Said one: "What it was we did not know, so came to determine if we could; but the most delicious odor we ever smelled seemed to fill the air about us at the dance, coming always from this direction, and now we see that it was the smoke of your tobacco. It must be a wonderful land, where you come from, if tobacco like that grows there."
"That you may see for yourselves," answered the elder brother, "for we have come to take you there if you will but consent to go. Our land is rich in jewels and possesses a soil that grows bountiful crops of many kinds, some of which you have never seen. Marry us and you shall live always in abundance."
The girls consented, and at bedtime retired with their husbands for the night, only to waken in the morning, however, to a sense of horror; for whom should they find beside them but the two grim-visaged old men so cordially hated by all their tribe! They dared not to display their fear and horror before the men, who were quite awake, though feigning sleep, but each read the other's feelings at a glance. Where were they? Where had they been? Had they merely dreamed of meeting two handsome, well-clad strangers in the night? Slowly their memories came back—the last shooting contest, the preparation for the dance, the songs and feasting, the enchanting perfumed breezes, and their quest—they remembered now. But how this change in their companions? They were strangers, and unquestionably magicians who could transform themselves or work spells on others! With this thought the desire for vengeance increased with every pulse-beat.
Haschĕbaád - Navaho
In Navaho mythology there are numerous references to benevolent female deities, who are personated in medicine rites by men wearing masks, as shown in this plate. Haschĕbaád may be translated "female deity," or "goddess."
The day wore on before the women had a chance to talk together apart from their husbands, when they agreed that they would return to their home and tell their brother of the evil worked upon them by the old men, whom they would then soon see killed; but the Little Whirlwind whispered to them, "Return not to your home; anger fills the hearts of all your people, and it is you who would be killed with clubs and stones." Thwarted in this plan, they determined to leave and search for a distant tribe of which they had once heard, that lived in peace, and had never led the life of marauders. There, surely, they might receive food and shelter and freedom from the sorcery of their husbands. Each would take a separate course upon starting, to meet at a wooded mountain in the east.
All went well throughout the day; the old men rested and made ready for the journey to their home-land, on which they planned to start at daybreak. That night the women did not sleep. When their husbands became wrapt in slumber, they quietly crawled out from their furs, snatched a little food, and glided into the moonlight. They had been gone but a short time when one of the old men arose to stir the fire, and in deep surprise noted the absence of the women. He called his brother, and the two held a hurried consultation. They circled the lodge, but in the dimness of the light could discern no guiding footprint to tell the direction in which their young wives had gone. Returning to the camp, they filled their sacred pipes, and in silence sat and smoked. Soon a thin curl of smoke was seen drifting southward, winding in and out among the piñons; then another on the north side. These they followed, bearing eastward, smoking as they went, and as the sun began to tint the higher hills and mountain crests with yellow, bathing all else in purple shadows, they came upon their wives in a little rocky cañon screened by thickly growing cedar and piñon. The smoke foretold the women of their doom, so they were not taken by surprise.
Seeing no way to escape, the girls resigned themselves to fate, and meekly followed the old men back to camp, whence they journeyed with them to the west.
At their home the brothers had wives and children, so they did not herald their new consorts as such, but wedded them at once to their eldest sons. This prospect pleased the two young women, and they entered into the spirit of the new life with zest. They learned the songs and chants of the rites of the Snake and the Bear people—the clans to which these younger husbands belonged—and taught them to a young brother who came to visit them. When the brother returned to the Navaho people, he told them that his sisters were quite happy, and with the songs he had learned from them he originated the Hozhónĭ Hatál, Happiness Chant.
Legend of the Night Chant
Long years ago three brothers—the eldest rich, the second a wayward, roving gambler, and the youngest a mere boy—lived together among their kind, the Dĭné̆ people. Their only sister was married, living apart with her husband. The gambler often took property belonging to his brothers, going to distant corners of the land to stake it on games of chance. On returning, he never failed to relate a story of wonders he had seen—the Holy People whom he had met, and who revealed many things to him. His brothers never believed him, calling him Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ, The Dreamer.
Gán askĭdĭ. Zahadolzhá. Hasché̆ltĭ - Navaho
The personated deities pictured in this plate appear together in acts of succor in the Night Chant in the order seen, the Talking God in the lead. From left to right they are, respectively, the God of Harvest, Fringe Mouth, and Talking God.
One day they wished to go hunting, but did not want The Dreamer to accompany them, so, going to the home of their brother-in-law, they told him of their purpose, and all three stole away. As the sun began its descent on the fourth day, it occurred to Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ that he had been tricked, so he started in search of the hunters, hoping to meet them returning, that he might help them carry their game and be rewarded with a pelt or two. He travelled far, but had not come upon them when the sun passed behind the distant hills. Near by was a deep, rock-walled cañon, from the depths of which many mingled voices could be heard. Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ walked to its edge and peered over. Back and forth from side to side flew countless crows, passing in and out of dark holes in opposite walls. From below, when darkness had shrouded all, Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ heard a human voice call in loud echoing tones, "They say, they say, they say, they say!"
From the far side came the answer: "Yes, yes! What's the matter now? What's the matter now?"
"Two people were killed to-day," continued the voice just below.
"Who were they? Who were they?"
To which the first voice answered, "Anahailí̆hĭ, killed at sunrise, and Igákĭzhĭ, killed at dusk, by the People of the Earth. They went in search of meat, and the hunters shot arrows into them. We are sorry, but they were told to be careful and did not heed. It is too late to help them now; let us go on with the chant."
It had grown very dark, and Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ became greatly frightened, but he stayed to listen and watch. Muffled strains of songs came from the deep recesses in each cañon wall,—the gods were singing—and just within the openings, discernible in the glow of a fire, could be seen many dancers performing in unison as they kept time with rattles. Throughout the night firelight flickered from wall to wall and singing and dancing continued. At daylight the participants departed in all directions, so Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ resumed the quest of the hunters.
He had travelled but a short time when he came upon his brothers, resting their heavy game packs on their journey homeward.
"Here comes The Dreamer," spoke his elder brother. "I will wager he has something marvellous to relate."
Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ was greeted first by his brother-in-law. "You