The young hunter, once more a bird, in the act of passing the manito, saw his tongue lolling from his mouth with fatigue.
"My friend," said Monedowa, "is this all your speed?"
The manito made no answer. Monedowa had resumed his character of a hunter, and was within a run of the winning-post, when the wicked manito had nearly overtaken him.
"Bakah! bakah! nejee!" he called out to Monedowa; "stop, my friend, I wish to talk to you."
Monedowa laughed aloud as he replied:
"I will speak to you at the starting-post. When men run with me I make a wager, and I expect them to abide by it—life against life."
One more flight as the blue bird with red wings, and Monedowa was so near to the goal that he could easily reach it in his mortal shape. Shining in beauty, his face lighted up like the sky, with tinted arms and bosom gleaming in the sun, and the parti-colored plume on his brow waving in the wind. Monedowa, cheered by a joyful shout from his own people, leaped to the post.
The manito came on with fear in his face.
"My friend," he said, "spare my life;" and then added, in a low voice, as if he would not that the others should hear it, "Give me to live." And he began to move off as if the request had been granted.
"As you have done to others," replied Monedowa, "so shall it be done to you."