Long ago a certain man was having a very hard time getting game. Although (other) people killed much game, he hunted entirely in vain.
Every morning he left home, and every evening he returned in pitch darkness, but all in vain. In the fall, in the rutting season, when people struggle home under heavy loads of fat, as usual he was hunting without success. He would often see a moose, but every time it would vanish away from him, and finally he became very angry. One morning he said to his wife, "If I don't kill a moose today, I will die." He did not eat, and as usual he went hunting again. He went off far away, and as it was the rutting season, he rubbed trees with a shoulder blade and made sounds like a moose, but without result. He just kept walking around, and then he came upon the urine of a cow moose. "Now I wonder what that one who never likes me will think of me?" he said weeping, and rubbed the urine on himself. After he did this, he left that place and made a shelter for himself a little way off, and lay down to sleep. In the middle of the night, as if a great wind were blowing around in gusts, something tore into him and ripped him to pieces. "Now indeed it's just as I said to my wife. I will never see my children again," he said, and died,. A bull moose, made savage by smelling the scent during the rut, had gored him with its antlers. One cannot know what will happen, so when one is hunting one must always be careful of what he does; that is so.