“I will stay and dry meat,” said the youngest. There was a great deal of meat hanging on trees near the house. When the two brothers came to where their snares were, they saw a man. “Who are you?” asked one of them. Kéis didn’t answer, but as soon as they untied the deer he sprang upon it and cried: “This is mine!” “No, it is ours!” said the eldest brother, “but if you will come with us, we will give you some of the meat. We can’t cut the deer up here; it would spoil our snares.” Kéis didn’t listen to them; he went off. His mouth was bleeding, and he was mad. When he got home, he sat down and began to make poison—fever and black vomit and terrible things. “What is the matter?” asked Snoútiss. “What makes your mouth bleed? Why are you working so hard over that bad stuff? It is wrong to make that. It may get out of our house and spread everywhere; then the people to come will have these terrible things and die.” “Those brothers in the northwest took my deer from me,—a large, fat one,” said Kéis, and he kept on making the medicine. “You must have gone to their snares,” said the boy. “They couldn’t cut the deer up there in the woods.” Kéis didn’t answer, and Snoútiss thought: “I will go and find out what has made Kéis so mad.” When he got to the house of the three brothers, they said: “Come in, little boy. What is the trouble with your brother?” “All his teeth are out, but two, and with those he is making bad medicine. He is mad; he says that you took a deer away from him.” “We took our own deer. We told him to come and get some of the meat, but he wouldn’t; he went away without saying a word.” The brothers gave Snoútiss meat; he took it and started for home. When he got to the house he looked in at the smoke hole and he was frightened. His brother was hard at work; the whole house was dripping with sores; there were aches and pains of all kinds, and terrible sickness. “I can’t come in,” cried the little boy. “You have made those things and now they will be here always, and will make trouble. You got mad for nothing. I can’t stay with you; I will go to my uncle.” When Snoútiss came in sight of Wéwenkee’s house, a little boy saw him, and called to his father: “A boy is coming!” “That is Snoútiss,” said Wéwenkee. “He has never been here before; he wouldn’t come now if he wasn’t in trouble.” When Snoútiss got to the house, he stood outside, crying. “Tell him to come in,” said Wéwenkee to his son. Snoútiss went in. “What is the matter? Why do you cry?” asked his uncle. “My brother is mad. He has made all kinds of terrible sores and sickness. I feel badly, for those things can never be got rid of; they will live always to trouble the people who are to come. It looks badly and smells badly in our house. My brother got mad for nothing.”