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kitty smith The First Time They Knew K’och’èn, White Man You know my grandson, Kenneth? He looks after me, takes care of me. They’re that way, Indians, long time ago, I guess. Where they get meat, long time ago, One Indian boy got meat for his grandma. All the time he does that, that boy. No white man that time – – they don’t know white man. I’m going to tell you a story about this one, that boy. He looked after his grandma – – he took care. Where they kill meat, he goes, that boy. He gets meat. They’ve got two dogs – – No dogs long time ago, they say; just a little while ago, that dog. They kill two caribou. His uncle killed them. ‘‘You get meat: your uncle killed caribou. Are you going to go?’’ He says, ‘‘Yes.’’ They say, ‘‘You take your dog.’’ He took his dog. Goes. He told his grandma, ‘‘Don’t get wood, Grandma.  Southern Tutchone I’ll come back. I’m going to get wood. My uncle killed caribou.’’ People go to get meat. Everybody packed him: everybody went to that meat place. That boy, he looked for bones someplace, after people go – – Looks around to see if he finds something: he takes them. He’s got two dogs to pack them, too. People are gone already. He goes back. He’s the same big as my grandchild Kenneth. This is a story, you know, not ‘‘story.’’ It’s true story.1 He sees a rainbow, about same big as this tent. He stood up about this far from it, and somebody talked to him. ‘‘Go through.’’ He doesn’t see who said that. ‘‘Go through.’’ He comes, his dogs behind. Goes through. Other side, little bit long way, he stands back. Big sack falls down there. ‘‘Don’t eat that meat anymore! You’re going to eat this grub. This one in the sack. Don’t drink water from this ground for one week! That many days, don’t take water from this ground. You’re going to use this one, from inside your grub here, Or else we’re going to come, going to get you.’’ He took that sack. Put it on top of his pack. He doesn’t see that man who talks to him, but he sees that rainbow. But he talked to him. His grandma cooked already – – That’s what I do with Kenneth here – – cook soup, everything. So when he comes back, he runs here, ‘‘What you cooking, Grandma, soup?’’ kitty smith: the first time they knew k’och’èn  ‘‘Yes.’’ Last night he cooked, him. Fed me here. ‘‘I cook some gopher. I kill two, grandchild,’’ she said, that old lady. ‘‘I cook that one.’’ ‘‘No, Grandma, I’m not going to eat. I’ve got something to eat,’’ he said. She looked. Something’s wrong, she thinks. ‘‘I’m not going to eat anymore, Grandma. I’ve got my grub here, my sack.’’ That one who talked to him told him, ‘‘Tell those people to fix some things for you.’’ He told his grandma, ‘‘Tell those boys they got to come, Their uncle, too, has got to come here.’’ Grandma goes to tell them, ‘‘He wants you . . . Don’t know what’s the matter. He said it.’’ They come there and the boys sit down. ‘‘I want you to fix that high bed for me,’’ he said. ‘‘I want to lay down on top.’’ Just quick they fix him. ‘‘And two bridges, I want you to fix this way.’’ Bridge goes right there, right here, that far. ‘‘Well, thank you,’’ he said. ‘‘Somebody talked to me; that’s why I say that. You come tonight before you eat: you come to this bridge. Then I’m going to tell you. You hold your wife’s hand when you come on that bridge. I’m going to tell you.’’  Southern Tutchone His grandma got scared, you know. ‘‘Don’t think about it, Grandma. Eat. You eat good.’’ They fix already that bed for him. On top. He opens his sack – – he doesn’t know this kind of grub. He eats something from there. Water in there, too. He drinks water. And he said, ‘‘They’re coming now.’’ He sings some kind of song, ‘‘Come on, come on, my friends.’’ ‘‘You hold your wife’s hand. Go down, turn that way.’’ He tells them, ‘‘I’m going to be white man...


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