578 GAMES OF THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS | [eTH. any. 24 
row, of the fine things to be won by the men of his party, of the joy with which 
they will be received by their friends on their return from the field, and of the 
disappointment and defeat of their rivals. Throughout it all the women keep 
up the same minor refrain, like an instrumental accompaniment to vocal music. 
As Cherokee songs are always in the minor key, they have a plaintive effect, 
even when the sentiment is cheerful or even boisterous, and are calculated to ex- 
cite the mirth of one who understands the language. This impression is height- 
ened by the appearance of the dancers themselves, for the women shuffle solemnly 
back and forth all night long without ever a smile upon their faces, while the 
occasional laughter of the men seems half subdued. The monotonous repetition, 
too, is something intolerable to anyone but an Indian, the same words, to the 
same tune, being sometimes sung over and over again for a half hour or more. 
Although the singer improvises as he proceeds, many of the expressions have 
now become stereotyped and are used at almost every ball-play dance. 
According to a Cherokee myth, the animals once challenged the birds to a 
great ball play. The wager was accepted, the preliminaries were arranged, and 
at last the contestants assembled at the appointed spot—the animals on the 
ground, while the birds took position in the tree-tops to await the throwing up of 
the ball. On the side of the animals were the bear, whose ponderous weight 
bore down all opposition; the deer, who excelled all others in running; and the 
terrapin, who was invulnerable to the stoutest blows. On the side of the birds 
were the eagle, the hawk, and the great Tlaniwa—all noted for their swiftness 
and power of flight. While the latter were preening their feathers and watching 
eyery motion of their adversaries below, they noticed two small creatures, hardly 
larger than mice, climbing up the tree on which was perched the leader of the 
birds. Finally they reached the top and humbly asked the captain to be allowed 
to join in the game. The captain looked at them a moment, and, seeing that 
they were four-footed, asked them why they did not go to the animals where 
they properly belonged. The little things explained that they had done so, but 
had been laughed at and rejected on account of their diminutive size. On 
hearing their story the bird captain was disposed to take pity on them, but there 
was one serious difficulty in the way—how could they join the birds when they 
had no wings? The eagle, the hawk, and the rest now crowded around, and 
after some discussion it was decided to try and make wings for the little fellows. 
But how to do it! All at once, by a happy inspiration, one bethought himself 
of the drum which was to be used in the dance. The head was made of ground- 
hog leather, and perhaps a corner could be cut off and utilized for wings. No 
sooner suggested than done. Two pieces of leather taken from the drumhead 
were cut into shape and attached to the legs of one of the small animals, and 
thus originated Tlameha, the bat. The ball was now tossed up, and the bat 
was told to catch it, and his expertness in dodging and circling about, keeping 
the ball constantly in motion and never allowing it to fall to the ground, soon 
eonyineced the birds that they had gained a most valuable ally. They next 
turned their attention to the other little creature; and now behold a worse 
difficulty! All their leather had been used in making wings for the bat, and 
there was no time to send for more. In this dilemma it was suggested that 
perhaps wings might be made by stretching out the skin of the animal itself. 
So two large birds seized him from opposite sides with their strong bills, and 
by tugging and pulling at his fur for several minutes succeeded in stretching 
the skin between the fore and hind feet until at last the thing was done and 
there was Tewa, the flying squirrel. Then the bird captain, to try him, threw 
up the ball, when the flying squirrel, with a graceful bound, sprang off the limb 
and, catching it in his teeth, carried it through the air to another tree-top a 
hundred feet away. 
