“So a girl was chosen for me,” he was saying.  “For my father, who was Kask-ta-ka, the Otter, was angered because I looked not with a needful eye upon women.  He was an old man, and chief of his tribe.  I was the last of his sons to be alive, and through me, only, could he look to see his blood go down among those to come after and as yet unborn.  But know, O White Man, that I was very sick; and when neither the hunting nor the fishing delighted me, and by meat my belly was not made warm, how should I look with favor upon women? or prepare for the feast of marriage? or look forward to the prattle and troubles of little children?”

“Ay,” Mutsak interrupted.  “For had not Lone Chief fought in the arms of a great bear till his head was cracked and blood ran from out his ears?”

Lone Chief nodded vigorously.  “Mutsak speaks true.  In the time that followed, my head was well, and it was not well.  For though the flesh healed and the sore went away, yet was I sick inside.  When I walked, my legs shook under me, and when I looked at the light, my eyes became filled with tears.  And when I opened my eyes, the world outside went around and around, and when I closed my eyes, my head inside went around and around, and all the things I had ever seen went around and around inside my head.  And above my eyes there was a great pain, as though something heavy rested always upon me, or like a band that is drawn tight and gives much hurt.  And speech was slow to me, and I waited long for each right word to come to my tongue.  And when I waited not long, all manner of words crowded in, and my tongue spoke foolishness.  I was very sick, and when my father, the Otter, brought the girl Kasaan before me—­”

“Who was a young girl, and strong, my sister’s child,” Mutsak broke in.  “Strong-hipped for children was Kasaan, and straight-legged and quick of foot.  She made better moccasins than any of all the young girls, and the bark-rope she braided was the stoutest.  And she had a smile in her eyes, and a laugh on her lips; and her temper was not hasty, nor was she unmindful that men give the law and women ever obey.”

“As I say, I was very sick,” Lone Chief went on.  “And when my father, the Otter, brought the girl Kasaan before me, I said rather should they make me ready for burial than for marriage.  Whereat the face of my father went black with anger, and he said that I should be served according to my wish, and that I who was yet alive should be made ready for death as one already dead—­”

“Which be not the way of our people, O White Man,” spoke up Mutsak.  “For know that these things that were done to Lone Chief it was our custom to do only to dead men.  But the Otter was very angry.”

“Ay,” said Lone Chief.  “My father, the Otter, was a man short of speech and swift of deed.  And he commanded the people to gather before the lodge wherein I lay.  And when they were gathered, he commanded them to mourn for his son who was dead—­”