One day, when the boy was playing near the river, he found a mud-hole and sat down by it and made balls to throw at birds. That night he said to Kówe: “If I had a bow and arrow, I could shoot birds.” She gave them to him, and the next morning he went to the mud-hole and watched for birds. After a while he saw one with long legs,—a Tsiwididik; he shot at it and hit it in the leg. “Don’t shoot again!” called out Tsiwididik. “If you will take the arrow out of my leg. I will tell you a story.” Swaiä took the arrow out, then Tsiwididik said: “You think that Kówe is your mother, but she isn’t; she stole you when you were a little baby. Your father and mother mourned for you and hunted everywhere for you.” The boy began to cry. “Don’t cry,” said Tsiwididik. “Grow fast and get strong. You must stay with Kówe till you are a big boy. If you ever see two deer together, you mustn’t kill them or shoot at them. Maybe they are your father and mother. This is all I have to tell you.” Tsiwididik flew away and the boy went home. He could hardly see, his eyes were so swollen from crying. “What have you been crying about?” asked Kówe. “I have lost my arrow.” “You shouldn’t cry about that. I can make you all the arrows you want.” The next morning, when the boy was going off to play, Kówe said: “You must not go far, or stay long; I am lonesome when you are gone.” The boy didn’t like Kówe now. He felt sorry for his father and mother; he didn’t want to play. He went where the Kówe people were gambling with sticks and watched them. He grew fast. After a while men taught him to gamble; then he wanted to gamble all the time. Kówe said: “You should stay at home. It isn’t right to gamble every day.” But the boy wouldn’t listen to her; he was thinking: “When I win enough, I will go away from here.” Kówe sat by and boasted: “You can’t beat my son; you can’t beat my son! He is the best gambler in the world!” Soon Swaiä won all the beads and shells the people had; then he stole away in the night, left the Kówe people. While he was going along the river, he saw Tcoóks. The old man sat by the water trying to catch fish with a flint-pointed spear. Swaiä shouted to him; called him “Uncle.” Just as he shouted, a big fish got away from the spear. “You are not my nephew,” said Tcoóks. He was cross, for he had lost the fish. He wouldn’t talk with Swaiä; he got up and went off toward the hill. Swaiä traveled on till he came to the edge of a village, then he turned himself into an old man, and his shells and beads into dirty old trinkets, and sat down by the trail. Ndukis’ daughter saw the old man and right away she knew he was young. She took him home and pounded seeds for him. Her sisters were angry at her for bringing such a dirty old man into the house. He made a pillow of his pack and lay down. He looked old and wretched. The Ndukis people were nice-looking, and each one of them had a duckskin blanket.