The next morning, as soon as Nul-we began digging, Limālimáas came, rattling his bone necklace as he traveled. He lay down right by Nul-we, and said: “Little boy, I am tired; peel me some nice, white roots.” When he had eaten the roots, he took hold of his necklace, rattled it, and said, as he divided the bones: “These are your father’s bones; these are your mother’s bones; these are your sister’s bones; these are your brother’s bones; these are your grandfather’s bones. Now dig away, little boy; when you are big enough, your bones will be in my necklace.” That day Nul-we dug four basketfuls, and Limālimáas ate them all. Then he said: “Little boy, you should kill me, for I have eaten your father and your mother and all your kin.” Then Nul-we thought: “Maybe I could kill this bad old man; I will get a bow and arrow and try.” The next day, when Limālimáas had eaten all the roots, he said: “Little boy, you should kill me; I have killed all your kin. You must shoot me in the body; that is where I keep my heart.” That night the grandmother asked: “Why don’t you bring me roots? I am hungry; you shouldn’t eat them all.” “I dig roots early in the morning,” said Nul-we, “then I eat them and lie down and sleep all day.” “That isn’t true,” said his grandmother, “you don’t deceive me; somebody takes your roots away from you.” “I want you to make me a bow and arrow,” said Nul-we, “and put poison in the end of the arrow. I miss all the birds I shoot at with sticks.” In the morning Limālimáas said to him: “I think you are about big enough to eat.” That night Nul-we said to his grandmother: “I dig a great many roots, but a bad man comes and eats them all. He wears a necklace made of bones. He says they are the bones of my father and of my mother and of all my kin; and that my bones will make the necklace nice and long.” The grandmother was frightened, for she knew it was old Limālimáas, the man who lived among the rocks. She gave Nul-we his father’s strong bow and put fresh points on the arrows; then she made the bow and arrows look like a little boy’s first bow and arrows, and said: “That man’s heart isn’t in his body; it’s in the end of his first finger; you must shoot him there.” When Limālimáas came, the boy fed him lots of roots. He dug fast and gave the old man all he could eat. Then Limālimáas lay down to sleep. Usually he lay with his head on his hands, but that time he lay with his face up and his hands spread out. Nul-we got his arrow ready, and made up his mind which way to run; then, when he saw something moving in Limālimáas’ finger, he shot. The heart came out on the end of the arrow.