The Indian lad ran back to the wigwam as fast as he could, carrying the garment in his hands.
"See what has happened!" he cried to his sister. "That vicious Sun shrank my beautiful coat while I was asleep on the hillside. I can never wear it again."
"Perhaps I can stretch it for you," said his sister.
"No, no! See, the feathers are singed and brown. It is ruined!"
He was so sorely vexed that he could neither eat nor sleep. For twenty days he fasted in the wigwam and wondered how he could call the mischievous Sun to account for spoiling the bird-skin coat.
One morning he sprang up and said to his sister, "I have thought out a way to punish the Sun. In his high path across the sky he thinks he is safe from a little lad like me, but I'll show him what I can do if you will help me."
"Tell me your plan," said the sister, wondering how any mortal could punish the mighty Sun.
"I'll set a snare for him and catch him!" cried her brother excitedly. "I want the strongest cord you can find."
"I've plenty of dried moose-hide; will that be strong enough?" she asked.
"No, no! That would never hold the Sun," said the boy.