Zuni Folktales

their wounds, and apply his medicines, and sing his incantations and prayers, to cure them. Whenever this happened, he breathed the sacred breath upon them, and enjoined them to secrecy of the rituals and chants he taught them, save only to such as they should choose and teach the practice of their prayers.

Thus he had cured and taught eight, when one day he ascended the mountains for wood. There, alone in the forest, he was met and bitten by his fathers. Although he slowly and painfully crawled home, long ere he reached his town he was so swollen that the eight whom he had instructed tried in vain to cure him, and, bidding them cherish as a precious gift the knowledge of his beloved wife, he died.

Immediately his fathers met his breath and being and took them to the home of the Maiden of the Rattlesnakes and of his lost children. Need we ask why he was not cured by his disciples?

Thus it was in the days of the ancients, and hence today we have fathers amongst us to whom the dread bite of the rattlesnake need cause no sad thoughts⁠—the Tchi Kialikwe (Society of the Rattlesnakes).

Thus much and thus shortened is my story.

How Áhaiyúta and Mátsailéma Stole the Thunder-Stone and the Lightning-Shaft

Áhaiyúta and Mátsailéma, with their grandmother, lived where now stands the ancient Middle Place of Sacrifice on Thunder Mountain.

One day they went out hunting prairie-dogs, and while they were running about from one prairie-dog village to another, it began to rain, which made the trail slippery and the ground muddy, so that the boys became a little wrathful. Then they sat down and cursed the rain for a brief space. Off in the south it thundered until the earth trembled, and the lightning-shafts flew about the red-bordered clouds until the two brothers were nearly blinded with the beholding of it. Presently the younger brother smoothed his brow, and jumped up with an exclamation somewhat profane, and cried out: “Elder brother, let us go to the Land of Everlasting Summer and steal from the gods in council their thunder and lightning. I think it would be fine fun to do that sort of thing we have just been looking at and listening to.”

The elder brother was somewhat more cautious; still, on the whole, he liked the idea. So he said: “Let us take our prairie-dogs home to the grandmother, that she shall have something to eat meanwhile, and we will think about going tomorrow morning.”

The next morning, bright and early, they started out. In vain the old grandmother called rather crossly after them: “Where are you going now?” She could get no satisfaction, for she knew they lied when they called back: “Oh, we are only going to hunt more prairie-dogs.” It is true that they skulked round in the plains about Thunder Mountain a little while, as if looking for prairie-dogs. Then, picking up their wondrously swift heels, they sped away toward that beautiful country of the corals, the Land of Everlasting Summer.

At last⁠—it may be in the mountains of that country, which are said to glow like shells of the sea or the clouds of the sunset⁠—they came to the House of the Beloved Gods themselves. And that red house was a wondrous terrace, rising wall after wall, and step after step, like a high mountain, grand and stately; and the walls were so smooth and high that the skill and power of the little War-gods availed them nothing; they could not get in.

“What shall we do?” asked the younger brother.

“Go home,” said the elder, “and mind our own affairs.”

“Oh, no,” urged the younger; “I have it, elder brother. Let us hunt up our grandfather, the Centipede.”

“Good!” replied the elder. “A happy thought is that of yours, my brother younger.”

Forthwith they laid down their bows and quivers of mountain-lion skin, their shields, and other things, and set about turning over all the flat stones they could find. Presently, lifting one with their united strength, they found under it the very old fellow they sought. He doubled himself, and covered his eyes from the sharpness of the daylight. He did not much like being thus disturbed, even by his grandchildren, the War-gods, in the middle of his noonday nap, and was by no means polite to them. But they prodded him a little in the side, and said: “Now, grandfather, look here! We are in difficulty, and there is no one in the wide world who can help us out as you will.”

The old Centipede was naturally flattered. He unrolled himself and viewed them with a look which he intended to be extremely reproachful and belittling. “Ah, my grandchildren,” said he, “what are you up to now? Are you trying to get yourselves into trouble, as usual? No doubt of it! I will help you all I can; but the consequences be on your own heads!”

“That’s right, grandfather, that’s right! No one in the world could help us as you can,” said one of them. “The fact is, we want to get hold of the thunder-stone and the lightning-shaft which the Rain-gods up there in the tremendous house keep and guard so carefully, we understand. Now, in the first place, we cannot get up the wall; in the second place, if we did, we would probably have a fuss with them in trying to steal these things. Therefore, we want you to help us, if you will.”

“With all my heart, my boys! But I should advise you to run along home to your grandmother, and let these things alone.”

“Oh, pshaw, nonsense! We are only going to play a little while with the thunder and lightning.”

“All right,” replied the old Worm; “sit here and wait for me.” He wriggled himself and stirred about, and his countless legs were more countless than ever with rapid motions as he ran toward the walls of that stately terrace. A vine could not have run up