Zuni Folktales

his forehead.

On rushed the runners, and they had no sooner neared Kʻópakʻyan than again they saw the Gopher in advance of them, now apparently covered with sweat⁠—for this cunning brother had provided himself with a little water which he rubbed over his fur and made it all muddy, as though he were perspiring and had already begun to grow tired. He came out of his hole and popped into the other less quickly than the others had done; and the runners, who were not far behind him, raised a great shout and pushed ahead. When they thought they had gained on him, behold! in their pathway, all bedraggled with mud, apparently the same old Gopher appeared, moving with some difficulty, and then disappeared under the ground again. And so on, the runners kept seeing the Gopher at intervals, each time a little worse off than before, until they came to the last turning-place; and just as they reached it, almost in their midst appeared the most bedraggled and worn out of all the Gophers. They, seeing the red plume on his crest, almost obscured by mud and all flattened out, regarded him as surely the same old Gopher.

Finally, the original old Gopher, who had been quietly sleeping meanwhile, roused himself, and besoaking himself from the tip of his nose to the end of his short tail, wallowed about in the dirt until he was well plastered with mud, half closing his eyes, and crawled out before the astonished multitude at the end of the goal, a sorry-looking object indeed, far ahead of the runners, who were rapidly approaching. A great shout was raised by those who were present, and the runners of Kʻiákime for the first time lost all of their winnings, and had the swiftness, or at least all their confidence, taken out of them, as doth the wind lose its swiftness when its legs are broken.

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Thus it was in the days of the ancients. By the skill and cunning of the Gopher⁠—who, by digging his many holes and pitfalls, is the opponent of all runners, great and small⁠—was the race won against the swiftest runners among the youth of our ancients. Therefore, to this day the young runners of Zuni, on going forth to prepare for a race, take with them the sacred yellow pollen and red paint; and they make for the gophers, round about the racecourse in the country, beautiful little plumes, and they speak to them speeches in prayer, saying: “Behold, O ye Gophers of the plains and the trails, we race! And that we may have thy aid, we give ye these things, which are unto ye and your kind most precious, that ye will cause to fall into your holes and crannies and be hidden away in the dark and the dirt the sticks that are kicked by our opponents.”

Thus shortens my story.

How the Rattlesnakes Came to Be What They Are

Know you that long, long ago there lived at Yathlpewʻnan, as live there now, many Rattlesnakes; but then they were men and women, only of a Rattlesnake kind.

One day the little children of one of the houses there wished to go out to play at sliding down the sandbanks south of the Bitter Pond on the other side of our river. So they cried out to their parents: “Let us go, O mother, grandmother, father! and take our little sister to play on the sunny side of the sandbanks.”

“My children,” said the mother, “go if you wish, but be very careful of your little sister; for she is young. Carry her gently on your shoulders, and place her where she will be safe, for she is very small and helpless.”

“Oh, yes!” cried the children. “We love our little sister, don’t we, little one?” said they, turning to the baby girl. Then they took her up in their mantles, and carried her on their shoulders out to the sunny side of the sandbanks; and there they began to play at sliding one after another.

The little girl, immensely delighted with their sport, toddled out from the place where they had set her down, just as one of the girls was speeding down the side of the sand-hill. The little creature ran, clapping her hands and laughing, to catch her sister as she came; and the elder one, trying in vain to stop herself, called out to her to beware; but she was a little thing, and knew not the meaning of her sister’s warning; and, alas! the elder one slid down upon her, knocked her over and rolled her in the sand, crushing her so that she died, and rolling her out very small.

The children all gathered around their little sister, and cried and cried. Finally they took her up tenderly, and, placing her on their shoulders, sang as they went slowly toward home:

“Tchi-tola tsaaana!
Tchi-tola tsaaana!
Tchi-tola tsaaana!

Ama ma hama seta!
Ama ma hama seta!”

Rattlesnake little-little!
Rattlesnake little-little!
Rattlesnake little-little!

Alas, we bear her!
Alas, we bear her!

As they approached the village of the Rattlesnakes, the mother of the little one looked out and saw them coming and heard their song.

“O, my children! my children!” she cried. “Ye foolish little ones, did I not tell ye to beware and to be careful, O, my children?” Then she exclaimed⁠—rocking herself to and fro, and wriggling from side to side at the same time, casting her hands into the air, and sobbing wildly⁠—

“Ayaa mash toki!
Ayaa mash toki!
Hai! i i i i!”15

and fell in a swoon, still wriggling, to the ground.

When the old grandmother saw them coming, she too said:

“Ayaa mash toki!
Ayaa mash toki!
Hai! i i i i!”

And as one after another in that village saw the little child, so beloved, brought home thus mutilated and dead, each cried out as the others had cried:

“Ayaa mash toki!
Ayaa mash toki!
Hai! i i i i!”

and all