The flint point of the arrow struck a shower of sparks out of the flint boulder just above the chipmunk’s head and the shaft was shattered into pieces. The chipmunk dove into his hole, unharmed.
Sunrise was ready to cry with vexation, but when he turned to No Foot, he saw that the old man’s face was wrapped with wonder.
“I am old,” said No Foot presently and slowly. “I have struck blows and I have seen blows struck, but this blow was the most mighty.”
“It was badly aimed,” said Sunrise. “I am sorry, and it was my last good flint.”
“Flints!” said No Foot. “Flints—you shall have flints. But strike me another blow—mighty one.”
Again Sunrise smote the boulder mightily so that sparks flew, and the shaft was shivered.
“He shivers the shafts,” said No Foot.
“My father, No Man, made this thing,” said Sunrise, “and now it is mine.”
“I, too, will make one and again others,” said No Foot, “and after this day, men will no longer hunt with spear and club. But to him who first makes these things great wealth will accrue, and because the thing is young and was your father’s before you, you shall have half whatever men bring to me in exchange. Of what wood is it made?”
And so old No Foot got hold of the bow. But he improved upon it, both in workmanship and design, and he waxed very rich, but he gave a fair half to Sunrise and many beautiful flints besides.