“The middle road lies straight toward the mountain,” said Jupka; “all people die who try to pass over it. A great many lie dead on that road now, my nephew; do not go near it.”
Juiwaiyu kept on; soon they heard laughter ahead on the small mountain, loud laughter.
“You are on the wrong road,” said Jupka. “Turn back, my nephew; if not, you will die surely. That was the laughter of people sent by Damhauja to kill all who go over the middle road.”
Juiwaiyu kept on; he would not listen to his uncle. Soon a great wind came, bringing clouds of lice with it; the air was filled with them. They fell on Juiwaiyu, and ate the flesh off his body. The wind drove him far back on his journey, and blew the beads from his neck. The people of the mountain did this,—people put there and kept by Damhauja.
Juiwaiyu was angry. He rushed forward a second time.
“I will pass, I will go through this time,” said he.
“I told you of this trouble,” said Jupka, “I warned you. I said that this was an evil road over which no one can pass. Stop, or you will be dead before night comes. Stop! Let me down; I will save you.”
Juiwaiyu came to the ground, and took out his uncle.
“I will save you,” said Jupka; “I will give you back flesh and strength.”
The old man took his pipe and drew smoke through it. The wind went away; the lice disappeared, not one was left anywhere. Jupka took up a rose-twig. With this he whipped Juiwaiyu, and he was as sound and strong as ever. He had all his flesh back in a moment.