II. Dry Rain Goes Trading
One day, when he was an old man, Dry Rain rode in from his village to the white man’s trading post.
The old chief purchased a number of articles, among them some jack-knives and six hatchets. The hatchets were for his six grandsons.
The trader packed all the purchases in a big bundle. Dry Rain paid for them, mounted his pony, and rode home to his village.
When he opened his package, he noticed that the trader by mistake had put in seven hatchets.
But Dry Rain said nothing. “That extra one will do for me,” he thought. “The white men stole the Indian’s land and never gave it back; I will keep the hatchet.”
At the same time he did not feel that this would be doing just right.
In his wigwam that night he lay half-asleep and half-awake, thinking about the hatchet.
He seemed to hear two voices talking, in a tone so earnest that it sounded almost quarrelsome.
“Take back the hatchet,” said one voice. “It belongs to the white man.”
“No! do not take it back,” said the other voice. “It is right for you to keep it.”
Back and forth the voices argued and argued, for hours it seemed to the old chief.
“Take it back!” “Keep it!” “Take it back!” “Keep it!” “Take it back!”
At last he could stand the dispute no longer, and sat up in bed wide awake.
“Stop talking, both of you,” he commanded. “Dry Rain will take back the hatchet in the morning.”
Then he lay down again, pulled the blanket over his head, and was soon fast asleep.
At daylight he arose, mounted his pony, rode back to the trading post, and returned the hatchet to the trader.
“Why did you bring it back?” asked the trader. “I had not missed it, and perhaps never should have known you had it.”
“But Dry Rain would know,” replied the old chief. “The two men inside of him talked and quarreled about it all night! One said, ‘Take it back!’ the other said, ‘No, keep it.’ Now they will keep still and let him sleep.”