When they came up, stooping, hairy, bent of knee, and stealthy, the one bearing the net, the other the clubs, One Eye had not come to any decision.
They sat down before him, without salutation, and for some moments blinked and dug at the earth with their toes. Strong Hand was the first to speak.
“With any of these clubs—” he began.
But Fish Catch broke in.
“Clubs!” and grunted. “What are the use of weapons to one that is without means of procuring food. It is well known that One Eye is too old to hunt with success. If he would live he must fish. Now this net—see it is of the best fibre, and knotted as I alone can knot. It will last you twenty years—maybe twenty-five—”
“One Eye,” said Strong Hand, “is first of all a fighter. If he gives me the girl I will see to it that he never wants for food.”
“That is the best talk yet,” said One Eye.
“Then you give her to me?” said Strong Hand.
“Slowly—slowly,” said One Eye. “I must have time to consider. But whom have we here?”