At this particular moment, her husband was absent on one of his hunting
trips, which generally kept him away for several days. This time,
however, he had been from home longer than usual, and the young wife was
looking anxiously for his return, for there was nothing to eat save the
remnant of meal in the bottom of the basket, and to-day her grandmother
appeared to be worse. The old woman was dying slowly of old age, aided
by the peculiar hardship of her long life; she had not left her bed for
some time, and the young woman could see that her aged grandparent was
not long for this world. During her illness (which, however, was more a
gradual breaking down and dying of her strength than actual illness; for
her mind seemed to be as clear as ever) she had given evidences of
having something in her thought, some instruction or advice she desired
to impart to her children, but which, so feeble was she, was beyond her
strength to utter. Thus she had lain for three days, motionless, but for
the restless turning of the head, and the burning, gleaming eyes seeming
to take the place of her voice, and cry out the message her lips refused
to speak.

Suddenly the young woman gave a start, and a look of joy passed swiftly
across her face, for she saw her husband come around the brow of the
hill far below. She rose quickly and hastened to meet him. As she neared
him, she saw he was bearing on his back the carcass of a young deer,
under the weight of which he staggered up the hill toward her. Running
to him she cried:

"Itatli! Oh, you are come in time! You have been away so long! But I see
you have had good luck this time in your hunting. How tired and thin you
look! Have you been far?" and as she spoke, she took the deer from him,
and laid it upon her own strong shoulder.