It was several minutes before the lad opened his eyes. Beside him lay the dead body of shoz-dijiji; the last arrow had penetrated his savage heart. The son of Go-yat-thlay sat up and a broad smile illumined his face. He rose to his feet and executed a war dance around the body of his vanquished foe, bending to the right and left, backward and forward until his body was parallel with the ground; now leaping high in air, now stepping with measured tread, he circled the dead bear time and time again. Fierce shouts rose to his lips, but he held them in check for he knew that the white soldiers were searching for his people. Suddenly he stopped dancing and looked down at shoz-dijiji, and then glanced back along the trail toward the camp that was out of sight beyond the many turns of the winding canyon. Then he stooped and tried to lift the bear, but his young muscles were not equal to the effort. Withdrawing his arrows from the bear’s body and recovering his bow he clambered to the trail and set off at a brisk trot toward camp. He was sore and lame and his head ached, but what matter? Never had he been more happy. As he entered the camp he was discovered by some playing children. “Come, son of Go-yat-thlay!” they cried. “Come and play with us!” But the son of Go-yat-thlay passed them haughtily. He went directly to where several warriors were squatting, smoking, and waited until they noticed him. “Where is Go-yat-thlay?” he asked. One of the warriors jerked a thumb down the canyon. “Go-yat-thlay hunts antelope in the valley,” he said. “I, the son of Go-yat-thlay,” said the boy, “have killed shoz-dijiji. I, alone, shee-dah, have done this thing; but alone I cannot bring in my kill. Therefore will you, Natch-in-ilk-kisn, come and help bring in the body of shoz-dijiji, yah-tats-an?” “You no kill shoz-dijiji, you lie,” said Natch-in-ilk-kisn. “You only little ish-kay-nay.” The lad drew himself up to his full height. “The son of Go-yat-thlay, the chief, does not lie—to his friends,” he added. Then he pointed to the scratches and the blood upon him. “Think you I got these playing tag with the other children?” he asked. “The meat of shoz-dijiji is good. Would Natch-in-ilk-kisn rather have the wolf, the coyote and the vulture eat it than to eat it himself?” The warrior rose. “Come, little ish-kay-nay,” he said, laughing. “Natch-in-ilk-kisn joked. He will go with you.” That night was a proud night for the son of Go-yat-thlay; for at the age of ten he had killed big game and won a name for himself. Henceforth he was to be known to man as Shoz-Dijiji, and not just as ish-kay-nay—boy. He had had a name for a long time of course, but, also of course, no one ever mentioned it in his presence, since if the bad spirits ever learned his name they could, and undoubtedly would, cause him a great deal of trouble, even to sickness and death.