"Yes ... no one saw how it happened.... A stone was thought to have fallen; so said Gow-Loo, who found him."
"Oho, Gow-Loo? Was not that one of the three who came a-hunting thee? Now tell me, Dêh-Yān, and speak the thing that is—"
"I always do!" exclaimed the girl.
"I believe thee, I shall always believe thee. So, tell me, was not this Saw-Kimo one of the young braves who had asked for thee? Yes?—And had not this Gow-Loo asked for thee too?"
The girl nodded. "I was to have been given to Saw-Kimo, but—he died."
"It is very unlucky when stones fall in that manner. Gow-Loo painted his face for his friend, no doubt, and made great lamentation, as I should expect. Was it not so?—But, is there no witch-doctor in your tribe? Was there no smelling-out for blood?"
The girl shook her head. "There was talk of it in the old chief's tee-pee, but—Gow-Loo's people are strong, and he and his two friends, Low-Mah and Pongu, who always hunt with him (it was they who came upon the winter-hunting)—they were thought to have made gifts to the medicine-man and put him off the line, if indeed there was a line. I do not know—how should I?—I am only a woman. I did not like Saw-Kimo—much; but—" with sudden heat, "I hate Gow-Loo—and the others."
"Humph," grunted Pŭl-Yūn, "it is curious that three braves who are tied up in a knot of this sort, and who are keen enough to go upon a winter-hunting together, should have run from a bear as they ran from this; right away down-stream and out of the valley too. It is strange. But, if they had reason to think he was their old friend, Saw-Kimo, that would explain a good deal."
"Perhaps he was very fierce—they had touched him, I think," argued the girl, willing to believe anything rather than that she and her crippled husband were beleaguered by her dead lover in the form of a ghost-bear.
"Touched?—What makes thee think so?"