“Well, at last he has a child,” said Moon Face.
“A daughter I should imagine,” said No Man spitefully.
“Yes. A daughter.”
“They have been a long time about it,” said No Man. “I was beginning to think they were both as dry as old bones.”
“Strong Hand passed this morning,” said Moon Face, “on his way to the hunt. He was strutting like a cock partridge. You might have thought that his was the first child of which we have any record.”
“So he has gone hunting, has he?” said No Man. “I think I will drop round to his cave and have a look at the child.”
“Anything that has taken so long to make should be worth looking at,” said Moon Face. And they laughed heartily, and parted with mutual compliments and good will.
But No Man did not go at once to Strong Hand’s cave. First he went to his own and got his bow and arrows. And then he hid himself in a clump of birches and poplars that Strong Hand would have to pass on the way home.
“This is just the time for killing,” said No Man. “Strong Hand is very proud and I will strike him. When he is dead there will be no one to hunt for his woman; and her milk will give out and the child will also die. Matters could not have been better arranged.”
He waited patiently all thro’ the afternoon and reviewed the prospective scene of his vengeance. It was the scene for which he had left a blank space on the big clean bone. Here would be the runway that Strong Hand must follow, here the thicket where he himself lay in hiding with his bow and arrows.