“Wait,” said Sukonia. “You need not go now.”
She came back to the fire and sat down with her sister. Sukonia knew now that those were strange women.
“Whip me,” said Chikpitpa to his brother, “I will cry, roll around and kick. I will kick those nasty frogs! I will kill them.”
When the acorn porridge was boiling hard, Sukonia struck Chikpitpa with a switch and scolded him: “Why are you crying? I can do nothing, you cry so.”
The boy rolled on the floor, cried more than ever, kicked, rolled around, kicked as hard as he could, rolled toward the fire and kicked, kicked one woman into the boiling porridge, kicked the other one into the burning fire, and in this way he killed the false sisters.
Chikpitpa was glad; he laughed. Sukonia threw the two women out doors, and mourned all that night for his wives. Next morning early he rose and said, “Stay home to-day, all of you.”
“Where are you going?” asked Chikpitpa.
“Stay here, my little brother,” said Sukonia. “I am going somewhere.”
Sukonia followed the trail of his wives, reached the place where the Ichpul sisters had stopped them, and found their dead bodies. He took out his bow-string of deer sinew, struck the two women, called them, raised them to life.
“How were you killed?” asked Sukonia; “how did it happen? Did you go to the Ichpul house?”