Zuni Folktales · The Young Swift-Runner Who Was Stripped of His Clothing by the Aged Tarantula (1/2)

The Young Swift-Runner Who Was Stripped of His Clothing by the Aged Tarantula

A long, long time ago, in Kʻiákime, there lived a young man, the son of the priest-chief of the town. It was this young man’s custom to dress himself as for a dance and run entirely around Thunder Mountain each morning before the sun rose, before making his prayers. He was a handsome young man, and his costume was beautiful to behold.

Now, below the two broad columns of rock which stand at the southeastern end of Thunder Mountain, and which are called Akʻyapaatch-ella⁠—below these, in the base of the mountain, an old, old Tarantula had his den. Of a morning, as the young man in his beautiful dress sped by, the old Tarantula heard the horn-bells which were attached to his belt and saw him as he passed, this young Swift-runner, and he thought to himself: “Ah, ha! Now if I could only get his fine apparel away from him, what luck it would be for me! I will wait for him the next time.”

Early the next morning, just as the sun peeped over the lid of the world, sure enough the old Tarantula heard the horn-bells, and, thrusting his head out of his den, waited. As the young man approached, he called out to him: “Hold, my young friend; come here!”

“What for?” replied the youth. “I am in a great hurry.”

“Never mind that; come here,” said the old Tarantula.

“What is it? Why do you detain me?” rejoined the youth.

“It is for this reason,” said the old Tarantula. “Wouldn’t you like to look at yourself today?⁠—for if you would, I can show you how.”

“How?” asked the young man. “Make haste, for I am in a hurry.”

“Well, in this way,” was the reply. “Take off your clothing, all of it; then I will take off mine. You place yours in a heap before me; I will place mine in a heap before you. Then I will put on your apparel as you wear it, and then you will see what a handsome fellow you are.”

The young man thought about it and concluded that it would be a very good thing to do. So he began drawing off his clothing⁠—his beautiful painted moccasins, red and green; his fine white leggings, knitted with cunning stitches and fringed down the front, like the leggings worn by the Master of the Dances at New Year; his delicately-embroidered skirt, and mantle, and coat, all of white cotton and marked with figures in many colors; his heavy anklets of sacred white shell; his blue turquoise earrings, like the sky in blueness, and so long that they swept his shoulders; his plaited headband of many-colored fibers, and his bunch of blue, red, and yellow macaw feathers, which he wore in his hair-knot at the back of his head⁠—all these things, one after another, he took off and laid before the ugly old Tarantula.

Then that woolly, hairy, clammy creature hauled off his clothing⁠—gray-blue, ugly, and coarse;⁠—gray-blue leggings, gray-blue skirt and breechcloth, gray-blue coat and mantle, nothing but gray-blue, woolly and hairy, ugly and dirty. When the old Tarantula had done this, he began to put on the handsome garments that the young man had placed before him, and, after he had dressed himself in these, he perched himself up on his crooked hindlegs, and said: “Look at me, now. How do I look?”

“Well, so far as the clothing is concerned, handsome,” said the young man.

“Just wait till I get a little farther off,” said the old Tarantula, and he straightened himself up and walked backward toward the door of his den. Presently he stopped and stood still, and said: “How do I look now?”

“Handsomer,” said the young man.

“Just wait till I get a little farther”; and again he walked backward, which is a way Tarantulas have, and stood up straight, and said: “How do I look now?”

“Handsomer still,” said the young man.

“Ah, ha! Just wait till I get a little farther”;⁠—and now he backed to the very door of his den, and stood upon the lip of the entrance, and said: “Now, then, how do I look?”

“Perfectly handsome,” said the young man.

“Ah, ha!” chuckled the old Tarantula, and he turned himself around and plunged headforemost into his hole.

“Out upon him!” cried the young man, as he stood there with his head bowed, and thinking. “Out upon the old rascal! That is the trick he serves me, is it? Fearful!” said he. “What shall I do now? I can’t go home naked, or half naked. Well, but I suppose I will have to,” said he to himself. And, bending down, he reached for the hairy gray-blue breechcloth that had been left there by the old Tarantula, and the skirt, and put them on, and took his way swiftly homeward.

When he reached home the sun was high, which never had happened before, so that the old people had been thinking, “Surely, something must have happened to our young man that he comes not as early as usual.” And when he came, they said: “What has happened that has detained you so?”

“Ha!” replied the youth; “the old Tarantula that lives under the Akʻyapaatch-ella has stripped me of my garments, and with them has run away into his hole.”

“We thought something of the kind must have happened,” said his old father.

“Send for your warrior priest,” said the other old ones. “Let us see what he thinks about this, and what shall be done.”

So the priest-chief sent for his warrior priest, and when the latter had come, he asked: “Why is it that you have sent for me?”

“True, we have sent for you,” said the father, “because Old Tarantula has stripped my son of his handsome apparel, which is sacred and precious, and we therefore hold it a great loss to him and us. How do you think we can recover what has been stolen?”

The warrior priest thought a moment, and said: “I should think we would have to dig him out, for it isn’t likely he will show himself far from his den again.”

So the warrior priest went out on the tops of the houses, and called to his people:

“I instruct ye this day, oh, my people and children! Listen to my instruction! Our child, in running to and from his prayers this very morning was intercepted by Old Tarantula, who, through his skill and cunning, succeeded in stripping our child of his handsome apparel. Therefore, I instruct ye, make haste! Gather together digging-sticks and hoes; let us all go and dig out the old villain; let the whole town turn out, women as well as men and children. My daughters, ye women of this town, take with ye basket-bowls and baskets and other things wherewith ye gather material for plaster, with which to convey away the sand and earth that is dug up by the men. Thus much I instruct ye! Make haste all!” Whereupon he descended, and, after eating, led the way toward the den of Old Tarantula.

When the people had also eaten and followed, they began to work swiftly at tunnelling into the hole of the Tarantula; and thus they worked and worked from morning till night, but did not overtake him, until at last they reached the solid rock foundations of the mountain. They had filled their baskets and basket-bowls with the sand, and cast it behind them, and others had cast it behind them, and so on until a large hillock of earth and sand had been raised, but still they had not overtaken Old Tarantula. Now, when they had reached the solid rock foundations of the mountain, they saw that the hole yawned like a cave before them, and that it was needless to follow farther. They gave up in despair, saying: “What more can we do? Let us go home. Let us give it up, since we must.” And they took their ways homeward.

Now, in the evening the old ones of the town were very thoughtful, and they gathered together and talked the matter over, and finally it was suggested by someone in answer to the query, “What can we do to recover our son’s lost garments?” “Suppose that we send for the Great Kingfisher? He is wise, crafty, swift of flight; he dashes himself from on high, even into the water, and takes him therefrom whatsoever he will, swift though it be, without fail. Suppose we send for him, our grandfather?”

“Ah, ha! that’s it,” replied others. “Send for him straightway.”

So the master warrior priest called to Young Swift-runner, and sent him to the Hill of the Great Kingfisher.

“What is it?” asked Kingfisher, when he heard someone at the entrance of his house.

“Come quickly! In council the old ones of our town await you,” said the young man.

So Great Kingfisher followed, and, arriving at the council, greeted them and asked: “What is it you would have of me?”

Said they: “Old Tarantula has stripped our young man, Swift-runner, of his beautiful garments, and how to recover them we know not. We have dug away the den, even to the foundation of the mountain, but beyond this it extends. What to do we know not. So we have sent for you, knowing your power and ability to quickly snatch even from under the waters whatsoever you will.”

“Ah, ha! I will take a step toward this thing,” said Great Kingfisher, “but it is a difficult task you place before me. Old Tarantula is exceedingly cunning and very keen of sight, moreover. I will, however, take a step, and if I have good luck will be able to bring back to you something of what he has stolen.” He then made his adieu, and went back to his house at the Hill of the Kingfisher.

Very early the next morning he took his swift way to the Akʻyapaatch-ella, and there where the columns of rock fork he lay himself down between them, like a little finger between two other fingers, merely thrusting his beak over the edge, and looking at the opening of Old Tarantula’s hole.

The plumes of sunlight were but barely gleaming on the farther edge of the world when Old Tarantula cast his eyes just out of the edge of his hole, and looked all around. Eyes like many eyes had he, wonderfully sharp and clear. With these he looked all around, as might have been expected. He discovered Great Kingfisher, little-so-ever of him showing, and called out: “*Heee! Wóloi weee!” (“Ho, ho! skulker skulking. Ho, ho! skulker skulking!”) Instantly Great Kingfisher shook out his wings, and thluooo, descended like a breath of strong wind; and thlu‑u‑u‑kwa, finished his flight like a loosed arrow; but he merely brushed the tips of the plumes in Old Tarantula’s head-knot, and the creature doubled himself up and headforemost plunged into his hole. Once in, “Ha, ha!*” said he. “Good for him! Good! Good! Let’s have a dance, and sing,” said he, talking to himself; and thereupon he pranced up, jigged about his dark, deep room, singing this song:

“Ohatchikʻya ti Tákwà,

Ai yaa Tákwà!

Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà,

Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà!

Ai yaa Tákwà!

Ai yaa Tákwà!

Tákwà, Tákwà!”

Thus singing, he danced⁠—surely a song that nobody but he could dance to, if it be a song, but he danced to it. And when he had finished jigging about, he looked at his fluttering garments, and said: “Ha, ha! Just look at my fine dress! Now am I not handsome? I tell you I am handsome! Now, let’s have another dance!” And again he sang at the top of his wheezing voice, and pranced round on his crooked hind legs, with his fine garments fluttering.

But Great Kingfisher, with wings drooping and beak gaped down at the corners⁠—as though being hungry he had tried to catch a fish and hadn’t caught him⁠—took his way back to the council; and he said to the people there: “No use! I failed utterly. As I said before, he is a crafty, keen-sighted old fellow. What more have I to say?” He made his adieus, and took his way back to the Hill of the Kingfisher.

Again the people talked with one another and considered; and at last said some: “Inasmuch as he has failed, let us send for our grandfather, Great Eagle. He, of all living creatures with wings, is swiftest and keenest of sight, strong of grasp, hooked of beak, whatever getting holding, and getting whatever he will.”

They sent for the Eagle. He came, and when made acquainted with their wishes turned quickly, and said, in bidding them adieu: “I think that possibly I can succeed, though surely, as my brother has said, Old Tarantula is a crafty, keen-sighted creature. I will do my best.”

Early the next morning he took his way, before sunrise, to the peak of the Mountain of the Badgers, a long distance away from Akʻyapaatch-ella, but still as no distance to the Eagle. There he stood, with his head raised to the winds, turning first one eye, then the other, on the entrance of Old Tarantula’s den, until Old Tarantula again thrust out his woolly nose, as might have been expected. He discovered the Eagle, and was just shouting “Ho, skulker, skulking!” when the Eagle swept like a singing stone loosed from the sling straight at the head of Old Tarantula. But his wings hissed and buzzed past the hole harmlessly, and his crooked talons reached down into the dark, clutching nothing save one of the plumes in Old Tarantula’s headdress. Even this he failed to bring away.

The Old Tarantula tumbled headlong into his lower room, and exclaimed: “Ha, ha! Goodness save us! What a startling he gave me! But he didn’t get me! No, he didn’t get me! Let’s have a dance! Jig it down! What a fine fellow I am!” And he began to prance about, and jig and sing as he had sung before:

“Ohatchikʻya ti Tákwà,

Ai yaa Tákwà!

Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà,

Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà!

Ai yaa Tákwà!

Ai yaa Tákwà!

Tákwà, Tákwà!”

As soon as he paused for breath, he glanced askance at his fluttering bright garments and cried out: “Ho! what a handsome fellow I am! How finely dressed I am! Let’s have another dance!” And again he danced and sang, all by himself, admiring himself, answering his own questions, and watching his own movements. But Great Eagle, crestfallen and shame-smitten, took his way to the place of the council, reported his failure, and made his adieu.

Then again the people considered, and the old ones decided to send for Hatchutsanona (the Lesser Falcon), whose plumage is hard and smooth and speckled, gray and brown, like the rocks and sagebrush, and who, being swift as the Kingfisher, and strong as the Eagle, and small, is not only able to fly where other birds fly, but can penetrate the closest thicket when seeking his prey, for trimmed he is like a well-feathered arrow. They sent for him; he came and, being made acquainted with the facts of the case, said he could but try, though he modestly affirmed that when his elder brothers, Great Kingfisher and Great Eagle, had made such efforts, it were well-nigh needless for him to try, and repeated what they had said of the cunning and keenness of sight of Old Tarantula.

But he went early the next morning, and placed himself on the very edge of the high cliff overhanging the columns of rock and looking into the den of Old Tarantula. There, when the sun rose, you could scarcely have seen him, even though near you might have been, for his coat of gray and brown was like the rocks and dry grass around him, and he lay very close to the ground, like an autumn leaf beaten down by the rain. By-and-by Old Tarantula thrust out his rugged face, and turned his eyes in every direction, up and down; then twisted his head from side to side. He saw nothing. He had even poked his head entirely out of his hole, and his shoulders were just visible, when Lesser Falcon bestirred himself, and Old Tarantula, alas! saw him; not in time to wholly save himself, however, for Lesser Falcon, with a sweep of his wings like the swirl of a snowdrift, shot into the mouth of Old Tarantula’s den, grasped at his head, and brought away with him the macaw plumes of the youth’s headdress.