Part 15

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."

"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."

They brought him quickly. After Tsiwihl came, Norwanchakus said,--

"I want some of you young men to try to go up and ask Sas if he knows where my brother is. I think Sas must know."

"I will try first," said the old man at the western side of the door; "I think that I have the longest rope."

"I will give you something for Sas," said Norwanchakus. "Here is an arrow-straightener, a headband of silver gray-fox skin, and a fire-drill. If you go to the top of the sky, you will see a road from east to west. Sit at the south side of it under a tobacco tree which is there. Soon Sas will come from the east, going west. He will stop at the tree. Give him the three things."

The old man brought out a great coil of rope to unwind and go up with it.

"Who is to stand and watch?" asked the other old man.

"Tsiwihl," said Norwanchakus.

Tsiwihl put oak leaves near the coil, lay on them, and looked up. Old Lasaswa took one end of his rope, pulled it, and started. The rope was unwinding, and he was going up. Tsiwihl kept his eyes on Lasaswa. After a while he said, "Lasaswa is half-way up." A little later he said, "He is more than half-way up!"

"But the rope is gone," said Norwanchakus.

"Lasaswa is coming down," said Tsiwihl.

The old man came to the ground. "My rope is too short. Some one else must try now," said he.

"I will try," said the other old man. This one had more rope. Five men had to help him roll it out of the house, there was so much. He took the presents for Sas and began to go up.

Tsiwihl watched closely. The rope was unwinding and Lasaswa was going up. "He is half-way up!" said Tsiwihl; "he is near where the first man was." Tsiwihl moved his head a little, but never lost sight of Lasaswa. "He is as high as the other was; he is higher; he is going still higher!"

"But the rope has given out," said Norwanchakus.

"He is coming down!" cried Tsiwihl.

All were looking at the sky except the small boy, who was inside making rope as before.

"We are old," said the second Lasaswa; "our ropes are too short. You young men must try to-morrow."

Each old man had nine sons. Each person was one day making the trial--all were twenty days trying--no one had a rope long enough. "What shall we do now?" asked the old men on the twenty-first day.

"There is a boy in the house making rope yet; let him try," said Norwanchakus.

"Oh, he is only playing. He hasn't much rope; he just makes ropes of the shreds that others throw away," said one of the old men.

"Go in and ask him," said the second old man.

Norwanchakus went in and said, "You are a small boy, but will you try your rope for me?" and he took hold of the boy's hand. He kept his rope in a little basket. When Norwanchakus took his hand, he seized the basket with the other hand and carried it out.

"Why do they bring out that little boy?" cried the young men. "He hasn't any rope. We had long ropes, and all were too short; his rope is only to play with."

"My cousin," said Norwanchakus, "you are small, but I think you know something. Here are three presents. When you reach the sky, give them to Sas." Then he told him what to do.

When Norwanchakus had finished, the boy bowed his head and said "Yes" to him. "You men have long ropes, but they were too short. My rope may not reach the sky, but I will try;" and he started.

Tsiwihl's breast and stomach were as blue now as the sky, and blood was trickling from his eyes, he had looked so long and so hard. After the boy was some distance up, those below could not see him, and they said to Tsiwihl, "Tell us, tell us often what he is doing."

After a while Tsiwihl said: "He is almost as high as the others were. He is as high; he is as high as the highest was."

They looked at his rope. There seemed to be more than when he started. It seemed to grow all the time.

"He is higher than any--he is going and going."

"Do not lose sight of him," said Norwanchakus.

Tsiwihl's eyes were full of blood.

"How much rope is there?" asked Norwanchakus.

"Oh, there is plenty of rope," cried the others.

"He is going and going," said Tsiwihl.

"How far up is he? Can you see him?"

"He is high, very high, almost as high as I can see--he is nearly at the sky."

"He will go to it, he will go to it!" cried some.

"He is at the sky," said Tsiwihl. "He is there, he is there! He has his hand on it--he is on the top of it--he is there!"

There was plenty of rope on the ground yet.

"Well," said one of the old men, "he is on the sky. He never talked much, that little boy, or seemed to know much, but he has gone to a place where we could not go."

The sun was almost half-way up in the sky. Tsiwihl lay watching, watching, looking hard. Sas had passed the middle of the sky when Tsiwihl said: "I see the boy. He is coming down, he is coming nearer and nearer."

Soon all could see him. At last he was standing on the ground.

"Now, my cousin," said Norwanchakus, "tell me. Let me know what you saw and what you heard. What do you think of that country up there?"

"I went to the top," said the boy. "The country up there is good. I saw a road from east to west. I went east a little, and at the south of the road saw a tobacco tree. I sat under the tree and looked east. Far off I saw an old man coming with a pack on his back. I sat watching him. At last he came to where I was and passed without looking at me, went forward a little, stopped, put down his pack on the south side of the road, and then came toward me. I was sitting with my face to the north. He sat down at my left side, looked at me, looked at the headband, the fire-drill, and the straightener, and laughed. 'What are you doing here?' asked he. 'From what place are you? How did you come up to this land, where no one ever travels but me, where I have never seen any one? You are small. How could you come here?' 'I am here,' answered I, 'because Norwanchakus sent me. He sent me because he has lost his brother, Keriha. He has looked for him all over the world, has asked every one, and no one knows about Keriha. He sent me here to ask you about Keriha. He said that you must know, for you look over the whole world, see all people, see everything.' I put the three things down before him and said, 'Norwanchakus told me to give you these things for your trouble in telling about Keriha.' Sas smiled again, took up the headband, the fire-drill and straightener, held them in his hand, and said: 'These are good--I know all that is passing in the world. I know where Keriha is. I have seen him every day since he went from his brother--I know where he is now. The Supchit woman took him one night, took him under the ground, came out on the top of Bohem Puyuk, went down again, came out, travelled by crooked roads westward, crossed the bridge made of one hair, went under the sky to the other side, to the middle house in a large village. She put Keriha in a little room in that house; he has been there ever since, he is there now. He is very weak and will die to-morrow unless some one saves him. Tell Norwanchakus to start to-night and be there in the morning if he wants to save Keriha.'"

"Then Sas put his hand in his bosom and took out a kolchi bisi [sky cap], gave it to me, and said, 'Take this to Norwanchakus, and tell him to give it to Tsiwihl for his trouble.' Sas gave me also a piece of the sky. 'This is for Tsiwihl, too,' said he; 'let him wear it on his breast for a blue facing.'"

Norwanchakus gave these to Tsiwihl, and then made him a blanket of oak leaves. He wears all these things to this day.

"My cousin, are you sure that Sas said this?" asked Norwanchakus.

"I am sure. Sas told me all this."

"Wait now, my cousin." Norwanchakus went northeast, stretched his hand out; an armful of kúruti (silkweed which grows at the end of the world) came on it. "Now, my cousin," said he, "I will pay you well for your trouble. All your life you can make as much rope as you like of this kúruti, and you can go up on it anywhere,--north, south, east, or west."

Norwanchakus started at midnight, and went westward quickly. He knew the way well. He crossed ridges and valleys, passed places where he had found tracks of Keriha and lost them, went to the bridge of one hair, sprang from the bank to the middle of the bridge. The bridge swayed and swayed. Underneath was a wide, rushing river, but Norwanchakus did not fall. With one spring more he touched the other bank, ran swiftly till he reached the big village beyond the sky. He saw the chief house, ran in through its door at the east, went to the little room, and found Keriha with his head on the palm of the Supchit woman's hand. He caught his brother and rushed out, shot past all the people, and stopped only when he was far outside the village.

"Now, my brother," said he, "you told me always that you knew something great, that you wanted to do something great, that you wanted to be something great. What have you been doing here thirty years? I have looked for you everywhere. You never let me know where you were."

"Oh, my brother," said Keriha, "I am so drowsy, I was sleeping, I didn't know where I was."

Norwanchakus crossed the river at a bound, without touching the bridge of one hair. He went on then, never stopped till he reached Keri Buli.

Next morning at daybreak Keriha heard a voice from above. The voice said,--

"Leave that place, Norwanchakus and Keriha. The world will change soon. You two must come here. Leave that place down there quickly."

"Now, my brother," said Keriha, "you are so slow, I don't know where you wish to go, or what you want to do."

"My brother," said Norwanchakus, "I will do the best I can, and do you do the best you can. We have finished our work here. People to come will know the names that you gave to rivers, mountains, rocks, and hills. Hereafter they will call these places by the names we gave them."

While in this world Keriha wore a duck-skin, and when they were ready to go he threw off this skin on the other side of Bohema Mem, and from it have come all the ducks on the rivers of this country.

Norwanchakus had always carried his ash stick from the fish-net. When he was going, he thrust it into the ground at Tsarau Heril. "I will leave this here," said he, "and people to come will make pipes of it." There is plenty of ash to this day in Tsarau Heril.

At the other side of the sky the brothers parted. Norwanchakus went up on high, and stayed there. Keriha went far away to the east, and is living there now.

KELE AND SEDIT

PERSONAGES