After a time Ilhataina went to the fire.
“You sing well,” said Gowila. “Where did you come from?”
“From Jigulmatu. People sing well at Jigulmatu, and they dance well.”
Gowila sat down near the fire. “Put roots in my mouth. Put in more,” said he, when the boy gave him some.
The boy fed Gowila until he had eaten all the roots in the basket.
“How many people are digging roots around here?” asked he.
“I do not know; a great many,” said Ilhataina.
A loud noise of people was heard a short distance away,—a noise of men and women laughing and talking. Gowila saw blankets and baskets near the fire. Ilhataina made the appearance of them. There was nothing there but the twenty otter-skin quivers and the ugly old bow and one arrow in his hand.
“Give me your bow,” said Gowila; “let me look at it.”
He asked again and again till the boy gave the bow. Gowila threw it into the fire.