“Oh, no, I am not. I am just looking around, not doing anything.”
“You are ready to kill Notisa, the chief. You are waiting to kill him,” said Kol Tibichi’s yapaitu, who just took hold of the strange yapaitu, twisted him, killed him right there, and buried him.
Kol Tibichi’s mother took her son into the chief’s house. The boy knew what had been done. His yapaitu told him what he had done, and came in with him. The boy sat down near Notisa.
People thought the chief ready to die, thought that he might die any moment. “Let the boy put his hand on the sick man,” said they.
“Put your hand on the chief,” said the father. “You must do what you can. You must try, do your best to cure him.”
Kol Tibichi spat on his hands, passed them over Notisa’s breast and face. “I am sleepy, my mother, oh, I am so sleepy,” said the boy, when he had passed his hands over the chief.
“He cannot do more to-night,” said the father. “We will go home.”
Next morning people in the sweat-house heard a man talking outside. He came in and said, “I am well!” This was Notisa.
“We are glad,” said the people. “Kol Tibichi has saved you.”
The boy grew up and became a great Hlahi. When twenty years old, he was the greatest Hlahi on Wini Mem.