So the little Eagles, who were very awkward, long-legged and short-winged, limped up to the boy and reached out their claws and opened their beaks, ready to strike him in the face. He lay there quite still until they got very near, and then said to them: “Shhsht!” And they tumbled back, being awkward little fellows, and stretched up their necks and looked at him, as Eagles will.
Then the old Eagle said: “Why don’t you eat him? Feast yourselves, my children, feast yourselves!”
So they advanced again, more cautiously this time, and a little more determinedly too; and they reached out their beaks to tear him, and he said: “Shhsht!” and, under his breath, “Don’t eat me!” And they jumped back again.
“What in the world is the matter with you little fools?” said the old Eagle. “Eat him! I can’t stay here any longer; I have to go away and hunt to feed you; but you don’t seem to appreciate my efforts much.” And he lifted his wings, rose into the air, and sailed off to the northward.
Then the two young Eagles began to walk around the boy, and to examine him at all points. Finally they approached his feet and hands.
“Be careful, be careful, don’t eat me! Tell me about what time your mother comes home,” said he, sitting up. “What time does she usually come?”
“Well,” said the little Eagles, “she comes home when the clouds begin to gather and throw their shadow over our nest.” (Really, it was the shadow of the mother Eagle herself that was thrown over the nest.)
“Very well,” said the boy; “what time does your father come home?”
“When the fine rain begins to fall,” said they, meaning the dew.
“Oh,” said the boy. So he sat there, and by-and-by, sure enough, away off in the sky, carrying something dangling from her feet, came the old mother Eagle. She soared round and round until she was over the nest, when she dropped her burden, and over and over it fell and tumbled into the nest, a poor, dead, beautiful maiden. The young boy looked at her, and his heart grew very hot, and when the old Eagle came and perched, in a moment he let fly an arrow, and struck her down and dashed her brains out.
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed the boy. “What you have done to many, thus unto you.”
Then he took his station again, and by-and-by the old father Eagle came, bearing a youth, fair to look upon, and dropped him into the nest. The young boy shut his teeth, and he said: “Thus unto many you have done, and thus unto me you would have done; so unto you.” And he drew an arrow and shot him. Then he turned to the two young Eagles and killed them, and plucked out all the beautiful colored feathers about their necks, until he had a large bundle of fine plumes with which he thought to wing his arrows or to waft his prayers.
Then he looked down the cliff and saw there was no way to climb down, and there was no way to climb up. Then he began to cry, and sat on the edge of the cliff, and cried so loud that the old Bat Woman, who was gathering cactus-berries below, or thought she was, overheard the boy.
Said she: “Now, just listen to that. I warrant it is my fool of a grandson, who is always trying to get himself into a scrape. I am sure it must be so. Phoo! phoo!”
She spilled out all the berries she had found from the basket she had on her back, and then labored up to where she could look over the edge of the shelf.
“Yes, there you are,” said she; “you simpleton! you wretched boy! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, my grandmother,” said he, “I have got into a place and I cannot get out.”
“Yes,” said she; “if you were anything else but such a fool of a grandson and such a hard-hearted wretch of a boy, I would help you get down; but you never do as your mother and grandmother or grandfathers tell you.”
“Ah, my grandmother, I will do just as you tell me this time,” said the boy.
“Now, will you?” said she. “Now, can you be certain?—will you promise me that you will keep your eyes shut, and join me, at least in your heart, in the prayer which I sing when I fly down? Yan lehalliah kiana. Never open your eyes; if you do, the gods will teach you a lesson, and your poor old grandmother, too.”
“I will do just as you tell me,” said he, as he reached over and took up his plumes and held them ready.
“Not so fast, my child,” said she; “you must promise me.”
“Oh, my grandmother, I will do just as you tell me,” said he.
“Well, step into my basket, very carefully now. As I go down I shall go very prayerfully, depending on the gods to carry so much more than I usually carry. Do you not wink once, my grandson.”
“All right; I will keep my eyes shut this time,” said he. So he sat down and squeezed his eyes together, and held his plumes tight, and then the old grandmother launched herself forth on her skin wings. After she had struggled a little, she began to sing:
“Ha ash tchaa ni—Ha ash tchaa ni:
Tche pa naa—thlen-thle.
Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!”
“Now, just listen to that,” said the boy; “my old grandmother is singing one of those tedious prayers; it will take us forever to go down.”
Then presently the old Bat Woman, perfectly unconscious of his state of mind, began to sing again:
“Thlen thla kia yai na kia.”
“There she goes again,” said he to himself; “I declare, I must look up; it will drive me wild to sit here all this time and hear my
