When the fifth brother came, he struck first, and raised a flash of fire that went through three of the boy’s stone covers. Góshgoise struck off two of Yaukûl’s stone covers, then told his uncles to strike right where he had struck. They broke all the covers and killed the man. As he died, the boy said to him: “Hereafter, you and your brothers will be nothing but water fowls, you will eat only dead fish. People will laugh at you, for you will always sit by the water, whichever way the wind blows.” Góshgoise killed old woman Yaukûl and threw her body off; she became the same kind of bird as her sons. The daughter he took for a wife. Among the captives in Yaukûl’s house he found his mother and aunts. “I am going away,” said Góshgoise to his uncles. “You mustn’t stay here; you and all these women must go to my grandmother’s place.” He knew that his grandmother would have a big house ready for them. He asked his mother how many people there were at the next bad place. “There are five brothers,” said she. “The eldest brother has a beautiful wife. Those brothers have killed all the men and children in that country. The women are captives and have to dig roots for the five brothers. The eldest brother’s wife goes with them to watch them while they dig.” Góshgoise traveled on. He went to the top of a high mountain, looked down on the other side, and saw, on the flat below, women digging roots. The first woman was his father’s sister; her head was covered with pitch, for she was mourning for her husband. When Góshgoise got near, he crept along quietly till he stood behind his aunt. She saw a second shadow and turned around to see what made it. The minute she saw Góshgoise, she knew he was her nephew; she cried out: “Go away! Why did you come here? This is a bad place!” Góshgoise didn’t answer. “How did you pass the Yaukûl brothers?” asked his aunt. “I killed them.” “The five Kaudokis brothers live here,” said the woman. “We have to work for them. If we didn’t work, they would cut our legs or ears off and make us eat them. The eldest brother has a beautiful wife—that bright woman over there—she looks like the moon.” “I have come here for a wife,” said Góshgoise. “Have those men sisters?” “Oh, my nephew,” said his aunt, “go away, you will be killed. We are all captives. There is no woman here for you.” “I want that bright woman,” said Góshgoise, “and I’m going to fight for her.” He ran to the woman, caught hold of her, and made her sit down; then he put his head on her knees. “Who are you?” cried the woman. “Go away! The five brothers will see you and they will kill you. Go away!” She cried, and all the women cried and begged Góshgoise to go away; but he stayed there; he wouldn’t get up, and he wouldn’t let the woman get up. The Kaudokis brothers wore blankets made of untanned elk-skin. Góshgoise heard the noise of some one running and at the same time pounding a dry, stiff hide. The eldest brother was coming.