THE HERO TWINS
THERE was once a woman who had two sons and they were twins, so much alike that the mother herself could not tell one from the other. So Hunapu always wore a crimson feather and Balanque a blue one.
As children they spent their days in the open air, playing in the forest, swimming in the lake, and wandering on the plains, and so doing they came to know the animals and the birds, finding the young ones and playing with them, so that it was no uncommon sight to see them come home with a panther following at their heels as a dog does. They knew where to find the nests of birds of all kinds, fed the young ones, and petted them, until with a call they could bring from the trees clouds of glorious-coloured birds which would perch on their hands and arms and shoulders. And of course it came about in time that when animals and birds gathered about the lads, there was no more fighting between the wild creatures than there is between a puppy and a kitten that have been raised together.
Growing up with the wild creatures, wrestling with them and racing with them, the boys grew strong and fleet of foot. They could scale a cliff to reach a condor’s nest or climb a tree as swiftly as a monkey, and in the water they were as much at home as on the land. Down into the clear depths they would dive, down in the cool, green lake waters, to bring up shells and bright stones, one boy striving with the other, laughing merrily the while. And sitting on the shore in the sunshine they would often look across the lake to the faraway mountain, talking about the time when they would adventure there to see what could be seen.
Their father taught them to shoot straight with the arrow and to use well the spear, and when they were masters of these he made for them breastplates of silver and light helmets that flashed in the sun. And as time went on they wandered here and there, finding other boys of their own age, and these, too, had helmets and breastplates of silver made for them by their fathers and had learned the use of the bow and spear, until at last there was a band of four hundred of which Hunapu and Balanque were leaders. Then there were great times with running and racing and swimming and wrestling, and soon the Four Hundred had agreed that when one of their number was in trouble not of his own seeking, at the sound of the horn the rest would come to his rescue. But not all the time was spent in play, for the band of the Four Hundred were wise in all the arts, playing the flute, working in metals, painting, woodcraft, and other like activities.
One day Hunapu and Balanque were in the forest gathering fruit, when there came to them an old man and wife, weeping sadly. They were strangers to the place and, seeing the two lads in their armour of silver, with bows in their hands and swords by their sides and feathers of crimson and of blue in their glittering helmets, they stood for a while silent. But being asked, they told their tale of how they had lived in the mountain on the other side of the lake among a people who were in terror of their lives because of three great and fearful giants who came now and then, taking the cattle and the goats, destroying for mere mischief the houses of the people, and sometimes killing the people themselves. Nothing, they said, could withstand the strength of the giants. Stone walls were as mere sticks to them. They uprooted trees or turned the courses of rivers by scooping away masses of earth with their hands.
Hearing that, the twin brothers were greatly disturbed, for as they had sat by the lake sometimes, talking of the land far away, they had heard strange noises faintly come over the waters, which they had set down as summer thunders. With the tale of the old man and his wife, they began to believe that things were more serious than they had supposed. Stepping to a place clear of trees Hunapu put his horn to his lips and blew long and loudly, three times. Soon from all directions came lads running, each girt with his sword, his spear in hand and his bow at his back, breast-plate and helmet glittering in the bright sun. You can figure for yourself that fine band of clean, straight-limbed fellows, each with his drawn sword and silver helmet with drooping plume. You can imagine how they looked standing there with the cool, green forest behind them. And there were not only the Four Hundred, but also their friends of the forest, here a puma, there a panther or deer, bright-coloured birds, glorious humming-birds and proud llamas, for not a boy but had his wild creature for a pet.
To the band of the Four Hundred the old man and his wife told their tale, mentioning what they had not done before, that their sons and daughters had been carried off by two of the giants. At that there stepped from the ranks a lad with flashing eyes who said that not a year should pass over their heads before the giants were overcome, and a great shout of joy went up. Then and there the lad who had spoke cried:
“Let everyone step forward who will go to the land of the evil three,” and no sooner were the words out of his lips than the whole Four Hundred stepped forward. But, as Flashing Eyes said, some must stay at home, for there were things to be done, so he proposed that twenty alone should go. Even then there was no way to decide which of them should be of the twenty, for everyone wanted to go forward to the adventure. At that Balanque offered to go alone to the land, to see what would be the best plan to pursue, but again there was trouble, for each of the Four Hundred wanted to go with him. So at last it was decided to leave the matter to be settled by chance. Each one was to call to his pet wild creature, and the first two touched would go to the land of the giants. Then a great calling went up, a naming of names, a whistling, and a making of noises like the call of animals, and from the leafy caves came the pets, running, leaping, flying. Each lad there had hung his sword and bow on a branch and stood with arms outstretched to welcome his pet, and there was much laughter and good spirit. Down from the sky came sweeping a hawk, straight as an arrow, and it lit on the shoulder of Balanque. At the very same moment a llama thrust its nose into the neck of Hunapu, and that only a second before a fleet deer had leaped to the side of Flashing Eyes. So all there knew that the twin brothers were chosen to go into the land and there was no more arguing about it. That night the band slept under the brilliant stars and the next morning there went up a great shout as at sunrise the brothers set off, every one of the Four Hundred knocking his sword on his shield by way of salute. From the top of a ridge the twins waved their band a farewell, then they turned and a moment later were lost to view, and the members of the band went each about his own affairs, ready to come at a call.
All that day and the next they travelled, and on the morning of the third day they came to a place where were great black rocks, and hills all treeless and bare, and near the noon hour they saw a great cave in the mountainside, the floor of which was strewn with bones of animals, some of the bones indeed being great things as big as a man, from a creature of which the boys had never seen the like. These bones had been cracked for the marrow in them and the teeth marks told their tale of the size of the giant who had eaten them.
To a top of the mountain the boys climbed, and when they had gained the summit, there at their feet was a great hollow place and at the other end sat a monstrous fellow, his hands on his knees, his body swaying to and fro. He was rumbling and grumbling and peering here and there in a queer way. The boys noticed that he did not turn his head to look with a sweep of the eyes as they did, or as you do, turning to see in a semi-circle or over a greater extent. His way was different. He would turn his head in a certain direction with his eyes closed, then open them and look. From the place where his glance lit he could not turn. If he wanted to look somewhere else, he had to close his eyes and begin again, so that his looking was more like shooting a bullet at a mark than anything, and if he missed, he missed, and had to begin again. And of course he often missed. Yet it was his way, and he must have been very satisfied with it to judge by the song he sang, which was this:
“My name is Cakix,Yukub—Cakix.My eyes are bright as silver,They gleam like precious stones.My name is Cakix,Yukub—Cakix.Cakix!Cakix!”
“My name is Cakix,Yukub—Cakix.My eyes are bright as silver,They gleam like precious stones.My name is Cakix,Yukub—Cakix.Cakix!Cakix!”
“My name is Cakix,Yukub—Cakix.My eyes are bright as silver,They gleam like precious stones.My name is Cakix,Yukub—Cakix.Cakix!Cakix!”
“My name is Cakix,
Yukub—Cakix.
My eyes are bright as silver,
They gleam like precious stones.
My name is Cakix,
Yukub—Cakix.
Cakix!
Cakix!”
Over and over again he sang that. Then, with a tremendous roar, he shouted:
“I am Cakix,Yukub—Cakix,And all men fear me!”
“I am Cakix,Yukub—Cakix,And all men fear me!”
“I am Cakix,Yukub—Cakix,And all men fear me!”
“I am Cakix,
Yukub—Cakix,
And all men fear me!”
Then the twins, hearing that idle boast, stood on the hilltop and shouted:
“Catch us, Cakix, if you can. We come to make an end of you.”
For a moment the giant sat still in sheer astonishment, his eyes closed, his ear cupped in his hand to catch the direction of the sound. The boys saw his great face turn in their direction, and they skipped to the right and left so as to be out of his sight, and well it was that they did so, for out over the valley shot his arm, lengthening like elastic, and his great fingers reached over the rock where the twins had stood, and went feeling like five blind snakes. Finding nothing, the hand picked up the rock, though it was as large as a house, and back went the arm getting shorter, until the giant had the rock under his nose. Then he shut his eyes, turned his face down, opened his eyes again, and examined the rock. Finding nothing he cast it away with a sudden jerk, much as you jerk off some insect that drops on your hand unexpectedly. Cakix sat awhile, then rose to his feet and strode straight down the valley to where the boys had been, looking straight ahead, of course. He went to a tree a little way off, plucked some fruit which looked like wild cherries, though each was as large as a pumpkin, and blundered off without seeing the boys who crouched low and out of his sight.
As soon as the giant had gone the twins ran down into the valley and there they saw, in great caves in the hills to the right and left, hidden heaps of flashing, precious stones—diamonds, emeralds, rubies, opals—dazzling in the sunshine. In other holes were heaped gold dust and silver. While looking they were startled to hear a new roaring, this time from the hill to which Cakix had gone. Soon the roar formed into words and they heard:
“I am Cabrakan,Cabrakan who shakes the earth,Cabrakan who shakes the sky.I am Cabrakan,Master of men.”
“I am Cabrakan,Cabrakan who shakes the earth,Cabrakan who shakes the sky.I am Cabrakan,Master of men.”
“I am Cabrakan,Cabrakan who shakes the earth,Cabrakan who shakes the sky.I am Cabrakan,Master of men.”
“I am Cabrakan,
Cabrakan who shakes the earth,
Cabrakan who shakes the sky.
I am Cabrakan,
Master of men.”
It was another giant, but him they did not see. Scrambling out of the valley they reached the hilltop to see Cakix coming back to his valley. He stopped at the tree where he had stopped before and took some more fruit, then strode down the hill, marking time as he walked with his:
“I am Ca-kixYu-kub—Ca-kixAll men fear me.”
“I am Ca-kixYu-kub—Ca-kixAll men fear me.”
“I am Ca-kixYu-kub—Ca-kixAll men fear me.”
“I am Ca-kix
Yu-kub—Ca-kix
All men fear me.”
He sat down in his old seat, his hands again on his knees, his body swaying. He seemed uncomfortable and restless, much as if he expected danger, getting to his feet every now and then, peering about, going to his tree to eat fruit and returning again to his seat. In fact, about every hour he went to his fruit tree.
Seeing that, the lads had an idea, and running to the fruit tree, climbed into it, hiding themselves in the thick branches, but no sooner were they safely there than they heard the monster coming.
In a very short while they felt the tree shake with the giant’s heavy tread, for he was on his way to take another meal. Then in less time than it takes to count six he was at the tree, his great blue face hiding the scenery. Quick as lightning, Hunapu fitted an arrow to his bow, drew the string to his bow, and let fly. The shaft struck the ugly fellow in the chin, but so tough was his skin that the barb only pierced to his jaw. Still, the pain of it was enough to send him away roaring. Back he went to his valley and threw himself down, groaning and weeping. There was no loud song from him now.
The boys descended from their tree and marched down to where Cakix lay, taking good care to keep out of the way of his great kicking feet.
“Who are you?” asked the giant when he saw them. “And what do you want here?”
“We are doctors,” they answered. “Hearing your roar of pain, we came to help. It is your teeth that need attention. Let us take out your bad teeth and you will be at ease.”
“But my teeth are my strength,” said the giant. “Men do not know it,” he added with the lack of suspicion of all giants.
“True,” answered the twins. “We will pull out the old teeth and put new ones in their place.”
The giant opened his mouth and to work they went with hammers and bars of iron, and in a short time had his teeth all out. True to their promise they put new teeth in place of the old, but the new teeth they fitted were made of grains of corn, and as soon as Cakix tried to eat with them he found out his error. So in a short while he died from starvation, and the earth was rid of one of the monsters.
There was great joy among the band of Four Hundred when the hero brothers returned and told their story, for they were glad of the good fortune of the twins and full of rejoicing that the world had one monster the less in it. And after a week of resting, there came a day when the whole band, bright in their polished armour and gay with feathers and flowers, set off for the Stone Mountain to bring back the treasures and to slay the remaining giants. But the tale is so long and so interesting, that it must be left for another chapter.
THE FOUR HUNDRED
SINGING and waving banners, the four hundred youths with the twin brothers at their head, all of them slim and well formed, brown of skin and straight of limb, marched forth to the land of the giants, their eyes bent on the far mountains all wrapped in a blue, floating mist. No faint hearts were there, nor among them were bullies or cowards. Not one there but could run, leap, shoot straight, and look his friend in the eye. From shields of silver the sunlight flashed, spearheads were like points of hard light and each helmet was plumed. Bows were slung across shoulders and swords were at sides, and sandalled feet marched in step. No food they bore nor were they otherwise burdened, for well each knew the way of the forest and the trick of lake and stream; well each knew the fruit-bearing trees and the bushes that were berry-hung, and at night their roof was the star-sprinkled sky.
Straight as an arrow was their course to the west, to the land of vast rocks, and gullies like axe-clefts in the earth. Straight to the west, not turning for swift-flowing stream nor yellow marsh; plunging through forest, climbing mountain, scaling cliff. Straight to the west to the place where the twin brothers had been before, until they came to the valley of Cakix and saw his bones already white, picked by carrion birds. There, too, they saw the caves where were heaps of glittering diamonds, rubies like fire, emeralds cool green like the caves of the sea. Gold, too, and silver were there, but no heed gave they to all that, counting such things but as toys for children, when great things had to be done.
Scouting far and wide to hilltop and rocky ridge, going by twos in vast circles until they met again, they swept the land, seeing sign of neither Cabrakan nor of the giant Zipacna, and when the band met again all were prepared to fare farther in their quest. None was for returning, “for,” said they, “there is an evil thing to put out of the land and the swifter the foul task is done the better.”
The second day of their quest they came to a great forest and there they were set upon by great monkeys that came in hundreds and tens of hundreds, leaping at them and snarling, baring teeth and fiercely chattering. For a while it looked of ill omen, but knowing that together they could meet much the Four Hundred formed a square, so facing north and east and south and west, a line of lads kneeling with pointing spears, others behind them with spears over the shoulders of those that knelt. In vain the apes dashed at them, for not a spear was lowered nor did heart grow faint. But the air throbbed with the cries of the hairy things and they came in ever-increasing numbers, striving to break by sheer weight the spear-bristling square. All that day they came, hurling themselves against the square until the dead things lay in masses, those that were wounded screaming in pain and anger as they turned again to the forest, and when the dropping sun touched the hills and the green became black, the evil things, finding their work in vain, gave up the fight and fled snarling.
So the Four Hundred all unharmed, weary, though light of heart because of the great fellowship that was shown to be among them, shouldered their spears, re-slung their bows and marched on, until coming to a noisy stream they washed themselves and their weapons. Then in the white moonlight they slept, each with his sword at hand, while some watched, on guard for that which might threaten.
When the sky was rose-tinted again they went on their way, making for a narrow pass like a sword-slash in the mountains, and by noon they had reached the stony cut. High and bare were the white rocks on either side and gloomy was the pass, nor of living thing was there sign save a condor wheeling high. But from the rocks came strange noises, whistlings and screamings, then of a sudden, like a thunder clap, a mighty roar as from many voices, and the noise of it echoed and re-echoed from rock to rock so that the din was deafening, and when they spoke one to another, mouth went to ear and hands were cupped. Then, when they were well within the pass, marching over a floor so covered with sharp-pointed rocks and great round boulders that they had to slacken their pace, there came from above a great rock which fell ahead of their path so as to block the way, except for a narrow passage on either side. Looking up, they saw, crowded on the tops of the high cliffs on every hand, snag-toothed, evil-eyed fellows who crawled about the rocks as though they had been lizards, so sure of foot were they. They knew then that they were in the land of the wild men of the mountain, the crag men, fellows strong and stark, full of hate and viciousness.
Of a sudden, from one of the creatures who stood far up in the cleft of a rock, one whose hair and beard were long and white and tangled, came a hoarse cry, and lifting high above his head a rock greater than ten armadillos he cast it downward with great force. Ill would it have been for any youth struck by it, but so badly and swiftly was it thrown that it passed over the heads of all, struck the wall on the farther side, and burst into a hundred pieces. So the youth with the bright eyes called on his fellows to hold their shields above their heads, edge to edge and overlapping in such wise as to form a roof, which they did. Well it was thus, for stones rattled down like hail, some so great that those on whom they fell were almost borne to earth with the sheer weight, for the men of the crags were many and strong. Yet the weight being shared by reason of the jointed shields, all went well, for each youth’s care was for his fellow.
In one place the pass ran narrow, and there one of the crag men, a fellow of great animal strength and swiftness, suddenly leaped down and bore one of the twin brothers to earth by the violence of his flight through the air, for the men of the crags leaped from rock to rock like wildcats. It was Balanque who was thus struck down, but he was on his feet in an instant, drew his sword hastily, and as the crag man rushed at him with jaws all foam-flecked and horrible he passed his blade through the crag man’s chest. But the fellow was like a wild boar, pressing on regardless of the hurt, so that he ran up onto the hilt, caught the youth by the waist, and flung him over his shoulder. In a moment more he would have been on his way up the face of the cliff. As it was, seeing what had come to pass, the crag men set up a great yelling and screaming, thinking that victory already lay with their man. But Bright Eyes was not idle. He fitted an arrow to his bow and let fly, the shaft passing through the crag man’s neck, so that he stood, as it were, spitted, and let Balanque fall. Pierced though he was with both arrow and sword, yet there was life in him and he fled to the rock face and clambered up, leaving a trail of red wherever he passed, and was seen no more by any of the band.
No pause all this while was there in the shower of stones, but, shields well locked, the band pressed on, foot by foot, each youth stern to win and proud of his companion, each youth keeping the eye of hope on the thin, bright strip of blue at the end of the pass where the mountains would fall away. And there they came at last, toil-worn but heart-strong, to the plain where the crag men dared not follow, some of them almost weeping for joy because shoulder to shoulder they had again fought their way through a great danger and an evil place, where, had but one failed, all might have been lost.
There were four hundred and two happy youths that night, though the place where they slept was bare of grass and trees, and in the morning they were well rested and strong, for as they had lived well and cleanly and none having a darkened window in his breast, their sinews were as steel, and every day was a new life in which to enter with eyes bright and shining.
The sun had not far risen; indeed, there seemed but a hand’s breadth between the lower edge of it and the world’s edge, when a great wonder appeared before their eyes. It was as if the sun were suddenly blotted out, for what they had taken to be a low, faintly rising hill in the east had risen up, stood for a moment like a vast cloud, then passed swiftly to the south. At the same time there came a roar like thunder from the cloudlike form, which came near to deafening them. And the roar formed into words:
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay,There’s naught that I fear save the watery way.”
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay,There’s naught that I fear save the watery way.”
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay,There’s naught that I fear save the watery way.”
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay,
There’s naught that I fear save the watery way.”
That rolled rumblingly as thunderings between earth and sky, now loud, now softer, as Zipacna strode from valley to valley. A little later he came in sight again, but far to the north of where they were, then vanished from their sight into the cleft of the hills where they had battled with the crag men.
Now fearful as was the sight of the giant, yet no fear was in any heart, so, having made a meal and rested for a season, without more to-do they set off for the place from which the giant had arisen. It was long before they got there, but at last they stood on the edge of a long and narrow cañon at the end of which was a mighty pile of bones, not alone of animals but also of men, and there were human skulls there and shells of sea-crabs, and in and among all these crawled venomous serpents. But most of all were there sea-crab shells.
While they gazed at this sorrowful sight, there came to them a bent old woman, sad of face and lined and wrinkled, and her talk was more like croaking than human speech. Secret and watchful was she in her manner. To the twin brothers and Bright Eyes, who stood a little apart from the rest of the band, she spoke, asking them:
“What do ye here, my fine fellows? And why come ye to this place of evil and misery?”
One of the three answered boldly that they came to slay the giant Zipacna, telling her that he was a thing of evil and that evil things must be laid low if the world is to be fair.
“Then,” said she, “ye are doubtless prepared to die, for in times past many have thought to slay Zipacna, but themselves have been led into feasting and into pleasure and soft living, and so the memory of the good that was intended, passed and became less than a dream.”
Her words they found strange, but she went on to tell them of a land over the hill where all was fair and where none had to work and where the sun shone. There seemed but little meaning in her words.
But they made answer, saying: “We have but one desire, which is to slay Zipacna for the evil that he has done and must do. As for your land of fine things, if to live there would make us soft and idle, then must our eyes be closed to it.”
Hearing that, the old woman seemed pleased and the shadow of a smile touched her face. But her manner changed swiftly it seemed, for she shot a question at them which was this: “You passed the caves of Cakix whose bones now are white? Give me then of the precious stones that lay in the caves there,” and so saying, stretched forth her skinny arm, her hand hollowed to receive gifts.
“It was not for such toys that we came. We saw but touched not the precious stones, nor the gold, nor anything that was there. Indeed, to have done so would but have hampered us in the doing of that which we set out to do.” Thus Hunapu made reply and the others nodded.
“And how did ye escape the apes of the forest?” she asked.
“We stood side by side and met danger.”
“And the men of the crags, how fared ye with them?”
Bright Eyes answered quietly: “Each covered himself and his neighbour as well as he could and so we came out with whole skins.”
A silence fell then, the three saying nothing because of the woman’s great age, though her words and questions seemed to lack meaning. What she said further was a greater riddle still. “It was well done,” she told them, and nodded slowly. “Now a greater task lies before. It is one in which each of your band must meet danger separately and to his peril, if eyes are not lit and feet swift. More than that I cannot tell. But go onward until the sea is reached and there is a lake of water. Whoso touches that water is turned to stone, so take heed. But well indeed will it be if Zipacna is led there. Have ye not heard him sing:
I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.There’s naught that I fear save the watery way?
I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.There’s naught that I fear save the watery way?
I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.There’s naught that I fear save the watery way?
I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.
There’s naught that I fear save the watery way?
Heard ye not that at sunrise?”
Then she said no more but turned away. Now as she took a step her staff fell from her unsteady hands and Bright Eyes picked it up and gave it to her. That seemed to open her lips again, for she told them:
“Hearken, one and all. Many are there like swine, who live but to eat, and Zipacna is of that sort. Watch well by the sea shore to the end that ye see the things that may lead to his destruction.” There was no more. She passed down the hill and disappeared behind a thorn-bush and at the moment that she vanished from their sight a white puma leaped out from the other side, by which they saw that she knew of white witcheries.
The band lost no time in turning their steps seaward, and although the day was hot and the place inviting, would not rest in a valley through which they passed, a place rich in fruits and soft with silk grass. That evening they came to the sea, and at the foot of a cliff saw a great lake of water so clear and blue that their eyes could follow, dropping from rock ledge to rock ledge, down the slope of the side until they saw the stones and the sand on the bottom. But there were no swaying water-weeds, nor was there living thing. Another thing they saw which brought the words of the old woman to their minds, for thrown aside on the beach were hundreds and thousands of sea-crab shells, from which they knew that it was the sea-crab that Zipacna loved to eat above all things.
Now they also saw that by some chance a great tree had fallen, and one end of it rested in the water of the lake, and that end had turned to stone. Another thing they saw, for on the farther side of the lake was a bed of blue-black clay and the colour of it was the colour of the shell of a sea-crab. So after some thought and some talk many of the lads went deftly to work fashioning of the clay a great sea-crab, so great that the like was never seen. Others dragged to the lake straight tree-trunks which they laid side by side with the tree already there, and the end of the stick was turned to stone as soon as it touched the water, the rest of the tree changing more slowly. All that night they wrought, making the great crab and setting it on the sloping tree-trunks, so that when morning broke, that which they had set out to do was finished, and while it was yet gray dawn they set off for the place where Zipacna dwelt.
But not all the band went. Here a lad was left, a little way off another, then another and another, each hiding behind rock or tussock or thorn-bush or tree. So hid, one by one, fifty, a hundred, two hundred, until at last there were left Balanque, Hunapu, and Bright Eyes. Then at the foot of a hill Bright Eyes sat down and Hunapu crouched on the shoulder of another hill that stood alone. So, the band being all hidden, it fell out that Balanque alone went to the place where they had met the old woman. He fell to making a great outcry, calling on Zipacna to come forth and rattling his sword on his shield merrily.
“Oh! Coward!” he called. “Come forth and be slain as was your brother Cakix, whose bones are now scattered and white.”
In a voice of thunder Zipacna cried:
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.There’s naught that I fear but the watery way.”
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.There’s naught that I fear but the watery way.”
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.There’s naught that I fear but the watery way.”
“I am Zipacna whom men cannot slay.
There’s naught that I fear but the watery way.”
Over and over he chanted that, now roaring, now grumbling as grunts a swine when it would rest. But always Balanque taunted him, calling him a coward giant, telling him that his days were short, and reminding him of the fate of Cakix.
At last the slow blood of the giant was on fire and he rose on his elbow to look. For a time he saw nothing, being slow of sight and moreover looking too high, little dreaming that his noisy champion was so small. When he saw Balanque at last, his hand shot out, but Balanque was swift, and like the wind fled at top speed to where his brother Hunapu lay. Down dropped Balanque and up sprang Hunapu, clearing the ground like a deer, with Zipacna in full chase, the giant little dreaming that he was following a new man. But Hunapu, fresh and rested, did as his brother had done and sped to the foot of the hill where Bright Eyes lay. Then like an arrow went Bright Eyes to the thorn-bush where Huno was, and Huno in his turn darted to the tree where Chimal rested. So also Chimal raced, and each of the band did the same when his turn came, the giant Zipacna following, no more knowing one lad from the other than one ant can be told from its fellow. And in the rear those who had dropped to hide gathered again, so that three companions became five, five became ten, and ten became fifty, while over hill and valley and marsh, through thorn-thicket and wooded hill, Zipacna rushed, each lad leading him on his dance, each companion rising from his resting-place, ready and swift. And so each of that band met danger alone to the end that all might be safe.
At last the merry chase led Zipacna to the cliff, and there below him he saw what he took to be a mighty crab on the tree-trunks, ready to drop into the water of the lake, and at the sight of it his mouth watered and his eyes grew large. A touch of his foot sent the crab sliding into the water, and to save it Zipacna thrust out his hand. But he bent never to straighten again. Solid and firm was he fixed, the crab a crab of stone, his hand a hand of stone. Solid and firm was he fixed, a crouching giant in a crystal lake, where he stands to this day.
As for the band of Four Hundred, many other valiant deeds did they in the land, but through all, never was the thread of their fellowship broken or tangled, and if evil threatened one, then no rest of stay had the others until all was well again.
THE KILLING OF CABRAKAN
CABRAKAN the giant was slain by the twin brothers and the manner of his killing was thus:
After the death of Cakix and the turning to stone of Zipacna, Cabrakan kept close to the stony land, but one day venturing over the mountains where lived the crag men, he came upon a herd of goats that had wandered out of the way, and gathering them into a corral formed of his legs as he sat upon the ground, he swallowed them one by one, as a child swallows berries. The goatherd saw him from the shelter of a tree, where he hid himself when he first set eyes on Cabrakan. On the next day the giant came again to the same place where he had fared so well, and seeing a house a little way off went there and made a meal of the cattle, leaving the man of the house in sorry case. The third day he ventured farther, sitting down at noon by the side of a village and picking up and eating such living creatures as he chanced to see, much as an ant-eater picks up ants. Nor was there aught to hinder him, for the people fled to the woods when they heard the earth tremble under his tread. So, soon, the tale of how Cabrakan was robbing men came to the ears of the twin brothers, and they swore to stay his high hand forevermore.
Now Cabrakan knew of the manner in which Cakix had been laid low and knew also how Zipacna had met his end, so by neither of these ways was it possible to destroy him. He had also pondered in his slow way, laying half-plans to slay the twin brothers did he ever lay hands on them. Cabrakan was the mightiest of giants and vain of his strength, and in that vanity lay his weakness.
One day there came a mighty storm and a turmoil of wind and water, of thunder and lightning, so that the trees of the forest were laid low and the rocks uprooted, while the thunderings of the sea-waves shook the very barancas. Black were the heavens and clouds flew fast and low, so that Cabrakan in his long life had seen nothing like it, and his heart failed him. Nor did he rise all that day from the shelter of the mountain where he had cast himself on the ground, until the black had changed to gray and the wind was abated. But when the clouds had passed and the sky was again moonlit, he saw on a hilltop a little way off the twin brothers, Hunapu and Balanque. While the storm had raged they were sheltered in a cave, and from it they had seen Cabrakan as he ran before the storm to seek the shelter of the mountain. To their ears, when there were wind lulls, came the sound of mighty whimpering and wailing from the giant, by which they knew that his heart was far from stout.
Seeing the twin brothers, Cabrakan rose to his feet and asked them what they did there, and would have said more had he not suddenly found his mind a blank. So he fell back on his chant, though there was a quaver in his voice because of the fear in him that had not yet died, the fear of the storm:
“I am Cabrakan,Cabrakan who shakes the earth,Cabrakan who shakes the sky,I am Cabrakan,Master of men!”
“I am Cabrakan,Cabrakan who shakes the earth,Cabrakan who shakes the sky,I am Cabrakan,Master of men!”
“I am Cabrakan,Cabrakan who shakes the earth,Cabrakan who shakes the sky,I am Cabrakan,Master of men!”
“I am Cabrakan,
Cabrakan who shakes the earth,
Cabrakan who shakes the sky,
I am Cabrakan,
Master of men!”
When he had made an end of his song Hunapu spoke and said, boldly enough: “It is well, Cabrakan. Strong thou art, but so also are we strong. Have you not seen how with our breaths we laid low the trees of the forest? Saw ye not how we blew and the rocks were uprooted? How, also, the skies were darkened? But that was a small matter, for there are things to be done, and in this upsetting of the world my brother alone worked. Now must two of us work, so prepare yourself well, O Cabrakan, lest a giant be blown over the edge of the world where is neither resting-place nor foothold. A trifling matter indeed was the storm.”
Hearing that, a deep misgiving was in the heart of Cabrakan. He rubbed his eyes and looked with astonishment at the twin brothers, so slight of build, so ruddy and fair, and seeing them and remembering the storm he could find no words.
Then said Balanque, as had been before agreed between the brothers, and speaking as if in deep thought: “Perhaps it might be better if Cabrakan joined us. It is true that he, the earth-shaker, is after all but weak, but if he be taught to eat of cooked flesh in the manner of men, it may be that he too may grow strong as we are.”
Hearing that, the giant pricked up his ears, thinking, in the dull manner of giants, that if he did but play a little to mislead the twin brothers he might persuade them to let him eat of cooked meats, when, his strength becoming greater, he might rid the earth of two who had raised so mighty and fearful a storm. Perchance then, thought he, I shall rule the land alone. So he said, cunningly: “Let me try my strength against yours awhile, and if I be found weak, then cook me the food that men eat, so that I may become strong and thus your useful slave.”
At that the twin brothers pretended to consult a little, Hunapu acting as if he wished to raise another whirlwind, Balanque as if soothing him, while Cabrakan stood watching them, a heavy fear in his bones.
“Let Cabrakan,” said Hunapu presently, “overturn and pluck out the entrails of this mountain to prove himself.” Having so said, he turned aside, but after a moment added, as if his mind had changed on the matter: “Yet how does it matter? We need no Cabrakan to aid us. Perhaps it were better that I cast it over with a breath, even though Cabrakan be blown like a leaf over the edge of the world.”
Now though the world in which the giant lived was rocky and bare, yet it looked fair to him and he had no mind to be cast into nothingness. So he made his face fierce and told Hunapu that he was willing to prove his strength. Hunapu, still playing a part, looked scornfully at the giant as he said: “It is after all but a child’s matter, but if the mountain be overturned, then shall the food of men be yours and your body made strong and your wits sharpened.”
Cabrakan lost no more time but raised his shoulders and put forth his arms as one about to wrestle. “Let none meddle with me,” he said, “and before the day breaks I shall pluck out the mountain by its roots.” So, a mountain of flesh against the moonlit sky, he strode in five great strides to the side of the mountain and flung his arms about it. First he made a shift to pluck it straight from the earth, his feet set wide apart, his muscles strained and knotted. Again he strove to overturn it, now with shoulder fast-braced against the sheer rock, his legs like towers. That failing, he strove furiously, now battering like a madman, now pressing and stamping, so that there was a trembling all about like an earthquake. So great was his strength that the side of the mountain broke open and a clear stream gushed forth, the water twisting and turning along the plain like a silver snake. All that night and morning he wrestled with the mountain and as the day wore on he grew tired and weary, but there was no result of his labours except the tumbling stream and two great holes in the black living rock at the foot of the mountain where his feet had pushed. But where his arms had encircled, the mountain was worn smooth and bare, the very rock was polished and shone in the sunlight. Grunting and groaning Cabrakan toiled, until at length, seeing that he had grown too weak for mischief, Hunapu called on him to rest awhile.
“Hold thee a little,” he said. “This eating of the goats and the cattle of men will make no living thing strong. A heart thou lackest. Like an arrowless quiver or a stringless bow art thou. In the food of men alone is strength, O Cabrakan, so that must we eat, and the meal being done things of worth may be seen.”
Well pleased to hear that, the weary giant cast himself down on the ground and rubbed his palms one against another to ease them, but as he lay there resting many a look he gave at the motionless mountain, the glistening head of which he had tried in vain to tear from the sky. Also most heartily he wished that the thing was at an end, or that the twin brothers had stayed away from that place.
Balanque kindled a fire and Hunapu shot an eagle and slowly they roasted the bird, the smell of it pleasing the giant vastly, for he had never tasted cooked meat, nor indeed knew any method of preparing it.
Now in that land there grows a sort of mountain-laurel bearing a red berry within a pod, and its power is such that whoso eats of it will waste away as the morning mist passes before the warming sun. Many of these berries Hunapu took and placed in the flesh of the roasted eagle, for certain it was that neither Balanque nor his brother could leave that place with the giant unslain. So the roasted eagle with the berries in it they gave to Cabrakan, who swallowed it at a single gulp.
At first he felt strong as ten giants and leaped to his feet, minded to pluck the mountain from the earth and cast it on the twin brothers. Fiercely he gripped, so fiercely that the top of the mountain opened and steam came forth and a black smoke rose in the air, spreading in the form of a vast tree; so vast it was, that it formed a cloud that veiled the sun so that the light sickened for a time and a pale yellow touched all things. From the top of the mountain there gushed forth hot lava that glowed as it spread; that came faster soon, in roaring masses. But Cabrakan rapidly waxed weak with the poison of the berries, so weak that he clung for support to the mountain he would have plucked forth. And as his strength waned, the malice within him grew, and dark were the looks, evil the eye he cast on the twin brothers.
But his day was done and his course was run. Soon his eyes grew dim and in very weariness his head fell against the brow of the mountain. Fast and deep for a while came his breath, his chest heaving like a sullen sea when the storm has died. Then his strength fell away altogether and he sank to the earth and the lava covered him.
So came to an end Cabrakan, the earth-shaker and master of men, and thus did the twin brothers finish that which they had set out to do.
THE TALE OF THE GENTLE FOLK
LET me see. This story begins at the time I climbed down the Andes on the east side and came upon a house by a lake. There were two children living there, one named Juan, the other, his sister, named Juanita, and the boy was seven years old and the girl nine. They had never seen a school, and the nearest house was more than fifty miles away. Still they had books, knew how to read, and I do not think that they ever found the day long. For one thing the lake was not at all deep, and a little bit off from the shore of it was a small island. That was a kind of playground for them, and often they paddled their boat to it in the early morning and stayed there all day.
There were other things highly interesting. On the second day that I was there, I saw their tame ostrich, a great gray bird that they had had for two years, and now and then Juan would ride it, Delicia, which was the name of the ostrich, spreading his wings like sails, and running out in a wide zigzag circle on the pampa, caring no more for the light weight on his back than a chicken would care for a fly. Somehow, the birds of that place were no more afraid of the children than the cat is afraid of you, and they knew places where they could see the flamingo with its scarlet cloak, the cowbird all glossy violet, the lapwings making a drumming music, gray and white scissortail with feathers a foot long, and red oven-birds. But their great pet was the huanaco, tall and proud-looking, all yellow and white, like a camel without a hump, about the size of a donkey. They called him Campeón, and he had been on the place as long as the children could remember. Their father, who owned many sheep, had found him when he was no larger than a fox, brought him to the house, and he had become as tame as a pet lamb. Both Juan and Juanita would roll over on him as he lay in the sun, burying their faces in his gold-coloured fur, hugging his long neck, wrestling with him until he got up and walked away to find a quieter place. They would use him as a horse, harnessing him to a little wagon, and all would go well sometimes, but sometimes not so well, for Campeón taking it into his head to run, the wagon would upset, the children roll out on the soft grass, and in a moment Campeón would free himself from the harness, going in great leaps to find a little hill where he would perch himself on the crest and stand like a sentinel.
Now one day the man who was my travelling companion was out with his rifle, and coming upon old Campeón standing on a high rock, took him for a strange and wild animal, and, like many thoughtless men with a gun, followed his impulse and shot. Campeón was badly wounded, and doubtless astonished to receive such treatment from the hands of a man. Anyway he limped on three legs to the house. Juan and Juanita grieved sadly, their parents no less, and all was done for Campeón that could be done. As for my friend, seeing what had happened, he was the most sorrowful of us all. For a time it seemed as though Campeón would get better, but one day he was plainly worse. All that day he rested on the sheltered side of the house, refusing food and water, his finely shaped head proudly upright, his eyes turned to the south, and the next morning there was no sign of him. From the hill on which he had stood we could see for miles and miles, and Juanita and I went there, taking a telescope, and we searched the country far and wide. In the afternoon we saddled horses and rode many, many miles until we came to a belt of sandy soil that ran east and west, and there we saw the trail of our Campeón going straight south. So we turned home sadly enough, for we knew that we would see the gentle beast no more.
And this is why: If you have read the “Arabian Nights,” you will remember, in the story of Sindbad the Sailor, that it is told that he discovered a wonderful valley in which were the bones of hundreds and thousands of elephants. Whether there is any truth or not in that, I do not know, but I do know that in south Patagonia there is a vast valley called the Valley of the Gallegos and there the huanacos go to lay down their bones when they feel the coming of death. And beautiful Campeón, though he had never seen that valley, somehow felt that he must find it, being so wounded and sick, and while we slept that moonlight night, had left us. Both Juan and Juanita knew well enough that they would never see Campeón dead, for they had heard the story of the huanaco valley as often as you have the story of Cinderella. So had I heard it, and that night when we fell to talking about Campeón, a gaucho who looked after the horses told us the story again, and this is what he said:
Long, long ago, when there were giants and before there were horses in this land, there lived a gentle people who did not know sickness or pain or anger. They moved about among the animals and the birds as we move about among the flowers in the garden, and men were much kinder and the maidens more graceful and beautiful than any on the earth to-day. The colours of the birds were brighter and the scent of the flowers sweeter than now; the sun was never too hot nor the wind too cold. What was more wonderful, the Gentle People had a strange power by means of which they could change flowers into living things which turned to bright-coloured birds.
Now and then there would be great gatherings, when all the Gentle People would come together before their prince who sat on a throne decked with precious stones. And the people who loved him for his wisdom as well as for his goodness brought to him at such times gold and silver and diamonds and rubies and glittering precious stones, and these he would give to the young people to play with, for in those days people loved things for their beauty alone. The birds and animals too would join in the gathering, and the air would be full of song and colour and the scent of woods and flowers. On that day each person there would have his or her wish granted, whatever it was. To be sure, where was so much that was good, it seemed hard to wish for anything at all.
There was one thing only that was forbidden to the Gentle People, which was to go north until they saw no more the stars of the Southern Cross in the sky, for after many days’ journey, they were told, there was a great dark forest on the other side of which were fierce men who did evil. But one day one of the Gentle People saw a strange bird, more beautiful than anything ever seen, a bird whose breast shone green and blue and gold, with a tail of long feathers white as ivory. Capa it was who saw the bird, and it seemed strange to him that seeing him the bird flew away. Never before had he seen a bird that he could not touch and hold, and the more the bird avoided him the more eager was he to take it to the prince. So he followed it as it went from place to place, always thinking that at last the strange bird would allow him to draw near. That it feared him he never knew, for his people knew no fear, neither did the animals nor birds that lived among them. At last the bird led him to the edge of the forest, and when he looked into the sky that night he saw new stars there, at which he wondered. Into the forest he went, always following the bird, and so tall and thick were the trees that the sun did not shine and the stars were blotted out at night.
Then one day he came to a place where he saw men with yellow skins and teeth like a dog, who gathered about him. Never before had he seen such people, who tore animals apart and ate of the flesh, who tore skins from living creatures and wore them on their own bodies. To make matters worse, these yellow-skinned ones seized Capa and took from him his glorious robes of gold and silver thread, tore the feathers from his hair and plucked away the ruby that he wore for its beauty. Then, greatly to his surprise, they fell on one another, fighting for the things that they had taken from Capa, so that the very robe they struggled for was torn and trampled under foot. At that Capa turned and fled back through the forest, never stopping day or night, until he came to his own people.
Straight to the prince he went and told his tale, hearing which, the prince was sad at heart.
“You have,” he said, “been where there are greed and selfishness and avarice, and it is bad for us. For those of the yellow skin will not rest until they have found us and brought sorrow into our midst.”
Then he called all his people together and they came, as they always did, singing and dancing and bearing flowers, and after them came the birds and animals, skipping and flying, calling. But a great silence fell upon all when they saw their Golden Prince, for his eyes were grave.
So he told the Gentle People all that Capa had seen, and Capa himself stood by the side of his prince and sang a sad song, so that the people knew of the evil on the other side of the dark forest, and the hearts of the Gentle People were as heavy as was the heart of the Golden Prince. And the prince told them that if they chose, he would arm them and lead them so that they could go forth and fight against the yellow-faced men when they came, “but,” he went on to say, “having learned to fight and to do hurt and to bring death, then you yourselves will turn on each other, will bring death to your own people. You will turn against the animals and they will turn against you. You will walk the land alone, and all things will avoid and hide from you. These things of the earth, these bright and shining things which to-day you take or leave as you wish, you will play with no more, but will hide in boxes and under stones so that others may not see them.” When he said this last he picked up a handful of diamonds and rubies, of emeralds and gold dust, and poured them from one hand to another, so that it was as a cascade that fell bright and dazzling in the sunlight.
Fearing that, the Gentle Folk looked at one another, and there was no doubt in their minds. “Far better,” said they, “is it that we should change in some manner and flee away than that we should do evil to the birds and beasts that are our friends.”
Then the Golden Prince called on his people to follow him, and as the yellow man broke through the forest as he had said they would, he led all of them away swiftly, and the multitude of animals and birds followed them. Having arrived at a great valley where was a river, he told his people that he would change their form so that they would become for a time other creatures, but creatures that would neither bite nor scratch nor spit poison, nor do any kind of harm. So he changed them into huanacos, animals of proud and graceful carriage, and their dress was of red and white like the gold and silver they wore. Then when he saw his people thus, friends of the birds and animals they loved, he changed himself into one also, but greater and more beautiful than any.
But there was a memory of that time, and even to this day when a herd of huanacos is seen, there also is one standing on a high rock as sentinel, keeping watch for the yellow men. And when at last the prince huanaco died, he died in the valley; seeing which, each of his people also laid down their bones in that place, as you may read in many books. So must it be until each and every huanaco has passed away. Yet remember this: Where dies a huanaco, there springs up a flower blue as the sky, its petals all gold-tipped. And when the day comes in which the last huanaco dies, then the yellow men will be gone. On that day each flower will bend to its neighbour and, at a word, there will stand a great host, for the spirit of the huanaco is in the flower that is blue and gold-tipped. Then, for ever and ever, the Gentle People will again have their land, and kindness and gentleness and beauty and joy will be theirs once more.