And when the game was ended the Apaches killed his brother, but allowed him to walk away, and he returned to his own land.

But all the way he would see his brother's tracks, and whenever he stopped to camp he would see his brother's body, where it lay, and how he looked, lying there dead; and when he got home he felt so sad he cried aloud, but no one paid any attention to him.

And when he got home his folks gave him food to eat, and water to drink, but he would neither eat nor drink, feeling so sad about his brother, and he took nothing for four days.

But on the fifth day he went out and sought the cool shade of trees to forget his brother, and went upon the hills and stood there, but he could not forget; and then, in coming down, he fell down and went to sleep.

And in his sleep his brother came to him, and he seemed to know him, but when he tried to put his arms around his brother he woke up and found he was not there.

And he went home and ate, and then made this speech:--

"My pitiful relatives, I will pity you and you will pity me.

This spread-out-thing, the world, is covered with feathers, because of my sadness, and the mountains are covered with soft feathers.

Over these the sun comes, but gives me no light, I am so sad.

And the night comes, and has no darkness to rest me, because my eyes are open all night.

(This has happened to me, O all my relatives.)

And it was my own bones that I raked up, and with them made a fire that showed me the opposite land, the Land of the Enemy.

(This was done, my relatives.)

The sticks I cut for the number of days were my own sinews, cut and bound together.

It was my own rib that I used as an eev-a-dah-kote, or fire rubbing stick.

It was my own bowels that I used for a belt.

And it was my scalp, and my own hair, that I used for sandals.

It was my own skull that I filled with my own blood, and drank from, and talked like a drunkard.

And I wandered where the ashes are dumped, and I wandered over the hills, and I found it could be done, and went to the shadows of the trees and found the same thing.

On the level ground I fell, and the Sun, the Traveller, was overhead, and from above my brother came down, and I tried to hug him, but only hugged myself.

And I thought I was holding all sadness, but there was a yet stronger sadness, for my brother came down and stood on my breast, and the tears fell down and watered the ground.

And I tried to hug him, but only hugged myself.

And this was my desire, that I should go to the powerful woman, and I reached her quietly where she lived.

And I spoke to her this way:

'You were living over there.

You are the person who makes a hoop for her gyihhaw from the Apaches'

bow, and with their arrows makes the back-stop, the oam-muck, and with their blood you color the gyihhaw prettily; and you split the arrow-heads and make from them the ov-a-nuck, and tie it in with the Apaches' hair, weaving the hair to the left and then binding it on.'

And this way I spoke to her.

And then she gave me good news of the weakness of the Apaches and I ran out full of joy.

And from there I rose up and reached the Feather-Nested Doctor, Quotaveech, and I spoke to him this way:

'And you belong here.

And you make the ribs of your kee from the Apache bows, and you tie the arrows across with the bow strings, and with the sinews of their bows you tie them.

And with the robes of the Apaches, and with their head-wear, and with their moccasins, you cover the kee instead of with arrow weeds.

And inside, at the four corners, there are hung locks of Apaches' hair, and at the corners are the stumps of the cane-tube pipes, smoking themselves, and forming the smoke into all colors of flowers--white and glittering and gray and yellow.'

And this way I spoke to him, and he gave me the good news of the weakness of the Apaches.

And I came down and went Southward to the other doctor, called Vahk-lohn Mahkai and there I reached him.

And this way I spoke to him:

'And here is where you belong.

The Apache bow you make into the likeness of the pretty rainbow, and the arrows you make into the likeness of the white-headed gra.s.s.

And the fore shaft of the arrows you turn into water moss, and the arrows into resemblance of flat clay.

And the hair of the Apaches you make into likeness of clouds.'

And this way I spoke to him, and he told me the news of the weakness of the Apaches.

And I ran out of the house, and went westward, and found the old woman doctor, Tawquahdahmawks.

And I said to her:

'You belong here.

And you make the bow of the Apaches into the hoop of the game the Aw-aw-bopp, the Maricopas, play, the rolling hoop that they throw sticks after.

And their arrows you flatten up with your teeth, and wear around your brows like a crown.

And the fore shafts of the arrows you have split, and painted red with the Apache blood, and made into gainskoot, the dice sticks.

And the Apache hair you make into a skirt.'

And this way I spoke to her, and she told me the thought of the two different peoples, the Awawtam and the Awup, that they were enemies, and she told me this, and I went out from there and strengthened myself four times.