“Come right in this way, come in, my son-in-law,” said the old man. “Come in; you cannot pass at another place.”
When the old man called out, “Come in, you cannot pass at another place,” Tulchuherris said, “I must pass here, but I am afraid.”
“This is the road that all people take, my son-in-law. Come straight through; have no fear, there is no danger.”
The two dogs went up to the old man and smelled him. They growled, did not like him, nor did the old man like the dogs. This old man was Sas himself, he who lived in Saskewil.
“Now, my brother,” said Winishuyat, “go ahead, go through as quickly as you can. If you are slow, he will catch us. This is a place where Sas has killed many of our people.”
Tulchuherris took his bow and quiver in one hand, stood on one foot, braced himself sidewise, made a spring, and went through in a flash. That instant the tree closed with a great noise, became solid.
When Tulchuherris shot through, he went far off into the field, and Sas didn’t see him, he went past so swiftly. Sas heard the tree close, and thought that Tulchuherris was caught in it. He looked at the tree and began to talk.
“Well, my son-in-law, you are caught, now you are nobody. I am Sas. You were weak, I am strong. You wore your grandmother’s apron. You knew nothing; I know everything.”
Tulchuherris had come up, and was standing behind while old Sas was talking. He listened, heard every word. After Sas had stopped talking, Tulchuherris asked,—
“My father-in-law, to whom are you talking? What are you saying?”