The returning pilgrim now puts her fowl and her basi olla inside her dwelling, and likely sits in the open air awaiting her husband as he prepares the feast.  Outside, directly in front of his door, he builds a fire and sets a cooking olla over it.  Then he takes the chicken from its basket, and at his hands it meets a slow and cruel death.  It is held by the feet and the hackle feathers, and the wings unfold and droop spreading.  While sitting in his doorway holding the fowl in this position the man beats the thin-fleshed bones of the wings with a short, heavy stick as large around as a spear handle.  The fowl cries with each of the first dozen blows laid on, but the blows continue until each wing has received fully half a hundred.  The injured bird is then laid on its back on a stone, while its head and neck stretch out on the hard surface.  Again the stick falls, cruelly, regularly, this time on the neck.  Up and down its length it is pummeled, and as many as a hundred blows fall —­ fall after the cries cease, after the eyes close and open and close again a dozen times, and after the bird is dead.  The head receives a few sharp blows, a jet of blood spurts out, and the ceremonial killing is past.  The man, still sitting on his haunches, still clasping the feet of the pendent bird, moves over beside his fire, faces his dwelling, and voices the only words of this strangely cruel scene.  His eyes are open, his head unbending, and he gazes before him as he earnestly asks a blessing on the people, their pigs, chickens, and crops.

The old men say it is bad to cut off a chicken’s head —­ it is like taking a human head, and, besides, they say that the pummeling makes the flesh on the bony wings and neck larger and more abundant —­ so all fowls killed are beaten to death.

After the oral part of the ceremony the fowl is held in the flames till all its feathers are burned off.  It is cut up and cooked in the olla before the door of the dwelling, and the entire family eats of it.

Each family has the Mang’-mang ceremony, and so also has each broken household if it possesses a sementera —­ though a lone woman calls in a man, who alone may perform the rite connected with the ceremonial killing, and who must cook the fowl.  A lone man needs no woman assistant.

Though the ancestral anito are religiously bidden to the feast, the people eat it all, no part being sacrificed for these invisible guests.  Even the small olla of basi is drunk by the man at the beginning of the meal.

The rite of the third day is called “Mang-a-pu’-i.”  The sementeras of growing palay are visited, and an abundant fruitage asked for.  Early in the morning some member of each household goes to the mountains to get small sprigs of a plant named “pa-lo’-ki.”  Even as early as 7.30 the pa-lo’-ki had been brought to many of the houses, and the people were scattering along the different trails leading to the most distant sementeras.  If the family owned many scattered fields, the day was well spent before all were visited.