“Do not go far,” said Tsore Jowa.
The boy ran off to the east, seized a big pine-tree, tore it up with one pull, and took it home in one hand. He made a big fire and put stones on it.
“Bring water, my grandmother,” said he; “then I will tell you what to do.” The old woman filled a great basket with water. The stones were dropped in when red-hot, and the water boiled quickly.
“Grandmother, put me into the boiling water.”
The old woman was frightened, but did what he told her.
“Cover me closely,” said the boy.
She covered him with another tight basket. He lay in the water till the cover flew from the basket, and he was thrown through the opening in the top of the sweat-house and dropped on the roof outside. He ran down, swam in the river close by, and then went back and talked with the old woman.
“You will be very strong,” said she. “You will be called Ilhataina.”
He ran east a second time; brought sugar-pines. He did not sleep, he sang without stopping. Rocks were made hot as before, and dropped into a bigger basket. The old woman put in Ilhataina, and covered him with four closely woven baskets. He was in the boiling water till the four covers burst off, and he flew up through the opening in the top of the sweat-house. He ran down again to the river, and while swimming talked to himself, saying,—
“I will meet Gowila to-day, I will meet Gowila to-day.”