History of California | Page 7

more fish from Sholoc's baskets, and removing their entrails with bone knives, wrapped them in many thicknesses of damp grass and laid them in the hot ashes and coals to bake.
When the mussels were all cleaned, Macana emptied them into a large basket half filled with water, and threw in a little acorn meal and a handful of herbs. Then, using two green sticks for tongs, she drew out from among the coals some smooth gray stones which had become very hot. Brushing these off with a bunch of tules, she lifted them by means of a green stick having a loop in the end which fitted round the stones, flinging them one by one into the basket in which were the mussels and water. Immediately the water, heated by the stones, began to boil, and when the soup was ready, she set the basket down beside her own jacal and called her children to her. Payuchi, Gesnip, Cleeta, and their little four-year-old brother, Nakin, gathered about the basket, helping themselves with abalone shells, the small holes of which their mother had plugged with wood.
"Isn't father going to have some first?" asked Payuchi, before they began the meal.
"Not this time; he will eat with Sholoc and the men when the fish are ready," replied his mother.
"This is good soup," said Gesnip. "I am glad I worked hard before the water came up. But, Payuchi, didn't you and Nopal get any clams?"
"Yes," said her brother, making a face; he had dipped down where the stones were hottest and the soup thickest, and had taken a mouthful that burned him. "Yes, we got some clams, more than I could carry; but Nopal was running races with the other boys and would not come, so I left him to bring them. He will lose his fish dinner if he doesn't hurry."
"Mother," said Cleeta, "may we stay up to the fish bake?"
"No," answered her mother. "You and Nakin must go to bed, but I will save some for your breakfast. You are tired, Cleeta."
"Yes, I am tired," said the little girl, leaning her head against her mother's shoulder, "but I am warm in my rabbit-skin dress. We all have warm dresses now. Please tell me a good-night story," she begged. "We have been good and brought in much food."
"Yes, tell us how the hawk and coyote made the sun," said Gesnip.
"Very well," said the mother, "only you must be quite still."
"It was in the beginning of all things, and a bowl of darkness, blacker than the pitch lining of our water basket, covered the earth. Man, when he would go abroad, fell against man, against trees, against wild animals, even against Lollah, the bear, who would, in turn, hug the unhappy one to death. Birds flying in the air came together and fell struggling to the earth. All was confusion."
"Once the hawk, by chance, flew in the face of the coyote. Instead of fighting about it as naughty children might, they, like people of good manners, apologized many times. Then they talked over the unhappy state of things and determined to remedy the evil. The coyote first gathered a great heap of dried tules, rolled them together into a ball, and gave them to the hawk, with some pieces of flint. The hawk, taking them in his talons, flew straight up into the sky, where he struck fire with his flints, lit the ball of reeds, and left it there whirling along with a bright yellow light, as it continues to whirl to-day; for it, children, is our sun, ruler of the day."
"The hawk next flew back for another ball to rule the night, but the coyote had no tule gathered, and the hawk hurried him so that some damp stems were mixed in. The hawk flew with this ball into the sky and set it afire but because of the green tules it burned with only a dim light; and this, children, is our moon, ruler of the night."
"That is a fine story," said Payuchi. "I am glad I did not live when there was no light."
"Tell us how the coyote danced with the star," said Gesnip.
"No," replied the mother, "another time we shall see. Now I shall sing to coax sleep to tired eyes, and the little ones will go to bed." And this was what she sang: "Pah-high-nui-veve, veve, veve, shumeh, veve, veve, veve, shumeh, Pah-high-nui-veve," and so on, repeating these words over and over until Cleeta and Nakin were sound asleep. Then she laid them on their tule mats, which were spread on the floor of the jacal, where baby Nahal, close wrapped in his cocoon-shaped cradle, had been a long time sleeping.
"Mother," said Gesnip, coming into the jacal, "they have brought in the elk. Don't you want something from