Saying which Manabozho, in his anger, walked off by himself.
“Come back, brother,” cried the wolf. “You are losing your eyes.”
Manabozho turned back.
“You do the child injustice. Look there!” and behold, a heap of fresh, ruddy meat, was lying on the spot, already prepared.
Manabozho, at the view of so much good provision, put on a smiling face.
“In amazement,” he said; “how fine the meat is!”
“Yes,” replied the old wolf, “it is always so with us; we know our work, and always get the best. It is not a long tail that makes the hunter.”
Manabozho bit his lip.
They now fixed their winter quarters. The youngsters went out in search of game, and they soon brought in a large supply. One day, during the absence of the young hunters, the old wolf amused himself in cracking the large bones of a moose.
“Manabozho,” said he, “cover your head with the robe, and do not look at me while I am busy with these bones, for a piece may fly in your eye.”