Zuni Folktales · The Boy Hunter Who Never Sacrificed to the Deer He Had Slain (1/3)

The Boy Hunter Who Never Sacrificed to the Deer He Had Slain

Or, The Origin of the Society of Rattlesnakes

In very ancient times, there lived at Tâʻia,9 below the Zuni Mountains, an old shíwani or priest-chief, who had a young son named Héasailuhtiwa (“Metal-hand”), famed throughout the land of the Zunis for his success in hunting.

When very young, this lad had said to his parents: “My old ones, let me go away from the home of my fathers and dwell by myself.”

“Why do you, a young boy, wish to go and dwell by yourself, my son? Know you not that you would fare but badly, for you are careless and forgetful? No, no! remain with us, that we may care for you.”

But the boy answered: “Why should I fare badly? Can I not hunt my own game and roast the meat over the fire? It is because you never care to have me go forth alone that I wish to live by myself, for I long to travel far and hunt deer in the mountains of many countries: yet whenever I start forth you call me back, and it is painful to my longing thoughts thus to be held back when I would go forward.”

It was not until the lad had spoken thus again and again, and once more, that the parents sadly yielded to his wish. They insisted, however, much to the boy’s displeasure, that his younger sister, Waíasialuhtitsa, should go with him, only to look after his house, and to remind him here and there, at times, of his forgetfulness. So the brother and sister chose the lofty rooms of a high house in the upper part of the pueblo and lived there.

The boy each day went out hunting and failed not each time to bring in slain animals, while the sister cooked for him and looked after the house. Yet, although the boy was a great hunter, he never sacrificed to the Deer he had slain, nor to the Gods of Prey who delight in aiding the hunter who renews them; for the lad was forgetful and careless of all things.

One day he went forth over the mountain toward the north, until he came to the Waters of the Bear.10 There he started up a huge Buck, and, finding the trail, followed it far toward the northward. Yet, although swift of foot, the youth could not overtake the running Deer, and thus it happened that he went on and on, past mesas, valleys, and mountains, until he came to the brink of a great river which flows westwardly from the north.11 On the banks of this great river grew forests of cottonwood, and into the thickets of these forests led the trail, straight toward the river bank. Just as the young man was about to follow the track to the bank, he thought he saw under a large tree in the midst of the thickets the form of the Deer, so, bending very low, he ran around close to the bank, and came up between the river and the thicket.

As he guardedly approached the tree, his eyes now following the track, now glancing up, he discovered a richly dressed, handsome young man, who called out to him: “How art thou these days, and whither art thou going?”

The young man straightened up, and quickly drawing his breath, replied: “I am hunting a Deer whose tracks I have followed all the way from the Waters of the Bear.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the stranger, “and where has thy Deer gone?”

“I know not,” replied the youth, “for here are his tracks.” Then he observed that they led to the place where the stranger was sitting, and the latter at the same time remarked:

“I am the Deer, and it was as I would have it that I enticed thee hither.”

“Hai-í!” exclaimed the young man.

“Aye,” continued the stranger. “Alas! alas! thou forgetful one! Thou hast day after day chased my children over the plains and slain them; thou hast made thyself happy of their flesh, and of their flesh added unto thine own meat and that of thy kindred; but, alas! thou hast been forgetful and careless, and not once hast thou given unto their souls the comfort of that which they yearn for and need. Yet hast thou had good fortune in the chase. At last the Sun-father has listened to the supplications of my children and commanded that I bring thee here, and here have I brought thee. Listen! The Sun-father commands that thou shalt visit him in his house at the western end of the world, and these are his instructions.”

“Indeed! Well, I suppose it must be, and it is well!” exclaimed the young man.

“And,” continued the Deer-being, “thou must hasten home and call thy father. Tell him to summon his Pithlan Shíwani (Priest of the Bow, or Warrior) and command him that he shall instruct his children to repair to the rooms of sacred things and prepare plumed prayer-sticks for the Sun-father, the Moon-mother, and the Great Ocean, and red plumes of sacrifice for the Beings of Prey; that fully they must prepare everything, for thou, their child and father, shalt visit the home of the Sun-father, and in payment for thy forgetfulness and carelessness shalt render him, and the Moon-mother, and the Beings of the Great Ocean, plumes of sacrifice. Hasten home, and tell thy father these things. Then tell thy sister to prepare sweetened meal of parched corn to serve as the food of thy journey, and pollen of the flowers of corn; and ask thy mother to prepare great quantities of new cotton, and, making all these things into bundles, thou must summon some of thy relatives, and come to this tree on the fourth day from this day. Make haste, for thou art swift of foot, and tell all these things to thy father; he will understand thee, for is he not a priest-chief? Hast thou knives of flint?”

“Yes,” said the young man, “my father has many.”

“Select from them two,” said the Deer-being⁠—“a large one and a smaller one; and when thou hast returned to this place, cut down with the larger knife yonder great tree, and with the smaller knife hollow it out. Leave the large end entire, and for the smaller end thou must make a round door, and around the inside of the smaller end cut a notch that shall be like a terrace toward the outside, but shall slope from within that thou mayest close it from the inside with the round door; then pad the inside with cotton, and make in the bottom a padding thicker than the rest; but leave space that thou mayest lie thy length, or sit up and eat. And in the top cut a hole larger inside than out, that thou mayest close it from the inside with a plug of wood. Then when thou hast placed the sweetened meal of parched corn inside, and the plumed prayer-sticks and the sacred pollen of cornflowers, then enter thyself and close the door in the end and the hole in the top that thy people may roll thee into the river. Thou wilt meet strange beings on thy way. Choose from amongst them whom thou shalt have as a companion, and proceed, as thy companion shall direct, to the great mountain where the Sun enters. Haste and tell thy father these things.” And ere the youth could say, “Be it well,” and, “I will,” the Deer-being had vanished, and he lifted up his face and started swiftly for the home of his fathers.

At sunset the sister looked forth from her high housetop, but nowhere could she see her brother coming. She turned at last to enter, thinking and saying to her breast: “Alas! what did we not think and guess of his carelessness.” But just as the country was growing dim in the darkness, the young man ran breathlessly in, and, greeting his sister, sat down in the doorway.

The sister wondered that he had no deer or other game, but placed a meal before him, and, when he had done, herself ate. But the young man remained silent until she had finished, then he said: “Younger sister, I am weary and would sit here; do you go and call father, for I would speak to him of many things.”

So the sister cleared away the food and ran to summon the father. Soon she returned with the old man, who, sighing, “Ha hua!” from the effort of climbing, greeted his son and sat down, looking all about the room for the fresh deer-meat; but, seeing none, he asked: “What and wherefore hast thou summoned me, my son?”

“It is this,” replied the son, and he related all that had been told him by the Deer-being, describing the magnificent dress, the turquoise and shell earrings, necklaces, and wristlets of the handsome stranger.

“Certainly,” replied the father. “It is well; for as the Sun-father hath directed the Deer-being, thus must it be done.”

Then he forthwith went away and commanded his Priest of the Bow, who, mounting to the topmost house, directed the elders and priests of the tribe, saying:

“Ye, our children, listen!

Ye I will this day inform,

Our child, our father,

He of the strong hand,

He who so hunts the Deer,

Goes unto the Sunset world,

Goes, our Sun-father to greet;

Gather at the sacred houses,

Bring thy prayer-sticks, twines, and feathers,

And prepare for him⁠—

For the Sun-father,

For the Moon-mother,

For the Great Ocean,

For the Prey-beings, plumes and treasures.

Hasten, hasten, ye our children, in the morning!”

So the people gathered in the kiwetsiwe and sacred houses next morning and began to make prayer-plumes, while the sister of the young man and her relatives made sweet parched cornmeal and gathered pollen. Toward evening all was completed. The young man summoned his relatives, and chose his four uncles to accompany him. Then he spread enough cotton-wool out to cover the floor, and, gathering it up, made it into a small bundle. The sweet meal filled a large sack of buckskin, and he took also a little sack of sacred red paint and the black warrior paint with little shining particles in it. Then he bade farewell to his lamenting people and rested for the evening journey.

Next morning, escorted by priests, the young man, arrayed in garments of embroidered white cotton and carrying his plumes in his arms, started out of the town, and, accompanied only by his four uncles, set out over the mountains. On the third day they reached the forest on the bank of the great river and encamped.

Then the young man left the camp of his uncles and went alone into the forest, and, choosing the greatest tree he could find, hacked midway through it with his great flint knife. The next day he cut the other half and felled it, when he found it partly hollow. So with his little knife he began to cut it as he had been directed, and made the round door for it and the hole through the top. With his bundle of cotton he padded it everywhere inside until it was thickly coated and soft, and he made a bed on the bottom as thick as himself.

When all was ready and he had placed his food and plumes inside, he called his uncles and showed them the hollow log. “In this,” said he, “I am to journey to the western home of our Sun-father. When I have entered and closed the round door tightly and put the plug into the upper hole securely, do ye, never thinking of me, roll the log over and over to the high brink of the river, and, never regarding consequences, push it into the water.”

Then it was that the uncles all lamented and tried to dissuade him; but he persisted, and they bade him “Go,” as forever, “for,” said they, “could one think of journeying even to the end of the earth and across the waters that embrace the world without perishing?”

Then, hastily embracing each of them, the young man entered his log, and, securely fastening the door from the inside, and the plug, called out (they heard but faintly), “Kesi!” which means “All is ready.”

Sorrowfully and gently they rolled the log over and over to the high river bank, and, hesitating a moment, pushed it off with anxious eyes and closed mouths into the river. Eagerly they watched it as it tumbled end-over-end and down into the water with a great splash, and disappeared under the waves, which rolled one after another across to the opposite banks of the river. But for a long time they saw nothing of it. After a while, far off, speeding on toward the Western Waters of the World, they saw the log rocking along on the rushing waters until it passed out of sight, and they sadly turned toward their homes under the Mountains of the South.

When the log had ceased rocking and plunging, the young man cautiously drew out the plug, and, finding that no water flowed in, peered out. A ray of sunlight slanted in, and by that he knew it was not yet midday, and he could see a round piece of sky and clouds through the hole. By-and-by the ray of sunlight came straight down, and then after a while slanted the other way, and finally toward evening it ceased to shine in, and then the youth took out some of his meal and ate his supper. When after a while he could see the stars, and later the Hanging Lines [the sword-belt of Orion], he knew it was time to rest, so he lay down to sleep.

Thus, day after day, he travelled until he knew he was out on the Great Waters of the World, for no longer did his log strike against anything or whirl around, nor could he see, through the chink, leaves of overhanging trees, nor rocks and banks of earth. On the tenth morning, when he looked up through the hole, he saw that the clouds did not move, and wondering at this, kicked at his log, but it would not move. Then he peered out as far as he could and saw rocks and trees. When he tried to rock his log, it remained firm, so he determined to open the door at the end.

Now, in reality, his log had been cast high up on the shore of a great mountain that rose out of the waters; and this mountain was the home of the Rattlesnakes. A Rattlesnake maiden was roaming along the shore just as the young man was about to open the door of his log. She espied the curious vessel, and said to herself in thought: “What may this be? Ah, yes, and who? Ah, yes, the mortal who was to come; it must be he!” Whereupon she hastened to the shore and tapped on the log.

“Art thou come?” she asked.

“Aye,” replied the youth. “Who may you be, and where am I?”

“You are landed on the Island of the Rattlesnakes, and I am one of them. The other side of the mountain here is where our village is. Come out and go with me, for my old ones have expected you long.”

“Is it dry, surely?” asked the young man.

“Why, yes! Here you are high above the waters.”

Thereupon the young man opened from the inside his door, and peered out. Surely enough, there he was high among the rocks and sands. Then he looked at the Rattlesnake maiden, and scarcely believed she was what she called herself, for she was a most beautiful young woman, and like a daughter of men. Yet around her waist⁠—she was dressed in cotton mantles⁠—was girt a rattlesnake-skin which was open at the breast and on the crown of the head.

“Come with me,” said the maiden; and she led the way over the mountain and across to a deep valley, where terrible Serpents writhed and gleamed in the sunlight so thickly that they seemed, with their hissing and rattling, like a dry mat shaken by the wind. The youth drew back in horror, but the maiden said: “Fear not; they will neither harm you nor frighten you more, for they are my people.” Whereupon she commanded them to fall back and make a pathway for the young man and herself; and they tamely obeyed her commands. Through the opening thus made they passed down to a cavern, on entering which they found a great room. There were great numbers of Rattlesnake people, old and young, gathered in council, for they knew of the coming of the young man. Around the walls of their houses were many pegs and racks with serpent skins hanging on them⁠—skins like the one the young girl wore as a girdle. The elders arose and greeted the youth, saying: “Our child and our father, comest thou, comest thou happily these many days?”

“Aye, happily,” replied the youth.