"My brother, I have come for you. My grandfather sent me to ask you to go to him and not to tell any one." "That is well. I will go. Let us start." That was all he said. This big man was Hawt. Tsaroki had brought his flute, but he could not use it, for he had to keep his journey secret and not let himself be seen; he held the flute hidden under his arm. "Let us go," said Hawt; "you go ahead." Tsaroki went into the ground, came out where he had been sitting at first, and then went to the house of the old woman, his grandmother. Hawt stood up to make ready for the journey. The people kept on working. They were all of the Hawt people, and the big man was their chief. Hawt dressed, and took his bow and arrows. When ready, he turned and said,-- "My people, I am going to leave you, to be gone two or three days, perhaps longer." That was all he said; he did not say where he was going, nor why. He walked away and went to Nomhawena's house, where Tsaroki was waiting. The two brothers had been sitting just a little while when the old woman said to them,-- "Now, my grandsons, you must go; you must be at Waida Dikit's before daylight; you must travel while it is dark, we do not wish to let other people know of your journey. Go. I shall be in this house, but shall hear all that is happening at your place." They left the old woman, and reached Waida Dikit's before daylight. The old man was up already, and standing by the fire in the middle of the sweat-house combing his red hair, which touched his feet. The moment he went into the house Tsaroki took his flute, lay on his back, and began to play. Hawt stood a while; didn't know where to sit. At last Waida Dikit said to him,-- "My grandson, I am living here in a small house. There isn't much room in it, but go north of the fire and sit there." Just as Hawt was sitting down at the appointed side, daylight came. Tsaroki played two nights and two days. Hawt lay in his place and listened. "My grandson," said Waida Dikit to Tsaroki, "I should like to hear you both play. You must give that flute to Hawt some of the time." Tsaroki gave the flute to his brother, and from time to time they passed it from one to the other. Both played; both made beautiful music. They played day after day, night after night, ten days and ten nights. "You play well now, both of you, my grandsons. Would you not like to hear other persons play?" "Oh, we should like that very much; we should like to hear other persons play," said Tsaroki and Hawt. "I used to hear a friend of mine long ago," said Waida Dikit, "and he played very well. Would you like to have him play with you?" "Yes, yes; maybe he would teach us to play better." "My friend is very old now," said Waida Dikit: "he is Kanhlalas Kiemila." "I will go and bring him," said Tsaroki. "Go, my grandson. I will show you a trail, but do not go near the east side of my sweat-house. It is not far. Kanhlalas lives northeast from here."