Chapter VII: Part 7

The sweat-house was spreading out, growing gradually, growing all the time as the people came. A great many came that afternoon. The house extended now as far as the eye could see. Whenever new people came, Waida Dikit would blow and say, "I wish this house to be larger!" And the house stretched, became wider and longer and higher. In the evening great crowds were there already.

Kinus and the rest talked all night and the next day. "Nobody can go to Waida Werris, Patkilis, and Sedit. That was what they said."

They asked all present, and each answered, "I cannot go to them." They talked and talked. At last one man said to another, "Let's ask that Lutchi Herit over there; maybe he can go." A third said, "Yes, let's ask him." And the three said to Waida Dikit, "Ask that little man; perhaps he can go." "He is small," said Waida Dikit, "but I will ask him." He went up to Lutchi, touched him on the shoulder, and asked,--

"My grandson, can you do something for me? You are small, but I am asking you."

Lutchi said nothing; just raised his brows, which meant "Yes." As soon as he did this, Waida Dikit put his hand under his arm and took out a kunluli (a delicate blue flower that grows near the water), and gave it to Lutchi. Lutchi took it in his open palm, looked at it, rubbed it between his two hands, spat on it, and made a paste which was a beautiful blue paint. Then he rubbed his face, arms, breast--he became blue all over (to this day Lutchi is blue, he was white before). He went out among the people then, and said,--

"People, look at me! What do I look like? Haven't I a nice color now?"

"You are beautiful," said the people. "You look well."

It was at the point of daybreak. They could see just a bit of light. When he was ready to start, Lutchi said,--

"I don't know how far it is, but if I go to those places I shall be back here at sunrise. If they are very far away, I shall be here when the sun is as high as the tree-tops."

"Do you think you will be back by sunrise?" asked Kinus. "Those places are very far away."

"I know they are far away," said Lutchi.

"I have been all over the world," added Kinus. "I was gone a long time, but those places are farther away than any spot where I have been."

"Ho! Now I am going!" said Lutchi; and he darted straight up into the sky, next down, and up and down again. Then he called out,--

"How do you like that? Do you think I can go to those people? This is the way I travel."

He shot away east and returned. Then he went west and came back in a twinkle. Next he turned north and was gone. He had never travelled through the air before. Till that morning he had always walked on the ground, just as we do now. He went straight to Waida Werris's house and went in. It was dazzling there, and seemed to him just as bright as daylight seems to a man coming out of a dark place.

Lutchi saw some one inside, who was young and beautiful. He could not look at his face, it was so bright. There were two brothers in the house. The younger was Waiti, the elder Waida Werris. Waiti never left the house; never went abroad or wandered, stayed at home all the time.

"I have come," said Lutchi, "to invite you to meet people from all the world at a flute-playing in Waida Dikit's sweat-house."

"I will go," said Waida Werris. He knew all that was going on. He had seen it while travelling early, before daylight.

"I am going now," said Lutchi to Waida Werris. And as soon as he was outside he rushed off toward the west, came back, rose in the air, came down, and then shot away, like a lightning flash, eastward to find Patkilis and Sedit. Soon he was in the east, where the sky comes to the earth. He took a sky stick, which he had brought with him, pried up the sky, raised it a little, and then he went under to the other side. When the sky came down again behind him and struck the earth, it made an awful noise which was heard over the world. The whole world shook. All the people at Waida Dikit's heard the noise and wondered.

"What can that be?" asked they. "What awful noise is that?" Waida Dikit knew what the noise was, but he never told any one.

Lutchi went straight east from the other side of the sky, and never stopped till he found Patkilis and Sedit. They were in another world, another sky came down to their world, and they lived almost at the edge of that second sky. Lutchi went into their sweat-house. They were sitting just inside the door, one at one side, the other at the other; the door was on the east side. When Lutchi had sat a little while, Sedit rose and said,--

"My grandson, which way have you come?"

"I come here for you and Patkilis," answered Lutchi. "Waida Dikit sent me to invite you to a flute-playing at his sweat-house. Nobody else could come to you, so he asked me to come."

"We are glad," answered they. "We will go. You go ahead. But how shall we pass the sky?"

"I will wait at the edge for you," said Lutchi; and he went on.

When Sedit and Patkilis were ready, Sedit said, "I wish this road on which I must travel to be short, very short."

They started, and found the road so short that Lutchi was waiting at the edge of the sky only a little while when they were with him. Lutchi pried up the sky a second time, and the three passed under to the western side. Again there was an awful noise, and the whole world trembled.

"Now I am going quickly; you can move as you like," said Lutchi. He went west like a flash, and just as the sun was peeping over the mountains he was back at Waida Dikit's.

"Have you heard what is going on in this world that makes such a noise?" asked Waida Dikit. "These people heard an awfully big noise."

"That was my travelling," said Lutchi. "Kinus, whom you sent first, could not go to those three people. I went. They are on the road, and will be here in a few days."

All the people heard this and were glad.

"Now we shall hear great music," said they.

While travelling along together, Patkilis spoke to Sedit and advised him. "When we are in Waida Dikit's house," said he, "don't talk much. Sit down like a wise man and look on; be silent; don't act like a little boy."

Sedit was talking all the time. He told Patkilis what he was going to do. He would do this and do that, he said.

Two days passed, and the two men had not come. On the third day, near the middle of the forenoon, people saw a beautiful little arrow come down just by the door of the sweat-house,--a bright arrow. When it struck the ground, it made a grating noise, and they said,--

"That is a nice arrow. Who sent such an arrow?" And all liked it.

There were crowds of people in the sweat-house. Some of them wanted the arrow. "Let's pull it up!" said they, "and see who made it;" but Waida Dikit would not let them touch it. "Let it stay where it is. Do not touch it," said he, for he knew that it was Patkilis's arrow, and that it meant: "I am coming. I shall be there soon."

While the people were talking about the arrow, two men swept in through the door. No one saw their faces or their heads, just their legs and shadows.

"Give them room, let them in," said Waida Dikit.

"Where can they sit?" asked Tsaroki.

"Give each a place on the east side," said Waida Dikit.

The two, Patkilis and Sedit, went to the east side and sat down. Nobody had seen Waida Werris come, but he was in the house.

When leaving home that morning, Waida Werris said to Waiti, his brother,--

"You will stay and keep house, as you do always. You will be here, but you will see me all the time, you will see me night and day. Watch me; they will do other things there besides playing on flutes."

Patkilis and Sedit asked Waida Dikit if Waida Werris had come.

"I do not know where he is," replied the old man. "No one has seen him."

"Oh, he will not come," said many people. "What kind of a person is Waida Werris? He is nobody. What do we want of him?"

Waida Werris was sitting there all the time listening. Waida Dikit knew well what kind of person he was, but said nothing. That night after all invited people had come, Waida Dikit said:

"Listen, all you people here present. I have called this gathering to find who is the best flute-player, who can make the best music in this world. Let us begin. Let each play alone."

Tsaroki began the trial. "I will begin," said he to his brother Hawt, "then let the others play. You can play when you like."

"I am satisfied," said Hawt. "I will play last."

"That is well," answered Tsaroki. "I will play first, all will follow, and you may play last."

Tsaroki began. He played a little while, not long; played well. Kanhlalas played next. All liked his music. Watwut Kiemila played third; played splendidly.

"Go ahead and play, all you people," said Waida Dikit.

Tsileu Herit played best up to his time, played till almost morning, till just before daylight. The inside of the sweat-house had become red, and some asked,--

"Why is it red everywhere inside the sweat-house?"

"We do not know," answered others; "something makes it red."

One man went up to Waida Dikit and asked, "Why is it red inside the sweat-house?"

"I will tell you. Do you see Tsileu Herit there? Well, he has been playing all night, the breath is gone out of him, he is all red, and the whole sweat-house is red from him."

About daylight Tsileu stopped, and then it grew as dark as in a house when a fire is put out in the night. Now Tsaik played all day, and at sundown the sweat-house was blue, for Tsaik had grown blue.

All played to see who could play best. Every kind of people played. When any one was out of breath, he stopped playing, and received a new color. When Murope lost breath, he was spotted. When Handokmit lost breath, he became striped. Patkilis played three nights and two days, and when he gave out after sundown, he was roan. Wai Hau played five nights, and at sunrise the fifth morning he was red. Kiriu Herit played five nights, and at the middle of the sixth night he was black, and his breath gone.

And so for many days and nights they played, one person after another, till one night all had finished except Hawt. Hawt was the last to play. All were asleep now. All had lost breath, and received new colors. Tsaroki went to his brother on the north side of the house, and said,--

"Begin, my brother; over near the fire there is a place for you; go under the ground, and when you come out, you will play."

Hawt went under the ground, and came out near the fireplace. He lay on his back and began to play. He had two rows of holes in his body, one on each side; he fingered these holes, drew in air through his nostrils, and sent it out through the holes in both sides. Hawt was playing on his own body. At first, all the people were asleep, except one person, Tsudi Herit. Tsudi heard Hawt, and he heard, as in a doze, wonderful sounds. He listened a long time, thinking it a dream. When Tsudi found that he was not sleeping, he shook the man next him, and said,--

"Wake up, wake up! Who is playing? All have played, but I have never heard music like this. Many have played here, but no one played in this way."

The person he roused was Hus. Hus said nothing, he was old and nearly bald, he took a pipe and began to smoke. Tsudi roused other people, one after another.

"Wake up, rise, sit up; listen to the music somebody is playing."

They woke, one after another. "Who is playing?" asked one. "Who is it?" asked another. "We have played many days and nights, but no one played like that. All have their own flutes. Who can this be?"

At last some one said: "I know who is playing. It is Hawt."

"How could Hawt play?" asked others. "Whose flute has Hawt? He has none of his own. Each of us brought a flute, but Hawt brought none. Whose flute has he now?"

Every one heard the wonderful music, and every one said, "We should like to see the man who plays in this way."

It was night, and dark in the sweat-house. All began to say how much they wanted light to see who was playing. Waida Werris was lying back in the east half of the sweat-house, and heard every word. He, too, wanted to look at the player. He sat up, pulled one hair out of his beard, gave it to Tsudi, and said,--

"Go down near that man who is playing, and hold up this hair so that people may see him."

Tsudi took the hair and went along quietly. No one heard him. He held the hair over Hawt's head, and there was a light from it that filled the whole house. It was as bright as day there. All the people were seen sitting up, each hugging his flute. No man would lend his flute to any one else in the world for any price. All were looking toward the spot whence the music came. In the light they saw a man lying on his back with his arms across his breast, but they could not see that he was doing anything. He had no flute, he made no motion with his mouth, for he fingered his sides as he would a flute, and made the music by drawing in air through his nostrils, and sending it out through the holes in his sides.

Tsudi held up Waida Werris's single hair, and people watched Hawt to see how he made the beautiful music. He was lying on his back making wonderful sounds. He played the music of Tsaik's song, of Waida Werris's song, of Tsaroki's song. They could hear the music, but there was no motion of Hawt's mouth and they could not see his fingers play. He gave the music of Patkilis's song and of Sedit's. He gave the music of the songs of all people in the sweat-house.

"Hawt has beaten the world!" cried the assembly. "He can do more than we can; we yield, we are silent. Hawt is the best player in the world! No one can play as he plays!"

Hawt gave his own music next. No one knew that music but him, no one could play it but him. There was no other music so loud and strong, no other music so soft and low.

When the people had watched Hawt a long time and listened a long time, he stopped. All cried out then,--

"Hawt is the one great musician, the only great player on earth!"

Tsudi put down the hair and all were in the dark. He carried the hair back and gave it to Waida Werris.

People began to talk and ask one another: "Where did that light come from; whose is it?" One said Tsudi had it; another said, "No, he never had a light like that." "Who gave it to him?" asked a third. "Some one must have given it to Tsudi. Let us ask him about this."

Here and there people said: "Only Waida Werris could make such a light. What kind of person is Waida Werris? We should like to see Waida Werris."

"I have never seen Waida Werris, but I have heard people tell how nice looking he is, and that he can be seen from afar," said Patkilis. "If he were here he might make such a light, but he is not here, or we should all see him right away."

Waida Werris was lying near them, and heard all they said.

"Let us ask Waida Dikit," said Karkit Kiemila, a big man, lying on the west side, facing Waida Werris; and he began to talk to Waida Dikit.

"The people wish to see Waida Werris," said he. "You have invited all people in the world, and you have invited him. What will you do? Is he here? Will you let every one see him?"

"Oh, no," said one old man. "Waida Werris is bad. I don't want to see him." "We have heard that he is good," said others. "We want to see him." So they were divided.

Waida Werris smoked a while in silence. At last Waida Dikit bent toward Patkilis and Sedit and asked,--

"What do you think, shall I let people see Waida Werris or not?"

"They want to see him," answered the two. "You have invited them and invited him. If people wish to see Waida Werris, let them see him."

"Where shall I let them see him?"

"Let all the people go outside the sweat-house," said Patkilis, "and stand in two long rows, one on each side of the door, and let Waida Werris go out between them. If he goes out, every one can look at him; only a few would see him inside the house."

"Very well," answered Waida Dikit. "Now all you people go outside the house."

Tsaroki opened the door, and went out first. All followed, each saying as he went, "It is dark: we shall not see Waida Werris."

"You can see him in the dark," said Waida Dikit. "Join hands, all of you, and go around to the north side of the sweat-house."

"Go you," said Waida Dikit to Tsudi, "and search inside. Tell me when all the people are out."

Tsudi searched everywhere. "All have gone out," said he.

Waida Dikit closed the door and said: "Some of you people are sleepy, but wake up, open your eyes, be ready to see--look north."

"What can we do here? Why did we come out in the dark?" asked a certain Chirchihas. "We can see nothing at this time of night;" and, turning to Lutchi, he asked: "Have you seen him, or his brother? What sort of a place do they live in?"

"I cannot tell you now; you will see him soon."

"Be ready, all of you," said Waida Dikit. "Look north."

All looked. There was a pointed mountain not far away, and straight out before them. They saw a small light rising till it reached the top of that mountain; there it settled, and soon it seemed near them, just a few steps from the faces of the people. That was Waida Werris. The place around was as if in daylight. All could see him; all looked at him.

"Now, you people, there is Waida Werris before you; do you see him?"

"We see him."

"Hereafter all people will see him there in the north, as you see him now," said Waida Dikit. "Come back to the sweat-house, all of you."

Tsaroki opened the door, and all went in. "We will talk," said the old man, "then eat, and after that separate."

Day had come--there was light in the sweat-house. They heard some one coming, and soon they saw an old woman in the door. This was Tunhlucha Pokaila. She would not go in, but stood a while holding in both hands two beautiful baskets of water. These she put down at the door, looked in, and went away. Waida Dikit took the baskets, put them on the ground north of the fire, and said,--

"Here is a little water, but come all and use it,--wash."

The old woman was Waida Dikit's sister; she lived north of her brother's, not far away. There was a rock at that place, with a spring in it. The rock was her house. Water rose in that rock to the surface and went into the earth again in another part of the same house. The old woman had two baskets; the smaller one held water for drinking, the larger one water for washing. Great crowds of people drank from the smaller basket and washed from the other; each used what he needed, the water never grew less; it remained the same always in quantity.

"Have all washed and drunk?" asked Waida Dikit.

"We have all washed and drunk."

The old man removed the baskets, and set out two others which the old woman had just brought,--one of cooked venison, and another a very small basket of acorn porridge. He put the baskets in the middle of the sweat-house and said,--

"Now, all people, I ask you to eat."

"I will try that food," said Karkit. He went and ate. Next Hus ate, then Yipokos. Now these three men ate deer meat since that time, and will always find meat by the smell,--this was the first time they ate venison. Tsihl and Wima, called also Bohemba, ate all they could from the little basket, yet the food was not less by one bit. Patit ate plenty. Hus ate, and so did Sedit. All ate as much as they could; still each basket was full. The food grew no less. Waida Dikit kept saying,--

"You people, here is food. I do not need it. Come and eat what there is."

He sent Tsudi around to ask each man if he had eaten. All said they had eaten till Tsudi went half around, when he found one man, Memtulit, who said that he had not eaten, but was willing to eat.

"I will eat if I see anything good," said he.

"Well, go and eat," said Tsudi.

"What kind of food have you?"

"Venison and acorn porridge."

"I do not eat that kind of food."

"Here is a man who has not eaten," said Tsudi; "he cannot eat that food."

Farther on was found Kiriu, who had not eaten, and a third, a very young man, Tsararok. "I should like to eat," said he, "but I am timid. There are so many people here eating."

"What kind of food do you eat, Kiriu?" asked Tsudi.

"I cannot eat venison. I eat what lives in the water." The other two men said the same.

Waida Dikit went to his old house, where he had dried fish. He caught besides a net full of little fish. He cooked both kinds and carried them to the sweat-house, set them down in the middle, and said, "Now come and eat."

Memtulit ate, so did Kiriu. Tsararok came after a while. He began to eat the little fish, didn't see the other kind; this is why Tsararok likes small fish to this day.

The old man asked again, "Have all eaten?"

"We have," answered all.

There was as much food in the two baskets as at first, and the old man put them outside the house. Sedit saw this, and was angry. He said that people should leave nothing.

"Don't talk so," said Patkilis. "What is done is right."

"You are all free to stay longer," said Waida Dikit, "but I suppose that you wish to go home, I suppose you are in a hurry."

"Why should we go so soon?" asked Sedit. "The people from the west might tell us what they know; we ought to tell them something."

"Keep quiet, Sedit," said Patkilis. "I told you not to talk. There are many big men here, better men than you, but they don't talk. Waida Dikit says that we have stayed long enough; that is what he means; you ought to know it. He spoke as he did because he wished to say something nice to us and be friends; but you must keep still."

A man on the west side rose now and came toward the middle of the house, near the fire, stood there, looked about, and spat on the ground. All the people saw him spit, and in an instant they saw a small basket rise out of the spittle. Inside the basket were acorns of mountain live oak. This man was Patit. He went back to his place and lay down. Waida Dikit set the basket in the middle of the sweat-house, picked out an acorn, ate it, and said,--

"People, come and eat. My friend Patit has made this for you,--this is his food."

They never had acorns of that kind till then. Nop came first to the basket to eat, and to this day he is fond of acorns. Then Tsihl and Wima and Tichelis and Tsudi and Tsaik went to the basket and ate, and all are fond of acorns now. No matter how many they took from the basket, the acorns were none the less.

Sedit sat back ill-natured; he wanted them to eat all the acorns. Waida Dikit put the basket outside.

Tsihl rose now, went to the place where Patit had spat, and put an empty basket on the ground. He untied a wide strap, or braid of grass, which he wore around his wrist, and held down his hand. Something flowed out of it, like water, till the basket was filled. Then he tied up his wrist again. The basket was full of seeds of sugar pine. Waida Dikit ate of them; then called all to eat. People came and ate all they wanted. The basket was as full as before. Sedit was very angry.

Hau came forward and put down a stone cup. He held his ear over it, scratched the ear, and out came a stream of manzanita berries. These were the first manzanita. No one had ever seen those berries in the world before. Waida Dikit ate a handful of the berries and sat down--said nothing. All the people hurried to eat, crowded around the cup, ate as long as they were able, but could not decrease the berries. Presently Waida Dikit began to itch. He did not know what troubled him. Soon spots came out all over his body--red, yellow, and black. This was because he had eaten the berries. His spirit was afraid of what he had eaten. His spirit did not wish that he should eat berries, they were not his kind of food; and that was why the spots came out on him. It was his spirit's fear that brought out the spots, and he has been spotted ever since. He ate not because he wished, but because he was master of the house. It was for him to taste everything, or people would think it bad food.

Now Wima came, put down a basket, and untied a white wristband which he wore, held his hand down, and wild plums dropped into the basket and filled it.

This time Waida Dikit sent Tichelis to taste the plums and set out the basket. People ate, but there were as many plums as before.

These different kinds of food were given to the world for the first time then, and this is why we have them now.

Tsaik came to the middle of the sweat-house. He tapped the ground with his nose, and out came a great pile of acorns.

Sedit had eaten as much as he could, and was angry because any was put away. He kept saying to Patkilis, "I don't like that."

"Sedit," answered Patkilis, "I have warned you against talking so much. Don't you know that after a while all the new kind of people, the people to come, will use food in this way, eat what they want, and put the rest away?"

"You people have talked and been friendly," said Waida Dikit. "This is the food we need; this will be our only food hereafter."

"Well," said Kanhlalas, standing up, "I think we have almost finished. If we stay here too long, some bad people may see us and talk about what we are doing."

Others said: "Yes, we have given all the food we have. If this gathering lasts longer, bad people may find us and make trouble."

"That is true," said the assembly; "let us part."

"We will part," said Waida Dikit. "I am going to my old house and will stay there forever. If salmon come up the Wini Mem, they will come as far as my house and go back."

Next morning all set out for their homes. Tsihl changed his mind on the road, and went back to Tede Puyuk, where he found that all had gone except Sedit, Patkilis, Nop, and Hau. These four were outside the sweat-house, and Tsihl said,--

"We have come back to look at this place again; it pleases us."

They stayed awhile, travelled through the country, and when Olelbis sent people down here, coyotes, jack rabbits, deer, red-foxes, and black bear came to Tede Puyuk, and there were many of them ever after around that whole country.

NORWANCHAKUS AND KERIHA

PERSONAGES

After each name is given that of the creature or thing unto which the personage was changed subsequently.

=Eltuluma=, ----; =Hubit=, wasp; =Kériha=, ----; =Kuntihlé=, a small bird unknown; =Lasaswa=, large spider; =Nodal Mónoko=, ----; =Norwanchakus=, ----; =Norwinte=, ----; =Patkilis=, jack rabbit; =Pawnit=, kangaroo rat; =Pom Norwanen Pitchen=, daughter of the Southern Border, the same as =Norwan=; =Puriwa=, dark; =Supchit=, ----; =Sanihas=, daylight; =Tsaik=, blue jay; =Tsiwihl=, blue-breasted lizard; =Waida Werris=, polar star.

* * * * *

The two brothers Norwanchakus and Keriha were on this earth before any place or thing had a name. When Olelbis took the sky pole and made a deep furrow from the foot of Bohem Puyuk to the lower valley, and a river came, the two brothers were at the end of the furrow and started toward the north. Norwanchakus was the elder; Keriha was very small.

When the brothers started, they could not see well. There was no sun then; there was only a kind of dim twilight. Waida Werris was in the sky, and saw the brothers. Fish had got into all rivers now from the southern pond, where Kuntihle Herit had caught the first fish.

"There are fish in the river," said Keriha; "let us catch some. Let us take a net up the river and come down with it."

"We have no net, and there is no light; we cannot see anything," said the elder brother.

"Go, my brother," said Keriha, "to where the sky comes down on the northwest; go out under it. You will find there the plant kúruti; bring it."

"I cannot go there," said Norwanchakus; "you go, my brother."

Keriha went through the air quickly; brought the plant--brought all there was.

"We must have more," said Norwanchakus.

"Well, go and get it," answered Keriha. "It grows beyond the sky in the southwest."

"I cannot go there; go you," said the elder brother.

Keriha went beyond the sky on the southeast; found plenty of kúruti. The elder brother made strings of the fibre.

"I am in a hurry to fish," said Keriha. "You are slow, my brother."

"Go straight east beyond the sky," said the other, "and get ash wood while I am making a net."

Keriha brought the ash. Norwanchakus had the net made, and now he fixed the ash stick.

"My brother," said Keriha, "we cannot see anything. How can we fish? There are people around us in the world, perhaps, but we have no good light to find them."

There was a kind of dim light all the time. The two brothers started, came north as far as Nomlopi, opposite Pas Puisono, and sat down.

Keriha heard voices in the north and asked, "Do you hear shouting?"

"No; I hear nothing," answered Norwanchakus.

"Let us go toward the shouting," said Keriha.

They went to a place about six miles beyond the river, where they found a sweat-house.

"These are the first people we have seen," said Keriha. "We shall call this place Tsarau Heril." They stood near the door of the sweat-house.

"Oh, my brother," said a big man who saw them and came to the door.

"Yes," said Keriha, "you are our brother, you are Norwinte."

Another came and said, "Oh, my brother!"

"You are our brother, too," said Keriha; "you are Eltuluma."

"It is dark. We do not know what to do," said Norwinte.

"And we do not know," answered Keriha.

"Not far from here are more people," said Norwinte. "Let us send to them to come here. Perhaps we may learn what to do."

Norwinte sent a messenger to the north. He brought a new person soon, a good-looking man; and when this stranger had talked a while he said, "There is a person in the southeast who can help us."

"Will you bring him here?" asked Norwinte.

"I cannot go there," said the stranger.

"You go, Keriha," said Norwanchakus. "No one can go there but you."

Keriha went, and was not long gone. He brought back Patkilis.

"My brother Patkilis, do you know of any more people anywhere?"

"I know of no more people. I have seen none; but in the far east I hear shouting, with dancing and singing."

"Well, my brother, I wish you would go and see what kind of people are making that noise there."

"I will go," said Patkilis. "I don't think it is very far from here to where they are."

Patkilis was gone a long time. When he came back, he said: "I saw many people, but they did not see me. There is a hill beyond the sky in the east. On the northern slope of it are houses. On the southern slope there are houses, also. A river flows from this hill westward. South of the hill every one is dancing. I went into the houses on the north side. All were empty except one. In the middle house of the village I found a blind boy. I looked around and saw much in the house. 'Why have you so many things here?' asked I of the boy. 'What are they good for? I live on the other side. We haven't such things in our houses.' He said nothing. I talked a long time to him, asked many questions, but got no answer. All he said was, 'My people have gone to dance.' There were piles of acorns inside and outside, great baskets of them put around everywhere. I sat down. 'What is this?' asked I. 'What is that? What is in those baskets there?' 'Oh, something,' said the blind boy; and that was all the answer he made. There were many bags, all full of something. I saw two small bags hanging in the house, and they were very full. 'What is in those small bags that are so full?' asked I. 'Can you tell me, little boy?' 'Why do you want to know everything?' asked the blind boy. I asked about those two bags in different ways, but he wouldn't tell me for a long time. I teased him and teased him to tell. 'You want to know everything,' said he, at last; 'I will tell you. In one is Puriwa.' 'Well, what is in the other bag? Tell me. You have told about one, now tell about the other.' He thought a while and asked, 'Why do you want to know so much? Sanihas is in the other bag.' He would tell no more, and I came away."

When Patkilis had told all this, Keriha said, after thinking a while: "This is the best news that we have heard in this world yet; some one of us ought to go there. We must bring those two bags here. If we open one, the world will be dark; if we open the other, there will be daylight. Those acorns, too, are good. You must send some one for those two bags."

"There is a man up north here, Pawnit. He could go; send for him," said Patkilis.

They sent for him, and he came. They told him what they wanted.

"I can go for those things," said he, "but I don't like to go alone. My brothers, you bring a man here who lives up north, Tsaik. He is blind of one eye."

When Tsaik came and heard about the acorns, he said: "I should like to have them; they are good. If I go, I will take the acorns, and you can bring the two bags," said he to Pawnit. "When you come to that hill in the east," said Patkilis to Pawnit, "you will see many houses on the north side of it, and many on the south, where people are dancing; but go to the north, and right in the middle of the village you will see a big house, with the door toward the south. When you go in, don't let the blind boy know that there are two of you. Let one talk to him while the other takes the bags. The one talking will make him believe that he came from the south side of the hill, where people are dancing. When you are going in through the door, you will see the two bags right opposite, both smooth and very full. Get those bags, so that we can see what kind of place this is. We want plenty of light. We want darkness, too, so that there may not be too much light."

Pawnit and Tsaik started off on their journey. How long the journey lasted no one knows. They went beyond the sky and reached the eastern hill, they saw the villages south and north of it, and heard a great noise of dancing at the south. They went to the northern village, found the big house in the middle of it, and stopped before the door.

"Go in," said Tsaik. "I will stay outside. I have a strap. I am going to carry away the acorn baskets. You go in. I will stay here and tie them together."

Pawnit went in and sat down on the west side. The blind boy was lying on the east side.

"Well, blind boy," said Pawnit, "I am cold. I have been dancing. I have come here to warm myself."

"I should like to know why you people come here while there is dancing at the other side," said the blind boy.

Pawnit made no answer, but went out to see what Tsaik was doing. "Where are you, Tsaik?" asked he.

"I am here making ready to carry acorns," answered Tsaik.

Just then they saw some one near them. "Who is this?" asked Pawnit.

"I am here," said Patkilis. "Come, Pawnit, you and I will go in and get the two bags. You, Tsaik, take the acorns."

Tsaik put a big load on his back and started on, while the others were in the house. Patkilis took daylight, and Pawnit took darkness. As soon as they were outside the house, the blind boy stood up and screamed,--

"Who was that? Some one has stolen something!"

He felt for the bags, then ran out and screamed,--

"Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas! Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas! Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas!"

The people who were dancing heard him and said, "Some one is screaming!" Then they heard plainly,--

"Some one has stolen Puriwa and Sanihas! They have run west with them!"

When they heard this, the dancers stopped dancing and ran west. Soon they saw the three men racing off with the bags.

They saw Tsaik far ahead with a pack of acorns on his back. They could see him a long way, for the pack was a big one. Pawnit and Patkilis carried their bags in their hands. The people ran fast and shouted to each other,--

"Catch them! Catch them! Do your best! Head them off! Surround them!"

They could not overtake Tsaik. He went through under the sky before they could come up.

When Pawnit and Patkilis were rising from under the edge of the sky, those behind were ready to seize Pawnit and would have caught him, but he tore open the mouth of his bag, and that instant thick darkness spread everywhere. No one could see; all were as if blind in one moment.

The eastern people had to stop. They could follow no farther. Patkilis knew the country west of the sky, and he and Pawnit stumbled on, came along slowly in the dark, and groped westward a good while. At last Patkilis opened his bag, and that moment daylight went out of it. They could see a great distance; they were very glad now, travelled quickly, and were soon at Norwinte's.

Keriha and Norwanchakus lived for a time with Norwinte (it is unknown how long), and then took their net and went up the river to fish downward. They went up Bohema Mem and Pui Mem as far as Panti Tsarau.

"Let us fish down from this, my brother," said Keriha. "I will hold the end of the net stick that goes out in the river, so that I may take the fish quickly when they are caught. You can go along the bank."

They fished down to Nomlupi, and Keriha named all the places as he and his brother came down. He gave them the names which they have now, the names by which we Wintus call them. The first place below Panti Tsarau was Lorus Pom and Keriha left no place unnamed between Panti Tsarau and Nomlupi. They stopped at Nomlupi, built a brush house there, and lived some time in it.

One day the two brothers went to Norwanbuli to the great sweat-house where the woman Pom Norwanen Pitchen or Norwan lived.

"My brother, you must not make this woman angry," said Norwanchakus, when they were near Norwanbuli. "This is a very powerful woman; she has a great deal of food, a great deal to eat, but you must not take anything; eat nothing except what she gives; don't talk much; do just what I tell you."

"I will do what you tell me," said Keriha.

They went in at the south side of Norwanbuli, and stopped east of the door. Norwanchakus sat down, and held Keriha between his knees. The woman put her hand behind her, took acorn bread, held it toward the brothers, and said,--

"Take this, you two men, eat it, and then go away."

"This woman has a great deal to eat," said Keriha. "Let's stay here a while with her. Let's not go away, my brother."

"Be still," whispered Norwanchakus. "Don't talk."

"My brother, I'm hungry. Tell her to give us more bread. This isn't enough."

Norwanchakus barely tasted the bread, but Keriha ate with great relish. "Now, my brother," said Norwanchakus, "we must go. I will carry you." He put his brother on his back, drew Keriha's arms around his own neck closely, and started. When they were almost out of the house, Keriha began to struggle and kick.

"Let me go, my brother," said he, "let me go!"

Norwanchakus held him firmly. Keriha pulled and pulled till he got his right arm free. At the door was a large basket of acorns. He seized a handful of those and kept them. Norwanchakus went out, and when a short distance from the house he felt the ground swaying, rising, and falling. He stopped and saw the earth open around him and sink slowly. Then he made one great spring and came down on Bohem Buli. He was barely on that mountain when it began to crack, and he was sinking again. He made a second leap, and came down far away southwest.

Keriha dropped the acorns, and the earth stopped opening that moment. The brothers stayed some time in the southwest, then went to Tsik Tepji. This was a strong eddy of the river in which it was easy to catch salmon. They made a brush hut at the river bank, and a house not far from the river, on a hill. Norwanchakus caught a great many salmon, and Keriha ate and ate; he ate all the time and never grew larger. Norwanchakus scarcely ate anything. One morning Keriha was in the house while his brother was fishing. A stranger came, a very small man, no larger than a boy five years old. Keriha looked at him, then jumped up and ran to his brother.

"Oh, my brother," said he, "some one has come to our house." Norwanchakus said nothing.

"There is some one at our house," repeated Keriha.

"Did he say anything?" asked Norwanchakus.

"No."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't like him, he is so little."

"Never mind, go back and give him something to eat; call him uncle."

Keriha went back and stared at the stranger. After a while the little man looked up and asked,--

"Why do you look at me so? I left a small bag of roots north of the house. Would you bring it here? The roots are very good to eat."

Keriha went. The bag was small. There were roots in one corner of it, not many. He snatched at the bag, but could not lift it; he tried with both hands, couldn't stir it; tried every way, couldn't move it; scratched his arms and legs in trying, left the bag, and went back without it.

"I cannot lift that bag," said he to the little man. "How did you bring it, you are so small?"

The stranger, who was Nodal Monoko, went out, brought the bag to the house in one hand, and put it down outside. Norwanchakus knew who the stranger was, and he brought up a great sturgeon. Keriha cooked the fish, put it down before their guest, and said, "Eat this."

The little man said nothing, waited till the fish was cool, then raising it to his mouth in one hand, he swallowed all at a mouthful.

Keriha cooked for the little man all the forenoon, while Norwanchakus was fishing. About midday their wood was nearly all burned.

"My uncle," said Keriha, "we are going to cook a great deal of fish. Would you help me and bring wood?"

The little man said nothing.

"My uncle, will you bring wood for me?" asked Keriha.

The stranger sat a while, then went out to a mountain, took the largest dry trees, pulled them up by the roots with one hand, put a great many in a pile, and tore up two young green trees; with these he bound the dry ones, and took them on his shoulder to Keriha.

Now Keriha saw what kind of person the little man was. He cooked salmon and sturgeon till midnight without stopping, and still the little man was hungry. Keriha cooked fish the whole night, and Nodal Monoko ate till daylight.

Norwanchakus came up from the river next morning and said to the little man, who looked as if he had eaten nothing,--

"My uncle, you wish to go home, I suppose. If you want fish, fill your bag; it will hold a couple of good ones. The fish did not come up last night very well, but I can give you enough to fill your bag."

So saying, Norwanchakus went back to the fishing-place. Nodal Monoko went out and emptied his bag. When the roots were thrown out, there was a pile of them many times higher and bigger than the house. It covered all the open space, while some roots rolled down the hillside and fell into the river.

Nodal Monoko's bag would hold mountains. He could put the whole world into it. Nodal took his bag to the river, where Norwanchakus had been fishing all night, and saw salmon in piles there.

"Take all the salmon you can," said Norwanchakus.

The stranger put two hundred salmon in one corner of his bag, two hundred more in the other, two hundred in the middle--all large fish--and the bottom of the bag was hardly covered. He twisted the top of the bag then, and tied it. Nodal Monoko had a beaver-skin quiver. In this he was carrying five great baskets of acorns, each basket holding three bushels, and these acorns filled only the very tip of the beaver tail.

He went down to the river to swim across.

"He cannot cross the river with that bag and quiver," said Keriha.

At the edge of the water Nodal Monoko took the bag and quiver in one hand, and swam across with the other.

The two brothers stayed fishing at Tsik Tepji till a day when Keriha said, "Let us go up the river, my brother." They went to Bohem Tehil and stopped at a large tree. Keriha hung a salmon on a limb of it. "I will watch this fish," said he "I'll see if Hubit comes here to eat it."

He watched that day from dawn till dark; no one came. He watched five days more; no one. Five other days, and five days more, and then five days,--twenty-one in all; he saw no one.

Next morning he was waiting, when all at once he heard a noise, and looking he saw Hubit come from the west and go to the salmon. Norwanchakus sat some distance away, watching Keriha.

"Oh, my brother," cried Keriha, "Hubit has come. He is at the salmon. What shall I do? I want to know where Hubit lives, I want to see his house. I must follow him."

"My brother," answered Norwanchakus, "you say that you know more than I. You think that you know everything. You must know what to do with Hubit."

"Oh, my brother," said Keriha, "do not tease me. Tell me quickly what I am to do with Hubit."

"Go straight south to a level place, get a pawit, and bring it. I will watch Hubit while you are gone."

Keriha brought some pawit quickly. "Now what shall I do?"

"Stick one tuft in the salmon's tail, and fasten it well," said Norwanchakus. "Let Hubit carry off the fish. You can see the tuft far away, and follow."

Keriha fastened the tuft to the salmon, gave the fish to Hubit, and watched. Hubit wouldn't bite, wouldn't taste. Keriha tried all day to make him taste the salmon, tried a second day, tried five days. Hubit wouldn't even bite it. On the sixth day Keriha said,--

"Hubit, why are you here? I thought you came to eat salmon, but now you will not taste it."

Keriha talked five days more to Hubit, ten days in all. "Hubit, I wish you would eat some fish and take home the rest." Hubit made no answer.

Five days more Keriha teased him, and then five days longer, twenty days in all.

"Hubit," said Keriha on the twenty-first day, "tell me what you are going to do; I'd like to know;" and he pushed him. Not a word from Hubit. "Are you asleep or dead?" asked Keriha. "Hubit, you make me so angry that I want to kill you."

All these days Keriha had watched Hubit from daylight till dark, giving him no chance to steal the fish, and Hubit wanted salmon so much that he would not go without it. Norwanchakus sat watching Keriha.

"My brother," said Keriha, "I cannot make that Hubit take the salmon; what shall I do? Tell me."

Norwanchakus said nothing.

"I am getting angry. If you cannot tell me what to do, I will kill Hubit to-morrow."

"Why kill Hubit? You have teased him a long time; tease him a little longer. How will you find Hubit's house, if you kill him?"

"Hubit, will you bite this salmon?" asked Keriha, next morning. "I have bothered long enough. Will you bite to-day?" He put the salmon to Hubit's mouth. Hubit bit a little. Keriha lifted the salmon with Hubit on it, and threw it in the air to make Hubit fly. All came down like a stone. Keriha threw it a second time. It fell again. He tried all day.

"I don't know what kind of man that Hubit is; he won't eat, he won't talk, won't go home, won't do anything," said Keriha.

Next morning he said to Hubit: "Hubit, what kind of person are you? I wish you would go home."

But Hubit wouldn't go without the salmon, and wouldn't take it for fear that Keriha would follow him. Keriha threw him up again with the salmon. Again he fell with the salmon, and he teased Hubit for five days more. On the sixth morning Hubit began to eat.

"Ah, you are eating!" said Keriha; "will you go to-day?"

He threw the salmon; it fell again. Five days more he tried. Hubit would eat, but wouldn't fly. Now he had tried twenty days more. On the twentieth evening he said to Norwanchakus, "I will kill Hubit to-morrow."