"The boy placed an arrow with great care, but failed to kill a manito. One, two, three, four, five, six arrows had left his bow, each leaving behind it a long streak of lightning. But not one had reached its mark.
"Carefully he aimed; seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Alas! his skill was not equal to his task.
"Long he held the twelfth arrow. He looked around on every side. The evil spirits had wonderful power, and they could change their forms in a moment.
"The boy let his last arrow fly toward the heart of the chief of the manitoes. But the evil spirit saw it coming and changed himself into a rock.
"'How dare you try to kill me!' cried the angry manito. 'Now you shall suffer. You shall evermore be like the trail of your arrow.'
"And he changed the boy into the lone lightning which you so often see, my children, in the northern sky."
"I wish I could shoot as well as I can run," Swift Elk said. "It is easy to win in the races, but I can never beat in a shooting match."