"While you work tell us how the first baby basket was made," begged
Cleeta. The mother nodded; and as she wound and pressed closely the
moist chippa, and the cactus needle flew in and out with the creamy
kah-hoom or the black tsuwish, she told the story.

"When the mother of all made the basket for the first man child, she
used a rainbow for the wood of the back of the basket, with stars woven
in each side, and straight lightning down the middle in front. Sunbeams
shining on a far-away rain storm formed the fringe in front, where we
use strips of buckskin, and the carry straps were brightest sunbeams."

"Mother, you left out that the baby was wrapped in a soft purple cloud
from the mountains," said Cleeta.

"Yes, in a purple cloud of evening, wrapped so he could not move leg or
arm, but would grow straight and beautiful," said the mother.

For a long while the children watched in silence the patient fingers at
their work; then Gesnip asked, "Is it true, mother, that when you were a
little child your father and mother and many of your tribe died of
hunger?"

"It is true," replied Macana, sadly, "but who told you?"

"Old Cotopacnic, but I thought it was one of his dreams. Why were you
all so hungry?" asked the girl.

"Because the rain failed for three seasons. After a time there was no
grass, no acorns, the rabbits and deer died or wandered away, the
streams dried up so there were no fish, the ground became so dry that