And now from afar the parent bird espied him in the nest, and swooped down with a terrible rushing roar, like far-off thunder. Down, down, she came, swift as an arrow, to the very edge of the nest, and then soared upward with a bound, the rushing air behind swaying the tree as if a hurricane was passing. Again and again, four times in all, the bird made a rushing [[154]]dive at the helpless man, and each time he heard its nearing cry he prayed, crying out that he had not come to harm its young, but to ask its aid. And at last the whitehead seemed to understand, for after the fourth fierce rush, it slowly sailed around and settled on the edge of the nest.
“Hai-yu,” Pi-waṕ-ōk cried, “be you male or female, father or mother of these young birds, as you love them, pity me.”
“I am their mother,” the bird replied, “and, since you have called upon me in their name, say what is in your mind; I will help you if I can.”
Then the blind one told of his affliction, and how through great danger and sore distress of mind he had climbed the cliff, hoping the great bird might cure him.
“Alas,” said the whitehead when he had finished, “what you ask is beyond my power; nor could my husband, who is away hunting, help you. None of my kind could make you see again, for we have never had occasion to treat the eyes. We live to great age, but our eyes remain strong and clear to the very end.”
Pi-waṕ-ōk wept. “Alas!” he cried, “how [[155]]my hopes have fallen. This long and dangerous climb, after all, brings no relief.”
“Not so,” said the bird. “I cannot give you sight, but in other ways I can do much for you. Here is a feather from my tail; take it, and keep it carefully, and you shall live to old age. And since you are helpless in your blindness, I will do more. I will teach you many wonderful things, and will give you power to heal the sick. Then you will not sit sad and idle in your lodge. The people will keep coming for you to go here and there to heal them and to practise your mysterious rites, and you will be so busy that you will forget your blindness.”
Then the bird began, and through the long morning taught Pi-waṕ-ōk, showing him the secret of many wonderful things, telling him how and what to use for certain ailments. It took a long time to explain it all, and just as the bird finished, the blind one fell asleep.
After a little he awoke. “Put out your hand and feel,” the whitehead said. He did so and found he was lying on grassy ground.
“You are on the prairie at the top of the cliff,” the bird continued; “your friend is sitting [[156]]away over there on a point. Rise up and motion him to come, for I must leave you now.”