"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."