“Hist!” cried the elder. “If they are people of that sort, feeding upon the savor of food, then they will hear the suggestions of sounds better than the sounds themselves, and the very demon fathers would not know how to fare with such people, or to fight them, either!”
Hah! But already the people had heard! They set up a clamor of war, swarming out to seek the enemy, as well they might, for who would think favorably of a sneaking stranger under the shade of a house-wall watching the food of another? Why, dogs growl even at their own offspring for the like of that!
“Where? Who? What is it?” cried the people, rushing hither and thither like ants in a shower. “Hah! There they are! There! Quick!” cried they, pointing to the Twain, who were cutting away to the nearest hillock. And immediately they fell to singing their war-cry.
“Ha-a! Sús-ki!
Ó-ma-ta
Há-wi-mo-o!
Ó-ma-ta,
Ó-ma-ta Há-wi-mo!”33
sang they as they ran headlong toward the Two, and then they began shouting:
“Tread them both into the ground! Smite them both! Fan them out! Ho‑o! Ha‑a! Há‑wi‑mo‑o ó‑ma‑ta!”
But the Twain laughed and quickly drew their arrows and loosed them amongst the crowd. Pʻit! tsok! sang the arrows through and through the people, but never a one fell.
“Why, how now is this?” cried the elder brother.
“We’ll club them, then!” said Mátsailéma, and he whiffed out his war-club and sprang to meet the foremost whom he pummelled well and sorely over the head and shoulders. Yet the man was only confused (he was too soft and unstable to be hurt); but another, rushing in at one side, was hit by one of the shield-feathers and fell to the ground like smoke driven down under a hawk’s wing.
“Hold, brother, I have it! Hold!” cried Áhaiyúta. Then he snatched up a bunch of dry plume-grass and leaped forward. Swish! Two ways he swept the faces and breasts of the pursuers. Lo! right and left they fell like bees in a rainstorm, and quickly sued for mercy, screeching and running at the mere sight of the grass-straws.
“You fools!” cried the brothers. “Why, then, did ye set upon us? We came for to help you and were merely looking ahead as becomes strangers in strange places, when, lo! you come running out like a mess of mad flies with your ‘Ha-a sús-ki ó-ma-ta!’ Call us coyote-sneaks, do you? But there! Rest fearless! We hunger; give us to eat.”
So they led the Twain into the court within the town and quickly brought steaming food for them.
They sat down and began to blow the food to cool it, whereupon the people cried out in dismay: “Hold! Hold, ye heedless strangers; do not waste precious food like that! For shame!”
“Waste food? Ha! This is the way we eat!” said they, and clutching up huge morsels they crammed their mouths full and bolted them almost whole.
The people were so horrified and sickened at sight of this, that some of them sweated furiously—which was their way of spewing—whilst others, stouter of thought, cried: “Hold! hold! Ye will die; ye will surely sicken and die if the stuff do but touch ye!”
“Ho! ho!” cried the Twain, eating more lustily than ever. “Eat thus and harden yourselves, you poor, soft things, you!”
Just then there was a great commotion. Everyone rushed to the shelter of the walls and houses, shouting to them to leave off and follow quickly.
“What is it?” asked they, looking up and all around.
“Woe, woe! The gods are angry with us this day, and blowing arrows at us. They will kill you both! Hurry!” A big puff of wind was blowing over, scattering slivers and straws before it; that was all!
“Brother,” said the elder, “this will not do. These people must be hardened and be taught to eat. But let us take a little sleep first, then we will look to this.”
They propped themselves up against a wall, set their shields in front of them, and fell asleep. Not long after they awakened suddenly. Those strange people were trying to drag them out to bury them, but were afraid to touch them now, for they thought them dead stuff, more dead than alive.
The younger brother punched the elder with his elbow, and both pretended to gasp, then kept very still. The people succeeded at last in rolling them out of the court like spoiling bodies, and were about to mingle them with the refuse when they suddenly let go and set up a great wail, shouting “War! Murder!”
“How now?” cried the Twain, jumping up. Whereupon the people stared and chattered in greater fright than ever at seeing the dead seemingly come to life!
“What’s the matter, you fool people?”
“Akaa kaa,” cried a flock of jays.
“Hear that!” said the villagers. “Hear that, and ask what’s the matter! The jays are coming; whoever they light on dies—run you two! Aii! Murder!” And they left off their standing as though chased by demons. On one or two of the hindmost some jays alighted. They fell dead as though struck by lightning!
“Why, see that!” cried the elder brother—“these people die if only birds alight on them!”
“Hold on, there!” said the younger brother. “Look here, you fearsome things!” So they pulled hairs from some scalp-locks they had, and made snares of them, and whenever the jays flew at them they caught them with the nooses until they had caught every one. Then they pinched them dead and took them into the town and roasted them. “This is the way,” said they, as they ate the jays by morsels.
And the people crowded around and shouted: “Look! look! why, they eat the very enemy—say nothing of refuse!” And although they dreaded the couple, they became very conciliatory and gave them a fit place to bide in.
The very next day there was another alarm. The Two ran out to learn what was the matter. For a long time they could see nothing, but at last
