Navaho Legends

225. The last game was that of the ball. On the line over which the ball was to be knocked all the people were assembled; on one side were those who still remained slaves; on the other side were the freedmen and those who had come to wager themselves, hoping to rescue their kinsmen. Nohoílpi bet on this game the last of his slaves and his own person. The gambler struck his ball a heavy blow, but it did not reach the line; the stranger gave his but a light tap, and the bird within it flew with it far beyond the line, whereat the released captives jumped over the line and joined their people.

226. The victor ordered all the shells, beads, and precious stones, and the great shells, to be brought forth. He gave the beads and shells to Hastséyalti, that they might be distributed among the gods; the two great shells were given to the Sun.77

227. In the mean time Nohoílpi sat to one side saying bitter things, bemoaning his fate, and cursing and threatening his enemies. “I will kill you all with the lightning. I will send war and disease among you. May the cold freeze you! May the fire burn you! May the waters drown you!” he cried. “He has cursed enough,” whispered Nĭ′ltsi to the son of Hastséhogan. “Put an end to his angry words.” So the young victor called Nohoílpi to him and said: “You have bet yourself and have lost; you are now my slave and must do my bidding. You are not a god, for my power has prevailed against yours.” The victor had a bow of magic power named Etĭ′n Dĭlyĭ′l, or the Bow of Darkness; he bent this upwards, and placing the string on the ground he bade his slave stand on the string; then he shot Nohoílpi up into the sky as if he had been an arrow. Up and up he went, growing smaller and smaller to the sight till he faded to a mere speck and finally disappeared altogether. As he flew upwards he was heard to mutter in the angry tones of abuse and imprecation, until he was too far away to be heard; but no one could distinguish anything he said as he ascended.

228. He flew up in the sky until he came to the home of Békotsĭdi,78 the god who carries the moon, and who is supposed by the Navahoes to be identical with the God of the Americans. He is very old, and dwells in a long row of stone houses. When Nohoílpi arrived at the house of Békotsĭdi he related to the latter all his misadventures in the lower world and said, “Now I am poor, and this is why I have come to see you.” “You need be poor no longer,” said Békotsĭdi; “I will provide for you.” So he made for the gambler pets or domestic animals of new kinds, different to those which he had in the Chaco valley; he made for him sheep, asses, horses, swine, goats, and fowls. He also gave him bayeta,79 and other cloths of bright colors, more beautiful than those woven by his slaves at Kĭntyél. He made, too, a new people, the Mexicans, for the gambler to rule over, and then he sent him back to this world again, but he descended far to the south of his former abode, and reached the earth in old Mexico.

229. Nohoílpi’s people increased greatly in Mexico, and after a while they began to move towards the north, and build towns along the Rio Grande. Nohoílpi came with them until they arrived at a place north of Santa Fé. There they ceased building, and he returned to old Mexico, where he still lives, and where he is now the Nakaí Dĭgíni, or God of the Mexicans.

230. The Navaho who went at the bidding of the Sun to the tryst of the gods stayed with them till the gambler was shot into the sky. Then he returned to his people and told all he had seen. The young stranger went back to Tseʻgíhi, the home of the yéi.

231. The wanderers were not long at Kĭntyél, but while they were they met some of the Daylight People. From Kĭntyél they moved to Toʻĭ′ndotsos, and here Mai,80 the Coyote, married a Navaho woman. He remained in the Navaho camp nine days, and then he went to visit Dasáni, the Porcupine. The latter took a piece of bark, scratched his nose with it till the blood flowed freely out over it, put it on the fire, and there roasted it slowly until it turned into a piece of fine meat. Porcupine then spread some clean herbs on the ground, laid the roasted meat on these, and invited his visitor to partake. Coyote was delighted; he had never had a nicer meal, and when he was leaving he invited his host to return the visit in two days. At the appointed time Porcupine presented himself at the hut of Coyote. The latter greeted his guest, bade him be seated, and rushed out of the house. In a few minutes he returned with a piece of bark. With this he scratched his nose, as he had seen Porcupine doing, and allowed the blood to flow. He placed the bloody bark over the fire, where in a moment it burst into flames and was soon reduced to ashes. Coyote hung his head in shame and Porcupine went home hungry.

232. Soon after this Coyote visited Maítso,80 the Wolf. The latter took down, from among the rafters of his hut, two of the old-fashioned reed arrows with wooden heads, such as the Navahoes used in the ancient days; he pulled out the wooden points, rolled them on his thigh, moistened them in his mouth, and buried them in the hot ashes beside the fire. After waiting a little while and talking to his guest, he raked out from the ashes, where he had buried the arrow points, two fine cooked puddings of minced meat; these he laid on a mat of fresh herbs and told Coyote to help himself. Coyote again enjoyed his meal greatly, and soon after, when he rose to leave, he invited Wolf to pay him a visit in two days. Wolf went in due time to the house of Coyote, and when he had seated himself the host took two arrow-heads, as Wolf had done, rolled them on his thigh, put them in his mouth, and buried them in the hot ashes. After waiting a while, he raked the ashes and found nothing but two pieces of charred wood where he had placed the arrow-heads. This time he gave no evidence of his disappointment, but sat and talked with his guest just as if nothing had happened, until Wolf, seeing no sign of dinner and becoming very hungry, got up and went home.

234. Coyote went to pay them a visit, and when he arrived at the camp he entered one of the huts of the Hummingbirds. He found therein two beautiful Hummingbird maidens, gayly dressed, with rows of deer-hoof pendants on their skirts and shoulders. He lay down in the lodge and said to the maidens: “Where is everybody to-day? I heard there were many people camped here, but the camp seems deserted.” The maidens replied: “There are many people camped here, but to-day the men are all out hunting.”

235. Now, Coyote was a dandy; he was always beautifully dressed; he had a nice otter-skin quiver and his face was painted in spots. The maidens, when they had looked well at him, bent their heads together and whispered to one another, “He is a handsome young man. He is beautifully dressed. He must be a person of some importance.” He spent the day gossipping with the maidens and telling them wonderful tales about himself. “Would you know who I am?” he said. “I am the God of Tsĭsnadzĭ′ni Mountain. I have no need to hunt. All I have to do is to will the death of an animal and it dies. Your people have no need to wear themselves out hunting for game. I can kill all they want without labor.”

236. At nightfall, when the hunters returned, the maidens left the lodge, went to where their friends were assembled, and told them all about the visitor. When the maidens had finished their story, the chief directed one of the young men to go over to the hut, peep in over the curtain in the doorway, and see what the stranger looked like. The young man did as he was bidden, making no noise, and looked into the lodge unobserved by Coyote. When he returned to the chief he said: “The stranger is a fine-looking man and is beautifully dressed. Perhaps he is indeed a god.” The chief then said: “It may be that all is true which he has told the maidens. We have to travel far in all sorts of weather and to work hard to secure food. He may know some way to save us from labor, so let us be kind to him. Go, one of you maidens, back to the lodge to serve him.” Hearing these words, the younger of the two young women returned to the lodge. Her clothing was ornamented with many pendants of bone and hoof that rattled with every movement she made, and for this reason Coyote named her Tsiké Nazĭ′li, or Young Woman Who Rattles.

237. In the morning she went to the lodge where her people were, and where a good breakfast was already prepared, and she brought a large dishful of the food for Coyote to eat. As she was about to depart with the food her people charged her to tell Coyote nothing of certain bad neighbors of theirs, lest he might visit them and work wonders for their benefit. But their injunctions came too late. Already Tsiké Nazĭ′li had told him all about these bad neighbors, and he had made up his mind to visit them.

238. When breakfast was over she said: “Now the hunters are going out.” He replied: “I will go with them.” So he joined the party, and they travelled together till they got to the brow of a high hill which overlooked an extensive country. Here Coyote told his companions to remain concealed while he went into the plain and drove the game toward them. When he got out of sight, he tied to his tail a long fagot of shredded cedar-bark, which he set on fire, and then he ran over the country in a wide circle as fast as he could go. Everywhere the fagot touched it set fire to the grass, and raised a long line of flame and smoke which drove the antelope up to where the hunters were concealed. A great quantity of game was killed; the hunters returned laden with meat, and their faith in Coyote was unbounded.

239. Next morning they all went out once more to hunt. Again the hunters concealed themselves on the brow of a hill, and again Coyote tied the blazing fagot to his tail and ran. The people on the hilltop watched the line of fire advancing over the plain; but when it turned around as if to come back to the place from which it started, it suddenly ceased. Much game was driven toward the party in ambush; but Coyote did not return, and the hunters went to work cutting up the meat and cooking food for themselves.

240. Coyote, in the mean time, had gone to seek the bad neighbors. He untied his brand at the place where the hunters had seen the line of fire cease, and wandered off in a different direction. After a while he came to two great trees, a spruce and a pine, growing close together, and filled with chattering birds of two kinds. The spruce-tree was filled with birds called Tsĭ′di Béze, and the pine-tree with birds called Tsĭ′di Sási. They were all busily engaged in playing a game which Coyote had never seen before. They would pull out their eyes, toss these up to the top of the tree, cry “Drop back, my eyes! Drop back!” and catch the eyes as they descended in their proper sockets. Coyote watched their play for a long time, and at length, becoming fascinated with the game, he cried out to the Tsĭ′di Sási in the pine-tree, “Pull out my eyes for me. I want to play, too.” “No,” they replied, “we will have nothing to do with you.” Again and again he begged to be allowed to join in the sport, and again and again they refused him. But when he had pleaded for the fourth time, they flew down to where Coyote sat, and, taking sharp sticks, they gouged his eyes out. The eyes were thrown up to the top of the pine-tree, and when they fell down Coyote caught them in his orbits and could see again as well as ever. Coyote was delighted with the result of his first venture, and he begged them to pull his eyes out again, but they said angrily: “We do not want to play with you. We have done enough for you now. Go and leave us.”

But he continued to whine and beg until again they pulled out his eyes and tossed them up with the same happy result as before. Thus four times were his eyes pulled out, thrown upward, and caught back again in the head. But when he begged them to pull out his eyes for the fifth time, they went to a distance and held a council among themselves. When they returned they pulled his eyes out once more; but this time they took pains to pull out the strings of the eyes (optic nerves) at the same time; these they tied together, and, when the eyes were again flung up in the tree, they caught on one of the branches and there they stayed. Now Coyote was in mortal distress. “Drop back, my eyes! Drop back!” he cried. But back they never came, and he sat there with his nose pointed up toward the top of the tree, and he howled and prayed and wept. At last the birds took pity on him and said: “Let us make other eyes for him.” So they took a couple of partly dried pieces of pine gum and rolled them into two balls; these were stuck into the empty sockets, and, although they were not good eyes, they gave him sight enough to see his way home. The gum was yellow, and for this reason coyotes have had yellow eyes ever since.

241. He crept back, as best he could, to the place where he had left the hunters, and where he found them cutting and cooking meat. He sat down facing the fire, but he soon found that his gum eyes were getting soft with the heat, so he turned his side to the fire. The hunters gave him a piece of raw liver, supposing he would cook it himself. Not daring to turn towards the fire, lest his eyes should melt altogether, he threw the liver on the coals without looking, and when he tried afterwards to take it up he thrust his hand at random into the fire and caught nothing but hot coals that burned him. Fearing that his strange action was observed, he tried to pass it off as a joke, and every time he picked up a hot coal he cried: “Don’t burn me, liver! Don’t burn me, liver!” After a while the hunters seated around the fire began to notice his singular motions and words, and one said to another: “He does not act as usual. Go and see what is the matter with him.” The hunter who was thus bidden went over in front of Coyote, looked at him closely, and saw melted gum pouring out from between his eyelids.

242. It happened that during the day, while Coyote was absent, a messenger had come to the camp of the hunters from another camp to tell them that an individual named Mai, or Coyote, had left his home, and had been seen going toward the camp of the Hummingbirds, and to warn them against him. “He is an idler and a trickster,—beware of him,” said the messenger. So when they found out the condition of their visitor they said: “This must be Coyote of whom we have heard. He has been playing with the Tsĭ′di Sási and has lost his eyes.”

243. When they had arrived at this conclusion they started for camp and led the blind Coyote along. In the mean time they devised a plan for getting rid of him. When they got home they took the rattling dress of Tsiké Nazĭ′li and gave her an ordinary garment to wear. Then a Chicken-hawk took the dress in his beak, and, flying a little distance above the ground, shook the dress in front of Coyote. The latter, thinking the maiden was there, approached the sound, and as he did so the Chicken-hawk flew farther away, still shaking the dress. Coyote followed the rattling sound, and was thus led on to the brink of a deep canyon. Here the hawk shook the dress beyond the edge of the precipice. Coyote jumped toward where he heard the sound, fell to the bottom of the canyon, and was dashed to pieces.

244. But for all this he did not die. He did not, like other beings, keep his vital principle in his chest, where it might easily be destroyed; he kept it in the tip of his nose and in the end of his tail, where no one would expect to find it; so after a while he came to life again, went back to the camp of the birds, and asked for Tsiké Nazĭ′li. They told him she was gone away, and ordered him angrily to leave, telling him they knew who he was, and that he was a worthless fellow.

245. Coyote left the camp of the birds, and wandered around till he came to the house of one of the anáye, or alien gods, named Yélapahi,71 or Brown Giant. He was half as tall as the tallest pine-tree, and he was evil and cruel. Coyote said to the Brown Giant, “Yélapahi, I want to be your servant; I can be of great help to you. The reason that you often fail to catch your enemies is that you cannot run fast enough. I can run fast and jump far; I can jump over four bushes at one bound. I can run after your enemies and help you to catch them.” “My cousin,” responded Brown Giant, “you can do me service if you will.” Coyote then directed the giant to build a sweat-house for himself, and, while the latter was building it, Coyote set out on another errand.

246. In those days there was a maiden of renowned beauty in the land. She was the only sister of eleven divine brothers.81 She had been sought in marriage by the Sun and by many potent gods, but she had refused them all because they could not comply with certain conditions which she imposed op all suitors. It was to visit her that Coyote went when he left Yélapahi at work on the sweat-house.

247. “Why have you refused so many beautiful gods who want you for a wife?” said Coyote to the maiden after he had greeted her. “It would profit you nothing to know,” she replied, “for you could not comply with any one of my demands.” Four times he asked her this question, and three times he got the same reply. When he asked her the fourth time she answered: “In the first place, I will not marry any one who has not killed one of the anáye.” When he heard this Coyote arose and returned to the place where he had left Yélapahi.

248. On his way back he looked carefully for the bone of some big animal which Great Wolf had slain and eaten. At length he found a long thigh-bone which suited his purpose. He took this home with him, concealing it under his shirt. When Coyote got back, Yélapahi had finished the sweat-house.82 Together they built the fire, heated the stones, and spread the carpet of leaves. Coyote hung over the doorway four blankets of sky,—one white, one blue, one yellow, and one black, and put the hot stones into the lodge. Then they hung their arms and clothes on a neighboring tree, entered the sudatory, and sat down.83

249. “Now,” said Coyote, “if you want to become a fast runner, I will show you what to do. You must cut the flesh of your thigh down to the bone and then break the bone. It will heal again in a moment, and when it heals you will be stronger and swifter than ever. I often do this myself, and every time I do it I am fleeter of foot than I was before. I will do it now, so that you may observe how it is done.” Coyote then produced a great stone knife and pretended to cut his own thigh, wailing and crying in the mean time, and acting as if he suffered great pain. After a while of this pretence he put the old femur on top of his thigh, held it by both ends, and said to the giant: “I have now reached the bone. Feel it.” When the giant had put forth his hand, in the absolute darkness of the sweat-house, and felt the bare bone, Coyote shoved the hand away and struck the bone hard with the edge of his knife several times until he broke the bone, and he made the giant feel the fractured ends. Then he threw away the old bone, rubbed spittle on his thigh, prayed and sang, and in a little while presented his sound thigh to the giant for his examination, saying: “See! my limb is healed again. It is as well as ever.” When he had thus spoken Coyote handed his knife to Yélapahi, and the latter with many tears and loud howls slowly amputated his own thigh. When the work was done he put the two severed ends together, spat upon them, sang and prayed, as Coyote had done. “Tóhe! Tóhe! Tóhe!”84 he cried, “Heal together!

Grow together!” he commanded; but the severed ends would not unite. “Cousin,” he called to Coyote, “help me to heal this leg.” Coyote thought it was now time to finish his work. He ran from the sweat-house, seized his bow, and discharged his arrows into the helpless Yélapahi, who soon expired with many wounds.

250. Coyote scalped his victim, and tied the scalp to the top of a branch which he broke from a cedar-tree; as further evidence of his victory, he took the quiver and weapons of the slain and set out for the lodge of the maiden. He knew she could not mistake the scalp, for the yéi, in those days, had yellow hair,85 such as no other people had. When he reached the lodge he said to the maiden: “Here is the scalp and here are the weapons of one of the anáye. Now you must marry me.” “No,” said the maiden, “not yet; I have not told you all that one must do in order to win me. He must be killed four times and come to life again four times.” “Do you speak the truth? Have you told me all?” said Coyote. “Yes; I speak only the truth,” she replied. Four times he asked this question, and four times he received the same answer. When she had spoken for the fourth time Coyote said: “Here I am. Do with me as you will.” The maiden took him a little distance from the lodge, laid him on the ground, beat him with a great club until she thought she had smashed every bone in his body, and left him for dead. But the point of his nose and the end of his tail she did not smash. She hurried back to her hut, for she had much work to do. She was the only woman in a family of twelve. She cooked the food and tanned the skins, and besides she made baskets. At this particular time she was engaged in making four baskets.

When she returned to the lodge she sat down and went on with her basket-work; but she had not worked long before she became aware that some one was standing in the doorway, and, looking up, she beheld Coyote. “Here I am,” he said; “I have won one game; there are only three more to win.”

251. She made no reply, but took him off farther than she had taken him before, and pounded him to pieces with a club. She threw the pieces away in different directions and returned to her work again; but she had not taken many stitches in her basket when again the resurrected Coyote appeared in the doorway, saying: “I have won two games; there are only two more to win.”

252. Again she led him forth, but took him still farther away from the lodge than she had taken him before, and with a heavy club pounded him into a shapeless mass, until she thought he must certainly be dead. She stood a long time gazing at the pounded flesh, and studying what she would do with it to make her work sure. She carried the mass to a great rock, and there she beat it into still finer pieces. These she scattered farther than she had scattered the pieces before, and went back to the house. But she had still failed to injure the two vital spots. It took the Coyote a longer time on this occasion than on the previous occasions to pull himself together; still she had not wrought much on her basket when he again presented himself and said: “I have won three games; there is but one more game to win.”

253. The fourth time she led him farther away than ever. She not only mashed him to pieces, but she mixed the pieces with earth, ground the mixture, like corn, between two stones, until it was ground to a fine powder, and scattered this powder far and wide. But again she neglected to crush the point of the nose and the tip of the tail. She went back to the lodge and worked a long time undisturbed. She had just begun to entertain hopes that she had seen the last of her unwelcome suitor when again he entered the door. Now, at last, she could not refuse him. He had fulfilled all her conditions, and she consented to become his wife. He remained all the afternoon. At sunset they heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and she said: “My brothers are coming. Some of them are evil of mind and may do you harm. You must hide yourself.” She hid him behind a pile of skins, and told him to be quiet.

254. When the brothers entered the lodge they said to their sister: “Here is some fat young venison which we bring you. Put it down to boil and put some of the fat into the pot, for our faces are burned by the wind and we want to grease them.” The woman slept on the north side of the lodge and kept there her household utensils. She had about half of the lodge to herself. The men slept on the south side, the eldest next to the door.

255. The pot was put on and the fire replenished, and when it began to burn well an odor denoting the presence of some beast filled the lodge. One of the brothers said: “It smells as if some animal had been in the wood-pile. Let us throw out this wood and get fresh sticks from the bottom of the pile.” They did as he desired; but the unpleasant odors continued to annoy them, and again the wood was taken from the fire and thrown away. Thinking the whole pile of wood was tainted with the smell, they went out, broke fresh branches from trees, and built the fire up again; but this did not abate the rank odor in the least. Then one said: “Perhaps the smell is in the water. Tell us, little sister, where did you get the water in the pot?” “I got it at the spring where I always get it,” she replied. But they got her to throw out the water and fill the pot with snow, and to put the meat down to boil again. In spite of all their pains the stench was as bad as ever. At length one of the brothers turned to his sister and said: “What is the cause of this odor? It is not in the wood. It is not in the water. Whence comes it?” She was silent. He repeated the question three times, yet she made no answer. But when the question had been asked for the fourth time, Coyote jumped out of his hiding-place into the middle of the lodge and cried: “It is I, my brothers-in-law!” “Run out there!” the brothers commanded, and turning to their sister they said: “Run out you with him!”

256. They both departed from the lodge. As Coyote went out he took a brand from the fire, and with this he lighted a new fire. Then he broke boughs from the neighboring trees and built a shelter for himself and his wife to live in. When this was completed she went back to the lodge of her brothers, took out her pots, skins, four awls, baskets, and all her property, and carried them to her new home.

257. One of the elder brothers said to the youngest: “Go out to-night and watch the couple, and see what sort of a man this is that we have for a brother-in-law. Do not enter the shelter, but lie hidden outside and observe them.” So the youngest brother went forth and hid himself near the shelter, where he could peep in and see by the light of the fire what took place and hear what was said. The pair sat side by side near the fire. Presently the woman laid her hand in a friendly manner on Coyote’s knee, but Coyote threw it away. These motions were repeated four times, and when he had thrown her hand away for the fourth time he said: “I have sworn never to take a woman for a wife until I have killed her four times.” For a while the woman remained silent and gazed at the fire. At length she said: “Here I am. Do with me as you will.” (The myth then relates four deaths and resurrections of the woman, similar to those of the Coyote, but it does not state how or where she preserved her vital principle.) When she returned for the fourth time she lay down, and Coyote soon followed her to her couch. From time to time during the night they held long, low conversations, of which the listener could hear but little. At dawn the watcher went home. In reply to the questions of his brothers he said: “I cannot tell you all that I saw and heard, and they said much that I could not hear; but all that I did hear and behold was tsĭndás” (devilish, evil).

258. Next morning the brothers proposed to go out hunting. While they were getting ready Coyote came and asked leave to join them, but they said to him tauntingly: “No; stay at home with your wife; she may be lonely and may need some one to talk to her,” and they chased him out of the lodge. Just as they were about to leave he came back again and begged them to take him with them. “No,” they replied, “the woman will want you to carry wood; you must stay at home with her.” They bade him begone and set out on their journey. They had not gone far on their way when he overtook them, and for the third time asked to be allowed to join the party; but again they drove him back with scornful words. They travelled on till they came to the edge of a deep canyon bordered with very steep cliffs, and here Coyote was seen again, skulking behind them. For the fourth time he pleaded with them; but now the youngest brother took his part, and suggested that Coyote might assist in driving game towards them. So, after some deliberation, they consented to take Coyote along. At the edge of the canyon they made a bridge of rainbow,86 on which they proceeded to cross the chasm. Before the brothers reached the opposite bluff Coyote jumped on it from the bridge, with a great bound, and began to frolic around, saying: “This is a nice place to play.”

259. They travelled farther on, and after a while came to a mesa, or table-land, which projected into a lower plain, and was connected with the plateau on which they stood by a narrow neck of level land. It was a mesa much like that on which the three eastern towns of the Mokis stand, with high, precipitous sides and a narrow entrance. On the neck of land they observed the tracks of four Rocky Mountain sheep, which had gone in on the mesa but had not returned. They had reason, therefore, to believe that the sheep were still on the mesa. At the neck they built a fire, sat down near it, and sent Coyote in on the mesa to drive the sheep out. Their plans were successful; soon the four sheep came running out over the neck, within easy range of the hunters’ weapons, and were all killed. Presently Coyote returned and lay down on the sand.

260. In those days the horns of the Rocky Mountain sheep were flat and fleshy and could be eaten. The eldest brother said: “I will take the horns for my share.” “No,” said Coyote, “the horns shall be mine: give them to me.” Three times each repeated the same declaration. When both had spoken for the fourth time, the eldest brother, to end the controversy, drew out his knife and began to cut one of the horns; as he did so Coyote cried out, “Tsĭnántlehi! Tsĭnántlehi! Tsĭnántlehi! Tsĭnántlehi!” (Turn to bone! Turn to bone! Turn to bone! Turn to bone!) Each time he cried, the horn grew harder and harder, and the knife slipped as it cut, hacking but not severing the horn. This is why the horns of the Rocky Mountain sheep are now hard, not fleshy, and to this day they bear the marks of the hunter’s knife. “Tsĭ′ndi! Tsĭndás bilnáalti!” (You devil! You evil companion in travel!) said the hunter to Coyote.

261. The hunters gathered all the meat into one pile, and by means of the mystic power which they possessed they reduced it to a very small compass. They tied it in a small bundle which one person might easily carry, and they gave it to Coyote to take home, saying to him, “Travel round by the head of the canyon over which we crossed and go not through it, for they are evil people who dwell there, and open not your bundle until you get home.”