It happened many years after the going away of Wa-choo-bay that the Omaha tribe had its village in the valley on a creek near the big muddy water. It was the time when the sunflowers made sunlight in the valleys and when the women were busy pulling weeds from the gardens. One evening a band of youths, who had been playing on the bluffs overlooking the far reaches of the river, came with breathless speed and terror-stricken faces into the village. “_Monda geeung_ [devil boat]!” they cried, pointing to the river. “A big canoe breathing out smoke and fire is swimming up Ne Shoda.” The whole village scrambled up the bluffs, and what they saw was not forgotten for many moons. It was a boat, but it was not as other boats. It breathed smoke and fire. It grunted and puffed like a swimmer in a heavy current. It had a great arm that reached before it. Also it had two noses, where the smoke and fire came out. It had eyes along its side that sparkled in the evening sunlight. There was none to paddle it, yet it moved steadily against the current. The people stood bunched closely together and shivering with fear as the monster approached. With a chugging and a swishing and a coughing, it swam, turning its head towards the bluff where the people watched and reaching out its one big arm toward them. “It sees us! It wishes to eat us!” cried the people, and like a herd of frightened bison they ran and tumbled down the bluff. They hid in their lodges with their weapons grasped in their hands. They made no noise, lest the monster should find them. But the devil-swimmer did not come. The people listened. At length the sound of the mighty breathing stopped, then it began again and grew dimmer and dimmer until it died away far up the stream. And when the people came forth cautiously from their hiding, a man, tall, thin, with a strange look upon his bronze face, stood in the centre of the village. Awed by the mien of the stranger, the people stared in silence. The sun had fallen and the shadows of the evening were about him. Also he wore garments that were not as Wakunda meant garments should be. The stranger cast a long gaze about him, then raised his arms and said in a voice that was strong but soft: “I breathe peace upon my people.” The words were Omaha words, yet they sounded strange. Again the voice was raised in the shadows and passed like a wind among the people, shaking them. “I am Wa-choo-bay—he who followed the long dream-trail—and I am come back with a great wisdom for the tribes.” But the people only trembled, and the old men whispered: “It is not Wa-choo-bay, but his spirit. Well is the face remembered, but the words are not man-words.” Then the stranger passed about the circle of the wondering people, touching them as he went, for he had heard the whispering of the old men. And the people shrank from him.