“Softly, mother, softly! Treat me as you did when I was so big,” he exclaimed, indicating about one foot six between his hands.
The old woman chuckled, or rather “hee! hee’d!” a little and continued:
“Yes, Cheenbuk fought like a bear. We could not see him, for they were all on top of him at once, but hi! how he made them heave! I wonder they did not use their knives.”
“They felt sure they had him,” said her son, “they wanted to drive him to their huts and kill him slowly to amuse their women.”
This was such a horrible idea that the old woman became unusually grave.
“These Fire-spouters are worse than white bears,” she said, “for these never torture other beasts, though they often kill them.”
“True, mother. Now I wish you would go away and leave my leg alone. Ondikik there needs your help. Go to him and hurt him as much as you please. I won’t grumble.”
“You were always a thankless boy—ever since you could speak,” replied the dame, reproachfully.
“Did you ever hear of any one being thankless before he could speak?—hoi! mother, you’ve tied it too tight. Slack it a little.”
After complying with her son’s request, old Uleeta went to Ondikik, to whom, however, she could render but little service, owing to the nature of his wound. Then she paid a visit to Rinka, whose injuries, however, proved to be more alarming than severe; after which she joined the rest of the tribe at supper.