"You will keep the hilt, and when you are in trouble, in need, in want of a friend, you will send me this hilt, and I, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, the daughter of Kas-ka-tan, the chief, will come to you."
Her eyes rolled upward as though seeking among the tiny, far-winking stars the words of some half-forgotten ritual, and her voice rose in a weird, hesitating chant:
"Through the snows of Winter,
Through the heat of Summer,
Across high Mountains,
Over broad Waters,
Braving lean Want,
Scorning fat Plenty,
Nor turning aside
From the fang of Wolf,