But the brightness did not fade away as they watched. Instead, while darkness fell all about the village, the red fire burned brighter and brighter at the top of the mountain. The people cried, “The sun is resting. He does not move. He does not sink behind the mountain!” Then they were frightened, for they knew not what to think. All night they watched, and still the bright light shone above the mountain top. It flashed, and threw fiery darts far into the heavens; and the Indians said, “The sun is angry. Perhaps he will destroy the earth’s children.” Then their wonder grew as far away in the east a light began to glow. It grew brighter and brighter,--and then the sun arose on the eastern horizon! The people knew then that the light upon the mountain was not the light of the sun. “There is _fire_ in the mountain,” they cried, “and fire is warm. It is beckoning to us with its hands. Let us move nearer to the fire mountain. It will not be so cold there.” So the people of the village marched westward toward the mountain. The bright light had gone, but a cloud of smoke hung above it. For several days they journeyed, and at last they reached the foot of the mountain, and there they camped. Then two of their bravest warriors climbed up the mountain, until they came to its very top, and there they looked down into a great opening, shaped like a mammoth bowl, and it was full of fire! Then they hastened down and told the people. The people rejoiced, and said, “The fire in the mountain will keep us warm. It will be good to live here.” And they made them a new village at the foot of the mountain. For many moons the people dwelt there, hunting and fishing, making their beads and moccasins. Then one day a strange noise was heard. It was as though the mountain coughed--a great, hoarse, rumbling cough, like that of some huge giant. The people stood still and listened! There was another sound like the first, but heavier, more convulsive. Then a great flash of fire shot up from the mountain top, and fell again. Then another, and another, and each time the fire leaped higher. “Let us run!” cried the people. “Let us run!” Even as they spoke there was a great burst of fire and smoke, and huge stones were thrown high in the air, and a stream came pouring down the side of the mountain--a stream that looked like liquid fire. Then the Indians ran, indeed, and there was no time to save anything but their own lives! Many streams followed the first one, coming like fiery serpents down the mountain side, and above were heavy smoke clouds, shot with bursting rocks. Far away the Indian people ran, crying, “The Fire Spirit is angry! What have we done that he should destroy our homes?” At last they stopped, and turned to look back at the fire mountain. The flames were gone: only a cloud of smoke hung about. But the fiery streams had burned all that was in their way; and rocks and ashes had buried what the fire streams had not destroyed.