This wicked boasting is overheard by the
chief's younger daughter, who by no means
admiring the old man's account of himself, pops
in her head and cries out, "Oh fie! did you
yourself kill your wife?" The only answer to
this impertinent question is a hearty box on the
ear, that renders the maiden speechless, and
brings her to the verge of death.

The chief is in despair, and not suspecting
that the hard hand of his villanous son-in-law
has wrought the mischief (for the poor victim
can't utter a word), sends him to fetch a remarkably
clever old woman, who lives in the neighbourhood
with her seven sons. He undertakes
the mission, but when the old woman is brought
to the chief's residence, she evinces an unpleasant
desire to know the cause of the young lady's
malady, and for this purpose begins beating with
great fervour one of those magic drums that are
commonly used among the Altaic races for
purposes of divination. While thus occupied, she
rocks violently from side to side, and the old
traitor, who would not have the secret discovered
for the world, cuts some bits of stick to a point
and fixes them in the wall, at about the height
of the witch's head. Another rock or two, and
the old lady in her magic ecstasy brings her
head against the wall, when one of the pegs goes
in at one of her ears and out at the other.

Aghast with horror is the chief when the
witch falls dead at his feet. Not only is his
daughter still uncured of her dangerous malady,
but he has to dread the vengeance of the old
woman's seven sons. However, he trusts to the
superior shrewdness of his son-in-law, and
promises him half his wealth if he will carry the
deceased lady home to her sons and persuade
them not to commence any hostile proceedings.
Off sets the murderous old trickster, who adopts
his former expedient of placing the corpse
upright in his sledge as though it were a living
body, and drives on till he comes to a forest,
where he finds a couple of Samoyedes shooting
at a squirrel. "You are very bad hands at this
sport," says he, observing that they miss their
mark. "Let me have a try." And stepping
aside with their arrows, he sticks one of them in
the old woman's ear. "A pretty business you
have made of it with your bungling," he continues;
"you have shot the cunning woman, the
mother of seven stout sons, right through the
head."

Penetrated with contrition for a fault they
have not committed, the two Samoyedes betake
themselves to the chief, and implore his pardon,
which he readily grants, rejoiced to see the
blame laid upon shoulders with which he has
nothing to do, and then pompously orders the
two dolts to carry the old lady to her sons,
kindly recommending them to make the best of
a bad job.

The Samoyedes, not greatly relishing their
task, implore the old villain to undertake it for
them, promising to remunerate him with all
sorts of valuable articles. He agrees to their
terms, accepts the responsibility of the old lady's
decease, and, having appointed a meeting with
them at the spot where he first found them
squirrel-shooting, proceeds to the residence of
the seven brothers. Before he announces his
arrival, he takes the arrow out of the old lady's
ear, and puts a twig in its place. "Hey-day!
what's all this?" exclaim the brothers, when on
coming up to the sledge they perceive the twig
in the old woman's ear. "What do you mean?"
says the base assassin, with the most perfect
show of innocence. "Surely you can see that
the old lady has been killed," was the wrathful
reply. "Well-a-day, so she has!" exclaims the
hypocrite. "I knew no good would come of
our chief putting such very wild dogs to the
sledge. You see the old lady ran against the
branch as we were driving along." The brothers
look incredulous, but they allow the old rascal to
return, and when he comes to the spot where the
two Samoyedes await him, he is rewarded with
two sledges full of clothes and valuable furs.

Thus enriched, he again lives with his chief,
heals the ailing girl, receives her as a third
wife, and becomes the father of another son.
Suddenly he is seized with the desire to visit his
ancient place of residence, endeared to his
memory by the murder of his first wife, and takes
an excellent boat for the purpose. Presently he
arrives at a village familiar to him in early days,
where he perpetrates a piece of treachery that
throws all his former crimes into the shade. The
inhabitants of the village, once his neighbours,
come out to greet him, whereupon he frightens
them out of their wits with a story of a plundering
horde, advising them to make two deep pits,
and to put all their treasures in one and
themselves in the other. This crafty counsel they
too readily follow. In one hole they bury their
possessions, in the other their false friend buries
them, and to such good purpose that they never
get up again.

The prosperous traitor lives again with the
Ostjak chief, but after a while is seized with
another fit of home-sickness. He takes his two
wives, his two sons, and all his property in three
boats, and when he has reached the spot where
he buried all his old friends alive, he opens one
of the pits and astounds his family with the sight
of his enormous wealth. Most edifying is the
pathetic address with which the tale concludes:
"This, my children, is your inheritance. I am
old, and shall soon sink into the grave; but I
have collected this for you, and you may deal
with it at your pleasure."

Seven brothers, who are heartless in the most
literal sense of the word, figure in a tale that is
distinguished from the others by something of a
poetical tone. These seven brothers have
murdered an old Samoyede lady and carried off her
daughter, but there is a pious son, who has
obtained a supernaturally gifted beauty for his
wife, and hopes, with her aid, to repair the
mischief that has been done. The great point
is to get the hearts of the brothers, which they
are in the habit of taking out of their bosoms
every night before they retire to rest, and which
they very imprudently entrust to the care of the
captive girl.