Kalaslákkas walked around the swimming place on the mountain; he piled up stones and then sat down to rest. He couldn’t keep his eyes open; he fell asleep and dreamed that the great bear of the swimming place was angry with him, and said: “If your child had been a girl, you could have come here, but it is wrong to come here when a boy is born.” The bear roared at him terribly, then the young man saw his grandmother there by him. The bear sprang at her and tore her to pieces. When Kalaslákkas woke up, he knew that he had done wrong. He sat on the mountain all day, afraid to go anywhere. He thought: “My grandmother told me that whenever I dreamed of my kin it meant me.” Toward dark he got up and started for home; when he got to the house, he found his wife and grandmother crying. The grandmother said: “I am sorry that I raised you and tried to teach you our laws. It was wrong for you to go to the mountain without asking me. I have been long in this world. You will die soon unless the child dies. If he dies he will take the dream back. You must build a fire on top of the mountain and talk to the mountain, tell it everything, tell it how sorry you are. If you make a big fire in the evening and it burns bright and fast, it is a sign that your dream will soon come to pass. But if you have to work a long time to get the fire lighted, it is a sign that the drill delays the dream, and the earth wants you to live a little longer.” Kalaslákkas took his drill out of his quiver and started. At sundown he got to the top of the mountain and began to build a fire. The drill worked hard and the fire was long in kindling. Then he said to the mountain: “My mountain where I traveled when I was a boy, be good to me. Fire, you can burn up everything; I want you to burn up my dream and my wife’s dream. My earth and wind, I want you to let me live a little longer.” He talked to everything, talked a long time. Then he started for home. He had gone to the mountain slowly, for he was sorry to die, but he went home quickly, for he felt stronger. Blaiwas and his people had moved away, scattered to different places. Kalaslákkas camped by a spring. “Who owns this spring?” asked he. “The one who made it,” said his grandmother. “Old Kówe lives way down under the water; she is in every spring in the world. She is our grandmother. If she gets mad at anybody, she can dry up the deepest water.” “There are many roots around here,” said Kalaslákkas; “we had better stay and dig them.” “I am afraid here,” said the old woman. “Nobody can stop a dream. This is a dangerous place.” “What can I do?” asked the young man. “We must have something to eat.” He went to a small lake, not far away, to hunt for duck eggs. He found all he could carry. “Don’t go on the south side of the lake,” said his grandmother; “that is the side that Lok always comes on.” That day Kalaslákkas’ wife broke her digging stick. Kalaslákkas said: “I will go to the mountain and get you another.”