The next morning Tcíkas asked Wálwilegas what she thought.
“He isn’t Isis,” said Wálwilegas.
“That is what I think,” said Tcíkas.
Kols cried and tears ran down her cheeks. “Tears,” said she, “are a sign that Isis is in trouble.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Kumush. “Hurry up and get me something to eat. I don’t want people to come here to gamble; we will go where they are.”
After Kumush had eaten enough, he and all the women, except Wálwilegas, Kols and Tcíkas, started for Pitcowa, the place where Isis always went to gamble. (A broad flat northeast of Tula Lake.)
As Kumush traveled, he set fire to the grass; the smoke went crooked. People saw it, and said: “That is not Isis. Isis’ smoke always goes straight up to the sky.”
Kumush knew their thoughts. He tried to make the smoke go straight; part went straight and part went crooked.
Then they said: “Maybe that is Isis.”
When he got near, the people asked: “Where is Kumush?”