TINY TOTS PAGE

How The First Horse Was Found

      Long time ago a Blackfoot warrior went to have a vision quest.  Lighting and thunder roared around him, and the young man had fear in his eyes. The warrior heard a voice as if he was having a dream. He rubbed and pulled on his ears with dismay. Then he heard the voice say, “You will see a large lake that is far away from here. You will see many animals; do not fear them, for they are harmless. These are your friends. Go to this lake.” During the young warrior’s quest he see’s a rope dancing like a snake.

     When the Blackfoot warrior completed his vision quest, he saw the rope outside of his circle. This rope was made from buffalo’s hide. The young warrior picked up the rope and rolled it in a loop to carry in his hands, and he was off to look for this lake, that he had visions of.

     The young Blackfoot warrior had travel for many days on foot, and finally found the big lake. This big lake is known as, “Salish Lake.” It still exists today.

     The young warrior dug a hole in the sand beach and concealed himself. While he watched he saw many animals come to the lake to drink. The deer, which would come to the lake first, bless the water for the other animals. The coyotes, elk, the buffalo all come to quench their thirst.

     Then came the wind, the waves rose upon the lake, rolled and hissed along the beaches. At last came a herd of the large animals. Unlike any animals the Blackfeet has seen before, appeared before him. They were as large as an elk and had small ears, and long tails hanging to the ground. Some of the animals were white, black, and red. Some were spotted, and some had patchy colors. The young one’s of course were smaller than their parents. When they reached the waters edge, they bent their heads to drink. The voice, the young man heard in his vision quest whispered to him, “Throw your rope and catch one.”

     So, the Blackfoot warrior threw his rope and missed one of the largest animals. He rolled his rope back up to his hands. By this time the large animal went toward to the rest of the herd. The young warrior got on his hands and knees and crawling towards the herd just like he was sneaking upon his enemies to count coupe. He soon was upon another animal and the warrior threw his rope and caught one. He struggled and pulled, the animal it dragged the warrior about, and he was not strong enough to hold the animal. Finally, it pulled the rope out of his hands, and the whole herd ran into the lake and sank out of sight beneath the water.

     Feeling very sad, the Blackfoot warrior returned to camp, went into his lodge and prayed for help. The voice he heard at his quest answered him; “Four times you may try to catch these animals. If in four times trying you do not catch them, you will never see them again.

     Before the young warrior went to sleep that night the young warrior had asked the voice to help him, and while he slept the voice told him that he was not strong to enough to catch large animals. “Try to catch one of the young animals,” the voice said, “You can hold it.”

     The next morning the warrior went out again to the lakeshores, and again he dug out a hole in the sand to lay and hide. The deer again came to bless the water for the other animals to come to drink. The coyotes, the elk, and the buffalo came to drink. Then came the winds to roll the waves as they hissed upon the beach. Then came the strange animals to drink the water at the lake. This time, the young Blackfoot warrior decided to go for the young animals. Just like in his vision he was able to hold on to the animal.

     This animal was very beautiful. He carried himself as though if he would be very important. Like he would be the stallion of the herd. His colors were brown and white. He wore a star on his left eye, and very muscular, long legs. You can tell that this animal would be very strong and fast. He was what the Blackfeet call the painted one’s. The paints were very powerful, spiritual and scared to the Blackfeet.

    The young warrior used this animal to lead the other animals back to camp. For this the young warrior was a very big man, and some day he would be chief. It soon caught the attention of Moon In Her Hair, the chief’s daughter. Later they were to be married.

     At first the Blackfeet were afraid of the new animals and would not go near them. The young warrior told everybody that the new animals would not harm them. Soon the animals became tame and they followed the people whenever they moved their camp from place to place. Then the Blackfeet began to put packs and travois on the animals. The Blackfeet called these animals po-no-kah-mita, means elk dogs.

     The painted one led the Blackfoot through many buffalo hunts and soon became the most decorated animal of all tribes.

The Moon-Eyed People

According to the Cherokees, the Moon-Eyed People are a race of small men who live underground. They only emerged at night, bearded and have pale, white skin. The Cherokees knew the Moon-Eyed People from the remains they left behind. Low stonewalls and mounds can be found throughout the southern Appalachians. The most famous monument is just over the North Carolinas border in Georgia at Fort Mountain. This stonewall is two to six in height and is 850 feet long and stretches along the top of the ridge.

The wall is a remnant of a war that the Moon-Eyed People fought and lost against the Creek. The Creek drove the Moon-Eyed People from their homelands only during the full moon, using the blinding light as their advantage. Another version of this legend, the Cherokees drove the Moon-Eyed People from their home in Hiwassee, a village now knows as Murphy, North Carolina west into Tennessee Valley.

Unlike the Cherokee phantom races such as the Nunnehi or the Yunwi Tsudi, the Moon-Eyed People looked as though that there human. With the remnants found they have pale white skin and beards the amount of speculation that the legend lead that these people arrived at the new world before Columbus. This is where the Cherokees legend of the Moon-Eyed People has been matched up with the Welsh legend of Prince Madoc.

According to the Welsh legend, Madoc ab Owain Gwynedd was a Welsh prince. Madoc who himself was disenchanted with the civil war wracking his homeland, set sail with his brother Rhirid and a few followers in 1170 across the Atlantic Ocean and landed miles away from Mobile Bay, Alabama. Madoc decided this time to do some exploring up and down the rivers in the Southern part of the Amerikas. He decided to leave his brother Rhirid and some of followers behind; setting sail back to his homeland recruiting enough followers with ten ships sailing back to the Amerikas, never to see the  old world again. The legend goes that some feel that the Moon-Eyed people are the descendants from Madoc colonists.

The Moon-Eyed People were so popular, even Lewis and Clark would be on guard hoping that they would not be the next victims. There would be evidence of the colonist disappearing leading to the Moon-Eyed People. You would never be capable of tracking down the Moon-Eyed People, however they would have their victims.

The Cherokees on the other hand knew of their powers. The Cherokees called them the “Welsh Indians” describing them as lizards. The Moon-Eyed People medicine was to powerful for the Cherokees, but there was one advantage the Cherokees had. Remember early in this legend, I said that they are fair skinned and they lived underground. That means their eyes are very sensitive, they only came out at night. The Cherokees always reminded their village, do your activities during the daylight hours, come in at night and you will not be harmed. Like some children, they tend not to mind their elders. The children would venture out at night and not be seen ever again. To this day the villages back east take heed to the elders advice. Across the Mississippi River to the west we have the Legend of Sasquatch. To the east we have the Moon-Eyed People, who take people after dark not ever to be seen again.

I survived all of these years because I walked the sacred path, live the Indian ways, and kept my eyes, ears, and spirit awake.

Sasquatch

I have to admit it has been quite some time that I ever have thought about Sasquatch. Like he has never been around, until one cold winter morning. I just finished a twelve-hour night shift when I decided to turn on my favorite radio station. The dial was set on KRCL, listening to, ‘Native American Calling,’ from Albuquerque, New Mexico. It’s my way of going to church on a Sunday morning, catching up on Indian news on the way home. Out here in the western desert, we just don’t have much for entertainment.  Then, across the air way there was announcement of a Sasquatch sighting in Farmington, New Mexico a couple months ago. Wow! I thought to myself. Like I was a child discovering for the first time, ‘Big Foot!’ Mostly because a friend of mine, Max Clarke, a co-worker, and I was just talking about Sasquatch. Discussing how funny the beef jerky commercial were. Commenting that throughout the years, the numbers of sightings has decline.

Max asked me how much I knew about Sasquatch; I could tell that he was edging me on for another Indian story.  I reached down open the cooler and handed him a cold one. He sat down making himself comfortable on old wooden stump, raising his cowboy hat a little above his forehead wiping off the sweat, reaching for the coolness of the can. He reached in his pocket to cut him off a big wad of chew and spits, soaking a black stinkbug with his spit. He looks at me like he was saying well, get on with the story. I knew that couldn’t be lesser than great story or it would be another Custer Last Stand showdown. I would probably lose this time.

My grandfather, he was born in Upper California country near the mountain called Shasta.  A place where you did not have worries of being and Indian. Except for this time, all Indians was rounded up from there homelands put on the reservations.

Grandfather did not like the white man’s reservation, he soon returned to the country he loved.  With the help of very good white friend in Yreka, California, grandfather was able to purchase some land in Sweet Home, Oregon.  Where he could build a cabin in a peaceful valley, where no white man could ever touched him. The thing he didn’t count on was the great depression. It was like a great big plague racing across the land. It didn’t care what race you were, or how big and strong you were. It had no mercy of who you were. It took no survivors. 

The first time I heard this story I was around five to six years old. Scared the bow Jesus out of me. He would tell me over and over, and I would never get tired of it. This is story of his first contact with Sasquatch, in the summer evening in early 1900’s.  He was walking along on a deer trail near a lake call Crater Lake. It was just getting dusk like, when he saw up ahead something that looked like a tall bush.  Upon coming a little closer he became a ware of a very strong odor, a musky smell. He then gave a closer look at the bush, and suddenly realized that this was not a bush at all! It was covered from head to foot with a thick coarse hair, like horsehair. Grandfather took a step closer, but the creature made a warning sound that sounded like ‘Nyyaaaaaaah!’ Grandfather knew that this is the man of the mountain the old ones has spoken about,……….the Sasquatch!

Growing darker, Grandfather was able to see quite clearly two soft brown eyes through the hairy part of the head. ‘Grandfather was you not scared?’ I asked him. Grandfather spoken, ‘if I was scared I would not be a warrior! Then I would not be able to face my people.’ Grandfather went on with his story. Sasquatch moved slightly, and Grandfather made a motion of friendship and laid down the string of fish that he had been carrying.  Sasquatch understood this; he quickly snatched up the fish and struck out through the timber nearby.  Sasquatch stopped for the moment and made a sound that my grandfather never forgotten---a long, low howl, ‘Aaagoooooouummmt!’

Grandfather would never tell this story to anyone outside of the family, he would call them people.  He would call them ‘Mahtah Kagmi.’

It was few weeks after his encounter with Matah Kagmi that he was awakened one morning by some strange noise outside his cabin.  He found a stack of deerskins fresh and ready for tanning.  In the far distance he heard that strange sound once again, ‘Aaagoooooouummmt!’ After this from time to time there were items such as wood for fuel, acorn, wild berries and fruits, fresh meat.

After a few years later, Grandfather had his second, but the most amazedly contact with Sasquatch. Grandfather had taken a job with Oregon wood mills. Working along some white men training them how to read the terrain, choosing the right trees and leaving the ones behind so mountains don’t get wash away in heavy rain storms.

Grandfather never did care much for money, but times has change for the Indian living off of the land. The government regulating people, laying laws fatting up the fed’s pockets. Making and breaking treaties, treating the Indians as if we had no rights all. Driving us lower than the poverty levels. We were pretty much none existence.

As Grandfather walking to next section trees marking for cutting, he stepped on a snake strucking him on the leg. Grand father killed the snake and started to come down to more comfortable spot, but soon found it difficult to go on walking.  He became sick at his stomach, and began to get light headed and starting to faint.  When he gained consciousness, he thought that he was dreaming, for three large Matah Kagmi about eight to ten feet tall surrounded him. Grandfather had seen that they placed cool moss on the bite.  Then one of the Matah Kagmi made a grunting sound and the two lifted him up and took him down the trail placing him under a shaded tree and left.  Again Grandfather heard their mournful cry, ‘Aagoooooouummmmmmm.’

After a long time grandfather begin to feel better, and took his pistol and fire a shot into the air. The group that he was working with had found him.  Grandfather said nothing of the things that had happened to him.

The men had taken Grandfather back to where the pack mules were tied, and then taken to the nearest town to recover.  After spending a few days, Grandfather returned to his cabin.  He would only say that, Crater Lake is a sacred place. ‘Matah Kagmi lives! That is Holy Place, I have friends there’.

Many years after, in the still of the evening or sometimes late at night, he would still hear the sound he now knew, ‘Aagooooouumm,’ the call of the Mahtah Kagmi.  Grandfathers had spoken several times that the Mahtah Kagmi were not vicious, but were very shy, especially of the white man.  They generally came out in the evenings and at night.  They lived chiefly on roots; they dug berries, and only ate meat in the bitterest of cold weather.  Their homes are in the deep mountainside boroughs, unknown to man.

 ‘Well, Max. Let’s go in and watch another Sasquatch commercial.’