And he indeed came; but when he saw them all as frightened as rabbits
before the wild-cat, he laughed aloud and forgave them, for he was
noble and generous. And as they were hungry--for he had come in hard
times--he gave them much venison, and sorrow departed from their
wigwams. But as they had left him of old, he now left them. When they
knew him not they left him to die; now that they knew him they feared
lest they should perish without him. But he turned his steps towards
other paths.
Now having made a canoe, the Master, with Marten and Dame Bear, went
upon a mighty river. As the story says, it was broad and beautiful at
first, and so they sailed away down towards its mouth. Then they came
to great cliffs, which gathered round and closed over them. But the
river ran on beneath these, and ever on far underground, deeper and
deeper in the earth, till it dashed headlong into rapids, among rocks
and ravines, and under cataracts which were so horrible that death
seemed to come and go with every plunge of the canoe. And the water
grew narrower and the current more dreadful, and fear came upon Marten
and the woman, so that they died. But the Master sat with silent soul,
though he sang the songs of magic, and so passed into the night, but
came forth again into sunlight. And there was a lonely wigwam on the
bank, into which he bore Marten and the grandmother, and saying,
"_Numchahse_! arise!" lo, they arose, and deemed they had only
slept.
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