There was a time, long, long ago, when the Paiute people did not have fire. When winter came, with its bitter cold and long nights, the people wrapped themselves in rabbit skins and huddled in their underground pit-houses.
Among the Paiute there was one boy who thought only of the others. He was as cold as anyone, but it bothered him to see his people so unhappy. One day, as he sat shivering on a snowy hillside, Coyote came to him. “Why are you troubled, boy?” Coyote asked.
“I sorrow for my people,” answered the boy. “They are suffering from the cold.”
“There is something that can be done,” said Coyote. “It will be very hard to do, but I will help you. We must bring fire to your people.”
“Fire? What is fire?” asked the boy.
“It is like a bright, red flower, but it is not a flower,” Coyote said. “Nor is it a beast, even though, like a beast, it devours grass and woods and everything in its path. But if it is kept inside a circle of stones, it will be a friend to your people. It will give them light and keep them warm.”
“Where is this fire?” asked the boy.
“Its den is on the Burning Mountain by the Big Water, more than a hundred days’ journey from here,” Coyote told him. “It is guarded day and night by the Fire Spirits. Perhaps I can creep close enough to steal some of the fire and give it to you.”
The boy leaped to his feet. “Let us go, my friend.”
“Wait,” warned Coyote. “It will not be easy. The Fire Spirits will chase us. You could never run for a hundred days without them catching you! You must gather a hundred of your tribe’s swiftest runners, each waiting a day’s distance apart.”
So the boy went among his people and told them the things Coyote had said. But many did not believe him. “How can you, only a boy, know about this ‘fire’?” they asked scornfully.
But the boy pleaded and argued. Finally the people decided that they had nothing to lose. They chose one hundred of the tribe’s swiftest runners. Then the runners, along with the boy and Coyote, left their homeland. They journeyed into the great mountains whose peaks touched the sky.
At the end of each day, Coyote told one of the runners, “You will be the last runner. Wait here. In time, you will see a runner coming towards you, carrying a stick upon which a bright, red flower is growing. That is the fire. You must take the fire from the runner and run home as fast as you can.”
The group waded through mountain streams. They followed dark forest trails. Finally, they crossed a vast, parched plain towards the horizon that was hidden in a blue mist.
One by one, the runners were left behind. At the end of the hundredth day, Coyote and the boy stood at the foot of the great, black cone of the Burning Mountain. From its peak, there rose a plume of smoke. The Fire Spirits danced, and the flames glared red on the Big Water.
Coyote picked up a dry branch. “When you see me come back, be ready to run,” he said. Then he set off up the mountain.
The tired, dirty Coyote crept towards the Fire Spirits. They laughed to see this shabby, skinny, slinking creature, so hungry he was chewing on an old tree branch. They paid no more attention to him – which was exactly what Coyote wanted. The Fire Spirits continued their dance. Suddenly, Coyote leaped forwards and caught a bit of fire on the branch. The astonished Fire Spirits screamed in rage. Swift as the wind, they chased Coyote down the mountain.
Gasping for breath, Coyote reached the boy and handed him the burning branch. The boy ran, through the night and into the next day, with the Fire Spirits hissing and crackling behind him. Dizzy with exhaustion, the boy finally handed the flaming branch to the next runner.
And so the torch passed from one runner to the next. They sped over the parched plains and through the dark woods. Behind them, always, hissed the furious Fire Spirits. But when the Fire Spirits reached the snowy mountains, they could not go on. Fire cannot live on snow.
Finally, the last runner arrived at the Paiute lands with the burning branch. The people set up a ring of stones around the fire, as Coyote had told them. The fire blazed, and the people crowded about, marvelling at the light, warmth, and comfort it gave them.
In honour of his great achievement, the people named the boy Fire Bringer. And they remembered the bravery of Coyote, too.
Since then, every coyote’s fur has carried the dark scorch marks of the angry Fire Spirits who guard the Burning Mountain.
Picture Credit : Google