"Oh," said Tuina, "I know now why Halai Auna's husband can smoke my tobacco. I know that old Igupa Topa this long time. I know what that old fellow can do." They put plenty of food before Igupa Topa, but he would eat none of it. Pun Miaupa killed five deer that morning and brought them in. The two old men were glad to see such nice venison, and see so much of it. Igupa Topa sat by himself, and ate nothing. "Uncle, why do you not eat?" asked Pun Miaupa. He made no answer, but watched till all were asleep; then he stood up and ate, ate the whole night through, ate all the acorn bread, all the roots, ate all that there was in the house, except venison. That was not his kind of food; he would not touch it. He sat down on the north side of the central pillar when he had finished eating. "You must work hard to cook food enough," said Tuina next morning to the women. "Some one in this house must be very hungry." The women worked hard all that day; in the evening the house was full of good food again. Pun Miaupa's uncle would not eat a morsel placed before him, but when night came he ate everything there was except venison. "There must be some one in this house who is very hungry," said Tuina, when he rose the next morning. "Make ready more food to-day, work hard, my daughters." "We will not work to-day; that nasty old fellow eats everything in the night time. We will not carry wood and water all day and have nothing to eat the next morning." "I don't like him, either," said Tuina; "he will go very soon, I hope." Igupa Topa heard these words and remembered them. Tuina's wife and Wakara's wife, both old women, had to work that day without assistance. In the middle of the forenoon a great cloud rose in the south. Pun Miaupa's uncle raised it. "Let rain come, thick heavy rain," said he in his mind. "I want darkness, I want a big storm and cold rain." The cloud was black; it covered all the sky; every one came in, and soon the rain began. It rained in streams, in rivers; it filled the valleys, filled all places. The water reached Tuina's sweat-house, rushed in, and filled the whole place; all had to stand in water; and the rain was very cold. Old Tuina and Wakara were shivering; their teeth knocked together; their wives and daughters were crying. Igupa Topa had taken his nephew and Halai Auna up to his place on the north side, near the roof of his sweat-house, where they were dry. The sweat-house was nearly full of water. All were crying now. Some time before daylight one of Tuina's daughters was drowned, and then the other two, and Wakara's two daughters. About dawn Tuina and Wakara with their two wives were drowned. All were dead in the sweat-house except Igupa Topa, his nephew, and Halai Auna. At daylight the rain stopped, the water began to go down, and all the bodies floated out through the doorway. The place was dry. Pun Miaupa made a fire. Halai Auna came to the fire and began to cry for her father, her mother and sisters.