The Chenoo danced faster and wilder; then the head of an
immense _Taktalok_, or lizard, rose above the surface. The old man
killed it with a blow of his hatchet. Dragging it out he began again to
dance. He brought out another, the female, not so large, but still
heavy as an elk. They were small spring lizards, but the Chenook had
conjured them; by his magic they were made into monsters.
He dressed the game; he cut it up. He took the heads and feet and tails
and all that he did not want, and cast them back into the spring. "They
will grow again into many lizards," he said. When the meat was trimmed
it looked like that of the bear. He bound it together with withes; he
took it on his shoulders; he ran like the wind; his load was nothing.
The Indian was a great runner; in all the land was not his like; but
now he lagged far behind. "Can you go no faster than that?" asked the
Chenoo. "The sun is setting; the red will be black anon. At this rate
it will be dark ere we get home. Get on my shoulders."
The Indian mounted on the load. The Chenoo bade him hold his head low,
so that he could not be knocked off by the branches. "Brace your feet,"
he said, "so as to be steady." Then the old man flew like the wind,--
_ne[original illegible] sokano'v'jal samastukteskugul chel wegwasumug
wegul_; the bushes whistled as they flew past them. They got home
before sunset.
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