"I am going to keep her," replied the son of The First Woman. "I do not like to cook. She shall cook for me. If she refuses I shall stick her with this," and he made a jab toward the young woman’s ribs with his spear, a gesture that caused her to cower and drop fearfully upon one knee.
The men jumped up and down in excitement as the value of this plan and the evident terror of the woman for the man sank into their dull souls.
"Where are the women?" they signed to one another; but the women had disappeared.
One of the men started off in the direction they had gone. "I go!" he signaled. "I come back with a woman of my own, to cook for me!" In a mad rush the others followed him, leaving the son of The First Woman alone with his she. He turned upon her.
"You will cook forme?" he demanded.
To his signs she but returned a sullen, snarling visage. The son of The First Woman raised his spear and with the heavy shaft struck the girl upon the head, knocking her down, and he stood over her, himself snarling and scowling, menacing her with further punishment, while she cowered where she had fallen. He kicked her in the side.
"Get up!" he commanded.
Slowly she crawled to her knees and embracing his legs gazed up into his face with an expression of doglike adulation and devotion.
"You will cook for me?" he demanded again.
