"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."
"Oh, you are not angry," said Norwanchakus. "Play with him a little
longer. You want to know everything, to see everything, to have
everything. You ought to find out what he means; he has some reason
for doing as he does."
Next morning Keriha went to Hubit. "Will you tell me what you are
going to do? Unless you tell me I will kill you. When I throw you up,
I will kill you unless you fly."
He threw up the salmon. Hubit moved his wings and flew along a little
above the ground, then settled down.
"Oh, he is going now, he is going! I'm so glad," cried Keriha; and he
threw the salmon a second time.
Hubit opened his wings and flew around Keriha, flew around the tree.
"Go, go!" cried Keriha, clapping his hands.
Hubit shot away toward the north, near the ground, and Keriha ran with
all speed, but Hubit went far ahead; then he flew a little toward the
west, turned, and darted off directly northward.
Keriha did not lose sight of him, but rose in the air and flew north,
going parallel with Hubit and going faster. He was at the sky first. A
moment later Hubit came.
"I am here before you!" cried out Keriha. "You cannot go out here!"
Hubit flew around a while and shot back to Bohem Tehil. Keriha was
just behind him.
"Hubit, you are so slow," called out Keriha. "I want to go fast, I
like to see you go fast."
Hubit flew around the tree a little, then darted to the south. Keriha
went a little to one side, was at the south before him, clapping his
hands.
"No escape on this side, Hubit; I am here before you."
Hubit turned to Bohem Tehil. From the tree he rushed east to where
the sky comes down. Keriha was there before him. He rushed to the
west, to where the sky comes down. Keriha was there before his face,
barring the way. Hubit had been at all four points,--no escape at any
of them; still he wouldn't drop the salmon. He turned a fifth time to
Bohem Tehil with Keriha behind him. He flew around the tree a few
times, then rose straight in the air, carrying the salmon. He rose
quickly, went very high. Keriha stood looking at Hubit, watched him
growing smaller and smaller. Keriha shaded his eyes.
Hubit was nearly out of sight. Keriha could barely see him with the
salmon and the tuft, a little spot in the sky. He looked very hard,
strained his eyes till blood was running down both his cheeks; still
he kept looking.
Hubit thought he was out of sight now, and soon Keriha saw him turn to
the west and come down. When he was above Bohem Buli, he dropped
straight to it on the north side and went in.
"I'm glad, I'm glad. Oh, I'm so glad!" cried out Keriha, clapping his
hands. "I know now where Hubit's house is. Get ready quickly, my
brother, we will go and see Hubit. Oh, you are so slow, my brother, I
can't wait for you. Come when you can; I'll go on alone."
Keriha hurried to Bohem Buli. Norwanchakus followed, and saw Keriha
doing strange things; didn't know what he was doing; wondered at him.
He was dodging from side to side, lying down and springing up again.
Norwanchakus went toward him.
"What are you doing?" cried he. "What is the matter!"
"Don't come so near," called Keriha. "Stop, stop!"
When Hubit dropped down to his house in Bohem Buli, he began that
minute to make it bigger. He was hurling out immense rocks, and Keriha
was dodging them. They came quickly one after another (there are many
of those rocks now all around Bohem Buli, at Puitiel Ton, at Waikidi
Pom, and on the west beyond Tayam Norel). After the rocks Hubit hurled
out great showers of earth; then he stopped.
"How shall I get at that Hubit?" asked Keriha of his brother.
"Go south to a level valley where sakkus grows. Get the tops of that
plant."
Keriha brought plenty of sakkus tops quickly.
"Go now to Halat Pom, in the east, and bring the longest vines
possible."
Keriha brought ten very long vines and made a rope of them, and tied
it around a great bundle of sakkus tops, to which he set fire, and
then lowered the bundle. He stopped the door with grass and sticks.
Soon there was a great rumbling, struggling, and roaring in Hubit's
house. After a while it stopped and all was still.
"Now, my brother," said Keriha, "Hubit is dead, and I am going to have
his honeycombs."
He took a large sharp stone, drew a great circle around the entrance
to Hubit's house, and said: "You, Hubit's honeycomb, be as large as
this circle is. Now, my brother," said he, "you can go to Bohem
Tehil. I will come soon."
Norwanchakus went home. Keriha began to dig, found many combs, dug
till night, stayed all night in Hubit's house--stayed there digging
honey and eating, for twenty-five days.
Norwanchakus waited at home for his brother, waited that evening till
midnight, waited till morning, saw no sign of Keriha. He waited the
next day; then two, three, five days; then twenty days more.
"Well," said Norwanchakus, "I can do nothing. Perhaps he is dead,
perhaps he is working yet."
On the twenty-sixth night after Hubit's death, some one came into the
house. Norwanchakus looked up. It was Keriha.
After that the two brothers went to Puri Buli. At the foot of the
mountain they saw some one half sitting, half lying, and looking at
them. When they came nearer, it went into an opening.
"My brother," said Keriha, "I want that."
"Nothing can pass you," said the elder brother. "You want everything.
You would better let this go."
Keriha paid no heed to Norwanchakus: he split the earth with his
little finger and killed the stranger, a Supchit. He skinned the body
and said, "I think that this skin will be warm; I will sleep on it."
"My brother," said Norwanchakus, "you are the only person who has ever
killed a Supchit--you may be sorry."
Next morning a terrible snow came. It snowed five days and nights;
everything was buried under snow. Keriha and Norwanchakus lay
twenty-one days under the snow without food. On the twenty-first
night, the Supchit woman whom Keriha had killed came and stole him
away.
Next morning Norwanchakus looked outside. Keriha was gone; the snow
was gone. He looked for tracks, looked all day, found no tracks. He
searched five days, ten, twenty days--searched all the mountains, went
down the rivers, up the rivers, north, south, east, west. He searched
one year, found neither track nor trail; searched ten years, then ten
years more; inquired of every one in all the world--no one knew of
Keriha.
At last he went back to the house where Keriha had been lost to see if
there was track or trail there. Behind Keriha's sleeping-place he saw
a large stone. He raised it, found an opening and a passage sloping
northward, saw tracks made when the Supchit woman took Keriha away. He
went into the passage, followed the trail till he came to the top of
Bohem Puyuk. He came out on the top, went in again and followed a
trail going south; followed it, winding west and east, till he came
out at Waikidi Pom. There he saw tracks on the ground, lost them,
found them again, found them going under the ground, travelled under
the ground, came out, lost and found tracks till he lost them for
good.
He inquired in the west for five years without finding trail or
tidings of Keriha. At last he said,--
"I have asked every one in this world, except my two cousins Lasaswa
at Lasan Holok."
He turned east, then, and went to Lasan Holok, near Pas Puisono,
where he found a big house with a door on the south side. One old man
was sitting on the east, and another on the west side of the door. The
house was full of people. The two old men were rubbing their thighs
and rolling something. All the people inside were doing the same, all
were making ropes.
Five years before these old men had heard that Norwanchakus had lost
his brother. All people had been telling one another that Norwanchakus
was looking for Keriha. As soon as the old men heard of this, they
began to make ropes.
Norwanchakus stood in the door, and raised one foot to walk in.
"Don't step this way; step east," said the old man on the west.
"Don't step this way; step west," said the old man on the east.
"I'll go straight ahead," thought Norwanchakus.
"Don't come this way! Don't come this way!" cried all those in front.
One small boy was sitting behind all the others. As shreds of fibre
dropped from the hands of those in front, he picked them up and
twisted them into a rope.
"I suppose you have been travelling a long time, my grandson," said
the old man on the west side of the door.
"I have travelled a very long time, and have come at last to talk with
you. I have asked all who live on this earth about my brother, and no
one can tell me where Keriha is."
"We heard about your brother five years ago," said the old men, "and
we told our sons to make ropes because you had lost Keriha."
"How much rope have you made?"
"We can tell to-morrow."
Next morning they cleared a broad space in front of the house. While
they were doing this, Norwanchakus said to the rope-makers,--
"I wish you would send for Tsiwihl, an old man near by here."