LETTER XV. 161 



flight upon flight, thick as hail in winter, flew 

 the arrows, when the great Soni-appoo yawned 

 and awoke. As he stretched his hairy limbs, 

 ropes snapped like dry grass ; the arrows fell 

 idly back from his iron hide ; and as he rose, 

 those daring ones who clung to his long silky 

 black locks were lifted up half as high as the 

 pines, and, as the demon shook his head, fell 

 feebly back to earth. With a laugh of scorn 

 Soni-appoo turned, not deigning to crush the 

 pigmies at his feet, and hid himself in a 

 thunder-cloud, in which the terror-stricken In- 

 dians heard his laugh die away among the crags 

 of Chippaco. 



It is well to hunt the deer in the open, or in 

 the sunny glades when the morning is fresh and 

 young ; but the shadows of the tall peaks, and 

 the caverns at their feet, hold terrible shapes 

 towards evening. The children of the tribe 

 remember the story of Kee-kee-was, father of 

 Tumisco, and shiver as they dabble in the little 

 trout-stream, where, years ago, he set his fish- 

 traps. In the winter the brook is a raging 

 torrent ; but when summer has reduced it to a 

 noisy silver thread, it is full of bright trout. 

 Here, day after day, Kee-kee-was caught enough 

 trout for his whole tribe, until suddenly the run 

 seemed to cease, the traps were empty. Kee- 



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