Metsi added: “I put pitch very thick, one foot all around, and put him in the warm hole; covered him up. Pretty soon he began to stretch and grow; grew till he was as good as ever. That is how I cured that man.”
“That is good,” said Putokya. “Fix me in that way; fix me just as you fixed him.”
“I will,” said Metsi. “I will fix you just as I fixed that man, and you will come out just as he did; you will be in the right way and have no more trouble; you will never be sick again.”
Metsi did everything as he had said; made a long deep hole, put in fire and a great deal of pitch, a foot thick of it.
He placed Putokya on the pitch; put a wide flat stone over him, put on others; put the stones on very quickly, till there was a great pile of them.
The pitch began to burn well, to grow hot, to seethe, to boil, to blaze, to burn Putokya.
He struggled to bound out of the pitch; the stones kept him down, the pitch stuck to him. He died a dreadful death.
If Putokya had got out of the hole, there would have been hard times in this world for Metsi.
When Putokya was dead under the pile of rocks, Metsi threw away his old things, his basket and buckskin petticoat, put on his nice clothes, and went along on his journey.
Metsi was a great cheat. He could change himself always, and he fooled people whenever he had a chance; but he did a good thing that time, when he burned up Putokya.