Their hair was clipped close to their heads. Tulchuherris stepped back toward the north, struck the ground with his heel, and clear, cold water sprang up in a stream. He drank himself, and said, “Come and drink.”
The first of these strangers was Anakurita (orphan), the second Biahori (lone man); only these two were left of all people in those parts. Sas had killed all the rest. “The last of our relatives were killed at this spring,” said they. “We alone are left. We are going home.”
“If you come here again,” said Tulchuherris, “do not go near the spring at the house. That is a bad place. Drink this good water which I have given you.”
The two went away. Tulchuherris put the sharp end of his bone through the heads of the snakes which the dogs had killed, there were hundreds of them. The ten grizzly bears he carried home in one hand.
“I have something outside,” said he to Sas’s daughters. “You call them birds, I believe; they are all the birds that I found at the brush house. Tell your father to look at them.”
Sas went out and began to cry. He enlarged his wife’s grave and buried them. “These are my children,” said he; and he sang and danced as before.
Sas rose early next morning. “My son-in-law,” said he, “your wives ask me to get fish for them, but I am too old. When I was young I used to fish, but now I cannot see. You are young; I will show you a good place for trout. My old pole and spear points are there; you may use them.”
They started, came to a river with a bridge over it formed of one hair. “My brother,” said Winishuyat, “this is a place where Sas has killed many of our people.”
“My son-in-law,” said Sas, “cross this bridge and catch fish; I will go home.”
“Very well,” answered Tulchuherris, who put his foot on the end of the bridge and crossed with one spring. On the other side he went to the fishing-hut, fixed so that a man could look up and down the river while fishing. Tulchuherris had his own spear-shaft, a sky-pole; the string was a sky-strap. He had his own point, too.