The mother of Drooping Flower worried because her daughter would not take a husband and asked her why she would not marry. To such inquiries the girl replied, “I shall never marry until the white eagle shall be shot. The man who sends an arrow through him shall be my husband!” These words pleased the mother and she told everybody about it and gave it out in council.
A day for the tournament was set and when it came a hundred young men from the entire nation gathered on the council grounds, eagerly awaiting the signal. The great white eagle, with whistling wings, flew from pole to pole, pausing now and then to give a scream. The signal was given, and a hundred arrows struck its feathers, broke, and fell to the earth below. Through all the day the contesting warriors shot their arrows upon the magic eagle, but he shook them off like snow flakes and mocked their efforts by his screaming.
Two Feathers, dressed in the tattered skins of Woodchuck Leggings, watched the flight of arrows from his doorway. The young men laughed at him and asked him if he were going to try his skill, but to no one would he reply. At length when no one was watching, the ugly, lame, coughing old man made his way to a corner of the council grounds. He had no bow, but in his hand he carried an arrow. Drooping Flower’s mother saw him, and recognized who he was, but kept her secret. She looked him in the eyes and contemptuously exclaimed “Chisna!” While she was still looking this despised old man made a pantomime motion as if grasping a bow, pulled his arrow and let fly. He hobbled back to his lodge, coughing violently.
There was a great shout followed by an excited hum of voices. “It was my arrow—no mine—liars, it was my arrow—wrong, I know my arrow by the painted shaft—mine—mine—no mine—my arrow, I know it by the red quill!” The din grew louder and wilder. Blows were exchanged and some struck with clubs. The older men rushed out and surrounded the excited throng and said they would shoot them with their arrows and commanded the riot to cease. When quiet had been restored the old sachem cried out, “That man killed the bird who can draw the arrow out!”
Man after man tried very hard but all failed. False Two Feathers made his boast and kneeling, prepared to pull it. He faltered;—his eyes filled with water. It was the same arrow that had killed the turkey for his supper on the night when he had plunged the death charm into Two Feathers! He arose and went to his house. “The eagle is shot,” said he to his wife. “No one can draw the arrow out.”
There was a great discussion and every one was asked for his opinion, but no one had any idea who the marksman was, save the mother of Drooping Flower, and Woodchuck Leggings. Then a stranger who had not hitherto ventured to speak, stepped upon a stump and shouted, “You have not asked the old man with a cough!” The people laughed at the stranger’s suggestion and watched him curiously as he ran to the abode of Two Feathers. The stranger grasped Two Feathers by the hand, by both hands, and whispered in his ear. The stranger was the wolf whom he had befriended in the lonely cabin.
Two Feathers limped to the slain bird and all the people shouted “Hōa‘ho’´! Old-Bones-with-a-cough is going to try, yo-a-hoh!”
“Old Bones-with-a-cough” touched the arrow, it clung to his finger and followed his hand into the air. All the people shouted “Whoei‘!”
The sachem took his stand and proclaimed Drooping Flower the wife of the old man with a cough, and the mother frowned as she was compelled to say, “Nio’!”
“A medicine man quick!” shouted Two Feathers. “Give me him whom you call fallen Two Feathers!”