“It shall be his,” said the King.
“He tore a man to pieces,” said the cripple, “as he would tear a banana-leaf. The champion of Kualii’s army he killed, and plundered him of his feather cloak and helmet.”
“The soldiers say that Keinohoomanawanui was the hero of the day,” said the King.
“What!” said the cripple. “He did nothing. He merely strutted about. But this man—I never saw his equal; he had no spear, his only weapons were his hands; if a spear was hurled at him, he warded it off with his hair. His hair and features, by the way, greatly resemble those of your son-in-law.”
Thus they conversed till daybreak.
After a few days, again came a messenger announcing that the rebel Kualii was making war on the plains of Kulaokahua. On hearing this Kakuhihewa immediately collected his soldiers. As usual, the lame marshal set out in advance the evening before the battle.
In the morning, after the army had gone, Kalelealuaka said to his wives, “I am thirsting for some water taken with the snout of the calabash held downward. I shall not relish it if it is taken with the snout turned up.” Now, Kalelealuaka knew that they could not fill the calabash if held this way, but he resorted to this artifice to present the two young women from knowing of his miraculous flight to the battle. As soon as the young women had got out of sight he hastened to Waialua and arrayed himself in the rough and shaggy wreaths of uki from the lagoons of Ukoa and of hinahina from Kealia. Thus arrayed, he alighted behind the lame marshal as he climbed the hill at Napeha, slapped him on the back, exchanged greetings with him, and received a compliment on his speed; and when asked whence he came, he answered from Waialua. The shrewd, observant cripple recognized the wreaths as being those of Waialua, but he did not recognize the man, for the wreaths with which Kalelealuaka had decorated himself were of such a color—brownish gray—as to give him the appearance of a man of middle age. He lifted the cripple as before, and set him down on the brow of Puowaina (Punch Bowl Hill), and received from the grateful cripple, as a reward for his service, all the land of Waialua for his own.
This done, Kalelealuaka repeated the performances of the previous battle. The enemy melted away before him, whichever way he turned. He stayed his hand only when he had slain the captain of the host and stripped him of his feather cloak and helmet, taking also his right ear and little finger. The speed with which Kalelealuaka returned to his home at Puuloa was like the flight of a bird. The spoils and trophies of this battle he disposed of as before.
The two young women, Kalelealuaka’s wives, turned the nozzle of the water-gourd downward, as they were bidden, and continued to press it into the water, in the vain hope that it might rise and fill their container, until the noonday sun began to pour his rays directly upon their heads; but no water entered their calabash. Then the younger sister proposed to the elder to fill the calabash in the usual way, saying that Kalelealuaka would not know the difference. This they did, and returned home.
Kalelealuaka would not drink of the water, declaring that it had been dipped up. At this the younger wife laughed furtively; the elder broke forth and said: “It is due to the slowness of the way you told us to employ in getting the water. We are not accustomed to the menial office of fetching water; our father treated us delicately, and a man always fetched water for us, and we always used to see him pour the water into the gourd with the nozzle turned up, but you trickily ordered us to turn the nozzle down. Your exactions are heartless.”