storm slackened for a moment. Then all began louder than ever. Kakahete screamed, "Ha, ha, hiaqua! Ha, ha, hiaqua!"
One by one Miser threw away the strings of hiaqua, strung on the sinews of Moosmoos, the elk. Always the tomanowos screamed after him. Then when the last string was gone, with a last gust the storm blew him down, flat upon the ground.
Miser slept a long time. When he awoke, Takhoma glistened above him, shining white in the sunlight. All around him grew camas roots. Rocky ridges lay where once the forest had stretched. Sunny meadows lay around him. Miser stretched himself and arose. Only dry leaves and dead grass remained in the rotted ikta. Miser wondered. Then he went down the mountain side. He ate berries for food until he came to a cabin in the valley. There lived a very old woman. He talked with her and found she was his klootchman. Klootchman said he had slept thirty snows. Miser looked at himself in a pool. He was very old. His hair was white. Many, many snows had the angry tomanowos made him sleep. But Miser was happy. He no longer cared for hiaqua.
