Sas went out; the two sisters went. “That is our brother!” cried they. “That is my son,” called out Sas, “the best son I had.”
The old man buried Supchit with his head north, looking southward, and sang the same song that he had sung for his wife and the grizzlies. Sas and his daughters cut their hair in grief over Supchit.
“My son-in-law,” said Sas, next morning early, “be up; I will show you a place where I used to play often when I was young. I am old now, and cannot play much, but I will show you the place, and I may play with you a little.”
“I will go,” said Tulchuherris; and they started.
“Now, my brother,” said Winishuyat, “we are going to the place where Sas himself has always killed everyone who baffled him elsewhere. No man has ever escaped from the place to which Sas is now taking you. He will take you to a tree; he will ask you to climb it; he will bend it and let it spring back again; he will kill you if you are not careful.”
They went to a very wide, level plain; in the middle of the plain stood a tremendous, big pine-tree, leaning to one side somewhat.
“My son-in-law,” said Sas, “when I was young I used to play here. I cannot play much now, but I’ll show you how to play.”
“My brother,” said Winishuyat, “I will tell you what to do. Sas will try his best now to kill us. Do not kill him to-day; try him, lead him on, make him go higher and higher on the tree, and wait till to-morrow.”
Sas climbed the tree some distance and said: “Now, my son-in-law, I am ready!”
Tulchuherris seized the top of the tree, pulled it toward him a little, and let it fly back. Sas kept his hold and slipped down.