AS a punishment for having once upon a time used that foot against a venerable medicine man, Aggo Dah Gauda had one leg looped up to his thigh, so that he was obliged to get along by hopping. By dint of practise he had become very skilful in this exercise, and he could make leaps which seemed almost incredible.
Aggo had a beautiful daughter, and his chief care was to secure her from being carried off by the king of the buffalos, who was the ruler of all the herds of that kind, and had them entirely at his command to make them do as he willed.
Dah Gauda, too, was quite an important person in his own way, for he lived in great state, having a log house of his own and a court-yard which extended from the sill of his front-door as many hundred miles westward as he chose to measure it.
Although he might claim this extensive privilege of ground, he advised his daughter to keep within doors, and by no means to go far in the neighborhood. Otherwise she would be sure to be stolen away, as he was satisfied that the buffalo-king spent night and day lurking about, lying in wait to seize her.
One sunshiny morning, when there were just two or three promising clouds rolling moistly about the sky, Aggo prepared to go out a-fishing; but before he left the lodge he reminded her of her strange and industrious lover, whom she had never seen.
"My daughter," said he, "I am going out to fish, and as the day will be a pleasant one, you must recollect that we have an enemy near, who is constantly going about with two eyes that never close. Do not expose yourself out of the lodge."
With this excellent advice, Aggo hopped off in high spirits. But he had scarcely reached the fishing-ground, when he heard a voice singing at a distance:
Man with the leg tied up,
Man with the leg tied up,
Broken hip—hip—