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" 'It is only their ridicule of our boy,' said the old man, loath to stir.
" The Herald cried again, and the old man arose and stood at the door of the tent. Then of a truth he learned that, single-handed, his son had van­quished the enemy. Again and again did Ish'-i-buz-zhi join war parties, and he was always the foremost to meet the enemy and to scatter them with his club.
"Many tales are told of him; for he was fond of joking, and was often absent-minded. It is said that his wife was skilled in embroidery, and would decorate his moccasins with fine porcupine quill work; and it disturbed her to see him put them on to go out of a morning when the dew was on the grass. So she took him to task for his thoughtless­ness.
"'While the grass is wet,'" said she, "'carry your moccasins in your belt.'
"He obeyed; but he forgot to put them on when the grass was dry, and came home with feet bruised and sore, and his moccasins still in his belt.
"But these peculiarities no longer provoked ridi­cule, as when Ish'-i-buz-zhi was a boy; for as a man, generous and strong, he was beloved by the people.
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