But he went early the next morning, and placed himself on the very edge of the high cliff overhanging the columns of rock and looking into the den of Old Tarantula. There, when the sun rose, you could scarcely have seen him, even though near you might have been, for his coat of gray and brown was like the rocks and dry grass around him, and he lay very close to the ground, like an autumn leaf beaten down by the rain. By-and-by Old Tarantula thrust out his rugged face, and turned his eyes in every direction, up and down; then twisted his head from side to side. He saw nothing. He had even poked his head entirely out of his hole, and his shoulders were just visible, when Lesser Falcon bestirred himself, and Old Tarantula, alas! saw him; not in time to wholly save himself, however, for Lesser Falcon, with a sweep of his wings like the swirl of a snowdrift, shot into the mouth of Old Tarantula’s den, grasped at his head, and brought away with him the macaw plumes of the youth’s headdress.
Down into his den tumbled Old Tarantula, and he sat down and bent himself double with fright and chagrin. He wagged his head to and fro, and sighed: “Alas! alas! my beautiful headdress; the skulking wretch! My beautiful headdress; he has taken it from me. What is the use of bothering about a miserable bunch of macaw feathers, anyway? They get dirty, they get bent and broken, moths eat them, they change their color; what is the use of troubling myself about a worthless thing like that? Haven’t I still the finest costume in the valley?—handsome leggings and embroidered skirt and mantle, sleeves as pretty as flowers in summer, necklaces worth fifty head-plumes, and earrings worth a handful of such necklaces? Ha, ha! let him away with the old head-plumes! Let’s have a dance, and dance her down, old fellow!” said he, talking to himself. And again he skipped about, and sang his tuneless song:
“Ohatchikʻya ti Tákwà,
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà,
Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà!
Ai yaa Tákwà,
Ai yaa Tákwà.
Tákwà, Tákwà!”
He admired himself as much as before. “Forsooth,” said he; “I could not have seen the head-plume for I would have worn it in the back of my head.”
The Lesser Falcon, cursing at his half-luck, took his way back to the council, and, casting the head-plume at the feet of the old men, said: “Alas! my fathers; this is the best I could do, for before I had fairly taken my flight, Old Tarantula discovered me and made into his den. But this I got, and I bring it to you. May others succeed better!”
“Thou hast succeeded exceeding well, for most precious are these plumes from Summerland,” said the old priest. “Thanks be to you, this day, my grandfather!” And the Lesser Falcon took his way to the thickets and hillsides.
Then the people said to one another: “What more is there to be done? We must even have recourse to the Gods, it seems.” And they called Swift-runner and said to him: “Of the feathered creatures we have chosen the wisest and swiftest and strongest to aid us; yet they have failed mainly. Therefore, we would even send you to the Gods, for your performance of duty to them has been faithful from morning to morning.” So they instructed him to climb to the top of Thunder Mountain and visit the home of the two War-gods, Áhaiyúta and Mátsailéma, for in those days they still dwelt on the top of Thunder Mountain with their old grandmother, at the Middle Place of Sacrifice.
The priests in the town prepared sacrificial plumes and divided their treasures for the Gods, and again calling the young man, presented them to him as their messenger, bidding him bear to the Gods their greetings.
On the morning following, he climbed the steep path and soon neared the dwelling of the Gods and their grandmother. She was on the roof of the house, while the two bad boys—always out of the way when wanted, and never ceasing to play their pranks, as was their little way, you know—were down in the lower rooms. The old grandmother bade the youth to enter, and called out to her grandchildren, the two Gods: “My children, come up, both of you, quickly. A young man has arrived to see you, bringing greetings.” So they cast off their playful behavior, and with great gravity came into the room, and looking up to the tall youth, said: “Thou hast come. May it be happily. Sit down. What is it that thou wouldst have? because for nothing no stranger comes to the house of another.”
“It is true, this which you say,” said the youth reverently, breathing on his hands. “O ye, my fathers! I bring greetings from the fathers of my town below the mountain, and offerings from them.”
“It is well thus, my child,” replied the Gods.
“And I bring also my burden of trouble, that I may listen to your counsel, and perchance implore your aid,” said the youth.
“What is it?” said the Two; and they listened.
Then the youth related his misfortune, telling how he had been stripped of his clothing by Old Tarantula; how the old ones, gathered in council, had sought the aid, one after another, of the wisest and swiftest of feathered beings, but with little success; how they had at last counselled his coming to them, the fathers of the people in times of difficulty and strife.
“Grandmother!” shouted the younger brother War-god. “Make haste! Make haste, grandmother! Bestir yourself! Grind flour for us. Let it be rock flour!”
The old grandmother gathered some white
