“No not moose meat, uncle. Hurry or I shall sing.”
“Then you wish my coonskin robe.”
“No not your coonskin robe. I now commence to sing.”
“Then you wish my otterskin robe,” hastened the uncle, naming one of his prized possessions.
“No uncle, not your otterskin robe. I now sing.”
With a burst of the conjurer’s song, the boy began to sing, “Yoh heh, yoh heh, yoh heh. My uncle and I are exchanging. He shall give me what I most desire.” As he sang his flames leaped from the ground, for Djoñiaik was now an adept in magic. Surrounding the uncle the flames began to singe him. With a shriek he leaped to the platform above his bed, but the flames followed, until he called out, “Oh nephew I yield!”
Descending he said, “You desire the squash beneath my bed,” and the boy exclaimed, “It is so.”
With great reluctance the old wizard opened the bed, lifting up the bottom boards like the top of a chest. Beneath in boxes of sand were vines with squashes growing upon them, though it was winter outside. Taking a look at the largest, the old man shut down the cover and exclaimed:
“Oh nephew, it is the custom to simulate what is desired in a dream. I shall now carve you from wood a squash that you may preserve as a charm.”
“Only the real object desired shall satisfy me,” answered the boy. “Must I sing again?” And he started his song which brought forth flames that enshrouded the old man, causing him to cry out, “Oh nephew, I yield!”