Memtulit ate, so did Kiriu. Tsararok came after a while. He began to eat the little fish, didn’t see the other kind; this is why Tsararok likes small fish to this day.
The old man asked again, “Have all eaten?”
“We have,” answered all.
There was as much food in the two baskets as at first, and the old man put them outside the house. Sedit saw this, and was angry. He said that people should leave nothing.
“Don’t talk so,” said Patkilis. “What is done is right.”
“You are all free to stay longer,” said Waida Dikit, “but I suppose that you wish to go home, I suppose you are in a hurry.”
“Why should we go so soon?” asked Sedit. “The people from the west might tell us what they know; we ought to tell them something.”
“Keep quiet, Sedit,” said Patkilis. “I told you not to talk. There are many big men here, better men than you, but they don’t talk. Waida Dikit says that we have stayed long enough; that is what he means; you ought to know it. He spoke as he did because he wished to say something nice to us and be friends; but you must keep still.”
A man on the west side rose now and came toward the middle of the house, near the fire, stood there, looked about, and spat on the ground. All the people saw him spit, and in an instant they saw a small basket rise out of the spittle. Inside the basket were acorns of mountain live oak. This man was Patit. He went back to his place and lay down. Waida Dikit set the basket in the middle of the sweat-house, picked out an acorn, ate it, and said,—
“People, come and eat. My friend Patit has made this for you,—this is his food.”