He travelled rapidly night and day, for he had only to will or speak, and the canoe went. At length he arrived in sight of the fiery serpents. He paused to view them; he observed that they were some distance apart, and that the flames which they constantly belched forth reached across the pass. He gave them a good morning, and began talking with them in a very friendly way; but they answered, “We know you, Manabozho; you cannot pass.” He was not, however, to be put off so easily. Turning his canoe as if about to go back, he suddenly cried out with a loud and terrified voice: “What is that behind you?” The serpents, thrown off their guard, instantly turned their heads, and he in a moment glided past them. “Well,” said he, quietly, after he had got by, “how do you like my movement?” He then took up his bow and arrows, and with deliberate aim shot every one of them, easily, for the serpents were fixed to one spot, and could not even turn round. They were of an enormous length, and of a bright color. Having thus escaped the sentinel serpents, Manabozho pushed on in his canoe until he came to a part of the lake called Pitch-water, as whatever touched it was sure to stick fast. But Manabozho was prepared with his oil, and rubbing his canoe freely from end to end, he slipped through with ease, and he was the first person who had ever succeeded in passing through the Pitch-water. “There is nothing like a little oil to help one through pitch-water,” said Manabozho to himself. Now in view of land, he could see the lodge of the Shining Manito, high upon a distant hill. Putting his clubs and arrows in order, just at the dawn of day Manabozho began his attack, yelling and shouting, and beating his drum, and calling out in triple voices: “Surround him! surround him! run up! run up!” making it appear that he had many followers. “It was you that killed my grandfather,” and shot off a whole forest of arrows. The Pearl Feather appeared on the height, blazing like the sun, and paid back the discharges of Manabozho with a tempest of bolts, which rattled like the hail. All day long the fight was kept up, and Manabozho had fired all of his arrows but three, without effect; for the Shining Manito was clothed in pure wampum. It was only by immense leaps to right and left that Manabozho could save his head from the sturdy blows which fell about him on every side, like pine-trees, from the hands of the Manito. He was badly bruised, and at his very wit’s end, when a large woodpecker flew past and lit on a tree. It was a bird he had known on the prairie, near his grandmother’s lodge. “Manabozho,” called out the woodpecker, “your enemy has a weak point; shoot at the lock of hair on the crown of his head.”