“You have it. I saw you take it,” said Katkatchila.
“I took nothing. I only put my hand on the deer’s head.”
“I saw you take it.”
“No, you did not. I haven’t it.”
Katkatchila kept asking all day for his flint, but Hau would neither give it back nor own that he had it. At last, when the sun was almost down, Katkatchila turned to Hau and said,—
“I saw you take my flint. It would be better for you to give it back to me, better for you and very much better for your people. You want to keep the flint; well, keep it. You will see something in pay for this, something that will not make you glad.”
He left the hunt and went away in great anger, travelled all night and was at home next morning.
Torihas’s people went back from the hunt, and Hau with the others. He went into the sweat-house, took the flint out of his ear and held it on his palm. Every one came and looked at it. It was just a small bit of a thing.
“When I took this,” said Hau, “Katkatchila got very angry; he left us on the mountain and went home.”
All the people stood around looking at the flint in Hau’s hand.