot1t heard of the A11telope Boy a11d of l1is marvelous
fleet11ess of foot. You n1t1st 1110,,, tl.1at the antelopes
never cornb tl1eir l1air, and vvhile a1nong the1n
the boy's head l1ad g·ro,vn very bt1Sh)r. So the
peo1Jle called hi111 Pee-hleh-o-wah-wrfe-deh ( bigheaded
little boy).
An1ong tl1e otl1er villages that l1eard of his
provvess ,,,as Nal1-choo-ree-too-ee, all of ,,,I1ose
people cc l1ad tl1e bad road." 1 Tl1e)' hacl a ,vonderful
r11n11er na111ed Prfe-k' hoo (Deer-foot), ancl ,,ery
soon tl1ey se11t a cl1allenge to Nal1-bal1-t60-too-ee
for a cha1npionshi1J race. Fot1r clays ,,. ,ere to be
given for 1)re1Jaration, to make bets, and tl1e lil<:e.
l The old men ,,ho are the congress of the pueblo.
2 That is, vvere ,vitches.
'l'liE COYOTE CARRIES TI-IE BABY TO THE ANTELOPE 110THER.
THE ANTELOPE BOY 17
The race vvas to be around the v\7orld. 1 Each village
was to stake all its property and tl1e lives of all its
people on tl1e result of tl1e race. So po,ve1·ful ,vere
tl1e '"'itches of N al1-cl100-ree-too-ee that tl1ey felt
safe in proposing so seriol1S a stalze ; and the pec)ple
of N ah-bah-t6o-too-ee \'vere ashamecl to decli11e
the challenge.
The day can1e, a11d tl1e starting-point \\'as surrol1nded
by all the peo1Jle of tl1e t\v-o \iillages,
dressed in their best. On eacl1 side \\'ere l1t1ge
piles of ornaments and dresses, stores of g-rain, and
all the otl1er property of tl1e people. Tl1e runner
for the yello\\' \rillag-e vvas a tall, sine,,,1, atl1lete,
strong in l1is early n1a11hood; a11d ,vl1e11 tl1e A11telope
Bo)' appeared for tl1e other side, the \,,itcl1es
set up a howl of derision, and began to stril.:e their
rivals and jeer at them, saying, '' Pool1 ! \Ve might
as well begin to kill )'Oll novv ! \Vl1at ca11 tl1at
rio-deh (little tl1ing) do?"
At tl1e ,vord cc Hdi-ko.l" (c' Go!") tl1e t,,,o runners
started to,,,ard the east like tl1e \\ri11d. The
Antelope Boy soon forged ahead; but Deer-foot,
by his vvitcl1craft, cl1anged hin1self i11to a ha,vk and
flevv lightly over the lad, sayi11g, '' We do this way
to each otl1er ! '' 2 Tl1e An tel ope Bo)' kept running,
bt1t l1is heart ,,,as very hea,,y, for he knevv
that no feet could equal tl1e s,vift flight of the
hawk.
1 The Pueblos believed it ,vas an i1nmense plain "·hereon the racers ,vere
to race over a square course - to Lhe extreiue east, then to the extrerne north,
and so on, hack to the tarting-point.
2 .1\. co1nmon Trtdian taunt, either good-natured or bitter, to the loser of a
game or to a conquered enemy.
2
18 TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
Bl1t jt1st as he came half-,vay to the east, a Mole
can1e up from its bt1rrovv and said:
'' M )' s011, vvhere are you going so fast with ·a
sad face?"
The lad explai11ed that the race vvas for the
RAlX FALLS o:-; PEC:-K't!OO.
pro1)erty a11cl li\res of all l1is people; and thclt tl1e
v\'itcl1-rL11111er l1acl tL1rned to a ha,vk and left l1i111 far
bel1ind.
THE ANTELOPE BOY 19
'' Then, my son," said the lVIole, '' I will be he
that shall help you. Only sit do\vn here a little
vvhile1 and I will give you sometl1ing- to car1·)r."
The boy sat dovvn, and the Mole dived into tl1e
hole, bl1t soon came back vvith four cig·arettes.1
Holdi11g them out, the Mole said, '' N O\V1 my
son, ,vhen you have reached the east and tur11ed
north, s111olze one; vvl1e11 yol1 have reached tl1e
north and tt1r.p vvest, smoke anotl1er; \\rl1en you
turn south, a11otl1er, and vvl1e11 you turn east agai11,
another. Hdi-ko I''
The boy ra11 011, and soon reachecl the east.
Turning his face to tl1e north he sn1oked the first
cigarette. No sooner ,vas it finisl1ed than he became
a young antelope; and at tl1e sa111e insta11t
a fl1rious rain began. Refreshed by tl1e cool
drops, he started like a11 arrovv from the bovv.
Half-way to tl1e north he ca111e to a large tree;
and there sat the ha,vk, drenched and chilled, u11-
able to fly, and crying piteously.
'' N O\V, friend, we too do this to eacl1 otl1er,"
called tl1e boy-antelo1)e as he dasl1ed past. But
just as he reached ·tl1e north, the ha,vk - ,vhich
had become dry after the short rai11 - caught t1p
and passed him, saying, '' VVe too do tl1is to each
other!" Tl1e boy-antelope tt1r11ed v.rest\vard, a11d
smoked the second cigarette; a11d at 011ce anothe1·
terrific rain began.2 Half-\vay to the west l1e ag-ain
passed the ha\vk shivering and crying in a tree,
1 These are made by putting a certai11 "veed called pe-tfrt-h!eli into
l1ollow reeds.
2 I should state, by the ,vay, t11at the c.igarette plays an important part in
1l1e Pueblo folk-stories, - they ne,,er had the pipe of the Northern Indians,
- and all rain-clouds are supposed to come from its smoke.
zo TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
a11d unable to fly; but as l1e ,vas abot1 t to turn to
tl1e soL1tl1, tl1e l1a,;vlz passed l1in1 vvitl1 tl1e custo111-
ary taunt. The srnolzing of tl1e third cig·arette
broL1gl1 t ar1othe1· stor1n, and agai11 tl1e a11 tel ope
passed tl1e vvet l1a,vk l1alf-way, a11d again tl1e ha\vk
driecl its feathers in time to catch llp and pass him
as l1e ,,ras tt1r11i11g to tl1e east for ti1e home-stretch.
Here again tl1e bo)r-antelo1)e stopi:)ed and s111olced
a cigarette - tl1e fot1 rth a11cl last. Again a short,
"THE T\\"O RU7'NERS CAlvlE S\VEEPING DO\\'N TI-IE HOIE-STRE'fCH,
STRA.Il\lG EVERY KERVE."
l1ard rain can1e, and again he passed tl1e V11aterrJot111d
ha \\'1{ l1alf-v,1 a y.
Knov\'ing tl1e ,,,itcl1cr1ft of tl1eir neigl1bors, the
peo1)le of N al1-bal1-t60-too-ee had n1ade tl1e cor1dition
tl1at, in ,, hatever sl1ape tl1e racers might rL1n tl1e
rest of the cot1rse, tl1.ey n1ust resume l1uman form
tlJ)011 arri,,al at a certain hill t1po11 the fourth turn,
,,, l1ich \\T as in sight of tl1e goal. Tl1e last wetting
of the ha,vlz's featl1ers clela)red it so tl1at the at1telope
reached tl1e l1ill jt.1st al1ead; and there, resL1n1-
ing their natL1ral sl1apes, the t,vo ru11ners earn
THE ANTELOPE BOY 21
sweeping down tl1e home-stretcl1, straining every
nerve. Bt1t the Antelope Boy gained at eacl1
stride. When they sa,v him, tl1e v,ritcl1-people felt
confident tl1at he ,vas tl1eir champion, and again
began to push, and taunt, and jeer at the others.
But v.,hen the little Antelope Boy sprang lightly
across the line, far ahead of Deer-foot, their joy
tur11ed to mourning.
The people of N al1-bal1-t60-too-ee bur11ed all
the witches upon the spot, i11 a great pile of corn;
but someho,v one escaped, and fron1 him come all
the witcl1es that t1·ouble us to this day.
Tl1e property of tl1e ,:vitches vvas taken to N ahbah-
t6o-too-ee; and as it vvas more tl1an tl1at village
could hold, the sur1)lus ,vas sent to Shee-ehwhfb-
bak (Isleta), wl1ere we enjoy it to tl1is day;
and later the people then1selves n1oved l1ere. And
even no,,, when vve dig in that little l1ill 011 tl1e
other sicle of the charco (pool), vve find cl1arred
corn-cobs, where our forefathers bt1rned the ,vitcl1-
people of the yellovv village.
During Lorenso's story tl1e black eyes of tl1e boys
l1ave 11ever left l1is face; and at every pause they
have 1nade tl1e customary response, '' Is that so?"
to shovv their attention; while tl1e old me11 l1ave
nodded approbation, a11d smolzed i11 dee1) silence.
Now Lorenso tt1rns to Desiderio, 1 vvho is far
n1ore wrinkled even than he, and says, ''You have
a tail, brother." And Desiderio, cleari11g his
throat and making a new cigarette with great impressiveness,
begins: ''My sons, do you k110,v why
the Coyote and the Crows are always at war?
No? Tl1en I will tell you."
l Pronounced Day-see-day-ree·-oh.
II
TIIE COYOTE AND TI-IE CRO\VS
ONCE on a time many Kah-ahn li,,ed in the edge
of s0111e woods. A little out into tl1e plain
stood a ver)' large tree, vvitl1 mucl1 sand under it.
One day a Coyote ,,vas passing, and heard the
Crows singing- and dancing under this tree, and
can1e up to ,vatch tl1e1n. 1'11ey ,vere dancing-in a
circle, and each Cro,,, l1ad t1pon his baclz a large bag.
cc Cro,v-friends, ,v l1at are yot1 doing? '' aslzed the
Coyote, wl10 vvas mt1ch interested.
cc 011, we are clancing ,vitl1 our motl1ers," said
the Crovvs.
'' Hovv pretty ! And vvill yot1 let me dance,
too ? " aslzed tl1e Co)rote of the too-whz't-!ah-wz·ddch
crovv ( captain of the dance).
'°' 011, )'es," replied tl1e Crow. ,c Go and pt1t
your n1other i11 a bag and come to tl1e dance."
The Co)1ote vv.ent running home. There his old
mother ,vas sitting· in tl1e corner of the fireplace.
Tl1e stt1 t)id Coyote piclzed up a stick and str11ck
l1er on t11e l1ead, a11d put her in a bag·, and l1urried
back to tl1e dance vvith her.
The Cro,i\Ts ,vere dancing merrily, and singing:
''A£ 1zana, qz.te-ie-1/'ah, qzte-ie-rah." ('c Alas, MamaJ
22
THE COYOTE AND THE CROWS 23
you are shaking, yot1 are sl1aking ! ") The Coyote
joined tl1e da11ce, vvith tl1e bag on l1is bacl<, and
sang as the Crows clid:
'' A. •/ h / /2"1
z nana, que-ee-ra , que-ee-1"a i.
But at last the Crovvs burst out laugl1ing, and
saicl, ''W11at c10 yol1 bring in )'Ot1r bag?"
'' My motl1er, as yo.u tolcl me," replied tl1e Coyote,
s110\ving tl1e111.
Tl1en tl1e Crows emptiecl tl1eir bags, vvhicl1 were
filled witl1 notl1i11g but sand, and fle\\r u1) into the
tree, laughing.
The Coyote then saV1r tl1at· tl1ey l1acl J)layed hin1
a trick, and started l10111e, crying ''Ai 1za11a .1"
Wl1en l1e got l10111e he took l1is. 1notl1er from tl1e
bag and tried -to set l1er up in the cl1in1ne>r-corner,
always crying, ''A z· na1ia, vvl1y clon't yot1 sit up as
before?" But she cot1ld not, for sl1e \vas dead.
\t\Then he found tl1at sl1e col1ld not sit u1) any1 more,
he vo,ved to follovv tl1e CroV1rs and eat tl1em all the
rest of his life; and fron1 that day to tl1is l1e has
been hunting tl1en1, and they are al,vays at war.
As Desiderio conclt1des, the old n1e11 hitch their
b]anl<ets arot111d their shoL1lders. ''No more stories
to-nigl1t?" I ask; a11d Lorenso says:
''I1i-ddh (no). N o,v it is to go to bed. Too-kwai
(con1e)," to the boys. ''Good nigl1t, friends. Another
time, per11aps."
And \\re file out through the lovv door into tl1e
starry night.
1 Ai nana is an exclamation al,vays used by mourners.
•
III
THE \VAR-DANCE OF THE :tvIICE
TO-NIGHT it is \\ritl1ered Diego 1 who beg·ins
vvith l1is story, in the n1usical but strange
Tee-,val111 tongue, of '' Sl1ee-choo11 t'o-ah-fuar."
Serious as that looks, it n1eans only '' the ,varda11ce
of the l\1ice."
Once upon a tin1e tl1ere ,vas ,var bet,,veen the
people of Isleta and tl1e l\11ice. Tl1ere vvas a great
battle, in ,,,l1ich tl1e Tee-,i\rahn killed many lVIice
and tool< tl1eir scalps. Then the Tee-,vahn re ..
tur11ed to tl1eir villag·e, and tl1e ,varriors ,vent int0
tl1e estzifa ( sacred council-chamber) to prepare
themselves by fasting for tl1e great scalp-da11ce
i11 t,velve days. \Vhile the ,,,arriors ,vere sitting
inside, the lVIice ca1ne secretly by r1igl1t to attack
the to\vn, ancl tl1eir spies crept t1 p to tl1e estiga.
When all the Tee-wahn vvarriors hacl falle11 asleep,
the l\1ice can1e stealing do,v11 the big ladder into
tl1e room, and creepi11g· fron1 sleeper to sleeper, tl1ey
gna\,,ed ever)' bo\vstring a11d ct1t the feathers from
the arro,i\,s ar1d tl1e strap of e,,ery sling. When
tl1is vvas done, the lVIice raised a terrible vvar-whoop
and rushed upon tl1e ,varriors, brandisl1ir1g tl1eir
1 Pronounced Dee-ay-go.
24
THE WAR-DANCE OF THE MICE 25
spears. The Tee-wahn woke and caught up their
bows and arrows, but only to find them useless.
So the warriors could do nothing but run from tl1eir
tiny foes, a11d up the ladder to tl1e roof they rl1sl1ed
pell-n1ell and thence fled to their homes, leaving
the Mice victorious.
The rest of the to\vn made sucl1 fun of the warriors
that they refused to return to the fight; and
the elated Mice l1eld a public dance in front of the
estu.fa. A brave sight it vvas, the army of tl1ese
little people, singing and dancing and vvaving their
spears. Tl1ey vvere dressed in red blanlzets, ,vith
leather leggi11gs glistening ,,1 itl1 silver buttons from
top to botton1, and gay moccasins. Each l1ad two
eagle feathers tied to the top of his spear - the
toke11 of victory. And as they danced and marched
and counter-marc11ed, tl1ey sang exultingly:
Shee-oh-pah c!z'-ot£- 17z l
Nel1-111dh-hlee-oli ch'-ot£- 1n /
Hlo-f1t fee-1zy p'-oh-telz I
over and over again-whicl1 n1eans
Quick ,ve cut the bo\vstring I
Quick v.re cut tl1e sling-strap!
We shaved the arro,v-featl1ers of!
For four days tl1ey clanced and sang, and on the
night of the fourtl1 day danced all night around
a big bonfire. The next morning they marched
avvay. That was the time ,vhen the Mice conquered
men; and that is the reason why we have
never been able to drive the Mice out of our homes
to this day.
•
26 TEE-WAHN FOLK-S'fORIES
'' Is that tl1e reason ? " ask all tl1e bO)'S, vvho
have been listening ,vith big black eyes inte11t.
'' 1'11at is the very reason,
1
' says witl1ered Diego.
'' N O\v, co,,npad?-e Antonio, tl1ere is a tail to you."
Antonio, tl1us called u1)on, cannot refuse. Indian
etiqL1ette is very strict u1Jon this poi11t -as well as
upo11 all otl1ers. So he fisl1es in his n1e1nory for a
story, wl1ile tl1e boys turn expectant faces tovvard
him. He is not nearly so rrinl<.led as Diego, but
he is very, ver)' old, and his voice is a little tremuloL1s
at first. \l-.,T rapping l1is blanket about him, he
begins
1"11en I ,vill tell you vv h y the Coyote and tl1e Blackbirds
are enemies-for once they were very good
friends in the old clays.
IV
THE COYOTE AND THE BLACKBIRDS
ONCE upon a time a Coyote Jived near an open
wood. As he vvent to wall<: one day r1ear tl1e
edge of the vvood, he l1eard tl1e Blacl<:birds ( tl1e
Indian name means '' seeds of the prairie") calling
excitedly:
'' B1·ing my bag! Bring my bag! It is going
to hail ! "
The Coyote, being very curious, ca111e near and
sa,v that they all had buckskin bag·s to wl1icl1 they
were tying lassos, the other er1ds of vvhich vvere
throvvn over the boughs of the trees. Very much
surprised, the Coyote came to them ar1d askecl :
'' Blacl<.bird-friends, vvl1at are you doing?"
'' Oh, friend Coyote,'' they replied, '' vve are
making ourselves ready, for soo11 there will be a
very hard hail-storm, a11d vve clo not vvish to be
peltecl to deatl1. vVe are going to get into these
bags and pull ot1rselves up under the branches,
where tl1e hail cannot strike us."
'' That is very goo,d," said tl1e Coyote, '' and I
vvould like to do so, too, if you will let me join you."
'' Oh, yes! Just run home and get a bag and a
lasso, and come back here and we will help you.,.
said the Pah-tahn, never smiling.
27
TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
So the Coyote started rt1nning for home, and·
g-ot a large bag ar1cl a lasso, a11d carne back to the
Blackbirds, vvl10 ,vere vvaiting. Tl1ey fixed tl1e
rope a11d bag- for him, 1)utting the noose arouncl
the neck of the bag so tl1at it \¥ould be closed
tight vvhen the rope ,vas pulled. Tl1en they threvv
tl1e e11d of the lasso o,1 er a strong brancl1 and saicl :
''No,,,, friend Co)rote, you get i11 to your bag
first, for you are so big and l1eavy tl1at you cannot
pull you1-self up, and ,,,e ,,,ill l1ave to hel1) yoL1."
Tl1e Coyote craVi1led i11to tl1e bag, and all tl1e
Blackbirds taking· l1olcl of tl1e rope, pt1lled 1,\1 itl1 all
tl1eir migl1t till the bag vvas s,vung clear up t1nde1- tl1e
branch. Then they tied the end of the lasso aroL1i1d
the tree so tl1e bag could not come do,;vn, a11d ran
arot1nd picki11g up all the pebbles they could find.
'' l\1ercy ! Ho,¥ tl1e l1ail comes ! '' t11ey criecl excitedly,
and began to tl1rovv stones at the s,,,inging
bag as hard as ever tl1ey cot1ld.
''Mercy!" 110,vled tl1e Co)rote, as tl1e 1)ebbles
pattered agai11st him. '' But this is a terrible storn1,
BI.acl(bird-friends ! It pelts me dreadf11ll)· ! f\nd
how are you getti11g along·?"
'' It is truly very bad, frie11d Coyote,
,
, tl1ey a11-
svvered, '' but yot1 are bigger a11d stronger tl1an v,,e,
and ought to endure it." And t1'1e)r lzept pelti11g
him, all tl1e time crying and cl1atteri11g as if tl1e1,,
too, were sufering greatl)' fron1 tl1e hail.
'' Oucl1 ! "yelled the Coyote.. '' Tl1at one hit me
very near the eye, friends! I fear tl1is evil storm
,vill kill t1s all ! "
'' Bt1t be brave, friend," callecl back the Blackbircls.
''\"!\Te l,eep ot1r hearts, a11d so sh0t1ld you,
THE COYOTE AND THE BLACKBIRDS 29
:ror you are 1nucl1 stronger than ,ve." And tl1ey
pelted him all tl1e l1arder.
So tl1ey kept it t1 p u11 til the)' vvere too tired to
thro,i\1 any more; and as for the Coyote, he vvas so
bruised and sore that l1e coulcl l1ardly mo,,e. The11
they untied tl1e ro1)e a11d let the bag slo,\rly to tl1e
ground, and loosc11ed the noose at the 11ecl< and
fle,v up into tl1e trees vvith sober faces.
'' Ovv ! " groar1ec-I tl1e Coyote, '' I a1n 11earl y dead! "
A11d l1e cravvlecl vveeping a11d groaning fro111 tl1e
bag, and bega11 to lick his bruises. Bt1t ,vl1er1 he
looled arol111d a11d sa\v tl1e st1n sl1ining a11d tl1e
ground dr)', and 11ot a hailtor1e a11)1,vhere, l1e knew
that tl1e Blackbirds l1acl gi,re11 l1im a trick, and he
limped hon1e in a terrible rage, ,,ovvi11g tl1at as soon
as ever he got ,,r ell l1e vvot1ld follo,v and eat tl1e
Blackbirds as lo11g as l1e livecl. And ever si11ce,
e,,en to tl1is day, l1e l1as been follo,;ving tl1e1n to eat
them, and tl1at is vvl1y tl1e Coyote and the Blackbirds
are alvvays at ,var.
'' Is that so?" crie·d all tl1e boys i11 chorus, tl1eir
eyes shining like coals.
'' 011, yes, tl1at is tl1e cause of the war," said old
Antonio, gra,,el)'· '' 1L\nd novv, br(?ther, tl1ere is a
tail to you,'' turni11g to the tall, gray-hairecl Felipe1
;
and clearing his tl1roat, Felipe begins about the
Coyote and the Bear.
1 Pronounced Fay-lee-peh.
V
1
THE CO\'OTE AND THE BEAR
ONCE u1Jon a time Ko-id-deh (the Bear) and
rr oo-,,,ha :f-del1 ( tl1e Co;1 ote) .cl1ar1ced to meet at
a certain soot, a11d sat do,\1 11 to talk. .i\fter a while .L
the Bear said:
'' Friend Co;1ote, do yoL1 see v\rhat good Land this
is 11ere? \\!hat do you sa )r if \\ 1e far111 it together,
sharing ot1r labor ancl tl1e crop ? "
Tl1e CO)'Ote tl1ought vvell of it, and said so; and
after talking, they agreed to plant potatoes in partnership.
'' N o,v." said the Bear, ' 1 I thinl< of a good \\ray
to di,ride tl1e crop. I ,vill tal<e all tl1at gro\,·s beIo,,,
the groL1nd, and you take all that grovvs above
it. Tl1en eacl1 can take avvay his share vvl1e11 l1e is
read \i, and there ,vill be no trouble to measL1re. )' ,
"f he Coyote agreed, and ,vhen the tir1e came
they 1)10,ved the place ,vitl1 a sharp stick and
pla11ted their l)otatoes. All sumn1er tl1e;' ,,,orked
togetl1er in the field, l1oeing down the vveeds \¥ith
stone hoes and letting in vvater no,v and then from
tl1e irrigating-clitcl1. \;\Tl1en harvest-tirne came, the
Coyote ,,,ent and cut of all tl1e potato-tops at tl1e
1 The Coyote, you must kno,v, is very stupid about son1e things; ancl in aln1ost
all Pueblo fairy stories is the victin1 of one joke or another, The bear,
on the other band, is one of the ,visest of animals.
30
THE COYOTE AND THE BEAR 31
ground and carried tl1em home, and afterward the
Bear scratched out the potatoes from the ground
with his big claws and took them to l1is house.
When the Coyote sa,v this his eyes were opened,
and he said:
'' But this is not fair. You have tl1ose rot111d
things, vvhich are good to eat, but ,,,hat I tool< home
we cannot eat at all, neither ID)' wife nor I."
'' But, frie11d Coyote,
,, ansv,rered tl1e Bear, g1Aavel)',
'' did vve not make an agreement? Tl1en vve must
stick to it lil<e men.,,
The Coyote could not ansvver, and went l1on1e;
but he ,vas 11ot satisfied.
The next spring, as they n1et one day, the Bear saicl:
'' Come, friencl Coyote, I think vve ought to plant
this good land again, and tl1is tin1e let us plant it
in corn. But last year you ,vere dissatisfied ,vith
your sl1are, so tl1is year "''e will change. You take
what is belovv tl1e grot1nd for y'Our sl1are, and I ,vill
take only wl1at gro,,,s above.''
This seemed very fair to the Coyote, and he
agreed. They plo,;ved and planted and tended the
corn; a11d ,vhen i t ca111e harvest-ti1n,e the Bear
gatl1ered all the stalks and ears and carried tl1em
ho1ne. v\Then the Coyote can1e to dig l1is share, he
found nothing but roots like tl1reads, which ,vere
good for notl1ing. He vvas very mt1ch dissatisfied;
bt1t the Bear ren1inded him of their agreement, and
he could say nothing.
That winter the Coyote ,vas vvalking one day by
the river (the Rio Grande), wl1en he savv the Bear
sitting on tl1e ice and eating a fish. The Coyote
\ivas very fond of fish, and coming up, l1e said:
32 TEE-\VAHN FOLK-STO.RIES
'' Friend Bear, ,vhere did you get such a fat
fish ? '' .
'' Oh, I brol<e a hole in tl1e ice," said the Bear,
'' and fisl1ed for tl1e111. There are many here."
And he ,vent on eating, v,1ithoL1t offering any to the
Coyote.
'' vV 011't you shovv n1e hovv, frie11d?" asked the
Coyote, fainting with ht1nger at tl1e smell of the
fish.
''Oh, yes," said tl1e Bear. ''lt is ,rery easy."
Arid he broke a hole i11 tl1e ice vvith his pa,v. '' N o,v,
friend Coyote, sit dovvn ar1d let your tail l1ang in
tl1e ,vater, and very soon you vvill feel a nibble.
But you must not pull it till I tell you."
So the Coyote sat dovv11 ,vith l1is tail in tl1e cold
water. Soon tl1e ice began to form arot1nd it, a11d
he called:
'' Friend Bear, I feel a bite! Let me pull hin1
out. "
''No, no! Not yet! " c1·ied the Bear, '' ,vait
till he gets a good hold, and then you will not lose
him."
So the Coyote vvaited. In a fe,v mi11utes the
hole was frozen solid, and his tail was fast.
'' N ovv, friend Coyote," called tl1e Bear, '' I tl1i11k
you have l1im. Pt1ll ! "
The Coyote pulled with all l1is 1nigl1t, but could
not lift his tail fro1n the ice, and there l1e ,vas - a
prisoner. Wl1ile he pulled and l1owled, the Bear
shot1ted ,vith laughter, and rolled on the ice and
ha-l1a'd till l1is sides ,vere sore. Then he took his
fish and ,vent l1on1e, stopping e,,ery little to laugh
at the thought of the Coyote.
THE COYOTE AND THE BEAR 33
There on the ice the Coyote had to stay u11til a
tha,v liberated him, and ,,vhen he got ho1ne he vvas
very ,vet and cold and half starved. And from that
day to this l1e has 11ever forgiven the Bear, and vvill
not eve11 speal< to hin1 \i\rl1e11 they meet, and the
Bear says, politely, '' Good morning, frie11d Toovvhay-
deh. ,,
'' Is that so?" cry the boys.
'' That is so," says Felipe. '' But novv i t is time
to go home. Too-kwa·£ .1 "
The story-telling is over for to-night. Grandmother
Reyes is unrolling tl1e mattresses upon tl1e floor;
and vvith pleasant ''good-nights" vve scatter for our
homes here and there in the quaint adobe village.
VI
11 · 0 \"lv there is a tail to yot1, compadre
[frie11cl]," said old Desiderio, nodding
at Patricio 1 after we hacl sat a,,,hile in
silence arot111cl tl1e cracl{ling fire.
Patricio l1acl a broacl strip of ra,vl1ide
across l1is lnee, and \\'as scraping
tl1e l1air from it v\rith a dull },c11ife. It
,,,as l1igl1 ti111e to be tl1inking of nevv
soles, for already tl1ere \\ras a ,vee l1ole
i11 tl1e bottom of eacl1 of l1is 1noccasi11s;
a11d as for Benito, l1is sl1y little grandso11, h,is toes
v,rere all abroad.
But sl1rilly as tl1e colcl riig·ht-,i\Tind outside hi11ted
tl1e vvisdom of speedy cobbling, Patricio l1ad n.o vvish
1 Pronounced Pah-tree-see-ob.
34
THE FIRST OF THE RATTLESNAI{ES 35
to acqt1ire that bt1rro's tail, so, laying the ravvhicle
and knife upo11 the floor beside l1im, l1e delibe1·ately
rolled a modest pi11ch of tl1e aromatic kooah-
rie i11 a cor11-hus1<, lig·l1ted it at the coals, and
dre,v Benito's tousled l1eacl to his side.
''You have heard," he said, vvith a slovv l)t1f,
'' about N al1-cht1-ru-chl1, tl1e mighty medici11e-1nan
who livecl l1ere in Isleta in the tin1es of tl1e an- .
c1ents.? "
'' A h-h .1" (Yes) criecl all tl1e boys. ''You have
promised to tell t1s hovv he n1a1·ried the 11100n ! "
'' Another tin1e I ,vill do so. But novv I sl1all
tell you sometl1ing that vvas befo1·e tl1at - for N ahc.
ht1 ru-cl1u had 1nany strange adve11tures before
he married Pal1-l1lee-ol1, tl1e l\1oon-lVIotl1e1·. Do
you knovv why tl1e rattlesnal(e- vvl1icl1 is tl1e king
of all snakes and alo11e l1as tl1e po,ver of cleatl1 in
his mouth - alvvays sl1akes l1is g·1daJ'e 1 before he
bites?''
'' Een-dahl" cl10.rt1sed Ra1116n a11d Benito, ancl
Fat Juan, and Ton1as,2 very eag·erly; for tl1e)' vvere
particularly fond of heari11g abot1t tl1e exploits of
the gre.2test of Tee-vvc1l111 1nedici11e-men.
'' Listen, then, and you shall hear."
In those days N al1-cl1u-ru-chu l1ad a frie11d who
lived in a pt1eblo nearer the foot of tl1e EagleFeather
Mountain thar1 tl1is, i11 the Place of the
Red Earth, where still are its rui11s; and the t\vo
young men ,vent often to the mountain together
to bring vvood and to l1t1nt. Now, N ah-cl1u-ru-
1 The Pueblo sacred rattle.
2 Pronounced Rah-1n6hn, Bay-nee-toh, vVhahn, Toh-1nahs •
•
TEE-\V AHN FOLI<-STORIES
chu had a vvhite heart, and never tl1ought ill; but
the friend had the evil road ancl became jealot1s, .
for N ah-chL1-ru-chu was a better hu11ter. But l1e
said nothi11g, and made as if l1e still loved N al1-
chu-ru-chu truly ..
One day the friend carne over from his village
and said:
'' Friend N ah-chu-ru-chu, let us go to-morrovv
for vvood and to have a hu11t.
''lt is ,vell," replied Nah-chu-ru-chu. Next
morning. he started very earl)' and can1e to the villag
·e of his friend; ar1d tog·ether tl1ey went to tl1e
mot1ntai11. vVl1e11 they l1ad gatl1ered n1 t1ch \vood,
a11d lasl1ed it in bundles for carrying, they started
off in opposite directions to l1t111t. In a sl1ort ti1ne
each returned vvith a fine fat deer.
cc But v\rl1y sl1ot1ld ,,,e haste11 to go home, frie11d
Nal1-chu-ru-cl1u ?" said the frie11d. ''It is still early,
and ,ve have mucl1 time. Come, let us stop here
and amuse ot1rselves ,,,itl1 a game."
''lt is ,vell, friend," ansvvered Nal1-cl1u-ru-cl1u;
'' bt1t vvl1at game sl1all vve play? For vve have
neither pa-toles, 11or l1oops, nor any other ga1ne
here."
'' See! ,ve vvill roll tl1e 11iali-klzu·1,., 1 for vvl1ile I
vvas vvaiting for you I made one tl1at ,ve might
1)lay'' - and the false friend dre\v from beneath. his
blanket a pretty painted hoop; but really he l1ad
1 The game of 1zah-khztr, ,vhich the Pueblos learned fron1 the Apaches n1any
centuries ago, is a very si111ple one, but is a favorite ,vit11 all \\·itches ·as a snare
for those v,rl1on1 they ,vould injure. A s1nall J-1oop of ,villo1v is painted gailyi
and has ornan1ental buckskin thongs stretched across it fron1 side to side,
spoke-fashion. The challenger to a gan1e rolls the hoop rapidly past the challenged,
who n1ust throv,r a lance through between the spokes before it ceases
to roll.
" AS HE CAUGH'f TI-IE HOOP liE WAS INS'fANTLY CHANGED INTO
A POOR CO.YO'fE ! "
1HE FIRS'f OF THE RATTLESNAKES 39
1nade it at home, and had brought it l1idden, on
purpose to do harm to N al1-chu-ru-cl1u.
'' N o,v go dovvr1 tl1ere and catch it wl1en I roll
it," said he; and Nah-cl1u-ru-chu did so. Bt1t as l1e
caugl1t the hoop vvl1en it came rolling, l1e vvas no
longer N ah-cht1-ru-cht1 the brave hunter, but a poor
Coyote with great tears rolling down l1is nose !
''Hu!" said tl1e false frie11d, taunti11gly, '' ,ve do
tl1is to each other! So no,v you l1ave all tl1e plains
t,o vvander over, to tl1e north, and ,:vest, and sot1th;
but you can never go to tl1e east. And if yot1 are
not lucky, the dogs \vill tear yot1; bt1t if you are
lt1cl<y, they may have pity on you. So no,v g·oodby,
for this is the last I sl1all ever see of you."
Tl1en the false frie11d ,,vent a1v,,ay, laugl1i11g, to his
village; and tl1e poor Coyote \va11clered ai111lessly,
weeping to tl1inl< tl1at l1e had been betra )'ed by the
one l1e had loved and trusted as a brotl1er. For
four days l1e pro,vled about tl1e outslzirts of Isleta,
looking vvistfully at his l1ome. Tl1e fierce dogs ran
ot1t to tear l1im; but vvl1e11 tl1ey can1e near they
only snifed at l1i1n, and vvent a\\,a)' ,vithot1t hurting
hin1. He cot1lcl fi11d nothing to eat save dry bones,
and old thongs or soles of moccasins.
011 the fourth day he tt1rned v,,est,vard, and
wandered until he can1e to Mesita.1 Tl1ere ,vas no
tovvr1 of tl1e Lagunas there then, ar1d onl)' a sl1epherd's
l1t1 t ancl corral, in ,vhicl1 were an old Queres
Indian and his g·rands9n, te11di11g their goats.
Next morning ,vhen the grandso11 went out very
earl)' to let tl1e goats from the corral, he sa,v a
Co)rote rt1n out from among tl1e goats. It went
1 An outlying colony of Laguna, forty n1iles from Isleta.
TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
of a little ,vay, and then sat do,v11 and watched
him. The boy col1nted tl1e goats, a11d none vvere
missir1g, and he tl1ought it stra11ge. But l1e said·
nothing to l1is grandfather.
For three more mornings the ver)' same thing
happe11ed; and on the fourth morning the boy told
his grandfather. The old mar1 came Ol1t, and set
the dogs after the Coyote, ,vhich ,vas sitting a little
v\ray of; but vvl1en they can1e near they ,vould 11ot
touch l1im.
'' I suspect tl1ere is sometl1ing ,vrong l1ere,)) said
the old shepherd; ancl he callecl: '' Coyote) are you
coyote-true, or are you people?"
But the Coyote could 11ot answer; and tl1e old
man called again: '' Co)iOte, are you people?,,
At that the Coyote nodded l1is l1ead, (' Yes.
,,
'' If tl1at is so, come here and be 11ot afraid of
us; for ,ve ,vill be the ones to help )'OU out of this
trouble."
So tl1e Coyote ca1ne to tl1em and licked their
hands, a11cl they gave it food - for it vvas dying of
hunger. \1/hen it was fed, the old 1nan said:
''Now, son, you are going out vvith tl1e goats
along the creel, a11d tl1ere yo11 ,,,ill see some vvillows.
vVitl1 your mi11d lool< at two willo,vs, ancl
mark them ; and to-morro,v 1norni11g you n1ust go
a11d bring one of them."
Tl1e boy ,vent away tendi11g tl1e goats, and the
Coyote stayed ,:vitl1 the old man. Next morning,
,vhen they a,:vol<e very ea.rly, they sa,v all tl1e earth
,vrapped in a \,,hite 1nanta.1
1 This figure is al,vays used by the Pueblos in speaking of sno,v in connection
with sacred things.
,
'' COYOTE, ARE YOU PEOPLE?"
THE FIRST OF THE RATTLESNAKES 43
'' Now, son,'' said the old ma11, '' you must vvear
only your moccasins and breech-clout) and go like a
man to the t,,,o ,villovvs you marked )'esterda)'· 1'o
one of them you must pra),; and then cut the other
and bring it to me."
The boy did so and ca.me back with the V1rillow
stick. The old man prayed, and made a niah-khur
hoop; and bidding the Co)rote stand a little way
of and stick his l1ead through the hoop before it
shot1ld stop rolling, rolled it to,vard him. The
Coyote waited till the hoop came very close, and
gave a great ju1np and put his head tl1rot1gh it before
it could stop. And lo! there stood N ah-churu-
chu, young and handsome as ever; bt1t his
beautiful suit of fringed buckskin ,,,as all in rags.
For four days he stayed there and ,vas cleansed
vvith the cleansing of the n1edicine-man; and then
the old shepherd said to him :
'' No,v, friend Nal1-chu-ru-chu) there is a road.1
But take vvith )'Ou this /a;·a )
2 for thoug-11 )'Our
povver is great, ;rou ha,,e submitted to this evil.
When you get home, he vvho did this to you ,,,ill
be first to knovv, and he ,vill con1e pretending to be
your friend, as if he had done nothing ; and he vvill
ask you to go ht1nting again. So you must go;
and when you come to the mountain, vvith this /aja
you shall repay h i1n."
Nah-chu-ru-chu thanked the kind old shepherd,
and started home. But vvhen he came to the Bad
Hill and looked do,vn into the valle;' of the Rio
Grande, his heart sank. All the grass and
1 That is, you can go home.
2 A fine woven belt, ,vith figures in red and green.
44 TEE-vV AHN FOLI(-STORIES
fields and trees ,vere dry and dead - for N al1-
cl1u-ru-cl1u ,,,as the medicine-1nan ,vl10 controlled
tl1e clouds, so no rai11 could fall ,vher1 he ,vas
gone; and tl1e eigl1t days l1e had bee11 a Coyote
were in trutl1 'eigl1t )1ears. The riv.er ,,,as dry,
and tl1e springs; ancl man)' of tl1e people vvere
dead from thirst, and the rest ,vere d)ri11g. But
as N ah-cht1-ru-cht1 can1e do,:vn the hill, it began
to rai11 agai11, and all the IJeople ,,,ere glad.
•
Wl1e11 he came into tl1e pueblo, all the famisl1i11g
people came out to v,,elcome him. And
soon came the false friend, n1aking as if he had
never be,,,itcl1ed him 11or l1ad k110,vr1 v,,I1ither l1e
clisappeared.
In a fevv days the false friend came again to
propose a ht1nt; and next morning they ,vent to
tl1e n1ountai11 tog·etl1er. N al1-cl1u-ru-cl1u had the_
pretty fa;a ,,1ou11cl around l1is ,;1;1aist; a11d vvhen
tl1e wind ble,v l1is blanket aside, the other sa,,, it.
'' Ay ! \Vl1at a pretty faja I" cried the false
friend. '' Give it to me, friend N al1-cht1-ru-cl1u."
'' Eeti-da!i .1 ''(No) said N ah-chu-ru-cl1u. Bt1t the
false frier1d begged so hard tl1at at last he said:
'' Then I ,vill roll it to you; and if yot1 can
catch it before it un,vinds, you may l1ave it."
So l1e ,vot111d it up, 1 ancl holdi11g by one end
gave it a pusl1 so that it ran a,ray from l1i1n,
unrolli11g as it ,vent. Tl1e false friend ju1nped
for it, bt1t it vvas t1nrolled before he caug·l1t it.
'
1 Ee1i-dah I" said N ah-chu-ru-chu, pt1lling r"
back. '' If yoL1 clo not care enough for it to be
spr),er tl1an tl1at, yot1 can11ot have it."
1 Like a roll of tape .
HE
SEIZE!) IT HE
l\:fAN INTO
\VAS CHANGED FROM A 'fALL
A GRE,A''l RATTLb:SNAE.E."
YOUNG
THE FIRST OF THE RATTLESNAKES 47
The false friend begged for another trial ; so
Nah-chu-ru-cl1u rolled it again. This time the
false friend caught it before it ,vas unrolled; and
lo ! instead of a tall yot1ng n1an, t11ere la)' a great
rattlesnalze ,,,ith tears rolling fro111 his lidless eyes!
''\Ve, too, do tl1is to eacl1 otl1er!" said Nahcl1t1-
ru-cl1u. He tool<. from his medicine-poucl1 a
pir1cl1 of tl1e sacred n1eal and laid it on the snake's
flat head for its food ; and tl1en a pinch of the
corn-polle11 to tame it.1 And tl1e snake ran out
its reel forked tongue, and licked tl1em.
'' Now," said Nah-chu-ru-chu, '' tl1is mountain
and all rocky places shall be yot1r home. Bt1t
you can never again clo to a11other l1arn1, vvithout
warning, as you did to me. For see, there is
a gua;e2 in your tail, and ,vhtnever you vvould do
any one a11 injury, yot1 must vvarn then1 beforehancl
,,,ith your rattle."
'' And is that the reason vvhy Cl1'ah-rah-ral1-deh
always rattles to give warning before l1e bites?"
asked Fat Juan, who is now quite as ofte11 called
J t1an Biscocho (John Biscuit), since I photograpl1ed
him one day cravvling out of the big
adobe bake-oven where he had been hiding.
'' That is the very reason. Tl1en N ah-chu-ru-chu
left his false friend, from whom all tl1e rattlesnakes
are descended, and came back to his village.
From that time all went well vvith Isleta,
for N ah-chu-ru-chu was at home again to attend
to the clouds. There was plenty of rain, and the
river began to run again, and tl1e springs flowed.
1 This same spell is still used here by the Hee-bi,t-hd.i, or snake-charmers.
2 Pronounced Gwah-heh.
48 TEE-WAHN FOLI(-STORIES
The people plowed and planted again, as they had
not been able to do for several years, and all their
work prospered. As for tl1e people who lived in
tl1e Place of the Red Earth, they all moved do,vn
here,1 because the Apacl1es were very bad; and
here their descendants live to this day."
'' Is that so?" sigl1ed all tl1e boys in chorus,
sorry that the story ,.vas so soon done.
'' That is so," replied old Patricio. '' And now,
co1npadre Antonio, there is a tail to you."
'' Well, the11, I vvill tell a story v\1hicl1 they
shovved me in Taos 2 last year," said the. old man.
'' Ah-h ! " said the bo)rs.
''It is about the Coyote and the Woodpecl(er.''
1 It is a proved fact that there was such a n1igration.
2 The 1nost northern of the Pueblo cities. Its people are also Tee-wahn .•
VII
THE COYOTE AND THE WOODPECKER
Vl TELL, once t1pon a time· a Coyote and his
IV family lived near the edge of a wood. There
vvas a big l1ollovv tree there, and in it lived a11 old
Woodpecker and his vvife and children. One day
as the Coyote-father ,vas strolling along the edge
of the forest he met the Woodpecker-father.
'' Hilz-no-kah-kee-ma" (Good eveni11g), said the
Coyote; '' l1ow do you do to-day, frie11d Hlooree-
del1? 11
'' Very well, thanlz yot1 ; and how are yot1, friend
Too-vvhay-del1?"
So tl1ey stopped and tallzed togetl1er awhile;
and vvhen they ,vere about to go apart tl1e Coyote
said:
'' Friencl Woodpecker, wl1y do yot1 11ot co1ne as
friends to see us? Come to our house to sL1p1Jer
this evenir1g, and bring your family."
'' Tha11k you, friend Coyote," said tl1e Woodpecl<
er; '' vve will come \iVith joy."
So that eve11ing, ,vh.en the Coyote-motl1er had
macle supper ready, there came tl1e Woodpeclze1·fatl1e1
· and the Wooclpecl<er-n1other with their
three children. When tl1ey had come in, all five
4 49
50 TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
of the Woodpeckers stretched themselves as they
do after flying, ancl by that showed their prety
feathers - for the Hloo-ree-deh l1as yellow and
red marks under its wi11gs. While they ,vere
eating supper, too, tl1ey so111etimes spread their
'fHE COYO'l'ES A'f SUPPER \VITH 1'HE \V'OODPECKERS.
,,1ings, and clis1)1ayed tl1eir brigl1t ur1cler-side.
Tl1ey praised tl1e SllJJμer l1ig·l1ly, and said the
Coyote-mother v,,as a pe1-fect l1ouselzee1)er. \,\Tl1e11
it vvas ti111e to g·o, tl1e)' tl1a11l-:ecl tl1e Coyotes
very kindly a11cl invitecl tl1e111 to cor11e to
THE COYOTE AND THE WOODPECKER 51
su1)per at their house the follo1iving evening.
But vvl1en they vvere gone, tl1e Coyote-father
could hold himseif no longer, and he saicl:
'' Did you see vvhat airs tl1ose Woodpeckers
put on? Al,iVays sho,vi11g· of tl1eir bright feathers
? Bt1t I vvant them to l<:no,v that tl1e
Coyotes are equal to them. I 'll sho,v them ! "
Next day, the Coyote-fatl1er had all his fan1-
ily at v\70rl<: bringing vvoocl, and bt11lt a great
fire in front of his l1ouse. \tVl1en it ,vas ti111e
to go to tl1e house of the Woocipeckers l1e
called his wife and cl1ildre11 to the fire, and
lashed a burning sticlc u11cler eacl1 of tl1eir arms,
witl1 tl1e bu1·ning end poi11ti11g forvvard; a11d
then he fixed hin1self in tl1e san1e v\ray.
'' Now," said he, '' vve will sho,v tl1em ! When
we get there, you must lift t1p your arn1s no,v and
then, to shovv them that we are as good as tl1e
Wood peckers.''
When they came to the house of the Woodpeckers
and went in, all tl1e Coyotes kept lifting tl1eir
arn1s often, to shovv the brigl1t coals underneath.
But as they sat do,vn to supper, one Coyote-girl
gave a shriek and said:
'' Oh, tata.l My fire is burning me ! "
'' Be patient, my daughter," said the Coyotefather,
se-verely, '' and do not cry about little
things."
'' Ovv ! '' cried the other Coyote-girl in a mor1ent,
'' my fire has g·one Ol1t ! ''
Tl1is was more than tl1e Coyote-father could
stand, and he reproved her angrily.
'' But how is it, friend Coyote," said the Wood
52 TEE-WAHN FOLI<-STORlES
pecker, politely, '' that your colors are so brignt at
first, but very soon become black?"
'' 0111 that is the beauty of our colors," replie·d
the Coyote, smothering l1is rage; '' that they are
not always the sa1ne-like otl1er people's- but
turn all sl1ades."
But the Coyotes were very uncomfortable, ana
1nade an excuse to hurry l1on1e_ as soon as they
could. \t\Tl1e11 they got tl1ere, tl1e Coyote-father
\.vhipped them all for exposing him to be laugl1ed
at. But the \tVoodpecker-fathe1- gathered l1is children
around him, and saicl:
''Now, my cl1ildren, you see ,v hat the Coyotes
have done. Never in your life try to appear vv l1at
you are not. Be just ,vl1at you really are, and put
on no false colors."
'' Is that so ? " cried tl1e boys.
'' That is so; and it is as true for l)eople as fo1
birds. N ovv, t60-kwai-fo1- it is bedtime.. "
VIII
MONG tl1e principal heroes of
the Tee-wahn folk-lo1·e, I hear
of none rr1ore f1·eqt1ently in the
,vinter story-tellings to which
my aboriginal neighbors adn1it
me, tl1an tl1e mighty N ah-churu-
chu. To this day l1is name,
which means ''The Bluish Light
of Da,vn, '' is deeoly revered by J.
. the qtiaint people vvho claim him
as one of their fo1·efathers. He had no parents,
for he was created by the Trues themselves, and
by them ,vas given sucl1 extraordinary powers as
were second 011ly to their own. His vvonderful
53
54 TEE-WAHN FOLJ(. S1'0RIES
feats a11d startling adventures - as still related by
tl1e believing Isletefios - ·vvould fill a volume. One
of tl1ese fancift1l m)rths l1as interested me particularly,
not only for its i111 portan t bearing on certain
eth11ological n1atters, but for its intrinsic qualities
as well. It is a tl1orougl1l)' cl1aracteristic leaf from
tl1e lege11dar)r lore of tl1e Soutl1 \,vest.
Long before tl1e first Spaniards came to New
l\/[exico (and that ,vas tl1ree l1undred and fifty
years ago) Isleta stood \vhere it stands to-day
- on a la,,a ridge tl1at defies tl1e g·navving current
of tl1e Rio Gra11de.1 I11 those far days, Nah-churu-
chu d,velt i n Isleta, and ,vas a leader of his
people. A \\reaver by tracle, -2 his rude loom hung
from the clark rafters of his room; and in it he
v,1ove the strong black 11zcl1ztas ,vhich are tl1e dress
o.f Pueblo ,vome11 to this da )'·
Besides beir1g· very v,,ise in medici11e, Nah-cl1uru-
cl1t1 vvas young, and tall, a11d strong, and handson1e;
a11d all tl1e girls of tl1e village thought it a
shame tl1at l1e did not care to take a wife. For
hin1 tl1e shyest di111ples played, for him tl1e vv hi test
teeth flashecl out, as the ow11ers passed him in the
plaza; but l1e l1ad no e)res for tl1en1. Then, in
the na1ve custorn of tl1e Tee-vvahn, bashft1l fingers
worked wondrot1s frir1ged shirts of buclzskin, or
gay a ,v l-sheatl1s, ,v l1ich found tl1eir vva y to his
house by unkno,\7n messengers - each as much as
l Bandelier has published a contrary opinion, to V1•hich I do not thinl{ he
,vould no,v cling. The folk-lore and the ,'ery nan1e of the to,\'n fully proYe to
1ne that its site has not changecl in historic times.
2 In the ancient days, ,veaving ,vas practised only by the men, among the
Pueblos. This old usage is no,v reversed, and it is the women ,vho weave,
except in the pueblos of Moqui.
THE lVIAN vVI-IO MARRIED THE MOON
.
55
to say, '' Sl1e ,vho made this is yours, if you will
have her." But N ah-chu-ru-chu paid no n1ore attention
to the gifts than to tl1e smiles, and just kept
1,veaving and weaving-sucl1 ma1ztas as 1,vere never
seen in tl1e land of the Tee-vvahn before or since.
The rnost persistent of his admirers were tvvo
sisters ,vho ,;vere called Ee-eh-choo-r-£-ch' dhm-nz·n
- the Y ellovv-Co1·11-Maide11s. TI1ey were b.oth
young and pretty, bt1t tl1ey '' had tl1e evil road"
- ,vl1ich is tl1e Indian v,,ay of saying tl1at tl1ey
vvere possessed of a magic J)o,,ver \;vhicl1 they always
used for ill. Wl1en all the other girls gave t1p,
discouraged at N al1-chL1-ru-chu's incliference, the
Yel1o·vv-Corn-l\1aidens l<:ept coming day after day,
trying to attract him. At last the matter became
sucl1 a nuisance to N ah-chu-ru-cht1 that he hired
the deep-voiced town-crier to g·o tl1rot1gh all the
streets and announce that in four days Nah .. churu-
cl1u vvould cl1oose a wife.
Fo1· dippers, to take water from the big· earthen
tinajas, the Tee-,;vahn used then, as they use to
day, queer little ladle-sl1aped orrtates macle of a
gourd; but N ah-cl1u-ru-chu, being a great 1nedicine-
ma11 and very rich, had a dipper of pt1re pearl,
sl1aped like the gourds, bt1t wonderfully pr·ecious.
'' On the fourtl1 day," proclaimed the crier,
'' N ah-chu-ru-cht1 will hang his pearl onzate at his
door, vvhere every girl who vvill may throw a handful
of corn- meal at it. And she vvhose meal is so
well ground that it sticks to the omate, sl1e shall be
the ,vife of N ah-cl1u-ru-cht1 ! "
When this strange news came rolling dov,rn the
still evening air, there was a great scampering of
TEE-WAHN FOLIZ-STORIES
little moccasined feet. Tl1e girls ran OL1t fron1
l1undreds of gray adobe houses to catcl1 every
word; and vvhen the crier l1ad passed on, tl1ey ra11
back into tl1e store-rooms ancl beg·an to ransaclz the
corn-bins for the bigg·est, evenest, and most perfect
ears. Shelling tl1e choicest, each took her few
handfuls of kernels to tl1e sloping 1tzetate,1 and
THE ISLET A GIRLS GRINDING 'CORN V-1ITH 'fHE "1'fANO ''
O N THE "1\·fETA 1'.E,"
\vith the 1na110, or hand-stone, scrubbed the grist
up and do,vn, and t1p and down till the l1ard corn
was a soft, blue n1eal. All tl1e next day, and
the next, and the next, they ground it over and
over again, t1ntil it g-re\v finer tl1an e\rer flour \Vas
before; and every girl felt sure tl1at her n1eal
vvould sticl< to tl1e 01tzate of tl1e handsome young
vveaver. The Yellovv-Corn-l\1aidens ,vorl<ed l1ardest
of all; day and night for four days tl1ey ground
and ground, vvith all the magic spells they knevv.
1 The slab of lava ,vhicl1 still serves as a hand-n1ill in Pueblo l1ouses.
THE MAN \VHO l'v1ARRIED THE l\100N 57
N ovv, in those far-of days the Moon had not
gone tip into tl1e sky to live, but \vas a maiden of
Sl1ee-eh-vvl11b-bak. And a very beat1tiful girl sl1e
,vas, tl1ougl1 blind of- 011e eye. Sl1e l1acl 1011g admired
N ah-cl1u-r(1-cl1t1, but vvas al,vays too n1aidenly to
try to attract l1is attentio11 as other girls l1ad done;
and at tl1e ti111e ,vl1e11 tl1e crier made l1is proclan1ation,
she happened to be
avva)' at her fatl1er's 1-anch.
It vvas 011ly upon tl1e fourtl1
day that she returned to
tovvn, and in a fe,v 111on1ents
tl1e girls ,;vere to go ,vith
their meal to test it upon
the rnagic dipper. The tvvo
Y ellovv-Corn- Maidens ,vere
just coming from tl1ei1A l1ouse
as she passed, and told her
of what was to be done.
Tl1ey were very confident
of success, and told the
Moon-girl only to pain l1er;
and laugl1ed derisively as
she "vent running to her
home.
By tl1is time a long file
of girls vvas con1ing t<) N al1-
chu-ru-cl1u's l1ouse, ot1tsicle
vvhose door l1ung tl1e pearl
omate. Eacl1 girl carried i11
l1er left l1and a little jar of
,
• , i
.
,
.\
'
-
i
,,
·-
'fJ:lE ilfOON-?lfAIDEN.
meal; and as tl1ey passecl the door one by one, each
took from the jar a handful and tl1revv it against
TEE-Vl AHN FOLI{-STORIES
tl1e magic dipper. But each time the meal dropped
to the ground, a11d left the pure pearl undimme9
and radiant as ever.
At last came tl1e Y ellov\7 -Corn-l\1aidens, \¥ho had
waited to ,;vatcl1 the failure of the others. As they
ca111e wl1ere tl1ey could see N ah-cl1u-r{1-cl1u sitting
at his loom, they called: '' Al1 ! Here we l1ave the
meal tl1at vvill stick ! '' and eacl1 threvv a handful at
the 01J'z.ate. But it did not stick at all; and still
from his seat N ah-chu-ru-chu could see, in that
mi1·ror-like surface, all that vvent on OL1tside.
Tl1e Y ellow-Cor11-l\1aidens ,;v ere ve1·y angry, and
instead of passing on as tl1e otl1e1·s had done, tl1ey
stood there and l<-e1Jt tl1ro,;ving and throvving at the
on1ate, ,;vl1icl1 s1niled bacl at tl1e111 with undin1inisl1ecl
luster.
Just tl1en, last of all, ca1ne the l\1Ioon, ,;vitl1 a
single l1ar1dfL1l of meal vvl1icl1 sl1e l1ad l1astily ground.
Tl1e t\;1,ro sisters ,,,ere i11 a fine rage by this time,
and moclzed her, sa)ring:
''Hoh! P'cih-hlee-olz, 1 you poor tl1ing, we are very
sorry for you! Here ,ve have been grinding our
meal fou1· days ancl still it vvill not stick, and )TOll
vve did not tell till to-day. Hov, tl1en, can you
ever l1ope to win N al1-chu-ru-cl1u? Pool1, you silly
little tl1ing ! "
But tl1e l\J oon paicl no attention whatever to
their tal1nts. D1·a,"'i11g back l1er little dimpled
hand, s11e t11re\v tl1e n1eal gently agai11st tl1e pearl
01nate, ancl so fine ,,Tas it groL111d tl1at every tiniest
bit of it c.l11ng to tl1e polisl1ed shell, ancl 11ot a par··
ticle fell to the groL1 ncl.
1 Tee-,vahn nan1e of the 1110011; liLerally, "'\\'ater-Mai<len."
,,
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l-<
f-<
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l-<
THE MAN \i\THO MARRIEB THE MOON 61
Wl1en N al1-chu-ru-cl1u saw that, he rose up
quicl<ly from his loon1 and carne and tool<: the
Moon by the hand, saying, '' You are she ,vho
sl1a11 be my ,vife. You shall never vvant for anytl1ing,
since I have very 1nL1cl1." A11d he gave her
many beautiful 11ia1z!a,r;, and cotton vvra1Js, and fat
boots of bt1Cl<skin tl1at wrap round and round, that
sl1e might dress as the wife of a rich chief. But tl1e
Yello'1v-Corn-Maidens, \vl10 had seen it all, went
away vo,vi11g vengea11ce on tl1e l\1oon.
Nal1-chu-ru-chu and his s,veet l\1oon-wife vvere
very· happy togetl1er. There was no otl1er such
housel<eeper in all tl1e IJL1eblo as sl1e, a11d no other
hunter brot1g!1t home so n1t1cl1 buffalo-rneat from
tl1e vast plains to tl1e east, nor so n1any a11telopes,
a11d blacJ.-tailed deer, and jack-rabbits fron1 the
l\1anzanos as did N al1-cht1-ru-cht1. But l1e constantly
was sa)1ing· to he1·:
'' Moon,-,vife, be,,,arc of the Yellow-Corn-Maidens,
for they have tl1e evil road and ,vill try to do
you harm, but )'Ou must always 1·efuse to do \vhatever
they propose." And alvvays the yot1ng wife
promisecl.
One day tl1e Yello\v-Corn-l\1aidens can1e to the
hot1se and saicl:
'' Friend N al1-chu-ru-cl1t1, vve are goin.g· to tl1e
llano1 to gatl1er a11zole. 2 Will you not let your wife
go ,vitl1 us?''
'' Oh, )"es, she 1nay go," said N al1-chu-ru-cl1u;
but taking her asicle, l1e said, <'NO\V be SL1re that
you refuse ,vhatever they 1nay propose."
1 Plain.
2 'fhe soa11y root of tl1e, palmilla, usecl for ,vaslring.
62 TEE-"'lv AHN FOLI<-STORIES
The Moon promised, and started avvay vvith the
Yellow-Corn-1\'laiclens.
I 11 th<.)se da y·s there ,vas only a thiclz forest of
cottonvvoods vvhere are now the sn1iling vine1,ards1
and gardens, and orcl1ards of Isleta, and to reach
the l!a1zo the three women I1ad to go througl1 this
forest. In the very center of it tl1ey came to a
clee1) pozo - a square well, vvith steps at 011e side
leading do,;vn to the ,vater'$ edge.
'' Ay ! " said tl1e Yello,v-Corn-Maidens, '' l1ow
l1ot and tl1irsty is ot1r walk! Come, let t1s get a
dri11k ot· ,vater."
But tl1e Moon, re1nembering her l1l1sband's
words, said l)olitely tl1at s11e did not vvisl1 to clri11lz.
Tl1ey t1rged in vain, but at last, looling clo,vn ir1to
the pozo, called:
'' 011, Moon-friend! Come a11d loolz in this still
,vater, and see 110\v pretty yot1 are ! ''
The Moon, you mt1st i.no,v, has al,vays be.e11 just
as fond of looking at herself in tl1e vvater as she is to
tl1is very day, anc-l forgetting N ah-chu-r6-cl1t1's warning,
she came to tl1e brink, a11d looked clown t1pon
her fair reflection. But at that very moment, the t,vo
witcl1-sisters pushed lier head foremost into tl1e pozo,
and drovvned her; and then filled the well vvitl1 eartl1,
and went a,vay as happy as vvicked hearts can be.
Nal1-chu-ru-cl1u began t o look oftener from his
loon1 to the door as the st1n crept alo11g the adobe
floor, closer and closer to his seat; and wl1e11 the
shado,\rs ,vere very long, he spra11g sudclenly to his
feet, arid ,vall,ed to tl1e house of the Y ello,v-CornMaide11s
,vitl1 long, stro11g strides.
THE MAN vVHO MARRIED THE MOON 63
'' E e-eh-choo-1-z·-ch' dhm-1iz'n," he said, ,,ery stern I y,
'' where is my little vvife ? "
'' \i\Th y, is n't sl1e at l1ome ? '' asked tl1e vvicked
sisters as if- in great surp1·ise. '' She got enough
amole long before ,ve did, and started l1ome ,vitl1 it.
We supposed sl1e l1ad come long ago."
'' Ah," groaned Nah-chu-ru-chL1 ,vithi11 l1imself;
'' it is as I thought-they l1ave done her ill." But
without a ,vord to them he turned on his heel and
went away.
From that hour all \i\rent ill vvith lsleta, for N ahcl1u-
ru-chu held the vvell-being of all l1is people,
even unto life and deatl1. Pa),ing 110 attention to
\.vhat ,vas going on about l1im, he sat n1otionless
upo11 tl1e very crosspiece of the estzifa ladde1· - the
highest point in all the tov\1n -vvitl1 his l1ead
bowed upon l1is l1ands. Tl1ere l1e sat for days,
never speaking, never n1oving. The children that
played along tl1e streets looked L1p to the motionless
figure, and ceased thei1· bois.terous play. The
old men sl1ook tl1eir l1eads g·ravely, and muttered :
''vVe are in evil times, for Nah-chu-ru-cl1u is mourning,
and vvill not be comforted. And there is no more
rain, so that ot1r crops are drying in the fields.
What shall vve do? ''
At last all the councilors met togetl1er, and decided
that there must be another efort made to
fi11d the lost wife. It vvas true tl1a t tl1e great N al1-
ch u-ru-chu had searcl1ed for l1er in vain, and the
peep.le l1ad helped him; b1Jt perl1aps some one else
might be more fortunate. So they took some of
the sacred sn1oking-veed wrapped in a corn-husk:
and went to Shee-wid-deh, vvho has the sharpest
1'EE-'vV AHN FOLK-STORIES
eyes i11 all tl1e vvorld. Giving him the sacred gift
they said:
'' Eagle-friend, vve see N al1-chu-ru-cl1u in great
trouble, for he l1as lost l1is lYioon-,vife. Co111e,
searcl1 fo1- her, ,ve pray you, if she be alive or
dead."
So the Eagle took the ofering, and smoked tl1e
smol<.e- prayer; and tl1en l1e ,vent \vinging· t1p,vard
into tl1e very sl<y. Higl1er and l1igl1er l1e rose, in
great up\va1-d circles, wl1ile l1is l<.een eyes noted
every stick, and stone, and ani1nal 011 tl1e face of all
the v\,orld. Bt1t ,vitl1 all l1is eyes, he cot1lcl see nothing
· of tl1e lost ,vife; and at last he came back sadly,
and said:
'' People-friends, I vvent up to ,vl1e1-e I could see
the whole ,vorld. but I could not find her."
Tl1en the people ,vent \Vith an ofering to the
Coyote, vvhose nose is sl1arpest in all tl1e ,vo1-ld;
and besought hir11 to try to find t-l1e Moon. The
Coyote sn1ol<:ed tl1e srnolze-prayer, a11d startecl of
,vitl1 l1is 11ose to tl1e ground, t1-yi11g· to fir1d her
tracks. He trotted all over tl1e earth; bl1t at last
he too tame back \vithout finding ,vhat l1e sol1ght.
Tl1en the troubled people got tl1e Badger to
searcl1, for l1e is best of all tl1e beasts at cliggingand
he it ,vas ,vhon1 tl1e Trues en11)l0}1ed to dig the
caves in ,vl1ich tl1e peo1Jle first cl,velt ,:vhen tl1ey
ca1ne to tl1is ,,rorld. Tl1e Baclg·er trotted and
pavved, ancl dt1g everywl1cre, but l1e col1lcl not find
tl1e Moon ; and l1e can1e l1ome ,,ery sad.
Tl1en tl1ey asl.:ed tl1e Osprey, ,v 110 can see farthest
u11cler water, and he sailed higl1 al)o,,e all the
lal<:es ar1d rivers i11 tl1e ,vorld, till lie could count the
,
,:.. . •,:•,
. __ -'i.
• •
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TI-iE GRIEF OF NAH-CHU-RU-CHU.
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·-.:; .
1$:- . \j ·
•
THE MAl vVHO l\tIARRIED THE MOON 67
pebbles and the fish in them, but he too failed to
discover the lost Moon.
By now tl1e crops were dead and sere in the
fields, and thirsty ani111als. \valked crying along tl1e
dry river. Scarcely could the people then1selves dig
deep enough to fi11d so much ,vater as would keer)
them alive. They vvere at a loss whicl1 \Vay to turn;
but at last they tl1ougl1t: \Ve vvill go to P'ah-lzuee-
teh-ay-deh, 1 who can find tl1e dead-for surely
she is dead, or tl1e otl1ers vvould have found l1er.
So tl1ey ,vent to l1irn and besougl1t l1im. 'fhe
Turkey-buzzard wept whe11 l1e saw Nah-cl1u-ruchu
still sitting tl1ere upon the ladder, and said:
'' Truly it is sad for our great friend; but for me, I
am afraid to go, since they who are more mighty
than I have alreacl y failed; but I will try." And
spreading his broad wings he ,vent climbing up the
spiral ladder of the sky. Higher l1e \vheeled, and
higher, till at last not eve11 tl1e Eagle could see
him. Up and tlp, till the hot sun began to singe
his head, and not even the Eagle l1ad ever bE:en so
high. He cried witl1 pain, but still he kept n1ounting-
until l1e was so close. to the sun that all the
feathers vvere burned from his head and neck. But
he could see nothing; and at last, frantic ,vith
the burning, he came wheeling downward. When
he got back to the estiifa where all the people were
waiting, they saw that l1is head ancl neck l1ad been
burnt bare of feathers - and from that day to this
the feathers would never gro\.v out again.
'' And did you see 11othing? '' tl1ey all asked,
vvhen they had bathed his burns.
1 Turkey-bJ1Zzard; literally," water-goose-grandfather."
68 TEE- vV AHN FOLK-STORIF.S
'' Nothing·," he ansvvered, '' except that when I
was half-,,,ay down I saw in the middle of yon cot- .
tonwood forest a little mound covered with all the
beautiful flo,vers in tl1e ,vorld."
'' 011 ! "cried Nah-cl1u-ru-cl1L1, speaking for tl1e
first tirne. '' Go, friend, and bring n1e one flower
from tl1e ,,ery n1iddle of tl1at n10L1ncl. ''
Of flevv the Blizzard, and in a fevv minl1tes retur11ed
,,vitl1 a little white flovver. Nal1-chu-r{1-cl1u
took it, a11d descending fro111 tl1e ladder in silence,
,va]ked to his l1ouse, ,v l1ile all the vvo11clerii1g people
follu\ved.
Wl1en Nah-cl1u-ru-cl1L1 cc:1me i11side his hon1e once
111ore, he tool< a nevv 11,;,a1zta ancl spread it i11 _the
111iddle of tl1e roo111; a11d la>1ing the ,vee vvhite
flower tenclerly in its center, l1e IJLit anotl1er new
11za1zta above it. Tl1en, dressing l1i1nself in the
splendid buckskin suit tl1e lost wife had made hi1n,
and talzing· in his rigl1t hand tl1e sacred gita;·e (rattle),
he seated l1i1nself at the head of tl1e 11zantas
and sang:
,, Shu-fzalz, shit-nah .I
Ai/- ay-aJ,, ai/- aJ1-aJ1, az/- ay-aJ I" 1
•
( Seelzi11g l1er, seelcing her!
fl1ere-avva),, tl1ere-a,,vay ! )
When l1e l1ad finished the song, all could see
that tl1e flo\,ver l1ad beg·un to grow, so that it lifted
the upper 1nttnta a little. Again he sang, shaking
his goL1rcl; and still tl1e flo,ver lzerJt growing .
.l\gain and again he sang; and v\rl1e11 l1e had fi11-
ished for tl1e fourtl1 time, it vvas 1)lain to all th·at a
human form lay betvveen tl1e tvvo 11ia11.tas. i\nd
THE MAN WHO MARRIED THE MOON 69
\vhen he sang· his song tl1e fifth time, the for1n sat
up and moved. Tenderly he lifted a\vay the overcloth,
and there sat his S\veet 1\1oon-\vife, fairer than
ever, and alive as before ! 1
For four days the people danced and sang in the
public square. Nah-chu-ru-chu ,vas happy ag·ain;
and no,v the rain began to fall. Tl1e cl1oked earth
drank and ,vas glad and green, a11d the dead crops
came to life.
When his wife told him ho\v the vvitcl1-sisters
had done, he was very angry; and tl1at very day ·
he made a beautiful l1oop to play tl1e malt-kliztr.
He painted it, and put strings across it, decorated
with beaded bucksl<in.
'' N ovv," said l1e, '' the ,vicked Yellow-CornMaidens
will come to congratulate you, and vvill
pretend not to know vvhere you ,:vere. You must
not speak of that, bl1t invite them to go out and
_play a game vvith you."
In a day or two the witch-sisters did con1e, ,,.,ith
deceitful ,,.,ords; and the 1\1oon invited tl1em to go
out and play a gan1e. They went up to the edg·e
of the llano, a11d there she let tl1err1 get a glin1pse
of tl1e pretty hoop.
'' Oh, give us tl1at, Moon-friend," tl1ey teased.
But she refused. At last, l1owever, she said:
'' Well, we ,vill play the l1oop-game. I will stand
here, and )'OU tl1ere; and if, vvhe11 I roll it to yoL1,
you catch it before it falls upon its side, you may
have it.''
1 Nah-chu-ru-chu's incantation followed the exact form still used by the
Indian conjurors of the South\vest in their ,vonderful triclt of making corn
grow and n1ature fron1 the k:ernel in one cl:-iy.
TEE-\V AHN FOLI(-STORIES
So tl1e vvitcl1-sisters stood a little vvay do,vn the
hill, a11d she rolled tl1e b1-igl1t l1oop. As it came.
trundling to tl1em, both gras1Jed it at the san1e instant;
and lo! instead of the Yello\v-Corn-1\!Iaidens,
tl1ere ,vere tvvo great snakes, witl1 tears rolling
do\vn ugly faces. The l\1Ioon can1e and pL1t upon
their heads a little of the l)ollen of the corn-blossorn
( still used by Pueblo s11al<:e-cl1arn1ers) to tan1e them,
and a pi11ch of the sacred meal for their food.
'' Now," said she, ''you have the reward of treacherous
friends. Here sl1all be your home among
these rocks and cliffs forever, but you must never
be fou11d upon the prairie; and you n1ust never
bite a person. Remen1ber you are vvomen, and
must be gentle.''
And then the Moon ,vent home to her l1usband,
and they ,,vere very happy together. As for tl1e
sister snakes, they still dvve11 ,vhere she bade ther11,
and never ven tt1re a vva y ; thougl1 son1etin1 es the
people bring then1 to tl1eir houses to catcl1 the
mice, for these snakes never hurt a person.
IX
THE lvlOTII- ER MOON
;\ ND do you know why it is that the lYioon has
r\. bl1t one e),e? It is a short story, bl1t one of
the m.ost poetic and beautiful in all the pretty folklore
of the Pl1eblos.
P'ah-hlee-oh, the Moon-Maiden, was the Teewal1n
Eve1-the first and loveliest woma11 in all
the ,vorld. Sl1e had neitl1er fatl1er nor mother,
sister nor brother; and in her fair forn1 \Vere the
seeds of all humanity-of all life a11d love and
goodness. The Trues, v,,110 are the unseen spirits
that are above all, made T'hoor-fcl-deh, the Sun,
who vvas to be fatl1er of all things; and because l1e
was alone, tl1ey made for l1im a co111panionJ the first
to be of n1aids, the first to be a vvife. Fron1 them
began the v\r orld and all that is in it; and all tl1eir
children ,vere strong and good. Very happy we1·e
the Father-all and tl1e Mother-all, as they ,vatched
their happy brood. He guarded them by day and
1 She is honored in almost every clet-ail of the Pu.eblo ceren1onials. The
most important charn1 or in1plement of the medicine-men, the holiest fetish
of all, is typical of her. It is ca1Jed Mah-pah-r6o, the Mother, and is the
most beautiful article a Pueblo ever fashioned. A fla,,vless ear of pure ,vhite
corn ( a type of fertility or motherhood) is tricked out ,vith a dov,ny n1ass of
snow-white feathers, and hung ,.,vith ornan1ents of silver, coral, and the
precious turquoise.
71
72 TEE-WAI-IN FOLK-STORIES
sl1e by 11ig11t-only there ivas no nigl1t, for then
tl1e l\1Ioon l1ad tvvo eyes, a11d saw as clearly as the
St111, and \vitl1 glance as bright. It was all as one
1011g day of golde11 light. The birds flew alvvays,
the flow.ers neve1· shut, the you11g people danced
and sa11g·, and none k11e,v 110,v to rest.
But at last tl1e Trues tl1ougl1t better. For the
endless light gre,v heavy to the world's young eyes
that knevv 110 tender lids of 11ight. And tl1e -r rues
said:
'' It is not well, for so tl1ere is no sleep, a11d the
vvorld is very tired. \Ve n1ust not keep tl1e Sun
a11cl 1VI0011 seeing alilze. Let us put out one of his
eyes, tl1at there may be darkness for l1alf the tin1e,
and then l1is chilclren ca11 rest." And they called
T'l10.or-id-del1 and P'ah-hlee-0]1 before tl1em to say
what must be done.
Bt1t vvl1en sh.e heard tl1at, the Moon-Motl1er
,vept for her strong and handsome l1usband, and
cried :
''No! No! Take my eyes, for my children,
but do not blind tl1e Sun! He is the father, the
provider - and hovv shall l1e ,vatcl1 against harm,
or l1ow find us game vvithout l1is bright eyes?
Blind me, and keep l1in1 all-seeing."
And tl1e Trues said: '' It is ,vell, daugl1ter."
And so they toolz a,vay one of her eyes, so tl1at
sl1e coulcl never see again so ,vell. Then night
ca1ne t1pon tl1e tired eartl1, and tl1e flo\vers and
birds a11cl people slept their first slee[J, and it was
very good. But sl1e wl10 first l1ad tl1e love of
children, ancl paid for tl1em vvitl1 }Jain as 111other1s
pay, sl1e did not grovv ugly by her sacrifice. Nay,
THE MOTHER MOON 73
•
she is lovelier than ever, and we. all love her to
this day. For the Trues are goocl to her, and
gave her in ·place of tl1e bloom of girlhood the
beauty that is only in the faces of n1otl1ers.
So n1other-pale above tlS
She. bends, l1er ,vatcl1 to keep,
,vho of l1er sigl1i. dear-bot1ght tl1e night
To give her cl1ildre.n sleep.
X
THE MAKER OF TI-IE THUNDER-I{NIVES
You have perhaps seen tl1e beautiful arrowheads
of moss-agate, petrified v\rood, or volcanic
glass vvhich were used, 11ntil very recently,
by the Indians of the Southwest, and are still treasured
by then1. At least y·ou are familiar vvitl1 the
commoner flint ones left by tl1e aboriginal tribes
farther eastward. And seeing them, you n1ust
have wondered ho\v the)' ,vere ever n1ade from
such fearfully stt1bbor11 stone - alvvays tl1e ,rery
hardest that ,vas accessible to the n1aker. I have
tried for six hou1s, ,vitl1 the fi11est drills, to mal{e a
little hole in the thinnest part of an agate arrovvhead,
to put it on a cl1arn1-ring; but ,,1hen tl1e drill
and I ,,,ere completely ,vorn out, tl1ere ,vas not so
much as a mark on the arro,v-head to show \vhat
vve l1ad been doing. If yot1 vvill tal<e one to your
jeweler, he \\1ill l1ave as poor luck.
Bt1t tl1e 11iakz·1zg of the arro\v-heads is really a
very simple 1natter; a11d I l1ave fasl1io11ed many
ver)' fair ones. Tl1e only implements are part of
a peculiarly shaped bone - preferab1y from tl1e
thigh of the elk - and a stick abot1t the size of a
lead-pencil, but of doL1ble tl1e dian1eter. The maker
THE MAI(ER OF THE Tl-IUNDER-KNIVES 75
of puntas takes tl1e bone in his left hand; in his
right is the stick, against \\1hich tl1e selected splinte
·r of stone is firrnly pressed by tl1e tl1un1b. Witl1
a firm, steady pressure against the sharp edge of
the bone, a tiny flake is 11icked from the splinter.
Then the splinter is tur11ed, a11d a r1ick is sin1ilarly
made on the other side, just a little ahead of the
first; and so on. It is by tl1is alternate nicking
from opposite sicles tl1at tl1e stone-splinter grows
less by tiny flakes, and is shapecl by degrees to a
perfect arrow-l1ead. If )'Ou vvill notice the edge of
a11 arro,v-head, yoL1 will see plainly that the work
was done in tl1is vvay, for tl1e edge is not a straight
but a wavy line - sometimes even a zigzag, recalling
the manner in which savv-teetl1 are'' set."
Every Indiar1, and every one \vl10 l1as studied
the Indian, knov,rs tl1is. Bl1t if I ask one of n1y
brown old corl'ipad1,es here, where he got tl1e
arro,v-head which l1e wears as a char111 about his
wrinkled neck, he will not tell me any such story
as that. No, indeed !
Quah-le kee-raf-deh, the Hor11ed Toad, gave it
to l1in1. So? 011, yes! He talked so nicely to a
Horned Toad on the mesa 1 the other day, that tl1e
little creature 1Jut a -punta where he could find it
the next time ]1e went thitl1er.
Whenever a Pueblo sees a Quah-le-kee-raf-deh,
he jumps from his horse or his big far111-wagon,
and makes every efort to capture tl1e an£mal£to before
it can reach a l1ole. If successful, he pulls from
his blanket or his legging-garters a red threadno
other color w-ill do-and ties it necklace-fashion
1 Table-land.
TEE-W AH:-I FOLK-STORIES
around the neck of his little prisoner. Then he
i11vokes all sorts of blessings on the Horned Toa9,
assures it of l1is sincere respect and friendship,
begs it to remember him ,,7ith a pitrtta, and lets it
go. Next time he goes to the mesa, l1e fully expects
to find an arro\v-head, and generally does
fi11d one-doubtless because he then searcl1es
more carefully on tl1at broad reach i.vhere so mah y
arrO\\t-heads hav·e been lost in ancient \Vars and
hunts. Finding one, he prays to the Sun-Father
and the i\1oon-:i\1other and all his other deities,
and returns profound tl1anks to the Horned rf oad.
Some finders put the arro,v-head in the pouch
vvhich ser\1 es Indians for a pocket.1 Son1e \vear
it as an amulet on the necklace. In either case,
the belief is that no evil spirit can approach the
wearer while he has that charm about l1im. In
fact, it is a sovereign spell against \Vitc11es.
The common belief of the Pueblos is that tl1e
Horned Toad makes tl1ese arro\v-heads only during
a storm, and deposits tl1em at the very instant
i.v11en it thunders. For tl1is reason an arrovv-head
is al \\'ays called Ko!t-u1i-shtfe-eli, or thunder-knife.
The strange appearance of this quaint, spjked lizard
- ,.,·hich is really not a'' hop-toad" at all- doubtless
suggested the notion ; for his ,vhole back is
covered 1-vith peculiar points ,v·l1ich have very much
the shape and color of Indian arro\v-heads.
Quah-le-kee-raf-deh is a ver}' important personage
in the Pueblo folk-lore. He not only is tl1e
in\"entor and patentee of the arrow-head and the
1 rfhe "left-hand-ba/' sh1tr-t"i-1noo, because it always hangs from the
right shoulder anrl uuder the left arm.
THE MAKER OF TI-IE THUNDER-KNIVES 77
scalping-knife, 1 but he also invented irrigation, and
taugl1t it to man ; and is a general benefactor of
0L1r race.
There is one very sacred folk-story wl1icl1 tells
,vl1y boys must never sn1oke until they ha,,e
proved tl1eir n1anhood. Pueblo etiquette is very
strict on all sucl1 I)Oin ts. 2
Once upon a time tl1ere lived in Isleta t\vo boys
vvl10 vvere cousins. One clay their g·randfather,
vvl10 vvas a True Believer (in all the ancient rites),
caug·l1t tl1en1 in a corner smoking· tl1e weer.
Greatly shocked, he s·aid to then1 :
'' Sons, I see )'OU ,va11t to be n1en; but )'Ou
must prove )'Ot11·selves before you are tl1ought to
be. l(no,,,, then, that nobod)' is born vvith tl1e
freedon1 of tl1e smoke, but every one must earn it.
So go no,\r, each of )'Ou, a11d bring me Quee-hlaku-
ee, tl1e skin of the oak."
N Ov\T, in tl1e talk of n1en, Q uee-hla-ku-ee is a11 -
othe1· thing; bL1t the bo)1S did 11ot know. The)'
g ·ot tl1eir mothers to gi,,e them some tortillas,3 and
,v-ith tl1is ]unch they started for tl1e Bosque ( a
10,000-foot peak tv,Tent)r miles east of Isleta).
Reachi11g the 1nountai11, they ,vent to e,,er)' kind
of tree a11d cut a little piece of its bark - for they
,vere not s11re v,,}1icl1 ,vas tl1e oak. Tl1en they
can1e l101ne, very tired, and carried tl1e bark to
their grandfather. But vvl1e11 he had looked at
it all l1e said :
1 \Vhich \"ere for111erly about the same thing - a large and sharp-edged
arrO\v-head or similar stone being the only kn1fe of the Pueblos in prehistoric
tin1es.
See n1y" Strange Corners of Our Country" (The Century Co.), c]1ap. xviii.
0 1-\. cake of unleavened batter cooked 011 a hot stone. They look so111e-
1.hing like a huge flapjack, but are very tough and keep a long rin1e,
•
TEE-\\' AH FOLK-STORIES
'' \' oung· men, )'Ou l1a,,e not )-·et pro,;ed )'Ourselves.
So no,v it is for )'OU to go again and look
for tl1e oak-bark.''
At this their hearts \Vere heaV)', but they took
tortillas and started again. 0 n the ,:1.ra )' tl1ey met
an old Horned Toad, \,·ho stopped tl1em and said:
'' Young-men-friends, I kno,v ,,,hat trouble )rou
are in. Your tt-lta has sent )'Ou for the skin of the
oak, bt1t )70u do not kno,\r the oak he means. But
I ,,·ill be tl1e one to help ;·ou. Take these," and l1e
ga ,-e them t,,,o large tl1t1nder-knives, '' and ,;vit}1
these in hand go up that canon )'Onder. In a little
,vay )10u \\'ill see a great man)' of )'Our ener11ies, the
Navajos, camping. 0 n the first l1ill fron1 ,r hich
)'Ou see their fire, tl1ere stop. In time. ,,,hile )·ou
\\Tait tl1ere, )'OU ,,·ill hear a Co)·ote ho,,·ling across
the canon. Then is the time to gi,1e your enem)'yell
[,,7af-\\·hoop] and attack them."
The bo)·s thanked the Horned Toad and \\r ent.
Present!)· the)' sa,,· the camp-fire of tl1e Navajos,
ar1d ,,·aiting till the Coyote called they gave the
enem)'-)'ell and then attacked. They had no ,veapons
except their thunder-knives, but ,,,ith these tl1ey
killed se,-eral J\ avajos, and the others ran a,,·a>··
In the dark and their hurry tl1ey1 made a mistake
and scalped a ,voman ( ,,·hich ,,·as ne,1er custon1ary
,,·ith tl1e Pueblos).
Taki11g their scalps, the)' hurried hon1e to their
grandfather, and ,vl1en he sa,,r that they l1ad
brought the real oak-skin (,,,hich is an Indian
et1phemy' for ''scalp"), he led them proudly to tl1e
Cacique, and the Cacique ordered the T'u-a-fu-ar
(scalp-dance). ,.,\fter the inside da)·s, ,,,l1en the
THE MAKER OF THE THUNDER-KNIVES 79
takers of scalps n1ust stay in the estzifa, vvas the
dance. And when it carne to tl1e round dance at
nigl1 t the two boys were dancing side by side.
Then a )'Oung won1an ,:vho vvas a stanger came
and pushed them apart and danced bet,veen then1.
Sl1e vvas very handsome, and both fell in love vvith
her. But as soon as their hearts thought of lo,,e,
a skeleton vvas betvveen them in place of the girl
-for they who go to war or take a scalp have no
right to thinl< of love.
They ,vere very frightened, but kept dancing until
they vvere too tired, and then went to the singers
inside the circle to escape. But the skeleton follo,
ved them and stood beside them, and they could
not hide from it.
At last they began to run a,vay, and went to the
east. Many moo11s they kept running) but the
skeleton was always at their heels. At last they
came to the Sunrise Lake, ,vherein dwell the Trues
of tl1e East.
The guards let them in, and they told the Trues
all that had happened, and the skeleton stood beside
them. The Trues said: ''Young men, if you
are men, sit down and \1\1e ,vill protect you."
But when the boys loolzed again at the skeleton
they could not stop, but ran a,vay again. Many
moons the)' ran north till they came to ,vhere the
Trues of the North dwell in the Black Lake of
Tears.
The Trues of the Nortl1 promised to defend
them, but again the skeleton came and scared
them avvay; and they ran for many moons until
they can1e to the Trues of the West, who dwell
80 TEE-vV AHN FOLK-STORIES
in T'hoor-kfm-p'ah-whee-ay, tl1e Y ello,v Lake
\,\There the Sun Sets. And there tl1e sarr1e things
happened; and tl1ey ran away again to the south,
till they found the Trues of the South in P'ah-cheerp'ah-,
vhee-ay, the Lake of Si11ooth Pebbles.
But there ag·ain it vv·as the sa111e, and again they
ran many moons till they came to tl1e Trues of tl1e
Center, "'ho live here in Isleta. And here the
skeleton said to tl1em :
'' \Vhy do you run from me now? For ,vhen
you ,vere danci11g you looked at me and loved 1ne,
but no ,v you run a ,v a y. "
But they could not ansvver l1er, ancl ran into the
room of tl1e Trues of tl1e Center, and told their
story. Tl1en the Trues gave povver to tl1e Cumpa-
huit-la-vvid-deh 1 to see tl1e skeleton,-which
no one else in the \,rorld coL1ld see, except the
Trues and tl1e t,vo you11g men,-and said to l1im:
'' Shoot this person vvho follows tl1ese t\vo."
So tl1e Cum-pa-huit-la-vvid-deh shot the skeleton
through vvith an arrovv fron1 the left side to the
right side, 2 and took tl1e scalp.
That ,vas the end of the skeleton, and the young
men ,vere free. And vvl1en the Trues had given
them counsel, they came to tl1eir people, and told
the Cacique all. He made a new scalp-dance, because
they had not stayed to finisl1 the first 011e.
A11d ,vhen the da11ce vvas done, tl1ey told all the
people what had happened. Then tl1e principals
had a rneeting and made a rule ,vl1icl1 is to this
1 Guard at the door of the gods.
2 'fhe only oficial n1ethod of killing a "'·itch, -''hich is one of th-e chief
dutiec; of the Cum-pa-huit-la-,ven.
THE MAKER OF THE THUNDER-KNIVES 81
day, that in the t\,velve days of the scalp1 no warrior
shall think thoughts of love.
. For it was because they had love-thoughts of
the Navajo girl that her skeleton haunted them.
And at the same time it vvas made the la\:v, ,vhich
still is, that n'o one shall smoke till he has taken a
scalp to prove himself a man.
For if tl1e boys had not been smoking vvhen
they had not freedon1 to, their grandfatl1er would
not have sent them, and all that trouble vvould not
have come. And tl1at is wl1y.
1 The period of fastini and purification before and during the scalpdance.
XI
THE STONE-MOVING SONG
THE Horned Toad is also a fan1ous musician
a sort of Pueblo Orpheus, vvhose song charms
the very stones and trees. A short folk-story of
Isleta refers to this.
One day Quah-le-kee-ra1-del1 \Vas working in
his field. There were many very large rocks,
and to move them he sang a strong song as he
pulled
Yah eli.-ah, heft-alt hdy-1za,
Yah, iii-ah, ftelt-alz hay-na,
WJta-1zai-kee-ay hee-e-wz'd-deh
A h-kwe-ee-lzee ai-yen-chelz,
Yahb-k'ydy-queer ah-choo-hee.
\i\!hen he sang this and touched the heaviest stone,
it rose up from the ground, and went over his l1ead
and fell far bel1ind hin1.
While he ,vorked so, Too-w1ay-deh came along;
and seeing ,vhat l1appened, he ,vished to meddle,
as his vvay is. So he said:
'' Friend Qua.11-le-kee-raf-deh, let me do it.''
'' No, friend," said the Horned Toad. '' It is
better for every one to do v\rhat he kno,vs, and not
to put himself in the \\7 ork of others."
THE STONE-MOVING SONG
'' Do not think so," ansvvered the Coyote.
'' For I can do this also. It is very easy."
'' It is well, then - but see that you are not
afraid; for so it will be bad."
Too-whay-del1 laid of his blanket and took
hold of the largest rock there was, and sang
the song. When he sang, the rock rose t1p in
the air to go over his head; but he, being
scared, ducked his head. Tl1en at once tl1e
rock fell on hin1, and he had no bones left.
Then the Horned Toad laughed, and gave the
enemy-yell (war-whoop), saying: ''We do this
to one another!''
XII
THE COYOTE AND THE TI-IUNDER-KNIFE
1\NO!HER Isleta myth tells of a11 equally sad
J-\. m1sadventt1re of tl1e Coyote.
Once t1pon a time an old Coyote-father took
a \valk a,vay from home ; fo1· in that season of
the year his babies \Vere so peevisl1 they ,vot1ld
not let him sleep. It happened that a Locust
was making pottery, tinder a tree; a11d every
time sl1e moved tl1e molding-spoon around the
soft clay jar, she sang a song. The Coyote,
coming 11ear and hearing, thought: ''Now that
is the very song I need to put my 60-ztn to
sleep.'' And following the sound he came to
the tree, and found Cheech-wee-deh at work.
But she had stopped singing.
'' Locust-friend," said he, '' come teach me that
song, so that I can soothe my children to sleep."
But the Locust did not move to answer ; and
he repeated:
'' Locust-friend, come teach me that song."
Still she did not answer, and the Coyote,
losing his patience, said :
'' Locust, if you don't teach me that song, I
,vill eat you up ! ''
THE COYOTE AND THE THUNDER-KNIFE 85
At that, the Locust sho,;ved him the song,
and he sang with her t1ntil he knew ho,:v.
'' Now I know it, tl1ank you,'' he said. '' So I
will go home and sing it to my children, and
they will sleep."
So he vvent. But as he came to a pool, halfway
home, a flock of Afraids-of-the-Water 1 flevv
up at his very nose, and drove out his n1emor)'·
He vvent looking around, turni11g over tl1e stones
and peeping in the grass ; but he could not find
the song anywhere. So he started back at last
to get the Locust to teach him again.
But vvhile he was yet far, tl1e Locust saw him,
so she shed her skin, leaving a dry l1usk, as snakes
do, and filled it with sand. Then sl1e made it to sit
up, and put the molding-spoon in its hands, and
the clay jars in front of it; and she herself flew tip
into the tree.
Coming, the Coyote said: ''Friend Locust, show
that song again ; for I got scared, and the ·song
was driven out of 111e." But tl1ere was no answer.
'' Hear,. Locust! I will ask just once more; and if
you do not show n1e the song, I '11 svvallovv yot1 ! "
Still she _did not reply; and the Coyote, beirig
angry, swallovved the stufed skin, sand, spoon, and
all, and started homeward, saying: '' Now I think
I have that song in me ! ''
But when he \Vas half-vvay home he stopped and
struck hi1nself, and said: '' What a fool, truly ! For
now I am going hon1e without a song. But if I
had left the Locust alive, and bothered her long
nough, she vvould have shown me. I think now
1 The ironie,al Tee-,vahn name for ducks.
86 TEE-vV AHN FOLK-STORIES
I will ta!{e l1er out, to see if she will not sing for
me. "
So he ran all around, l1unting for a blaclz thunder-
l{nife, 1 and si11gi11 g· :
,v11ere can I find Shee-e11-f6on ?
\Vl1ere ca11 I find Sl1ee-el1-f6on?
At last he found a large 1)iece of tl1e blaclz-rock,
and broke it until he got a knife. He made a mark
on his breast with l1is finger, saying: '' Here I vvill
Cll t, and tal(e l1er out."
'"fhen l1e Cllt. '' 1\!IerC)' ! '' said l1e, ,., but it bites! "
He cut agai11, harder. ''Goodness! but hovv it
bites!" l1e cried, very loud. And cutting a third
time, l1e fell do,vn ancl died. So he did not learn
tl1e song of the pottery-making.
The Queres Pueblos l1ave exactly tl1e same
follz-stor)', except tl1at tl1ey make the Horned
Toac1, instead of tl1e Locust, the music-teacher. In
tl1eir version, tl1e Hor11ed Toad, after being svvallo,
ved, kills the Coyote by lifting its spines. Remembering
,vhat I have said of tl1e malzer of the
thunder-knives, you will readily see the analogy
betwee11 tl1is and the obsidian splinte1· of tl1e Teevval1n
story. It is, indeed, one of the most characteristic
ancl instructive examples of tl1e manner in
,vhich a folk-story becornes changed.
1 One of obsidian, or volcanic glass.
XIII
FANCY I must l1ave been dozing after
that hard ride; for vvl1en a far-away,
cracked voice tl1at could be 11one other
tl1an Grandfather Y sidro's said, ''Kalzwhee-
cd-11,e, Lore11,so-kai-deh I " I start-
, , ed up so hastily as to bt1mp 111y head
i1:i1,1
11
: against tl1e w l1itewasl1ed wall. That
n1ay see1n a queer sente11ce to rouse
one so sharrJly; anti especially whe11
yot1 k110.vv vvl1at it n1ea11s. It meant
that old Ysidro 1 had jL1st finished a
story, \\rhich I had altogether missed, an·d was novv
calling upon tl1e old man next hin1 to tell one, by
using tl1e customary Pueblo saying :
'' There is a tail to you, Fatl1er Lorenso ! "
1 Pronounced Ee-see-droh.
87
88 TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
Kah-whee-cd-me is what a Tee-\val1n Indian always
says i11 such a case, instead of'' No,v you tell.
a story, friend." It is not i11 tended as an im 1)oli te
ren1arl<, but n1erely refers to the firm belief of tl1ese
quaint people tl1at if one vvere to act like a stubborn
do11key, and refuse to tell a story when called
on, a do11l<ey' s tail vvould grovv u po11 him !
vVitl1 sucl1 a fate in prospect, you may be sure
tl1at tl1e roundabout invitatio11 thus conveyed is
never declined.
Gra11dfatl1er Lorenso bows his l1ead gravely,
but seems in 110 l1aste. I-Ie is indeed in1pressively
deliberate as he slowl)1 n1akes a cigarette fron1 a
bit of corn-husk and a pi11ch of tobacco, ligl1ts it
upo11 a coal raked out of tl1e fireplace by l1is
vvi thered fing·ers, blo,vs a slo,v puff east\i\rard, then
one to the 11ortl1, a11otl1er to the ,vest, a fol1rth to
tl1e south, one straigl1t above his head, and one
dovvn to\vard tl1e floor. Tl1ere is one part of the
United States \V here tl1e co1npass has si'x cardinal
points (those I l1ave just 11a1ned), and tl1at is a111ong
these I 11dia11s, a11d i11 fact all the others of the
Southwest. Tl1e cigarette plays a really i111-
portant part i11 1na11y sacred ceren1onies of the
Pueblos; for, as I l1ave explained, its collective
smoke is tl1ol1g·l1t to be vvhat n1akes tl1e rainclouds
and bri11gs the rai11 ; and it is also a charn1
against witches.
Having thus propitiated the divi11ities who dwell
i11 the directions named, Lore11so looks about the
circle to see if all are listening. The gla11ce satisfies
him - as ,vell it may. Tl1ere are no heedless
eyes or ears in the audience, of which I am the
THE MAG IC HIDE-AND-SEEK
only white membe1· - and a very lucky 011e, in
tl1at I, an '' Americano," am allowed to hear these
jealously guarded stories, and to see the silent
smoke-prayer whicl1 ,voulcl never be made if a
stranger were present, There are seven aged
men l1ere, and 11ine bright-eyed boys -all Isleteiios
(i11habitants of Isleta). We are l1uddled
around the fireplace in the cor11er of the big,
pleasa11t room, against vvl1ose dark rafters and
fartl1er vvhite walls tl1e shado,vs da11ce a11d vvaver.
And no,v, talzing a dee1) puf, Lorenso exclaims:
''Nalt-t' hoo-ai' !" (In a house.) It has notl1ing
to do vvith tl1e story ; bt1t is tl1e prologue to inform
the hearers tl1at tl1e story is about to open.
'' Al1-h-h ! " i.,ve all responded, ,vl1icl1 is as much
as to say, ''V\Te are listening-go on"; and Lorenso
begins his story.
011ce upo11 a time there vvas a Tee-vval1n village
on tl1e otl1er side of the 1nou11tai11 and tl1ere lived
a man and his vvife vvl10 tl1ought n1ore of tl1e future
of tl1eir cl1ildre11 than did the otl1ers. To care
better for tl1e children they moved to a little ranch
some distance from the village, and there taught
their two little sons all they could. Botl1 boys
loved the outdoors, and games, and l1unting; and
the parents were well pleased, sa )'in g to each
other:
'' Perhaps some day they ,vill be great hunters ! ''
By the time the elder boy was tvvelve a11d the
younger ten, tl1ey both were very expert ,vith the
little bows and arro,¥s their father careft1lly made
them; and already they began to bring hon1e many
1'EE-vVAHN FOLK-STORIES
rabbits \vhen they ,vere allo,,,ed to go a little way
from l10111e. 1'11ere ,,,as onl)i one command their
pare11ts g·a,·e about tl1eir ht1nts; and tl1at vvas tl1at
they must ne-:er, 11ever g·o south. They could
ht1nt to the east, north, and ,,rest, bt1t not south.
Da)' after day· they ,vent l1unting·, and more
and n1ore rabbits they killed, g·ro,\ring al,,·ays more
expert.
One da)' ,vhen they had hl1r1ted east,vard, the
elder boy said :
'' Brotl1er, can )·ot1 say a11y reason ,vhy ,ve must
r1ot go sot1 th ? "
'' I l.;.110,v not11i11g," replied the ),.OL111ger, '' except
,:vhat I overl1eard ot1r parents say·ing one da)'·
They· spoke of an old ,vo1nan ,,,ho li,-es in the
soutl1 ,vl10 eats cl1ildre11; a11d for that tl1ey sai\,
the)' ,,rould nev'er let t1s g·o south."
'' Pool1 ! " said the elder, '' I think 11otl1ing of that.
The real reason 111ust be t11at tl1ey ,,;ish to sa,;e the
rabbits in the soutl1, a11d are afraid ,,·e \\rould kill
tl1e111 all. Tl1ere n1t1st be n1any rabbits ir1 that
bosq1.te [forest] a,\1 ay do,,1n there. Let 's go a11d
see - tliey ,,ror1 't kno,v ! "
The )iOl1ng·er bo)' being· persuaded, tl1ey start· ed
off togetl1er, a11d after a long ,,·alk can1e to the
bosqite. It ,,·as full of rabbits, and the)' ,vere
ha,-ing great s1)ort, ,vhen suddenly they l1eard a
111otl1erl1· voice calli11g tl1roug·h tl1e ,,:oocis. In a
rnon1ent they sa,,, ar1 old ,,,0111an con1ing from the
south, ,,-110 said to tl1e bo>·s:
'' Mc.zlz.-koo-0011 [grandchildren], ,v hat are )'OU
doing l1ere, ,vl1ere 110 011e e,,er thi11ks to come?"
'' \Ve are l1u11ting, Grandn1other," they replied.
· Our parents ,vould never let us come soutl1; but
THE MAGIC HIDE-AND-SEEK 91
to-day we came to see if tl1e rabbits are more numerous
here than above."
'
1 Oh!" said the old ,voman, '' this g·an1e you see
here is nothz,"ng. Come, and I ,vill sho,v you vvhere
there is mucl11 and you ca11 carry ,,ery large rabbits
home to your parents." Bt1t she vvas deceiving
then1.
She had a big basket upon her back, and stooping
for the boys to get into it, she carried them
farther and farther into the vvoods. At last they
came to an olcl, battered house ; and setting the
basket down, sl1e said :
(( Now we have come all the vvay here, where no
one ever can1e before, and there is no ,,ray out.
You can find no trail, and you ,,,ill l1a,re to stay
here contented, or I will eat you up!"
The boys were much afraid, ancl said they \\1ould
stay and be contented. But the old ,von1an ,,,ent
into the house and told l1er husband-,,,110 vvas as
wicked as she-to get \\rood and build a big fire
in tl1e horno. 1 All day long the fire burnecl, and
the oven became hotter than it l1ad ever been. In
the e,,ening tl1e old ,vitch-,voman raked ot1t the
coals, a11d calling the boys seized tl1e1n and forced
them into tl1e fiery oven.
'' Tahb-koon-nahmf '' ( Is that so?) vve all exclaimed-
that being the proper response ,vhenever
the narrator pauses a moment.
'' That is so," replied Lorenso, and ,vent on.
Then the old woman put a flat rock over the
little door of the oven, and another over the smoke-
1 An outdoor bake-oven, made of clay, and shaped like a beehive_
92 TEE-vV AHN FOLK-STORIES
l1ole, and sealed tl1em botl1 tight with clay. All
tl1at night she and l1er l1usband ,vere cl1uckling to
thinl<. ,vl1at a nice breals:fast tl1ey \vould havefor
both of tl1en1 were '\vitch-people, and ate all
tl1e cl1ildren they coL1ld find.
BL1t i11 tl1e morning \vl1en she u11sealed the oven,
there \1/ere the t\vo boys, laugl1ing and playi11g togetl1er
u11l1L1rt- for tl1e \tVl1ay-nin 1 l1ad con1e to
their aid and protected tl1em from the heat.
Leaving tl1e boys to crawl ot1t, tl1e old ,:i.roman
ran to tl1e house and scolcled tl1e old man terribly
for 11ot having made tl1e oven hot enoL1gl1. '' Go
this 1ni11ute," she said, ''and put in the ove11 all the
wood tl1at it vvill hold, and keep it burning all
d I" ay.
Wl1e11 nigl1t came, tl1e old woman clea11ed the
ove11, wl1icl1 ,vas t,vice as l1ot as before ; and agai11
sl1e put in tl1e boys ancl sealed it Uf). But tl1e next
morning tl1e boys were unl1urt and vve11t to 1)laying.
Tl1e ,vitcl1-,iV01nan ,vas ,,e·ry ang·r)' tl1en; a11d givi11g
the boys tl1eir bo,vs a11d arro,vs, told tl1em to
go ancl play. She stayecl at l1on1e and abusecl tl1e
olcl vvitcl1-ma11 all day for a poor fire-mal<.er.
\i\Tl1en tl1e boys retur11ed ir1 tl1e eve11ing, sl1e said:
'''f o-morrovv, g·randcl1ildren, ,,re will play Nah-oop'ah-
chie (l1ide-and-s·eel<), and tl1e 011e \\1 110 is foL1nd
three times by tl1e other sl1all pay l1is life."
The boys agreed, 2 and secretly prayed to the
Trues to l1el 1) the1n- for by this time the>' l-;.11ew
that tl1e old ma11 and the old vvoman '' l1ad the bad
road."
1 '' The Trues," as the Pueblos call their highest divinities.
2 J:<'or such a challenge, ,vhich ,vas once a co1nn1on one ,vith tl1e :ndian,
could not possibly be declined.
THE MAG IC HIDE-AND-SEEK
Tl1e next day came;
and very soon tl1e olcl
,vornan called them to
begin tl1e gan1e. Tl1e
bo;rs vvere to hide first;
and \\rl1en the old vvon1an
had tt1rned l1er eyes ancl
vo,ved not to loolz, tl1ey
\\rent to the door a11d
l1id, 011e against each of
its jambs. Tl1ere you
could loolz ancl loolz, a11d
see tl1e \;\700d tl1roL1gh
tl1en1-for tl1e Trues, to
I1el1) them, n1ade then1
i11visible. When they
,vere safely hidden tl1e;'
,vhooped, '' Hee-tdh!"
and the old ,voma11 began
to hunt, singi11g tl1e
hide-and-seek song:
Heet- dh yahn.
Hee choo-ah-koo
.,tfee, 11tee, 11ree 1
(No"v, now,
\Vl1icl1 ,,,ay
Went they, went they, we11t they?)
93
'
'
J
J?
1
94 TEE-vV AHN FOLK-STORIES
.i\fter l1L1nting son1e ti1ne she callecl:
''You little fellovvs are on the door-posts. Come
t I "
OU
So tl1e boys can1e out and '' made blind" ( covered
tl1eir eyes) vvl1ile tl1e old ,von1a11 '"lent to hide.
There ,vas a po11d close by, vvi tl1 ma11 y d L1cks on
it; anc.i. n1aking l1erself very little, she ,,,ent and hic-1
uncler tl1e left ,ving of the dL1cl{ ,,,ith a blt1e l1eacl.1
\i\ll1en tl1ey hearcl her '' Hee-tdh /" tl1e bo)1 S
,ve11t searcl1ing arid si11girig; and at last tl1e elder
cried OLI t:
'' Olcl ,voman, yot1 are L1nder tl1e left ,,,i11g of tl1e
,v11itest cluclc on tl1c l,:11<e - tl1e or1e ,vith the blue
head. Co111e OL1 t ! "
This ti111e tl1e l)oys macle tl1emsel \res s111all and
cra,,,led into tl1e c1uivers beside tl1eir l)O\\'S and a1-ro,
vs. 'fl1e old vvon1an had to si11g l1er song o,,er
a great 111a11y times, as she vve11t l1t111ti11g all
aro·und ; but at last sl1e called :
'' Come out of tl1e quivers vvhere )'OLl are!"
Tl1e11 tl1e ,vitcl1 tnade herself very small indeed,
and ,,rent bel1i11d tl1e foot of a big crane tl1at ,as
sta11di11g 011 011e leg near tl1e lal{e. BL1t at last
tl1e lJoys fot1nd her even tl1ere.
It was their last tt1rn novv, ancl tl1e old ,,,omar1
felt ,,ery trit1111pl1a11t as sl1e vvaited for tl1em to hide.
BL1t tl1is time tl1ey vve11t t1p anc1 l1id tl1e111selves
uncler tl1e rigl1t arn1 of tl1e St1n. 2 Tl1e old ,;i.,itcl1
l1unted every,vl1ere, and t1sed all her bad po,ver,
but in vai11 ; and v\rl1e11 she ,.vas tirecl OL1t she hacl
I I -shoulcl tell you that, being a \vitch, she could not pos. ibly have gone
under the right ,ving. Everything that j., to the left belongs to the \vitches.
2 vVho is, in the Pueblo belief, the father of all things.
'' 1'HE vVI'TCH MADE HERSELF VERY SMALL, AND WENT
BEHIND THE FOOT OF A BIG CRANE."
'fHE MAGIC HIDE-AND-SEEK 97
to cry, '' Hee-tdh-ow .1 '' And then the boys came
dow11 from under the Sun's arm rejoicing.
Tl1e old vvitch, taking her last tL1r11, \,\rent to the
lal<.e and entered into a fisl1, thinl<.ing that there
she wol1ld be perfectly safe from disco,,ery. It did
take the boys a great while to find her; but at last
they shouted :
'' Old ,von1an, you are in the biggest fish in the
lake. Con1e out!"
As she came walking toward them in her natural
sl1a1)e again, tl1ey called : '' Ren1ember the agreement
! " a11d vvitl1 their sharp arro,vs they killed
the old vvitcl1-woman and then the old witch-man.
Then tl1ey tool<. away the tvvo vvicked old l1earts,
and put in place of each a kernel of spotless corn;
so that if the '"'itcl1es sl1oulcl ever come to life
again they ,vould no longer be vvitches, bL1t people
witl1 pure, good l1earts. They 11e,,er did come to
life, however, whicl1 ,vas jL1st as ,vell.
Taking their bows and arrows, the boys- now
young n1er1, for the four ''clays" they l1ad bee11
with the vvitches vvere really four years - returned
home. At the village they found tl1eir anxious
parents, ,vho had co1ne to asl<. the Caciq11e to order
all the people out to search.
When all sa,v tl1e boys and heard tl1eir story,
there vvas great rejoicing, for those t,vo "''itch-people
had been terrors to tl1e village for years. On
their account no one had dared go ht1nting to the
south. And to this day the game is tl1icker there
than anyvvl1ere else in the country, because it l1as
not been hunted there for so long as ir1 other places.
Tl1e two young men were forgiven for disobedience
7
TEE-vV AHN FOLK-STORIES
(wl1ich is a very serious thi11g at any age, among
the Pueblos), and ,vere n1ade heroes. The Cacique
g·ave them l1is t\\'O daugl1ters for ,vives, and all
tl1e people did them l1011or. 1
'' Is tl1at so?" we responded; and Lorenso replied,
'' rfl1at is so," gathering l1is blanket a11cl rising
to go vvithoL1t '' putti11g a tail" to any one, for it
,1/as already late.
I 1nay acld that tl1e game of l1ide-a11d-seel{ is still
played by n1y dL1sl::y little neigl1bors, tl1e Pueblo
children, and tl1e searching-song· is still sung by
then1, exactly as the boys and the old vvitch played
and sang- but of course vvitl1out their magical
talent at l1iding.
1 This story seen1s to be one of tl1e myths about the Hero Tv,in Brothers,
the children of the Sun. They are, next to Sun-c<'atheT and Moon-lVlother,
the· chief deities of all the south,vestern tribes. 111 the Queres folk-1ore they
figure very prominently; but in the Tee-,vahn are n1ore disguised.
XIV
1'HE RACE OF TI-IE 1'AILS
NEARLY every people has its own version of
the race of tl1e Hare and the Tortoise. 1'hat
current among the Pueblos makes the Rabbit the
hero, by a tricl< rather cleverer tl1an .!Esop's.
Once the Coyote came vvhere Pee-oo-ee-deh,
the little ''cotton-tail'' rabbit, sat at the door of
his house, thinki11g.
'' What do you think, friend Pee-oo-ee-deh? ''
said the Coyote.
'' I am thinking, friend Too-whay-deh, why some
have large tails like you; but vve have no tails.
Perhaps if we had tails lil<.e you1·s, we could run
straight; but now \1/e have to hop."
'' It is true, ali-boo, " 1 said the Coyote, not kno,1/ing
that the Rabbit laugl1ed in his heart. ''For I
can run faster than any one, and never did any
gain from me in the foot-races. But you,-you just
hop like a bird."
The Rabbit made a sad face, and the Coyote
said: '' But come, friend Pee-oo-ee-deh, let us run
a race. We will run around the world, and see
Ol010tb 1 Poor thing,
91)
100 TEE-WAHN FOLI<.-STORIES
who will win. And ,vhichever shall come in first,
he shall kill the otl1er ancl eat l1in1." 1
'' It is ,vell," ansvvered the Rabbit. '' In fo1-:1r
days ,ve will run."
Then the Coyote ,vent home very glad. But
Pee-oo-ee-deh called a junta of all his tribe, and
told tl1em how it was, and tl1e way he thought to
win tl1e race. And \1/hen they l1ad heard, they all
said: ''It is ,vell. Fear not, for vve ,vill be the ones
that will help you."
When tl1e fourth day came, tl1e Coyote arrived
sn1iling, a11d thre,v dovv11 his blanket, and stood
ready i n only the dark blue tapa1,.abo,2 saying:
'' But ,vhat is tl1e l1se to run? For I sl1all win. It
is bette1· tl1at I eat you 110,,v, before you are tired."
But the Rabbit threw of his blanket, and tigl1te11ed
his tapa1,.abo, and said: '' Pool1 ! For the end
of the race is far avvay, and thet·e is time to talk of
eati11g. Come, vve will run around the four sides
of the ,:vorld. 3 But I shall run t1nde1·ground, for
so it is easier for n1e."
Then tl1ey stood up side by side. And vvhen
they wer·e ready, tl1e Capitan sl1outed '' H ai-koo .! ''
a11d they ran. The Coyote ran vvith all his legs;
but the Rabbit jurnped into his hole and threvv out
sand, as tl1ose ,vho dig ver)' fast.
Now for many days the Co)rote kept running to
the east, and saw notl1ing of Pee-oo-ee-del1. But
1 A challenge of this sort, ,vith life as the stake, ,vas very co1nmon
among all Indians; and it ,vas itnpossible for the challenged to decJine. This
story recalls that of t l1e 1\ntelope 13oy. Four days al,va ys elapse(l bet,veen
tl1e challenge and the race.
2 Breech-clout, ,vhich is the only thing \Vorn in a foot-race.
3 ,Vhich the Pueblos believe to be flat and square.
TI-IE RACE OF THE TAILS 101
just as he came to the east and was turning to the
north, up jumped a rabbit fro1n under tl1e ground
i11 front of hirn, and shouted: '' V\T e do this to one
another"; ancl jumped back in the l1ole a11d began
to throw out dirt very hard.
'' Ai ! '' said the Coyote. '' I ,vish I could run
under the grouncl like that, for it seems very easy.
For all these days I have run faster tl1an ever any
one ran ; yet Pee-oo-ee-del1 comes to the east
ahead of me." But he did not kno,v it vvas tl1e
brother of Pee-oo-ee-del1, vvho had come out to
the east to wait for hirn.
So Too-wl1ay-deh 14an harder; and after many
days he came to the end of the world, to the
north. But just as he ,vas to turn west, up
sprang a rabbit in front of l1im, and taunted him,
and went back in its hole, digging.
The Coyote's l1eart vvas heavy, bl1t he ran very
hard. '' Surel)'," he said, '' no 011e can rL1n so fast
as th,z's."
But when l1e came to the west, a rabbit sprang
up ahead of him, a11d 1nocked him, and ,ve11t again
under the ground. And when he l1ad rt1n to the
south, there was the same tl1ing. At last, very
tired and ,vith his tongue 0L1t, he came in sight of
the starting-point, and there \i\,as Pee-oo-ee-deh,
sitting at the door of his house, smoothing his l1air.
And he said: ''Pooh! Coyote-friend, \¥e do this to
one another. For novv it is clear that big tails are
not good to run with, since I have been waiting
here a long time for you. Come here, then, that I
may eat you, thougl1 you are tough."
But Too-whay-deh, being a coward, ran away and
102 TEE-\i\T AHN FOLK-STORIES
would not pay his bet. And all the b1Aothers of
Pee-oo-ee-deh laughed for the trick they l1ad put
upon the Coyote.
In a case ,vhich I knew of, years ago, tl1is folkstory
seerns to have gi·ven a l1int to l1uman racers.
A Niexican vvl10 owned a la1Age and very fleetfooted
burro, cl1a1lenged a yot1ng Indian of Acoma
to a ten-n1ile race. Tl1e Indian v;ras a very famous
runner, and the challe11ger depended on the distance
alone to ,vear l1im out. In accordance ,vith
tl1e conditions the rivals started together from
the goal, tl1e Indian on foot, the Mexican on his
burro. For about fot1r miles tl1e Indian left tl1e
galloping donlzey far behind; but he could not
keep up such a tren1endous pace, a11d tl1e burro began
to gain. About midway of the course vvl1ere
tl1e trail tot1cl1es a great lava-flo,x.r, the Indian dove
into a cave. Jt1st as tl1e Mexican \Vas passing, out
came an Indian, passed the bt1rro ,vith a magnificent
spt1rt, and after a long rt1n reached tl1e farther
goal about a hundred feet al1ead. Unfortunately
for l1in1, 110\vever, the triclz vvas detected- l1e ,vas
the t\,vin brother of tl1e challenged man, and had
a\vaited hi111 in the cave, talcing tip the race fresh
when the first runner vvas tired!
xv
HONEST BIG-EARS
NEARLY all of yol1 have. seen pictures of the
Burro, the quaint little donkey of the Southwest.
He is very small,- 11ot n1ore than half the
weight of a s1nallisl1 mule,- but very strong, very
sure-footed, and very reliable. And he is one of
tl1e drollest, ''cutest," wisest-looking creatures on
earth.
T'ah-l1la-a.hloon, or Big-ears, as the Tee-,vahn
call him, does not appear very often i11 their folklore
- and for a very natural reason. lVIost of
these myths were made centuries before a white
man ever saw this country; and until Europea11s
came, there. were neither horses, donkeys, sheep,
goats, cats, nor cattle ( except the bufalo) in either
America. It ,vas the Spanish pioneers who gave
all these animals to tl1e Pueblos. Nor did the Indians
have milk, cheese, ,vl1eat or metals of any
sort. So when ,ve see a story in ,vhich any of
tl1ese things are mentioned, v.re n1ay know that it
was made witl1in the last three hundred and fifty
years -- or that an old story has been modified to
include tl1e1n.
There is one of these comparatively n1odern
103
104 TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES
nursery-tales wl1ich is designed to show the honesty
and vvisdom of the Burro.
Once Big-ears ,vas coming alone from the fa1·m
of l1is master to Isleta, carrying a load of curd
cheeses done up in buckslzin bags. As he came
through tl1e hills he met a Coy
