Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/255

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Boy whose mother captured by Apaches lived with his grandmother. Quarreled with her and started to find his mother. Reaching her he turned into a dove, and she carried him home; Apaches heard her talking in her language to it, so the chief crushed it in his hand; pieces flew up through the smoke hole and turned into flock of hawks, who beat the Apaches to death. Mother and son started home, but turned into saguaros on the way.

Bird became blue by bathing in lake. Taught Coyote how, and he became blue, too. So proud that he gazed at himself as he went along and ran into a stump, fell into the dust, and became gray, as he is to-day.

Parents killed by Apaches and boy lived with grandmother. Frightened from berry bushes by terrible beast. Boy took some sharp stones and approached the beast, who swallowed him; cut his way out with the stones and thus killed the beast.

Quarreled with grandmother and ran away; when pursued the boy turned into a saguaro and the girl into a palo verde. Old woman grasped the cactus and it killed her.



The Pimas are far less given than their pueblo neighbors to the outward show of religion, such as is seen in the varied and frequent ceremonies of the Hopis and Zuñis. On the contrary, they appear to have no other than an occasional "rain dance," the navitco (see p. 326), and other ceremonies for the cure of disease. So far as could be ascertained in a comparatively brief sojourn among them their religion comprised a belief in the supernatural or magic power of animals, and especially in the omnipotence of the Sun. When in mourning, sick, or in need, the Pima addressed his prayers to the Sun in the morning: Tars! Oek iʼp sĭnhâ-ĭkĭ-itûk ip ĭnʼyĭmak kvʼktûki! "Sun! Kindly help me through the day!" Or at nightfall his petition was raised: Stcohoʼkomam! iʼp sĭnhâʼĭkĭ-itûk ip ĭnʼyĭmak kvʼktûki! "Darkness! Kindly help me through the night!" The following form of supplication was often employed: Tars! Paʼpûtitcû sinhâʼĭ-ik[ldi], contracted from Tars! Paʼpût itcokʼsi sĭnhâʼĭkĭt, "Sun! There, have mercy on me." When weary upon a journey, the