At sunrise he went home. “Grandmother, I am going out a short way,” said he, taking down his old bow and one arrow.
“Oh, grandson, you must not go far; you must not leave my sight,” said the old woman.
He counted twenty otter-skin quivers filled with arrows, and said, “I will take these.”
She cooked roots for his breakfast, and brought a small basket full for him to take with him. He went west to a grove of trees, made a fire there, and caused salmon to hang all around on the tree branches. Crowds of men and women were heard talking and laughing near by. He made it so. There were no people in the place. He made the noise to entice Gowila.
He began to dig roots then. He dug without raising his head, dug and worked on, singing songs as he worked. Soon a big ugly old man from the north came. This was Gowila. He had a great dog, and a deer head was hanging at his back, with long horns on each side of it.
“You sing a nice song,” said he.
Ilhataina never looked up.
“Come to the fire,” said Gowila.
The boy said nothing; dug all the time.
“Come to the fire; I am hungry,” said Gowila.