Old people ran down; saw the boy handling Komos Kulit. “How did you get that bird?” asked they. “Did he fall to you?”
“Yes. I saw the shadow of a big bird on the ground. I looked up. It fell, and was here.”
The old people talked,—talked much, talked a long time. There were many of them.
“We do not know what to do; we do not know what to think. We do not know why that bird fell,” said some. “We ought not to talk about the bird, but we ought to think about this boy, find out what he is doing.”
“Oh,” said others, “he made that bird fall by blowing at it. That boy will be a great Hlahi.”
The boy killed the bird with a yapaitu dokos (spirit flint); he wanted its wings.
The father and mother of the boy said: “Two wise men should pull out the longest wing feathers for the boy. He wants them; he wants them to keep.”
“Let that be done,” said the people; and they found two men to pull out the two longest wing feathers. The boy went to one side while they were pulling them, pretended not to see or care what they were doing; but the two men knew that he knew why he did so. When the two men had pulled out the feathers, the boy said to his father,—
“I like those feathers; save them for me; I want them.”
His father took the feathers home and saved them.