Once, not long ago, four Haudenosaunee hunters spent the winter together trapping in the North. They had good luck. When they brought their furs to the trading post at the end of the season, they had more than enough to buy all the things they needed for their families. In fact, there was just enough left over to buy a new rifle.

They had a problem. Although they hunted and trapped together as brothers, for all of them belonged to the Bear Clan, they did not live together. One hunter was from the Nundawaono, the People of the Great Hill, the Seneca. His home was to the West.

One was from the Gueugwehono, the People of the Mucky Land, the Cayuga. His home was to the South near the marshes by the long lakes.

One was from the Onundagaono, the People on the Hills, the Onondaga. His place was in the very center of the lands of the Great League.

One was from the Ganeagaono, the People of the Flint, the Mohawks. His home was to the East. Now that they had finished trapping, each would be returning home.

It was easy to divide provisions among four people, but how could they divide the rifle? Finally it was decided. The man who told the tallest story about hunting would take the gun home.

The Mohawk hunter spoke first. “A man was walking along. He had been hunting all day, but his mind wasn’t on his hunting. He’d used up all of the bullets for his old muzzle loader without hitting anything. As he walked, he ate some cherries he had picked. Eat one, spit the stone into his hand. Eat one spit the stone into his hand. Then he saw, right in front of him, a big, big deer. But he had no bullets left. He thought quickly. He poured powder into the gun, took the cherry seeds, loaded them and fired at the deer’s head. The deer fell down, but it got right up again and ran away.

“Some years later that same hunter went out again hunting in the same place. Again he had no luck. Near the end of the day he saw at the edge of a clearing a tall tree covered with ripe cherries. Ah, this man thought. At least I can eat some cherries. So he put his gun down and began to climb up into the tree. He had reached the lower branches when the tree began to shake back and forth and the hunter had to hold on with both hands. Then the tree lifted straight up into the air and he was thrown out. He looked up from the ground and saw that the tree was growing from between the antlers of a huge deer which shook its head one more time and then ran away into the forest. And that,” said the Mohawk hunter, “is my story.”

Now it was the turn of the Onondaga hunter. “One time my uncle was out hunting. He had only one shot left in his gun and he wanted to make it count. He came to a stream where he saw a duck swimming back and forth, back and forth. Just in front of the duck there was a large trout and it was leaping from the water to catch flies, leaping, leaping, leaping. On the other side of the stream there stood a deer. It had its head up and it was standing still, sniffing the wind. Further back on a small hill was a bear up on its hind legs, scratching its paws on a tree, up and down, up and down. My uncle got down on his belly. He crawled close to the stream, took careful aim and waited. When everything was just right and the trout jumped again he pulled the trigger. His bullet went through the trout and killed the duck. It ricocheted off the water and struck the deer. It went through the deer and killed the bear. My uncle was a good shot. The amazing thing-I know you will find this hard to believe–is that when he went to skin the bear he turned it over and found it had fallen on a fox and killed it.” The Onondaga hunter paused for breath. “And that fox had a fat rabbit in its mouth.”

The Cayuga hunter was next. “Many seasons ago my grandfather was out hunting and saw a deer. He started to chase it so he could get closer for a better shot, but he ran so fast he went right past the deer. When the deer saw my grandfather go by him, it got scared. It turned around, jumped as hard as it could and sailed right over a stream. My grandfather jumped too but when he got halfway over the stream he saw he couldn’t make it to the other side so he turned around in mid-air and jumped back. By now the deer hid behind a hill on the other side of the stream so my grandfather couldn’t see it any more. “Now my grandfather was angry. He wasn’t going to let that deer get away! He put his gun between little maple trees and bent the barrel. The he aimed and shot. The bullet curved right around the hill and struck the deer. “When my grandfather saw the fallen deer he got real excited. It was as if it was the first deer he’d ever shot. He started to skin it right away, But the deer wasn’t dead. Just when my grandfather reached the horns and was about to pull the skin off, the deer jumped up and began to run around. My grandfather tried to grab the deer, but it was too slippery. He chased it around and around. Then the skin got caught on the bark of a hickory tree. The deer backed off and pulled real hard and the skin came right off over its horns! The deer ran away, leaving my grandfather with nothing but its skin.” The Cayuga hunter looked up and took a deep breath. “And if you don’t believe my story, you can just go to my grandfather’s lodge. That skin is still hanging there.”

Now only the Seneca hunter was left. He looked around at the other three. Then he smiled and shook his head. “Wah-ah,” he said, “I am sorry. None of us Senecas ever tell tall stories about hunting.”

The other three hunters looked at each other. Then, without another word, they handed him the gun.

Big Dipper

The bowl stars of the Dipper form a bear. The stars of the handle are hunters. The tiny star Alcor is a small dog named “Hold Tight.” In autumn when the Dipper is low to the horizon the blood from the arrow wounds drips on the trees and turns them red and brown.

http://www.wwu.edu/depts/skywise/legends.html

Three men lived together. I cannot tell to what tribe or clan they may have belonged,–whether they were peasants or cossacks, or Yakut or Yukaghir or something else. They were good hunters, and every fall with the first snow they would set off to hunt sable and red and gray foxes. Each time they would divide the skins into three equal parts. One year the snow fell very early and it was time to go on the hunt. One of the companions, who was somewhat poorer than the rest went to the others and invited them to go. It seems that he wanted to buy some provisions, and so wanted to make haste to get the means for purchasing them. The other, being richer, wanted to wait a couple of days. He waited two days, but still they were not ready. They asked him to wait a little longer. He waited again. Meantime the fallen snow had grown harder. It was the very time to go: so he went to his companions, and said, “See here! Perhaps you are not yet ready, but I shall not wait any longer. You see, the snow has already hardened. We have missed the last time. Further delay will spoil the hunt altogether.”

So he went home, mounted his horse, and called his hunting dog. With these he went, and at once found the tracks of four sables. He had a good dog: so he let him loose, and the dog followed the sables and chased them to an open lake. There on the ice he caught all four of them. He crossed over the lake, and on the other shore made a fire, prepared some food, and skinned the sables. All at once the other two companions arrived and congratulated him on the successful hunt. He thanked them, invited them to pass the night with him, and the next morning to start hunting in common, as was their custom in former times. They consented, and stayed there. The night passed. In the morning they got up and went hunting in different directions. They also chose the halting-place for the next night, and promised to be there in time for the evening meal. The first hunter arrived there, however, the last of all, he was so late. The other two brought eight sables, and he alone also brought eight. They skinned them all and dried the skins. The next morning they proposed to continue the hunt; but the first hunter said, “I must go home for a couple of days. We will divide these skins equally among us; then I will go home, and be back in two or three days.” They had, in all, twenty sable skins, but in distributing them they gave him only five skins, and took fifteen for themselves, and he was the one who had caught more than half of the whole. So he said, “No, that is not fair. Let us share equally. You have given me too little. We must have six sables a piece, and the two sables over are surplus.” They refused to comply, and offered him the former five. He took these five skins and felt wronged: so he departed without any greeting. After some hesitation, they followed him. They rode quite silently for a long time, and then they saw near the trail a house that they had never seen before. Near the entrance stood a birch tree, very thin and high. They wondered at the house and the tree, and asked themselves, “How is it that never before have we seen this house in our neighborhood? Let us enter and see who may live in it!” So they entered, and saw an old man, quite small, and wizened with age. He was so thin that his head was held in place by a single sinew only. His arms and legs were like grass blades, almost ready to break in two. They entered, and saluted the old man. He said, “Sit down, O hunters! Tell me, please, what success have you had in your pursuit?” The two said, “Thank God! fair enough.” The third one replied, “Look here, uncle! We hunted together, and were indeed fairly successful. I caught a little more than they, and in the end they refused to give me even a fair and equal share.”–”How was that,” asked the old man. He told what had happened.

“Listen, my friends!” said the old man. “I will tell you a story of a similar kind. I too, in my time, was a hunter, and was always ready to wander about. No kind of game could escape me, but in sharing with my companions, I was too exacting and close-fisted. One time, while traveling alone, I met a young woman, or, rather a girl. She came to me and stretched out her hand and gave me a blow on the ear. At the same time she said, ‘You were a man, now you must be a wolf. For three days, you shall run, and after the third day you shall come here to this very place.’ So I, who had been a man, immediately turned into a wolf. I ran about for three whole days, and then I returned to the same place from which I had started. The woman was already there. She struck me again on the face, and said aloud, ‘You were a wolf, now turn into a man again!’ I turned into a man. She took my hand and led me on to a village. When we were near the village, she struck me again on the face, and said, ‘You were a man, now turn into a bunch of grass.’ So I turned into a bunch of grass and remained motionless at the place where I stood, close to the trail. The people of that village were driving over me, and the runners of the sledges hurt me every time. The people often felt angry at me, and wanted to cut me down, but they neglected to do so. Well, I existed somehow. I felt much pain and fear, and it was only in the depths of the night that I had any respite at all. I cannot tell how long I stayed there, days or months, or maybe years. I was more dead than alive. Then at last the woman came. She kicked me, and said aloud, “You were a bunch of grass, now turn again into a man!” So I turned into a man. I felt quite savage, and wanted to retaliate. She took my hand and led me on. I said to myself, ‘What if I try and do the same to her?’ So I stretched out my hand and gave her a blow on the ear, and said aloud, ‘You were a woman, now you must turn into a birch tree.’ I remembered the incantation; but in my haste I could not think of anything besides a birch tree, so she turned into a birch tree. From that time on, she has been a tree, and I do not know how to restore her to her former human shape. The second part of the incantation has ceased to work. I have tried it again and again; but it has lost its force, I do not know why. So I constructed this small house, and am living here. I say to myself, ‘Let me die at least near this birch tree!’ So you see I am severely punished. My arms and legs have become like grass blades, my body is almost ready to break down, and my head to fall off. I think that God has sent this punishment to me and to the woman, in order to make us a living lesson to other people who pass by on this road. So I say to you two, cease to do wrong to your companion, lest worse luck befall you!”

The two greedy ones felt afraid, and they said, “The old man speaks the truth, it is too dangerous.” They shared the sable skins equally, and gave six skins to the first hunter. Two sable skins were left over. They took one for themselves, and gave the other to the first hunter. Then the old man fell down and died, and the birch tree turned into its former self and became a woman. “Who are you?” asked the men. “I am hunting luck,” said the woman. She asked them to help her in burying the old man. The other two hunters refused to do so; but the first hunter said, “I will bury him all alone.” So he dug the grave, and then made a coffin of larch-wood. He buried him in due form, as is the custom. The woman thanked him; and when he departed, she gave him a small pouch made of various shreds of cloth. He took the pouch, and said to himself, “For what is this pouch? It seems of no use.” She answered his thoughts, “Do not say that this pouch is of no use. It will be good all your life.” He went home and opened the pouch. It was full of silver money. He spent the money, but whenever he took out money, the pouch was filled again. So he lived and lived, and could not empty the pouch; and his widow after him also could not spend all the money.

Told by Nicholas Kusakoff, a Russian Creole, in the village of Pokhotsk, in the Kolyma country, summer of 1896.

Footnotes
78:1 This tale seems to be composed of mixed elements, Russian and native. The sables that play so prominent a rôle in it, were quite abundant in the Kolyma country a century ago, but since the sixties of the nineteenth century, not a single track of a sable has been met with in the Kolyma, partly because they have been mercilessly pursued and partly because they have migrated to the south.–W. B.

Tales of Yukaghir,
Lamut, and Russianized Natives of Eastern Siberia
by Waldemar Bogoras [1918] and is now in the public domain.