Old Tuina and Wakara were shivering; their teeth knocked together; their wives and daughters were crying. Igupa Topa had taken his nephew and Halai Auna up to his place on the north side, near the roof of his sweat-house, where they were dry.
The sweat-house was nearly full of water. All were crying now. Some time before daylight one of Tuina’s daughters was drowned, and then the other two, and Wakara’s two daughters. About dawn Tuina and Wakara with their two wives were drowned. All were dead in the sweat-house except Igupa Topa, his nephew, and Halai Auna. At daylight the rain stopped, the water began to go down, and all the bodies floated out through the doorway. The place was dry. Pun Miaupa made a fire. Halai Auna came to the fire and began to cry for her father, her mother and sisters.
“You must not cry,” said Pun Miaupa; “my uncle did this. He will bring all to life again quickly.”
But Halai Auna was afraid, and she cried for some time.
Just after midday Igupa Topa went outside, saw the dead bodies, and said: “Why sleep all day? It is time to be up, you two old men and you five young girls!”
Tuina and Wakara sprang up, went to the creek, and swam. “No one but Igupa Topa could have done this to us,” said they.
All the women rose up as if they had been only sleeping.
“My brother, I shall go home to-morrow,” said Wakara. “It is time for me.”
Very early next morning Wakara and his wife began to dance, then the two daughters, then Halai Auna and her husband. They danced out by the smoke-hole, rose through the air, sang, and danced themselves home.
Wakara had been five days away, and all his daughters’ husbands were saying: “Where is our father-in-law? He may have been killed.” All were very glad when they saw old Wakara in the sweat-house next morning.