Mistihkoman had thought his chances slim to none. Barely able in fact. So as the cards turned his elation rose. It couldn't be, another two card. A Spade, to add to his clubs and diamonds! A three of a kind, he remembered the man at Fort Edmonton tell him this is a good hand. He looked about the table, it's incredible. He won? He won. A big smile crosses his face, "Ah! Good medicine indeed. So much good medicine." He laughs softly and nods sagely. Indeed the time had come to lay down and he had laid it down the finest. Impressive really as he thought he had no chance. As he's about to voice his joy though, well things change.

As Logan reaches for the pot sounding quite put out Mistihkoman watches then his own ire burns brightly. They had taken his rifle, and bow and rifle butt club upon entering the saloon, but had failed to take his knife and tomahawk which were hidden inside his vest. As Logan extends his hands with that red faced look on his face Misithkoman moves. The tomahawk flits out and slams into the table top right between Logan's middle and ring fingers, missing his hand by mere hairsbreadths. He then whispers, "Do you know why they call me Big Knife?" And from the other side of his vest a hunting knife 40 centimetres long (1.3 foot), with a 10 centimeter wide (.3 foot) blade. It's a helluva a thing to see. Almost like the infamous bowie knife of James Bowie fame. He looks at Logan, his other hand still on the tomahawk handle, "I am a Hunter. And a Scout. And in battle these two professions make for fine bladework, Mr. Logan." His dark eyes glinted as he rose to his feet, he's a squat powerful figure, but with those two weapons he towers at the moment.

He grins, "You have Bad Medicine, Mr. Logan. It poisons your mind and heart." The dull glint of the blade in the Native man's hands almost like a dull star in the night sky. He raised it and pointed the hooked tip at Logan, "I would be glad to cut it from you if you wish." He turned the blade slightly the cutting edge of the blade catching the lamp light, "Come now white man. Continue your angry movements, so I may call on [i]Omantiou[/i] as my witness to guide my hand."

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Omantiou = Alternatively [i]Oymantiou[/i], Great Spirit, Great Ancestor Spirit, God

The Cree People did not worship a single god, though there was a "greater" spirit they venerated. They did venerate a plethora of spirits in the world. Trees, beasts, bugs, wind, water. All things have a spirit to them. And the Crees would pay homage and prayer to the spirits in times they believed it was needed. Praying to the spirit of a animal as they hunted it. Praying to a river so it would be calm as they crossed it. Praying for rain or wind in times of need. But Oymantiou is the Great Spirit, the Great Ancestor of all who created the world and would be referenced in all moments of Prayer and would be called out to in times of tension.

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