“Yes, your knee, your knee!” said the boy, as he whipped out his war-club and whacked the Giant on the head before he had time to recover himself. “Thus unto me you would have done, thus unto you!” said the boy.
No sooner had the Giant fallen than the little Topknots gathered round him and began to eat; and they ate and ate and ate—there were many of them, and they were voracious—until they came to the topknot on the old fellow’s head, and then one of them cried; “Oh, dear, alas and alas! this is our own father!”
And while they were still crying, the boy cut out the Giant’s heart and slung it over his shoulder; then he climbed down the cliff to where the young Topknots were, and slew them all except two—a pair of them. Then he took these two, who were still young, like little children, and grasping one by the throat, wrung its neck and threw it into the air, when it suddenly became a winged creature, and spread out its wings and soared away, crying: “Peep, peep, peep,” just as the falcons of today do. Then he took the other one by the neck, and swung it round and round, and flung it into the air, and it flew away with a heavy motion, and cried: “Boohoo, boohoo, boohoo!” and became an owl.
“Ah,” said the boy, “born for evil, changed for good! Ye shall be the means whereby our children in the future shall sacrifice to the gods themselves.”
Then he trudged along home with the Giant’s heart, and when he got there, he hung it on the crosspiece of the ladder by the side of the other hearts. It was almost night then.
“There, now!” said his mother, as he entered the house; “I have been troubled almost to death by your not coming home sooner. You went off to the place I told you of; I know you did!”
“Ha!” said he, “of course I did. I went up there, and the poor fellows are all dead.”
“Why will you not listen to me?” said she.
“Oh, it is all right, mother,” said the boy. “It is all right.” She went on scolding him in the usual fashion, but he paid no attention to her.
As soon as she had sat down to her evening tasks, he asked: “Now, is there any other of these terrible creatures?”
“Well, I shall tell you of nothing more now,” said she.
“Why, is there anything more?” asked the boy.
“No, there is not,” replied she.
“Ah, mother, I think there must be.”
“No; there is nothing more, I tell you.”
“Ah, mother, I think there must be.”
And he kept bothering and teasing until she told him again (she knew she would have to): “Yes, away down in the valley, some distance from here, near the little Cold-making Hill, there lives a fearful creature, a fourfold Elk or Bison, more enormous than any other living thing. Awiteli Wakashi he is called, and no one can go near him. He rushes stamping and bellowing about the country, and people never pass through that section from fear.”
“Ah,” said the boy; “don’t tell me any more; he must be a fearful creature, indeed.”
“Yes; but you will be sure to go there,” said she.
“Oh, no, no, mother; no, indeed!”
But the next morning he went earlier than ever, carrying with him his bows and arrows. He was so filled with dread, however, or pretended to be, that as he went along the trail he began to cry and sniffle, and walk very slowly, until he came near the hole of an old Gopher, his grandfather. The old fellow was working away, digging another cellar, throwing the dirt out, when he heard this crying. Said he: “That is my grandson; I wonder what he is up to now.” So he ran and stuck his nose out of the hole he was digging, and said: “Oh, my grandchild, where are you going?”
The boy stopped and began to look around.
“Right here! right here!” cried the grandfather, calling his attention to the hole. “Come, my boy.”
The boy put his foot in, and the hole enlarged, and he went down into it.
“Now, dry your eyes, my grandchild, and tell me what is the matter.”
“Well,” said the boy, “I was going to find the fourfold Bison. I wanted to take a look at him, but I am frightened!”
“Why, what is the matter? Why do you not go?” said the Gopher.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I thought I would try to kill him,” he answered.
“Well, I will do what I can to help; you had better not try to do it alone. Sit here comfortably; dry your eyes, and I will see what I can do.”
The old Gopher began to dig, dig, dig under the ground for a long way, making a fine tunnel, and packed it hard on the top and sides so that it would not fall in. He finally came to hear the “thud, thud, thud” of the heart of this creature, where it was lying, and dug the hole up to that spot. When he got there he saw the long layers of hair on its body, where no arrow could penetrate, and he cut the hair off, so that the skin showed white. Then he silently stole back to where the boy was and said: “Now, my boy, take your bow and arrows and go along through this hole until you get to where the tunnel turns upward, and then, if you look well, you will see a light patch. That is the skin next the heart of the fourfold Bison. He is sleeping there. You will hear the ‘thud, thud, thud’ of his heart. Shoot him exactly in the middle of that place, and then, mind you, turn around and run for your life, and the moment you get to my hole, tumble in, headforemost or any way.”
So the boy did as he was told—crawled through the tunnel until he
