When the morning came, and the great fall had thinned to half a dozen little ones, the mother was still there waiting by the embers of the fire.
The boys had not returned.
The Mischievous God had found them, and shut them up in a cave.
For three days the twins remained in the cave. It was darker than the darkest night within, and fearing to lose each other, the boys clung together as they felt their way about. On the second day, one of the boys fell heavily over a stone, and rose from the ground crippled and lame.
On the morning of the third day, they heard a heavy sound. The stones with which the Mischievous God had blocked the mouth of the cave had fallen down. A ray of light appeared, and the boys went towards the sparkling gleam. When they had emerged into the sunshine, one of the twins said to his brother,
“Where is the light of which you spoke? I cannot see it.” And he felt about as if he were still in the cave.
Then the other twin looked into his brother’s eyes, and saw that during the three days in the cave his brother had become blind.
Leading his blind brother by the hand, the lame boy led off into the empty country. Far, far away, rising blue and beautiful through blue air, one of the four sacred mountains of the Indian people lifted its snow-capped head. The twins were in a strange desert country many days journey from their canyon home.
After wandering thirstily about for a whole day, they came to a little river, and upon its bank they rested for the night.