“No.”
“Wildcat robes?”
“No.”
“Foxskin robes?”
“No.”
Jupka wore an old ragged rabbit-skin robe. He had worn it a long time. “I think you like this,” said he.
“Yes,” answered Ilhataina, “that’s what I want.” He took the old robe and tied it with weeds around his waist. “Now I am ready to leave you. Come out and see me go.”
There was a black cloud in the sky. Ilhataina had brought it there. “I will go up to that place,” said he. “Whenever rain comes in future, it will be water falling from my rabbit robe.”
All hurried out. Jupka’s son, Jul Kurula, who was wrapped in a black bearskin, came down into the sweat-house and cried; he didn’t wish to lose Ilhataina.
“Now, my friends,” said Ilhataina, “I leave you; hereafter when you see me travel I shall go like this;” and he went with a flash to the black cloud.