“My brother,” said Titildi Marimi, “I want you to shoot at that quartz rock over there on the mountain side.”
He raised his bow with an arrow and took good aim.
“Now hit that rock,” said she.
He sent one arrow, after it a second, and then a third. They hit the rock, but bounded back from it.
“You might go a long way to hurt an enemy with arrows of that sort!” laughed the sister. “Do you think those good arrows, my brother? You will see enemies enough in two days; you will see enemies in the house of Wakara.”
She drew out her own bow then, took an arrow from her otter-skin quiver, and said, “Look now at me, my brother!”
She shot at the rock; hit it. Her arrow shivered the rock to pieces.
“This is what my arrows do!” said Titildi Marimi.
Titindi Maupa hung his head; said not a word, but rose and went down the mountain side till he came to a creek; then he crossed another mountain, going westward all the time till he was in sight of Wakaruwa, the place to which he was going; then he sat down a third time and smoked.
“O smoke,” said he, “I wish you to make friends to-night and to-morrow for me.”