“I want one to kill birds outside with it.”
“You must not go out,” said the old woman; “bad people are near us.”
“I only want to kill birds. Whose arms are these?” asked he, pointing to knives, bows, and arrows on the walls.
“Oh, it makes me sorry to tell you, it makes me sorry to talk of them. These are the arms of many men. The Tennas killed all of them.”
She went to the west side of the house and gave him bows. He broke one after another. He broke every bow on the walls except one. When he came to his own bow, his old bow, he laughed. He took it himself without asking. He tried and could not break it; tried again, laughed, and was glad.
“Tsuwalkai, whose bow is this?” asked he.
“That was the bow of a good man.”
“He was a good man, I think,” said Tsawandi Kamshupa; “why did he die? There was a good man in this house; he had that bow; he was a great fighter.”
Tsawandi Kamshupa tried again to break the bow with his feet and hands, but he could not.
“There was a good man in this house,” said the old woman, “the best man of all the Haka people. That was his bow.”