"I will do what you tell me," said Keriha. They went in at the south side of Norwanbuli, and stopped east of the door. Norwanchakus sat down, and held Keriha between his knees. The woman put her hand behind her, took acorn bread, held it toward the brothers, and said,-- "Take this, you two men, eat it, and then go away." "This woman has a great deal to eat," said Keriha. "Let's stay here a while with her. Let's not go away, my brother." "Be still," whispered Norwanchakus. "Don't talk." "My brother, I'm hungry. Tell her to give us more bread. This isn't enough." Norwanchakus barely tasted the bread, but Keriha ate with great relish. "Now, my brother," said Norwanchakus, "we must go. I will carry you." He put his brother on his back, drew Keriha's arms around his own neck closely, and started. When they were almost out of the house, Keriha began to struggle and kick. "Let me go, my brother," said he, "let me go!" Norwanchakus held him firmly. Keriha pulled and pulled till he got his right arm free. At the door was a large basket of acorns. He seized a handful of those and kept them. Norwanchakus went out, and when a short distance from the house he felt the ground swaying, rising, and falling. He stopped and saw the earth open around him and sink slowly. Then he made one great spring and came down on Bohem Buli. He was barely on that mountain when it began to crack, and he was sinking again. He made a second leap, and came down far away southwest. Keriha dropped the acorns, and the earth stopped opening that moment. The brothers stayed some time in the southwest, then went to Tsik Tepji. This was a strong eddy of the river in which it was easy to catch salmon. They made a brush hut at the river bank, and a house not far from the river, on a hill. Norwanchakus caught a great many salmon, and Keriha ate and ate; he ate all the time and never grew larger. Norwanchakus scarcely ate anything. One morning Keriha was in the house while his brother was fishing. A stranger came, a very small man, no larger than a boy five years old. Keriha looked at him, then jumped up and ran to his brother. "Oh, my brother," said he, "some one has come to our house." Norwanchakus said nothing. "There is some one at our house," repeated Keriha. "Did he say anything?" asked Norwanchakus. "No." "Did you talk to him?" "No." "Why not?" "I don't like him, he is so little." "Never mind, go back and give him something to eat; call him uncle." Keriha went back and stared at the stranger. After a while the little man looked up and asked,-- "Why do you look at me so? I left a small bag of roots north of the house. Would you bring it here? The roots are very good to eat." Keriha went. The bag was small. There were roots in one corner of it, not many. He snatched at the bag, but could not lift it; he tried with both hands, couldn't stir it; tried every way, couldn't move it; scratched his arms and legs in trying, left the bag, and went back without it.