He struck flints together, and after no little toil, kindled a fire, and they, sitting about it were warmed and comforted, and held their hands before their faces and wondered.
Game was very scarce in the plains, but after a number of days, thirsty, and half starved, Sunrise led his people in among the foothills of the purple mountains with the snow tops.
There the gullies and the natural runways were pricked thick with the tracks of moose, elk, deer, and bear, streams were abundant, teeming with trout, and best of all, for the tribe was a forest tribe, the whole country was covered with splendid trees.
Men, women and children fell to burrowing out homes in the hillsides. Long Arm, a disciple of old No Foot, gathered sea-green flint and set up a workshop; Hunch Back, his son, established himself near at hand and went in for manufacture of bows; Fish Catch, the nephew of Fish Catch, collected tough fibres and began the intricate knitting of nets; and Sunrise in an open rocky place experimented with fire, and brought it under complete control.
THE KNITTER OF NETS
One day as Sunrise, with smarting eyes, sat feeding his fire, a little boy no higher than a man’s waist, came trotting up with the roughest kind of a bowl shaped of grey white clay in his hands.
“See what I have made, Sunrise,” he said.
“But what is the use of it?” said Sunrise.