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“‘Opata has called a Council,’ Taku told me, ‘to say that I must make my Stick talk, or they will know me for a deceiver, a maker of short life for them.’

“‘Short life to him,’ I said. ‘In three nights or four, the Grass-Eaters will be moving.’

“‘And my people are fast in the mud,’ said Taku-Wakin. ‘I am a mud-head myself to think a crooked rod could save them.’ He took it from his girdle warped by the wet and the warmth of his body. ‘My heart is sick, Arrumpa, and Opata makes them a better chief than I, for I have only tried to find them their sea again. But Opata understands them. This is a foolish tale that will never be finished.’

“He loosed the stick from his hand over the black water like a boy skipping stones, but–this is a marvel–it turned as it flew and came back to Taku-Wakin so that he had to take it in his hand or it would have struck him. He stood looking at it astonished, while the moon came up and made dart-shaped ripples of light behind the swimming snakes in the black water. For he saw that if the Stick would not leave him, neither could he forsake–Is this also known to you?” For he saw the children smiling.

The Indian who leaned against Moke-icha’s boulder drew a crooked stick, shaped something like an elbow, from under his blanket. Twice he tossed it lightly and twice it flew over the heads of the circle and back like a homing pigeon as he lightly caught it.

“Boomerangs!” cried the children, delighted.

“We called it the Stick-which-kills-flying,” said the Indian, and hid it again under his blanket.

“Taku-Wakin thought it Magic Medicine,” said the Mastodon. “It was a Sign to him. Two or three times he threw the stick and always it came back to him. He was very quiet, considering what it might mean, as I took him back between the trees that stood knee-deep in the smelly water. We saw the huts at last, built about in a circle and the sacred fire winking in the middle. I remembered the time I had watched with Taku under the Arch Rock.

“‘Give me leave,’ I said, ‘to walk among the huts, and see what will come of it.’

“Taku-Wakin slapped my trunk.

“‘Now by the oath of my people, you shall walk,’ he said. ‘If the herds begin to move, and if no hurt comes to anybody by it, you shall walk; for as long as they are comfortable, even though the Rod should speak, they would not listen.’

“The very next night Scrag began to move her cows out toward the hard land, and when I had marked her trail for five man journeys, I came back to look for Taku-Wakin. There was a great noise of singing a little back from the huts at the Dancing-Place, and all the drums going, and the smoke that drifted along the trails had the smell of a Big Eating. I stole up in the dark till I could look over the heads of the villagers squatted about the fire. Opata was making a speech to them. He was working himself into a rage over the wickedness of Taku-Wakin. He would strike the earth with his stone-headed spear as he talked, and the tribe would yelp after him like wolves closing in on a buck. If the Talking Stick which had led them there was not a liar, let it talk again and show them the way to their sea. Let it talk! And at last, when they had screeched themselves hoarse, they were quiet long enough to hear it.

“Little and young, Taku-Wakin looked, standing up with his Stick in his hand, and the words coming slowly as if he waited for them to reach him from far off. The Stick was no liar, he said; it was he who had lied to them; he had let them think that this was his father’s Stick. It was a new stick much more powerful, as he would yet show them. And who was he to make it talk when it would not? Yet it would talk soon…very soon…he had heard it whispering… Let them not vex the Stick lest it speak strange and unthought-of things…