The father was very sad, and could not rest till he found out what his wife did during his absence. So the next morning he went off to see his traps, etc., but only went a little way, and then waited for his wife.

Presently she came out, dressed in her best, and went towards the river. He followed her, and saw her stop at a very large stump and knock at it and say: “I am here my friends; come out now and let us play.”

Then the stump became alive with snakes, large and small. Then she laid down and let them crawl all over her, and kept singing and playing with them. The poor man was almost overcome with terror, but tore himself away and made his plan how he was going to destroy this monster of a woman. So he shot many deer and left them and marked the places where they were hid, and went home. He had killed some heaver and had taken their teeth with him, but left them in the swamps. In the evening he told his wife that she must get up early next day and go into the woods and bring back the meat and beaver. How cross she was! She scolded her children and behaved quite rudely. Next day she went off, and not long afterwards he went to find the stump, and when he found it he took a stick and beat on it and said: “Come out, my friends; I am here now; come and play.”

Then the snakes all came out, and he began cutting them to pieces. He killed all of them except one little snake that managed to escape into its hole. He gathered all the blood of the snakes and took it home. At dusk the wife returned, very tired and cross. He had cooked the beavers’ tails, which are most delicious and a great dainty, and afterwards gave her to drink, but it was blood. She did not know it. He had told his children that he had killed their mother’s friends, and that when she found out she would kill them all. “Now, listen, my children. You must run away from here as quickly as you can; and if you see your mother coming after you, you must throw this comb behind you.” Then he gave them a wooden comb, flint and beaver’s teeth. “Always remember and throw these things behind you and never in front,” Then he lifted up the flap of the skin tent at the back, and told them to go that way. The poor little fellows went off crying bitterly.

Now, the mother, after eating and feeling hotter, asked where the children were.

Oh, they are watching for the stars, and will be in soon, so go to sleep. The next day he left early, but went only a little war, when he saw his wife go out. Presently she came back, raging. She had gone to the stump and found all her friends dead, and only one little one left alive, who told her that her husband had killed all his relations. When he heard her raging he returned and prepared for the death struggle. Words cannot describe the awful conflict. At last he cut off her head and fled, with the body after him and the head rolling about looking for the children, and calling for them. At last she saw a crow, and asked the bird if he had seen which way the children had gone.

“Oh, yes,” said he; “lift up the tent at the back and you will find their trail.”

So he flew down and picked up the tent, and out the head rolled. It went on and on till it nearly reached the children, who were terribly frightened. They threw the comb behind, and an immense forest sprang up. Now the head was in despair, and asked everybody she met to help her. At last the fire helped her and made a path for her through the forest. She then rolled on and nearly came up to the children, when they threw the flint, and a great mountain rose up. Again she asked the birds and animals to help her. An eagle picked her up and carried her over and dropped her, and she went rolling on.

At last the poor children saw her coming, and in their haste they threw the beaver’s teeth before them, and a broad river appeared. Poor children, how could they cross this wide river? They cried so bitterly that at last a pelican that was fishing near by, said: “Come, my poor little children; get on my back and I will cross you.”

“Oh, grandfather, how kind you are.”

On the broad back of the pelican they mounted, and he took them across the river. The head saw the children get on the pelican’s back, but was too late to catch them. So when the pelican came back, she begged him to cross her too. At first he would not, but at last consented, and after a good deal of trouble she got on the pelican’s back. Just when they were in the middle of the river he made a dive after a fish, and the poor Chis-tapistaquhn rolled into the water, where she became a sturgeon. The Indians won’t eat the flesh of the sturgeon just where the head joins the body, for that is, they say, Chis-tapistaquhn’s flesh. The poor children remained on the river bank, living as best they could, when one day a temanhous man came and carried away the eldest boy for his daughter’s husband. The poor little boy was heartbroken at parting with his brother, but the temanhous man turned the younger into a wolf.

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