The young Onondaga regarded his work a moment with satisfaction, and then walked forward, followed by his white comrade.
"One arrow was enough, Tayoga," said Robert, "and I knew before you shot that another would not be needed." "The distance was not great," said Tayoga modestly.

"I should have been a poor marksman had I missed." He pulled his arrow with a great effort from the body of the deer, wiped it carefully upon the grass, and returned it to _gadasha_, the quiver.
Arrows required time and labor for the making, but unlike the powder and bullet in a rifle, they could be used often, and hence at times the bow had its advantage.
Then the two worked rapidly and skillfully with their great hunting knives, skinning and removing all the choicer portions of the deer, and before they finished they heard the pattering of light feet in the woods, accompanied now and then by an evil whine.
"The wolves come early," said Tayoga.
"And they're over hungry," said Robert, "or they wouldn't let us know so soon that they're in the thickets." "It is told sometimes, among my people, that the soul of a wicked man has gone into the wolf," said Tayoga, not ceasing in his work, his shining blade flashing back and forth.

"Then the wolf can understand what we say, although he may not speak himself." "And suppose we kill such a wolf, Tayoga, what becomes of the wicked soul ?" "It goes at once into the body of another wolf, and passes on from wolf to wolf, being condemned to live in that foul home forever.

Such a punishment is only for the most vile, and they are few.

It is but the hundredth among the wicked who suffers thus." "The other ninety-nine go after death to _Hanegoategeh_, the land of perpetual darkness, where they suffer in proportion to the crimes they committed on earth, but _Hawenneyu_, the Divine Being, takes pity on them and gives them another chance.