There was a head sticking out of the ground, and the face was covered with water. The man had cried so much that he looked dirty and ugly.
The sisters took sharp sticks, and dug all around the head, dug deeply. They could not pull out the person; they had only dug to his waist when night came and they must go.
“Why did you stay out so late?” asked their father.
“We heard some one singing, and wanted to know who it was, but were not able. We will go back in the morning and search again.”
“That is well,” said Jamuka. He had heard how Juka’s sons had been killed. “Perhaps one of those people is alive yet,” said he; “you must look for him.”
They went early next morning to dig, and drew the man out. They took off their buckskin skirts then, and wrapped him up carefully. He was nothing but bones, no flesh at all on his body. The younger sister ran home to get wildcat skins to wrap around him.
“We have found a man, but he is all bones,” said she to her father.
“Take good care of the stranger, feed and nurse him well,” said Jamuka; “he may be Juka himself, and he is a good man.”
They wrapped the man in wildcat skins. A great stream of water was running from his eyes, and deer came down the hill to drink of that water.
The girls lay on each side of the man, and gave him food; stayed all night with him. Next morning they went home for more food.