“Ha! ha! you are mistaken,” said the Old Wolf. “He makes a good start, but he will be the first to tire out; this one who appears to be behind will be the one to kill the game.”
By this time they had come to the spot where the boys had started in chase. One had dropped what seemed to be a small medicine-sack, which he carried for the use of the hunting party.
“Take that, Manabozho,” said the Old Wolf.
“Why, what will I do with a dirty dog skin?”
The Old Wolf took it up; it was a beautiful robe.
“Oh, I will carry it now,” cried Manabozho.
“Oh, no,” said the Wolf, who had used his magical powers, “it is a robe of pearls. Come along!” And away he sped at a great rate of speed.
“Not so fast,” called Manabozho after him; and then he added to himself as he panted after, “Oh, this tail!”
Coming to a place where the moose had lain down, they saw that the young wolves had made a fresh start after their prey. “Why,” said the Old Wolf, “this moose is thin. I know by the tracks. I can always tell whether they are fat or not.” A little farther on, one of the young wolves, in dashing at the moose, had broken a tooth on a tree.
“Manabozho,” said the Old Wolf, “one of your grandchildren has shot at the game. Take his arrow; there it is.”