The pack was light till he set it down at home. Then it grew as big as a small house. His elder sister would not eat Topuna’s venison; she did not like her brother’s friend; she loved young Hitchinna, and would not look at the other man.
Topuna put on three pairs of moccasins, three pairs of thick buckskin leggings trimmed with beads; put on three buckskin blankets, and at dark he went out of the door to go to Kurulsa Mauna.
“My son,” said old Topuna, when his son was going, “you will come back sorry; you will be angry in the morning; I know that woman well.”
All were asleep at Titindi Maupa’s when Topuna came; but Titildi Marimi had wished the whole house outside to be covered with sharp rocks and thorny brush, for she knew that Topuna was coming.
When he reached the place, he could not go in; he could not find the door, even; everything was hidden with sharp rocks and thorns. He was outside all night, and never stopped trying to find the way in; he wore out his three pair of moccasins, tore his three pair of leggings and three blankets; bits of them were scattered all around the sweat-house. At last he was naked and nearly frozen.
Topuna went home before daylight, very angry. Titildi Marimi had heard him, but said not a word. He lay down in his father’s sweat-house and stayed there all day.
When daylight came, Titildi Marimi rose up and went out of the sweat-house; the rocks and brush were all gone at her wish; nothing there now but the nice beads that had fallen from Topuna. She went to the spring; washed there, combed and dressed her hair, painted her face red, put on a nice woven cap, took a little basket with a sharp stick, and went out on the mountain; went far; dug sweet roots by the creeks on the mountain flats.
Titindi Maupa was angry at his sister all day; he stayed in bed until evening. Titildi Marimi dug roots, dug a great many, singing all the time while she worked. Hitchinna heard the singing from his place and came to her. She liked him. She went to meet him; was pleased to see him; they sat down together, talked, and were glad. They parted for that day; he hunted deer, she filled her basket with roots and went home about sundown.
Titindi Maupa was in bed yet. He did not raise his eyes when she came; did not look at his sister.
Next morning she rose early; rose at daylight. She had promised Hitchinna to meet him a second time. She washed, combed her hair, painted her face, took a basket with a root stick, and started.