63. As soon as there was light enough in the morning to discern objects, a man who was looking out of the door of the medicine lodge cried out, “He comes,” and those inside laughed and waited. Presently Tlà¢esçìni (such was the name of the old woman’s grandson) entered and sat down near the fire. All looked at him in astonishment. When last they saw him his hair was short and matted, as if it had not been combed or washed for three years, and his form was lean and bent. Now he appeared with thick glossy locks that fell below his knee; his limbs were large and firm looking; he held his head erect and walked like a youth of courage; and many said to one another, “This cannot be the same man.” In a little while another young man named Indsiskàï (Radiating White Streaks), as fair and robust as the first, entered and sat down by the fire on the side opposite to where Tlà¢esçìni sat. The white earth and the charcoal for painting the akáninili were already prepared; so some of the young men in the lodge, when they beheld this pair of fine couriers, arose without a word of debate and began to paint the latter and to adorn their persons for the journey. When the toilet was done, the medicine man sent the couriers forth with many messages and injunctions and told them to blow on their whistles four times before they got out of hearing of the lodge. Tlà¢esçìni went to the north and Indsiskàï to the south, and they walked so slowly that all the spectators again laughed and made merry, and many said: “They will never reach the camps whither we have sent them.” They passed out of sight just before the sun rose. Those who remained in camp prepared to amuse themselves. They cleared the ground for the game of náⁿjoj, and brought out their sticks and hoops. Some said: “We will have plenty of time for play before the couriers return.” Others said: “At yonder tree we saw Tlà¢esçìni last. I suppose if we went there now we would find him asleep under it.”