“What ails him?” asked Tusasás. “Is he proud? Does he think that he is chief? I will go and bring him here by the hair.” Blaiwas scolded Tusasás, told him to stop talking. Ndukis said: “What is the use in sending me all the time? Kalaslákkas won’t come and he won’t speak to me. You chiefs speak right out and talk, but he won’t. He isn’t willing to talk to everybody. You must go to him.” The next day Blaiwas went to the young man and said: “My nephew, I have lost everything; will you come and play for me?” “When I was small,” said Kalaslákkas, “you never looked after me or were sorry for me. You didn’t call me nephew. It is no use for you to try and hire me now; but I will go and play.” Blaiwas said to the grandmother: “Kalaslákkas is going to play for me to-morrow. Give him a nice feather and a shirt.” “No,” said the young man, “my body will do as well naked as dressed. I will go as I am. But you must make an opening in the ground where the men are sitting; I won’t go in by the smoke hole.” When the people saw Kalaslákkas, they began to talk and whisper and to ask one another where such a beautiful young man came from. Tusasás said to the old woman: “Your grandson wouldn’t come in at the smoke hole; he thinks that he is the biggest chief in the world, that he is made out of something nice. He has a body just like mine; he needn’t be so proud.” “Keep still!” said the old woman, and she told Blaiwas that Tusasás was abusing her grandson. “Go and help the women cook meat,” said Blaiwas. “I won’t do it,” said Tusasás; “I wouldn’t do it if Leméis or Súbbas told me to.” “Throw him out!” cried Blaiwas. Men took hold of Tusasás by his thick hair and pulled him out of the house. His hair was as long as he was himself. It was all of the same length; not one hair was sticking up. It was black and glossy and stood out around him. Kalaslákkas won the first game. Kumal was frightened; he said: “Some great gambler has come; maybe we shall get beaten.” Tusasás put his mouth against a crack, and called out: “That game wasn’t hard to win; I could have won it myself.” “Go and bring water for the women,” screamed Blaiwas. “Keep away from here!” The women pounded Tusasás, pulled him away and told him not to make Kalaslákkas mad. The young man began to sing the song he had heard the gamblers sing at the swimming place. The song made every one happy. It sounded like many persons singing. It was beautiful, but nobody could learn it. Blaiwas had the girl brought on a gambling plate and put down with her face turned to the wall. When she looked over her shoulder at the gamblers, she saw Kalaslákkas and looked at him so long that her eyes ached. Before midday he had won back half of all Blaiwas and his men had lost. When they stopped to rest, he said: “No one on either side can eat meat or fish till we are through gambling.”