A great hunter brought home a lovely wife
And he loved her with all of his heart.
He swore to her that they would never part.
They anticipated a joyful life.
The man’s mother hated the young woman,
Killed her with a knife and burned the body.
The husband was out hunting wapiti,
Only to find grief at his mother’s hand.
He watched the ashes all night and day.
The curls of dust whirled round and round.
At last, one night, the largest whirled around
And set off, he followed it right away.
The dust was his wife, but she would not speak.
They came to the rock set just for the dead,
If they were bad, the rock falls on their head.
The wife took him on her back for to seek
The place of dead people if you still live.
They forded a river that all must cross,
She went to her people, whom she had lost,
Pleaded to allow him to stay and give
Him a chance to prove to the tribe his worth.
Special foods had to be made for him,
They thought he was too much trouble for them,
He could see them at night when they came forth.
For hunting, he was put on the deer trail,
He heard “The deer, the deer!”, but saw nothing.
Looking, saw two beetles, hit with a swing.
After that, no complaints, but he felt frail.
“It’s not time for him to die yet,” said they.
“He can not stay here, she must also return.”
It was arranged, but with a warning stern.
“For three days after you are back on clay,
Do not caress or embrace each other.”
Three nights for the dead did not mean the same
For the living and they only became
Aware of this when he woke up without her
On the morning of the fourth day alone
With his blankets and a pillow of stone.