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younger sister eating with him, and thought, “I want to eat there, too,’’ 
she went off to take her berries there. 
“Here, take these," she said to him. 
The youth told her, “Bring them up here,” he said to her who had 
scorned him. 
So the woman went up. Just as she came near, she slipped on one of 
the logs; down she went; her berry-stew spilled; one of her feet was 
caught; she hung there in the air. Everybody laughed, women, children, 
and all. Soon the young woman wept with shame at having fallen down. 
At last she got herself free. She went home weeping. As for the others, 
when all the buffalo were killed, Clotkin went home. 
When they entered their tent, she who had scorned him, “Sister, let 
me help him on with one of his moccasins; let me put one of his moccasins 
on his foot,” she said, but, “No!” answered the youth. 
Now it was his turn to scorn the elder sister, who had scorned him. 
So thus they dwelt there. The elder sister unceasingly wept for shame 
at having fallen. She was always wandering about. Then it came to the 
point that all kinds of people asked her, “Why? Why do you weep?” 
“Because Clotkin put me to shame and scorns me,” she would say. 
“Child, everyone is fond of Clotkin,” that woman would be told, as 
she went about and wept. 
Then at one time she saw an old woman who asked her, “Why, grand- 
child, do you always weep?” 
“Because Clotkin put me to shame,” she told her. 
“There, wait a bit and I shall put him to shame,” the old woman told 
her. 
Presently, as Clotkin went about, he came upon a little brook. The 
handsome youth crossed it and went somewhere on the other side. 
On his way back, he saw an old woman, who said, “Grandson, take 
me on your back; I cannot get across.” 
“Grandmother, I shall make a little bridge so you can walk.” 
“Grandson, I should fall into the water,” said the old woman. 
At last he consented. 
He took her on his back and carried her across. 
But when he said to her, “Now, grandmother, here you are!” that old 
woman would not get down. 
When he tried to pull the old woman off, he could not get her free; 
like iron were her arms and legs. So then he did not care to go home, for 
he was ashamed to be carrying the old woman on his back. But in time, 
here, like this, she had him almost strangled. So at last he went home. 
When that elder sister saw him, she laughed much, saying, “What 
was he so proud about, this Clotkin who comes with an old woman riding 
on his back?” 
When the young woman saw her husband, she was greatly distressed. 
Although she clubbed her, she could not kill her. Though all the people 
clubbed her, they could not kill that old woman. Finally Clotkin was 
near to death. At last he did like this, like this, being unable to walk. 
Then, where the lumps of clotted blood had been laid in a heap, thither he 
flung himself. The old woman was holding fast to nothing but a clot of 
blood. But Clotkin rose from the ground off at one side. 
