“Ahwa!” uttered the mother, “I’m tired and I don’t know what is the matter with my eyes, for things don’t look straight.”
Then the young man looked at his mother. She was more beautiful than all the other girls had been, but one of her eyes was shrunken in. “Alas! my mother,” said he, “I have dropped one of your eyes; but never mind, you can comb your hair down over it and no one will ever know the difference.”
As soon as they were rested they started again, and soon came to where the elder brother stood awaiting them. When he looked at his mother, he saw that one of her eyes had been left.
“Didn’t I tell you beforehand to be careful?” said he. “Poor mother; you have lost one of her eyes!”
“Well, it can’t be helped; never mind, she can comb her hair down over the eye that is dry and no one will ever know the difference.”
“That’s so; it can’t be helped. Now let’s go,” said the elder brother, and they all started.
When they arrived at the Waters of the Elks, the younger brother said: “Let’s camp here.”
“No, let’s run home,” returned the elder brother.
“No, let’s camp. Our poor mother will get tired, and, besides, she can see nothing of the country we are going through.”
And although the elder brother urged that they should go on, the younger insisted that they should stay; therefore they camped. The next day they continued their journey until they came near to the City of the Heights, not far from their own home; and as they journeyed, the deer, the antelope, the elks, and the mountain sheep were everywhere.
“Just look at that buck!” exclaimed the younger brother, clutching his bow. “Let’s shoot him.”
“No, no!” said the other; “Do you not remember that our father forbade us?” So they went on until they came to some trees, and as it was noonday they sat down to eat. Now, the fine game animals circled all around and even came up near enough to smell them, and stood gazing or cropping the grass within a few steps of them.
“Just look at that splendid antelope!” cried the younger brother, and he nocked an arrow quicker than thought.
“No, no, no!” cried the elder, “you must not shoot it.”
“Why not? Here our poor mother has nothing but corn-cakes to eat, with all this meat around us.” And before his brother could speak another word, he drew his arrow to the head, and tsi! it pierced the heart of the great antelope and it fell dead.
Now, all the great animals round about grew angry when they saw this, and tene! they came thundering after the little party. So the two fools, forgetting all about their poor mother, jumped up and ran away as fast as they could and climbed a big tree to the very top. When they straddled a big branch and looked down, the great deer had trampled their poor mother to death. Then they gathered around the foot of the tree to batter its trunk with their sharp horns, but they could not stir it. Presently some bighorn bucks came running along. Thle‑ee‑ta‑a‑a! they banged their horns against the butt of the tree until it began to split and tremble, and presently bang! went the tree, and the boys fell to the ground. Then the mountain sheep and the great bucks trampled and tore and speared them with their sharp horns, and tossed them from one to another and lacerated them with their hoofs until they were like worn-out clothing—all torn to pieces except the head of the elder brother which none of them would touch. And there the head lay all through the winter; and the next spring there was nothing but a skull left of the two brothers.
Now, off in the valley that led to Thunder Mountain, just where it turns to go south, stood the village of Kʻyátikʻia, and down in the bottom of the valley the great priest-chief of Kʻyátikʻia had his fields of corn and melons and squashes. Summer came, and the squashes were all in bloom, when the rain poured down all over the country; and thus, little by little, the skull was washed until it fell into a stream and went bumping along on the waters even till it came to the fields of corn and pumpkins and melons in the planting of the priest-chief of Kʻyátikʻia.
Now, when the pumpkin and squash vines were in bloom, the priest-chief’s daughter, who was as beautiful as you could look upon, went down every morning just at daylight to gather squash-flowers with which to sweeten the feast bread. The morning after the rain had passed over, very early, she said to her younger sister: “Stay here and grind meal while I run down to the squash patch to pick a lot of flowers.” So she took her mantle with her and started for the fields. She had not been picking flowers long when a voice rose from the middle of the vines:
“Ä-te-ya-ye,
Ä-te-ya-ye.
E-lu-ya.”
Here are more flowers,
Here are more flowers.
Beautiful ones.
“Ah!” said the girl, “I wonder what that is!” So she put her blanket of flowers down as soon as possible and started to hunt. As she approached the vine where the skull had been wont to lie, lo! there was a handsome young man!
“What are you doing?” asked the young man.
“Gathering flowers,” said she.
“If you will promise to take me home with you, I will help you,” said the young man.
“Very well,” replied the girl.
“Will you surely do it?” inquired the young man.
“Yes,”
