“Oh!” the young man would exclaim as he listened. “Oh!”—and, wishing to learn more about the matter, he would stealthily climb up the ladder and peer down through the sky-hole. Old Mítsina would catch sight of him, be sure of that, and greet him most cordially, calling to him: “Come in, come in, my fine young fellow, come in; let’s have a game!”
Now, he had practised so long that he had acquired more skill than anyone else throughout the world—at least among mortals; so that when any of the young men chanced to play with him, he invariably lost, poor fellow! Hanging on the pole along the north side of Mítsina’s house were the necklaces, embroidered mantles, and turquoises, and all sorts of treasures which he had won in this way; and as many on the western side, on the southern side as many, and on the eastern side also.
When the young man came in, Mítsina would continue: “My good friend, sit right down over there. Have you your canes today?” If the young man said “Yes,” he would say: “Ha! very well.” Or, if he said “No,” “Never mind,” Mítsina would say; “here are some,” producing a very fine set of polished canes. The young man, being thus pressed, would stake perhaps his necklace or his earrings, and the game would begin. Losing them, he would stake his clothing, his bows and arrows—in fact, everything he had about him. You know how it is with gamesters when they have lost a great deal and wish to get it back again? Well, so it was then. When the young man had lost everything, he would bow his head on his hand, and sit thinking. Then old Mítsina, with a jolly, devil-may-care manner, would say: “Bet your left thigh. I’ll put all you have lost and more, too, on that.” The young man would say to himself, with a sigh of relief: “What an old fool you are!” and reply: “All right! I will take your bet.” Alas! the one thigh he bet is lost; then the other goes the same way; then one of his sides and arms; losing which, he bet the other, and so on, until he had bet away his whole body, including his head. Then in utter despair he would exclaim: “Do with me as thou wilt. I am thy slave.” And old Mítsina with the same devil-may-care manner would catch him up, take him out to the back of his house and wring his neck that he might not go back and report his losses to his people.
Again, some other well-equipped young man would be passing that way, and hearing the sound made by the solitary player, and being attracted thereby, would be drawn in the same way into the game, would lose everything, and old Mítsina would wring his neck and keep his treasures.
Thus it was in the days of the ancients. Great were the losses of the young men, and many of them perished.
Well, one day little Áhaiyúta and Mátsailéma—the War-gods of peace times—who dwelt, as you know, where their shrine now stands on Face Mountain, with their old grandmother—went out hunting rabbits and prairie-dogs. It chanced that in following the rabbits along the cliffs of a side canyon they came into the Canyon of the Pines, near where the house of Mítsina stood. Presently they heard the sounds of his game. “Hu, hu!” the old fellow would exclaim as he cast his canes into the air. Ke-le-le-le they would rattle as they fell on the skin.
“Uh!” exclaimed Áhaiyúta, the elder. “Brother younger, listen.”
The younger listened. “By my eyes!” exclaimed he, “it is someone playing at cane-cards. Let’s go and have a peep at him.” So they climbed the ladder and peered in through the sky-hole.
Presently, old Mítsina espied them, and called out: “Ha! my little fellows; glad to see you today! How are you? Come in, come in! I am dying for a game; I was playing here all by myself.”
The two little War-gods clambered down the ladder, and old Mítsina placed blankets for them, invited them most cordially to sit down, and asked if they would like to play a game. Nothing loth they, seeing all the fine things hanging round his room; so out from their girdles they drew their cane-cards, for those, as you know, they always carried with them.
Perhaps I have not told you that even the basket-drum old Mítsina played with was fringed with the handsome long turquoise earrings which he had won, and even under the robe on which he played there were piled one over another, in a great flat heap, the finest of the necklaces gathered from those whom he had defeated in playing and then slain.
“What would you like to put up?” asked the old fellow, pointing around his room—particularly to the basket-drum fringed with turquoises—and lifting the robe and showing just enough of the necklaces underneath it to whet the appetites of the little War-gods.
“We’ve nothing fine enough to bet for these things,” said they ruefully.
“O ho!” cried Mítsina. “No matter, no matter at all, my boys. Bet your bows and arrows and clothing; if you like, bet everything you have on, and I’ll put up that poleful there on the north side of my room.”
“Good! good! tell him all right,” whispered the younger brother to the elder.
So the elder agreed, chuckling to himself, for it was rarely that a man was found who could beat the little War-gods in a game. And they began their playing. How the turquoises rattled as they threw their canes! How the canes jingled and thumped as they fell on the robe!
The game was merry and long, and well played on both sides; but the poor little War-gods lost. Their countenances fell; but old Mítsina, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, exclaimed: “Oh pshaw!
