“Quite true, grandfather; we’ve started out sprouting, and had to come to our grandfather for advice.”
“Why, what is it then?” queried the old Shield-back.
“You see, we have a flock of Turkeys—”
“Yes, I know,” interrupted the old man, “for they came down here to drink yesterday and broke my morning nap with their ‘quit quit quittings!’ ”
“Well,” resumed the boys, “they went toward the Háwikuhkwe, and the shameless beasts, that they are, turned out and killed very nearly all of them, and we’re going to even matters with them; that’s why we are out sprouting.”
“Ah ha!” cried the old man, paddling up nearer to the bank. “Good! Well, that’s right, my grandchildren; you show that you are the wise boys that you are to come to me. I’m a great warrior, I am, for though I have neither bow nor arrow, yet the more my enemies have, the worse for themselves, that’s all. You two just wait until tomorrow,” and he stretched his head out until it looked as though he kept a snake in his shell.
“Will you help us?” asked the boys. (They knew very well he would like nothing better.)
“Of course, my grandchildren.”
“Will you come to the council?”
“Of course, my grandchildren two. How many will be there?” called the old fellow.
“The house shall be as full as a full stomach,” retorted the boys, jousting each other.
“Thluathlá!” gruffly said Etawa, for that was the Turtle’s name.
So the boys started for Oak-wood Canyon, and, arrived there, soon had a large bundle of branches cut down with their big flint knives, and four stout, dry oak-sticks. They shouldered their “sprouts” and started home, and, although they had bundles big enough to almost hide them, they trotted along as though they had nothing. On their way they picked up a lot of obsidian, and went fast enough until they were near their home, and then they were “very tired”—so tired that the old grandmother, when she caught sight of them, pitied them, and hurried down to stir some mush for them. She buried some corn-cakes in the ashes, too, and roasted some prairie-dogs in the same way; so that when those two lying little rascals came up and seemed so worn-out, she hurried so fast to get their food ready that it made her sinews twitch.
When the boys had eaten all they could and cracked a few prairie-dog bones, they fell to breaking the sprouts. They worked with their stone chips very fast, and soon had barked all they wanted. These they straightened by passing them through their horns19 and placed them before the fire. While the shafts were drying, they broke up the obsidian, and laying chips of it on a stone covered with buckskin, quickly fashioned them into sharp arrowheads with the points of other stones, and these they fastened to the ends of the shafts, placing feathers of the eagle on the other ends, until they had made enough for four big bundles. Then they made a bow of each of the four oak-sticks, and stood them up to dry against the wall.
As it grew dark they heard something like a dry leaf in a little wind.
“Ah!” said one to the other, “our grandfather comes”; and sure enough presently Amiwili poked his yellow eyes in at the door, but quickly drew back again.
“Kutchi!” said he, “your fire is fearful; it scares me!”
“The grandfather cometh!” exclaimed the boys. “Come in; sit down.”
“Very well. Ah! you are stretching shafts, are you?” said the old Worm, crawling around behind the boys and into the darkest corner he could find.
“Yes,” replied they. “Why do you not come out into the light, grandpa?”
“Kutchi! I fear the fire; it hurts my eyes, and makes me feel as the sun does after a rainstorm and I have no leaves to crawl into.”
“Very well,” said the boys. “Grandmother, spread a robe for him in the corner.” Then they busied themselves straightening some of the arrows and trying their bows. Just as they were pulling one toward the entrance way, they heard old Etawa thumping along, and immediately the old fellow called out: “Hold on; don’t thump me against one of those sticks of yours; they jar a fellow so!”
“Oh, it’s you, is it, grandfather? Well, we’re only trying our new bows; come in and sit down.” So the old fellow bumped along in and took his place by the fire, for he did not care whether it was hot or cold.
“Are the councillors here?” asked he, wagging his head around.
“Why, certainly,” said the two boys; “and now our council is so full we had better proceed to discuss what we had better do.”
When the old Turtle discovered that the boys had been playing him a joke, he was vexed, but he didn’t show it. “Amiwili here?” asked he. “Tchukwe! We four will teach those Háwikuhkwe!”
“Yes, indeed!” croaked the Rainbow-worm.
“Well,” said the boys, “at daybreak tomorrow morning, before it is light, we shall start for Háwikuh-town.”
“Very well,” responded Amiwili. “Come to my place first, and let me know when you start.”
“And,” added Etawa, “come to my place next and let me know. When you boys get to Háwikuh and alarm the people, if they get too thick for you, come back to my house as fast as you can, and you, Mátsailéma, take me up on your back. Then you two run toward your other grandfather’s house. I’ll show these Háwikuhkwe that I can waste life as much as anybody, even if I have no arrows to shoot at them.”
“Yes,” added the Rainbow-worm, “and when you come up to my house, just run past me and I’ll take care of the rest of them. I’m made to use up life, I am,” swaggered he.
“And I,” boasted the old Turtle. “Come, brother, let us be going, for we have a long way to travel, and our legs
