"Shotaye, sister, bring me the feathers. I will give you a fine deerskin for them," implored the husband of Say.
"What do you want them for?"
"For the dance."
"You lie! There is no dance now."
Anxiously and eagerly Zashue cried,—
"There will certainly be a dance. Three days hence we shall dance the ayash tyucotz!"
And Hayoue, who until then had quietly enjoyed the dialogue, now interjected emphatically,—
"Certainly, sanaya, in three days."
"What will you give me if I bring them?" came the dull query again from within.
"A hide."