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In Mátsaki, or the Salt City, there dwelt at this time many very wealthy
families, who possessed large flocks of these birds, which it was their
custom to have their slaves or the poor people of the town herd in the
plains round about Thunder Mountain, below which their town stood, and on
the mesas beyond.
Now, in Mátsaki at this time there stood, away out near the border of the
town, a little tumbledown, single-room house, wherein there lived alone a
very poor girl,--so poor that her clothes were patched and tattered and
dirty, and her person, on account of long neglect and ill-fare, shameful
to look upon, though she herself was not ugly, but had a winning face and
bright eyes; that is, if the face had been more oval and the eyes less
oppressed with care. So poor was she that she herded Turkeys for a living;
and little was given to her except the food she subsisted on from day to
day, and perhaps now and then a piece of old, worn-out clothing.
Like the extremely poor everywhere and at all times, she was humble, and
by her longing for kindness, which she never received, she was made kind
even to the creatures that depended upon her, and lavished this kindness
upon the Turkeys she drove to and from the plains every day. Thus, the
Turkeys, appreciating this, were very obedient. They loved their mistress
so much that at her call they would unhesitatingly come, or at her behest
go whithersoever and whensoever she wished.
One day this poor girl, driving her Turkeys down into the plains, passed
near Old Zuñi,--the Middle Ant Hill of the World, as our ancients have
taught us to call our home,--and as she went along, she heard the
herald-priest proclaiming from the house-top that the Dance of the Sacred
Bird (which is a very blessed and welcome festival to our people,
especially to the youths and maidens who are permitted to join in the
dance) would take place in four days.
Now, this poor girl had never been permitted to join in or even to watch
the great festivities of our people or the people in the neighboring
towns, and naturally she longed very much to see this dance. But she put
aside her longing, because she reflected: "It is impossible that I should
watch, much less join in the Dance of the Sacred Bird, ugly and ill-clad
as I am." And thus musing to herself, and talking to her Turkeys, as was
her custom, she drove them on, and at night returned them to their cages
round the edges and in the plazas of the town.
Every day after that, until the day named for the dance, this poor girl,
as she drove her Turkeys out in the morning, saw the people busy in
cleaning and preparing their garments, cooking delicacies, and otherwise
making ready for the festival to which they had been duly invited by the
other villagers, and heard them talking and laughing merrily at the
prospect of the coming holiday. So, as she went about with her Turkeys
through the day, she would talk to them, though she never dreamed that
they understood a word of what she was saying.
It seems that they did understand even more than she said to them, for on
the fourth day, after the people of Mátsaki had all departed toward Zuñi
and the girl was wandering around the plains alone with her Turkeys, one
of the big Gobblers strutted up to her, and making a fan of his tail, and
skirts, as it were, of his wings, blushed with pride and puffed with
importance, stretched out his neck and said: "Maiden mother, we know what
your thoughts are, and truly we pity you, and wish that, like the other
people of Mátsaki, you might enjoy this holiday in the town below.
We have said to ourselves at night, after you have placed us safely and
comfortably in our cages: 'Truly our maiden mother is as worthy to enjoy
these things as any one in Mátsaki, or even Zuñi.' Now, listen well, for I
speak the speech of all the elders of my people:
If you will drive us in early this afternoon, when the dance is most gay
and the people are most happy, we will help you to make yourself so
handsome and so prettily dressed that never a man, woman, or child amongst
all those who are assembled at the dance will know you; but rather,
especially the young men, will wonder whence you came, and long to lay
hold of your hand in the circle that forms round the altar to dance.
Maiden mother, would you like to go to see this dance, and even to join in
it, and be merry with the best of your people_"
The poor girl was at first surprised. Then it seemed all so natural that
the Turkeys should talk to her as she did to them, that she sat down on a
little mound, and, leaning over, looked at them and said: "My beloved
Turkeys, how glad I am that we may speak together! But why should you tell
me of things that you full well know I so long to, but cannot by any
possible means, do_"
"Trust in us," said the old Gobbler, "for I speak the speech of my people,
and when we begin to call and call and gobble and gobble, and turn toward
our home in Mátsaki, do you follow us, and we will show you what we can do
for you. Only let me tell you one thing: No one knows how much happiness
and good fortune may come to you if you but enjoy temperately the
pleasures we enable you to participate in.
But if, in the excess of your enjoyment, you should forget us, who are
your friends, yet so much depend upon you, then we will think: 'Behold,
this our maiden mother, though so humble and poor, deserves, forsooth, her
hard life, because, were she more prosperous, she would be unto others as
others now are unto her.'"
"Never fear, O my Turkeys," cried the maiden,--only half trusting that
they could do so much for her, yet longing to try,--"never fear. In
everything you direct me to do I will be obedient as you always have been
to me."
The sun had scarce begun to decline, when the Turkeys of their own accord
turned homeward, and the maiden followed them, light of heart. They knew
their places well, and immediately ran to them. When all had entered, even
their bare-legged children, the old Gobbler called to the maiden, saying:
"Enter our house." She therefore went in. "Now, maiden, sit down," said
he, "and give to me and my companions, one by one, your articles of
clothing. We will see if we cannot renew them."
The maiden obediently drew off the ragged old mantle that covered her
shoulders and cast it on the ground before the speaker. He seized it in
his beak, and spread it out, and picked and picked at it; then he trod
upon it, and lowering his wings, began to strut back and forth over it.
Then taking it up in his beak, and continuing to strut, he puffed and
puffed, and laid it down at the feet of the maiden, a beautiful white
embroidered cotton mantle.
Then another Gobbler came forth, and she gave him another article of
dress, and then another and another, until each garment the maiden had
worn was new and as beautiful as any possessed by her mistresses in
Mátsaki.
Before the maiden donned all these garments, the Turkeys circled about
her, singing and singing, and clucking and clucking, and brushing her with
their wings, until her person was as clean and her skin as smooth and
bright as that of the fairest maiden of the wealthiest home in Mátsaki.
Her hair was soft and wavy, instead of being an ugly, sun-burnt shock; her
checks were full and dimpled, and her eyes dancing with smiles,--for she
now saw how true had been the words of the Turkeys.
Finally, one old Turkey came forward and said: "Only the rich ornaments
worn by those who have many possessions are lacking to thee, O maiden
mother. Wait a moment. We have keen eyes, and have gathered many valuable
things,--as such things, being small, though precious, are apt to be lost
from time to time by men and maidens."
Spreading his wings, he trod round and round upon the ground, throwing his
head back, and laying his wattled beard on his neck; and, presently
beginning to cough, he produced in his beak a beautiful necklace; another
Turkey brought forth earrings, and so on, until all the proper ornaments
appeared, befitting a well-clad maiden of the olden days, and were laid at
the feet of the poor Turkey girl.
With these beautiful things she decorated herself, and, thanking the
Turkeys over and over, she started to go, and they called out: "O maiden
mother, leave open the wicket, for who knows whether you will remember
your Turkeys or not when your fortunes are changed, and if you will not
grow ashamed that you have been the maiden mother of Turkeys_ But we love
you, and would bring you to good fortune. Therefore, remember our words of
advice, and do not tarry too long."
"I will surely remember, O my Turkeys!" answered the maiden.
Hastily she sped away down the river path toward Zuñi. When she arrived
there, she went in at the western side of the town and through one of the
long covered ways that lead into the dance court. When she came just
inside of the court, behold, every one began to look at her, and many
murmurs ran through the crowd,--murmurs of astonishment at her beauty and
the richness of her dress,--and the people were all asking one another,
"Whence comes this beautiful maiden_"
Not long did she stand there neglected. The chiefs of the dance, all
gorgeous in their holiday attire, hastily came to her, and, with apologies
for the incompleteness of their arrangements,--though these arrangements
were as complete as they possibly could be,--invited her to join the
youths and maidens dancing round the musicians and the altar in the center
of the plaza.
With a blush and a smile and a toss of her hair over her eyes, the maiden
stepped into the circle, and the finest youths among the dancers vied with
one another for her hand. Her heart became light and her feet merry, and
the music sped her breath to rapid coming and going, and the warmth swept
over her face, and she danced and danced until the sun sank low in the
west.
But, alas! In the excess of her enjoyment, she thought not of her Turkeys,
or, if she thought of them, she said to herself, "How is this, that I
should go away from the most precious consideration to my flock of
gobbling Turkeys_ I will stay a while longer, and just before the sun sets
I will run back to them, that these people may not see who I am, and that
I may have the joy of hearing them talk day after day and wonder who the
girl was who joined in their dance."
So the time sped on, and another dance was called, and another, and never
a moment did the people let her rest; but they would have her in every
dance as they moved around the musicians and the altar in the center of
the plaza.
At last the sun set, and the dance was well-nigh over, when, suddenly
breaking away, the girl ran out, and, being swift of foot,--more so than
most of the people of her village,--she sped up the river path before any
one could follow the course she had taken.
Meantime, as it grew late, the Turkeys began to wonder and wonder that
their maiden mother did not return to them. At last a gray old Gobbler
mournfully exclaimed, "It is as we might have expected. She has forgotten
us; therefore is she not worthy of better things than those she has been
accustomed to. Let us go forth to the mountains and endure no more of this
irksome captivity, inasmuch as we may no longer think our maiden mother as
good and true as once we thought her."
So, calling and calling to one another in loud voices, they trooped out of
their cage and ran up toward the Cañon of the Cottonwoods, and then round
behind Thunder Mountain, through the Gateway of Zuñi, and so on up the
valley.
All breathless, the maiden arrived at the open wicket and looked in.
Behold, not a Turkey was there! Trailing them, she ran and she ran up the
valley to overtake them; but they were far ahead, and it was only after a
long time that she came within the sound of their voices, and then,
redoubling her speed, well-nigh overtook them, when she heard them singing
this song:
"K'yaanaa, to! to!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
Ye ye!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
Yee huli huli!
"Hon awen Tsita
Itiwanakwïn
Otakyaan aaa kyaa;
Lesna akyaaa
Shoya-k'oskwi
Teyäthltokwïn
Hon aawani!
Ye yee huli huli,
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!"[1]
Up the river, to! to!
Up the river, to! to!
Sing ye ye!
Up the river, to! to!
Up the river, to! to!
Sing yee huli huli!
Oh, our maiden mother
To the Middle Place
To dance went away;
Therefore as she lingers,
To the Cañon Mesa
And the plains above it
We all run away!
Sing ye yee huli huli,
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!"
Hearing this, the maiden called to her Turkeys; called and called in vain.
They only quickened their steps, spreading their wings to help them along,
singing the song over and over until, indeed, they came to the base of the
Cañon Mesa, at the borders of the Zuñi Mountains. Then singing once more
their song in full chorus, they spread wide their wings, and thlakwa-a-a,
thlakwa-a-a, they fluttered away over the plains above.
The poor Turkey girl threw her hands up and looked down at her dress. With
dust and sweat, behold! it was changed to what it had been, and she was
the same poor Turkey girl that she was before. Weary, grieving, and
despairing, she returned to Mátsaki.
Thus it was in the days of the ancients. Therefore, where you see the
rocks leading up to the top of Cañon Mesa (Shoya-k'oskwi), there are the
tracks of turkeys and other figures to be seen. The latter are the song
that the Turkeys sang, graven in the rocks; and all over the plains along
the borders of Zuñi Mountains since that day turkeys have been more
abundant than in any other place.
After all, the gods dispose of men according as men are fitted; and if the
poor be poor in heart and spirit as well as in appearance, how will they
be aught but poor to the end of their days_ Thus shortens my story.
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