Sometimes I helped Wabeda and gave a warwhoop of my own. This drove the deer away as well, but it relieved my mind.
When he appealed to me on this occasion, therefore, I said: “Come, my dog, let us bury your bone so that no Shunktokecha will take it.”
He appeared satisfied with my suggestion, so we went out together.
We dug in the snow and buried our bone wrapped up in a piece of old blanket, partly burned; then we covered it up again with snow. We knew that the coyote would not touch anything burnt. I did not put it up a tree because Wabeda always objected to that, and I made it a point to consult his wishes whenever I could.
I came in and Wabeda followed me with two short rib bones in his mouth. Apparently he did not care to risk those delicacies.
“There,” exclaimed Uncheedah, “you still insist upon bringing in some sort of bone!” but I begged her to let him gnaw them inside because it was so cold. Having been granted this privilege, he settled himself at my back and I became absorbed in some specially nice arrows that uncle was making.
“O, uncle, you must put on three feathers to all of them so that they can fly straight,” I suggested.
“Yes, but if there are only two feathers, they will fly faster,” he answered.
“Woow!” Wabeda uttered his suspicions.
“Woow!” he said again, and rushed for the entrance of the teepee. He kicked me over as he went and scattered the burning embers.