Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ was greeted first by his brother-in-law. "You must have slept near here last night, for you are too far out to have made this distance since daylight."
"I did," he replied, "near a cañon that is surely holy. A lot of people had gathered to dance, the gods sang, and—"
"There, I told you he would have some lie to tell," interrupted the eldest brother, and started on.
"Go ahead," urged the brother-in-law; "tell us the rest."
"It's no use; no one cares to listen to me," said Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ.
His younger brother, also incredulous, took up his burden and plodded off, whereat Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ related all that he had seen and heard.
"You men must have killed those people they spoke about," he accused.
"No, it was none of us," his brother-in-law protested; "we have killed no people. Yesterday morning one shot a crow, and last night we killed a magpie, but there was no harm in that."
"I fear there was; they were hunters like yourselves, in search of meat for the Holy People, for the time disguised as birds," Bĭlh Ahatí̆nĭ ventured. Then, dividing the pack, the two hurried on to overtake the others.
"Well," asked the youngest, "did you hear a fine story?"