Note 155 — FICTION (continued 7)

The old man’s lodge stood all right on level land. He peeped into it—there sat the old man. “This is dismal. I will burn the lodge,” said he; so he piled up sticks until he had it covered, whereupon he set fire to it. After the fire was well started, the old man said: “It is getting rather hot here. I wonder what is the matter. Perhaps Sʻhodieonskon155 is playing tricks with me. It seems there is fire; it feels like that. I wonder whether he is burning my lodge?” After a while, hearing the noise of burning timbers, he was sure that there was fire. “Very well,” said he; “if that is the case, I will call on Hasdeaundyetʻha.”156 Then, taking native Indian tobacco out of a basket made of corn husks, he began to burn the tobacco and to call on Hasdeaundyetʻha, saying, “I ask you to make it rain so hard that the rain shall put out every spark of fire around my lodge.” The moment he finished speaking rain began to fall. It rained so hard that the man outside had to run for safety. In a few moments the sky cleared off, the fire was out, and no traces of rain were left.