“Then hold thy tongue,” Bawn cut in, and they separated in anger.

When the last silver moonlight had vanished beyond the world, Scundoo came among the people huddled about the house of Hooniah.  He walked with a quick, alert step, and those who saw him in the light of Hooniah’s slush-lamp noticed that he came empty-handed, without rattles, masks, or shaman’s paraphernalia, save for a great sleepy raven carried under one arm.

“Is there wood gathered for a fire, so that all may see when the work be done?” he demanded.

“Yea,” Bawn answered.  “There be wood in plenty.”

“Then let all listen, for my words be few.  With me have I brought Jelchs, the Raven, diviner of mystery and seer of things.  Him, in his blackness, shall I place under the big black pot of Hooniah, in the blackest corner of her house.  The slush-lamp shall cease to burn, and all remain in outer darkness.  It is very simple.  One by one shall ye go into the house, lay hand upon the pot for the space of one long intake of the breath, and withdraw again.  Doubtless Jelchs will make outcry when the hand of the evil-doer is nigh him.  Or who knows but otherwise he may manifest his wisdom.  Are ye ready?”

“We be ready,” came the multi-voiced response.

“Then will I call the name aloud, each in his turn and hers, till all are called.”

Thereat La-lah was first chosen, and he passed in at once.  Every ear strained, and through the silence they could hear his footsteps creaking across the rickety floor.  But that was all.  Jelchs made no outcry, gave no sign.  Bawn was next chosen, for it well might be that a man should steal his own blankets with intent to cast shame upon his neighbors.  Hooniah followed, and other women and children, but without result.

“Sime!” Scundoo called out.

“Sime!” he repeated.

But Sime did not stir.

“Art thou afraid of the dark?” La-lah, his own integrity being proved, demanded fiercely.

Sime chuckled.  “I laugh at it all, for it is a great foolishness.  Yet will I go in, not in belief in wonders, but in token that I am unafraid.”

And he passed in boldly, and came out still mocking.

“Some day shalt thou die with great suddenness,” La-lah whispered, righteously indignant.

“I doubt not,” the scoffer answered airily.  “Few men of us die in our beds, what of the shamans and the deep sea.”

When half the villagers had safely undergone the ordeal, the excitement, because of its repression, was painfully intense.  When two-thirds had gone through, a young woman, close on her first child-bed, broke down and in nervous shrieks and laughter gave form to her terror.

Finally the turn came for the last of all to go in, and nothing had happened.  And Di Ya was the last of all.  It must surely be he.  Hooniah let out a lament to the stars, while the rest drew back from the luckless lad.  He was half-dead from fright, and his legs gave under him so that he staggered on the threshold and nearly fell.  Scundoo shoved him inside and closed the door.  A long time went by, during which could be heard only the boy’s weeping.  Then, very slowly, came the creak of his steps to the far corner, a pause, and the creaking of his return.  The door opened and he came forth.  Nothing had happened, and he was the last.