CHAPTER IV.
A bright morning followed the night on which Tyope underwent hisadventures. He slept long, but it attracted no undue attention andcalled forth no remarks on the part of his wife and daughter. They werewont to see him come and go at any hour of the night. It was very nearnoon when he awoke at last, and after disposing of his late breakfast,_a la mode du pays_, sauntered off to parts unknown to the others. Theday was one of remarkable beauty. No dim foggy city sun cast a sullenglance at the landscape. The sun stood in the zenith of a sky of thedeepest azure, like a flaming, sparkling, dazzling meteor. Still itsheat was not oppressive.
On the mesa above the Rito a fresh wind was blowing. The shrubbery wasgently moved by the breeze. A faint rushing sound was heard, likedistant waves surging back and forth. In the gorge a zephyr only fannedthe tops of the tallest pines; a quietness reigned, a stillness, likethat which the poets of old ascribe to the Elysian fields.
There is not much bustle about the big house on the Tyuonyi. The men areout and at work, and the children have retired to the court-yard, Agroup of girls alone enlivens the space between the main building andthe new home of the Corn people. They are gathered in a throng whilethey talk, laugh, and chatter, pointing at the fresh coat of clay whichthey have finished applying to the outside of the new building. Theirhands are yet filled with the liquid material used for plastering, andthey taunt each other as to the relative merits of their work.
One of the maidens, a plump little thing with a pair of lively eyes,calls out to another, pointing at a spot where the plaster appears lesssmooth and even,--
"See there, Aistshie, you did that! You were too lazy to go over itagain. Look at my work; how even it is compared with yours!"
The other girl shrugged her shoulders and retorted,--
"It may be, but it is not my fault, it is yours, Sayap. You did ityesterday when we beat off the boys. You pushed Shyuote against the walland he thumped his head here. See, this is the mark where he struck theclay. You did this, Sayap, not I."
Sayap laughed, and her buxom form shook.
"You are right; I did it, I served the urchin right. It was good, was itnot, Aistshie? How I punished the brat, and how he looked afterward withhis face all one mud-patch!"
"Yes," Aistshie objected, "but I did more. I faced Okoya, despite hisbow and arrows. That was more than you did."
The other girls interrupted the scornful reply which Sayap was on thepoint of giving. They crowded around the two with a number of eagerquestions.
"What was it?" queried one.
"What happened yesterday?" another.
"Did you have a quarrel with boys," a third; and so on. All pressedaround begging and coaxing them to tell the story of yesterday'sadventure. The heroines themselves looked at each other inembarrassment. At last Aistshie broke out,--
"You tell it, Sayap."
"Well," began the latter, "it was yesterday afternoon and we were justputting on the last touches of the coating, when Okoya and littleShyuote his brother--"
A clod, skilfully hurled, struck her right ear, filling it with sand andcutting off the thread of her narrative rather abruptly. Sayap wheeledaround to see whence the blow had come. The other girls all laughed, butshe was angry. Her wrath was raised to the highest pitch however, whenshe discovered that Shyuote was the aggressor. On a little eminence nearby stood the scamp, dancing, cutting capers, and yelling triumphantly.
"Shyuote is small, but he knows how to throw."
"Fiend," cried Sayap in reply. She picked up a stone, raised it in theawkward manner in which most girls handle missiles, and running towardthe boy hurled it at him. It fell far short of its mark, of course, andShyuote only laughed, danced, and grimaced so much the more. As Sayapkept advancing and the other girls followed, he threw a second clod,which struck her squarely in the face, and so sharply that blood flowedfrom her nose and mouth. At the same time the rogue shouted at the topof his voice,--
"Come on! All of you! I am not afraid. You will never catch me!"
And as the majority of his pursuers came on, while two or three remainedbehind soothing and consoling Sayap, who stood still, crying andbleeding, he thrust out his tongue at them its full length, performed anumber of odious grimaces, and then nimbly clambered up between a groupof erosive cones that lay in front of the cliff. He turned around oncemore to yell defiance and scorn at his pursuers, and disappeared on theother side. Farther pursuit being hopeless, the girls clustered aroundthe weeping Sayap and held a council of war. They vowed dire vengeanceon the lad, and promised their injured sister to improve the firstopportunity that should present itself.
Shyuote, on the other hand, felt proud of his success. His revenge was,he felt, a glorious one. Still he was careful not to forget the counselsof prudence, and instead of returning to the house by a direct route,which might have carried him too near the enraged damsels, he saunteredalong, hugging the cliffs for some distance, and then cautiously sneakedinto the fields below the new homes of the Maize clan. Once in the cornhe felt safe, and was about to cross the brook to the south side, whenthe willows bordering the streamlet rustled and tossed, and a voicecalled to him from the thicket,--
"Where are you going, uak?"
Shyuote stopped, and looked around for the speaker; but nobody wasvisible. Again the boughs rustled and shook, and there emerged from thewillows an old man of low stature, with iron-gray hair and shrivelledfeatures. He wore no ornaments at all; his wrap was without belt andvery dirty. In his left hand he held a plant which he had pulled up bythe roots. He stepped up to Shyuote, stood close by his side, andgrowled at him rather than spoke.
"I asked you where you were going. Why don't you answer?"
Shyuote was frightened, and stammered in reply,--
"To see my father."
"Who is your father?"
"Zashue Tihua."
The features of the interlocutor took on a singular expression. It wasnot one of pleasure, neither did it betoken anger; if anything, itdenoted a sort of grim satisfaction.
"If Zashue is your father," continued he, and his eyes twinkledstrangely, "Say Koitza must be your mother."
"Of course," retorted the boy, to whom this interrogatory seemedludicrous.
"And Okoya your brother," the old man persisted.
"Why do you ask all this?" inquired the child, laughingly.
A look, piercing and venomous, darted from the eyes of the questioningman. He snarled angrily,--
"Because I ask it. I ask, and you shall answer me without inquiring whyand wherefore. Do you hear, uak?"
Shyuote hung his head; he felt afraid.
"I forbid you to say anything about what I say to you to your mother,"continued the other, grasping the left arm of the boy.
Shyuote shook off the grip, and also shook his head in token of refusal.The old man seized the arm again and clutched it so firmly with his bonyfingers that the lad screamed from pain.
"Let me go!" he cried. "You hurt me, let me go!"
"Will you do as I bid you?" asked his tormentor.
"Yes," sobbed the child. "I will obey. My mother shall not knowanything. Let me go, you hurt!"
The man loosened his grip slightly.
"To your father you shall say that I, the Koshare Naua,"--the boy lookedup at him at these words in astonishment,--"send word to him through youto come to my house on the night after the one that will follow thisday, when the new moon sets behind the mountains. Do you hear me, boy?"
Shyuote stared at the interlocutor with mouth wide open, and with anexpression of fear and surprise that evidently amused the other. He gavehim a last look, a sharp, threatening, penetrating glance; then hisfeatures became less stern.
"Have no fear," he said in a milder tone. "I will not do you any harm;but you must do as I say. Go to your nashtio now, and tell him what Isaid." With this he wheeled about and left the boy as abruptly as hehad appeared. Shyuote stood gaping and perplexed.
He felt very much like crying. His arm still ached
from the grip of theold man, and while he was rubbing the sore spot his anger rose at theharsh and cruel treatment he had suffered. He thought of rushing home tohis mother forthwith and telling her all about the bad old man, and howhe had forbidden him to say anything to her. Still, the Koshare Naua wasnot to be trifled with, and Shyuote, young and childish as he was, hadsome misgivings about betraying his confidence. His father had told himthat the Naua, or chief leader of the Koshare, was a very wise andtherefore a very powerful man. Zashue, who as soon as Shyuote was bornhad pledged the child to become one of the Delight Makers, was educatingthe lad gradually in his duties; and Shyuote had already imbibed enoughof that discipline to feel a tremendous respect for the leader of thesociety to which he was pledged to belong. He suppressed the thoughts ofrebellion that had arisen, and strolled on, crossing the creek andhunting for his father among the corn-patches on the other side. But hisgood-humour had left him. Instead of being triumphantly buoyant, he feltmorose and humiliated.
Zashue Tihua was at work in the fields of the Water clan, on thesouthern border of the cultivated plots. He was not alone; another youngman kept him company. It was his younger brother, Hayoue. They wereweeding side by side, and exchanging remarks while the work went on.Zashue looked up, and his handsome face brightened when he discoveredShyuote coming toward them through the maize. A visit from his favouritechild, although by no means an unusual occurrence, was always a sourceof pleasure. He liked to have Shyuote around him when he was at work.
Throwing a small, sharp stone-splinter toward the boy, he called out tohim,--
"Come, take this okpanyi and begin weeding where you stand. Weed towardus until we meet, and we will go home together to the yaya."
This was still further a source of displeasure to Shyuote, who above allthings disliked work. He had not come down to the fields to toil. Whathe sought for was a friendly chat with his father, a few hours oflounging and loafing near him. Disappointed and pouting, he bent overthe work assigned, while the two men went on with their task as well aswith their conversation.
Hayoue was taller than his brother, and a strikingly handsome youngIndian. His eyes had a more serious and less mischievous expression thanthose of Zashue. He was yet unmarried; but, notwithstanding, a markedpredilection for the fair sex formed one of his characteristics. He washeld in high esteem by the leading men of the tribe, Tyope and hisadherents excepted, for his sagacity, good judgment, and personalvalour.
"I tell you," Zashue spoke up, "Shyuote will become a good one."
Hayoue shrugged his shoulders and replied,--
"You should know your own children better than I, yet I tell you Okoyaalso is good; besides, he is wise and reserved."
"Yes; but he is too much with the women, and his mother stands nearer tohim than his father. He never follows me to the fields unless I tellhim. Look at the little one, on the other hand. He will be a man."
While his brother spoke Hayoue had quietly observed Shyuote; and theslow, loitering way in which the boy performed his work had not escapedhis observation. He said,--
"It may be. To-day he certainly acts rather like an old woman. See howloath he is to weed the plants."
"You always prefer Okoya," replied Zashue. "You like him because henever opens his mouth unless an arrow is forced between his teeth."
"And you prefer Shyuote because you are making a Koshare of him," Hayoueanswered, with great composure.
"He surely will become a good one, a better one than I am."
"If he becomes as good a Delight Maker as you are, Zashue, we may besatisfied. Shall you soon retire to the estufa?" he inquired, changingthe subject of the conversation.
"I don't know; the Naua has not said anything as yet, but the time isnear at hand when we should begin to work. Before going into the roundhouse in the rocks, we ought to be sure that there are no Navajos in theneighbourhood. You are Kauanyi, a member of the order of warriors," headded with a side-glance at his brother, "do you know anything of thesneaking wolves in the mountains?"
Hayoue denied any knowledge concerning the Navajos, adding,--
"I did not like it when that fellow Nacaytzusle ran away from us. Heknew too much of our ways."
"He can do no harm. He is glad to stay among his people."
"Still I don't trust him," Hayoue muttered.
"Neither would I, if I were in your place," Zashue taunted, and agood-natured though mischievous smile lit up his features. "If I wereyou I would keep still better guard over Mitsha Koitza."
"What have I to do with the child of Tyope," exclaimed the other, rathercontemptuously.
"Indeed?" queried Zashue, "so you, too, are against Tyope? What has hedone to you?"
"Nothing, but I mistrust him as much as I do the Navajo."
These last words were uttered in such a positive manner--they were soearnestly emphasized--that they cut off the conversation. It was plainthat Hayoue had made up his mind on the subject, and that he did notwish to have it broached again.
"Sa nashtio," called Shyuote over to where the brothers were weeding insilence, "come over here; I must tell you something, but I must tell itto you alone."
Hayoue at once turned away, while Zashue called the lad to him. ButShyuote protested, saying that only his father was to hear hiscommunication, and Zashue at last went where the boy was standing. Itvexed him, and he inquired rather gruffly what he had to say. Shyuotemade a very wise and important face, placed a finger to his lips, andwhispered,--
"The Koshare Naua told me to tell you that you should go to see him, notto-morrow, but the day after, when the moon goes behind the mountains."
"Is that all!" exclaimed Zashue, disappointed and angry,--"is that allyou had to say? That much you might have shouted to me. There was noneed of being so secret about it, and"--he glanced at the insignificantand careless work the boy had performed--"is that all you have donesince you came? You are lazy, uak! Go home. Go home at once to yourmother and tell her that I shall not return for the evening, but willstay with Hayoue in the caves." And as Shyuote, dismayed and troubled,appeared loath to go, Zashue turned to him again, commanding in a veryangry tone,--
"Go home! Go home at once!"
(Upper picture) A Navajo Hogan]
(Lower picture) The Heart of the Tyuonyi: Theexcavated lower story of the great terraced Communal House]
Shyuote left in haste; he felt very much like crying. Hayoue said to hisbrother,--
"Didn't I tell you that Shyuote was lazy? Okoya is far, far moreuseful."
"Let me alone about Okoya," growled Zashue; and both went on with thework as before.
Shyuote stumbled across the patches of corn, rather than walked throughthem. He felt sad, dejected, and very wrathful. All the buoyancy withwhich his victory over the girls had inspired him was gone. Since thatheroic feat nothing but ill-luck had crossed his path. He was angry athis father for scolding him and driving him home, in the presence ofHayoue, for whom the boy had as great a dislike as his uncle had forhim. Why, it was worse than the threats and cuffs of the old Naua! Itwas not only an injustice, it was an insult! So the lad reasoned, andbegan to brood over vengeance. He was going to show his father that he,the ten-year-old boy, was not to be trifled with. Yes, he would show histeeth by refusing to become a Koshare. Would not that be a gloriousrevenge! The little fellow did not know that he was pledged to theDelight Makers by a sacred vow of his parent which it was not in hispower to break. After a while his thoughts changed, and he concludedthat it might be better to say nothing and to go home and ask forsomething to eat. But never, never again would he favour his father witha friendly call in the corn-patch. This latter resolve appeared to himso satisfactory, the revenge so ample for the injury received, that heforgot the past and fairly danced through the fields, hopping sometimeson one foot and sometimes on the other. He crossed the brook and reachedthe large house almost to his own surprise.
It was noon, and the full blaze of the sun flooded the valley withlight. Not a breeze fanned the air, nothing st
irred. No vibrationstroubled the picture which the cliffs, the caves, the buildings,presented in the dazzling glare. The cliffs had lost their yellowish hueand appeared white, with every protuberance, every indentation, orcavity, marked by intense shadows. The houses inhabited by the Eagleclan along the foot of the rocks were like a row of irregularly piledcubes and prisms; each beam leaning against them cast a jet-black streakof shadow on the ground. Below the projecting beams of the roofs a shortblack line descended along the wall, and the towering rocks jutted inand out from dark recesses like monsters. So strong were the contrastsbetween shadow and light that even Shyuote was struck by it. He stoodstill and stared.
Something indefinite, a vague feeling of awe, crept over him. For thereal grandeur of the scenery he had no sense of appreciation, and yet itseemed to him as if everything about were new and strange. Thousands oftimes had he gazed at the cliffs of his valley home, but never had theyappeared to him as they did now. So strong was this impression, and sosudden, too, that he shrank from the sight in amazement; then he turnedhis eyes away and walked rapidly toward home. He was afraid to look atthe colossal pillars and walls; they appeared to him like giantsthreatening to move. All his plans for revenge, every thought of wrathand indignation, had vanished.
Suddenly his left knee was struck by a stone hurled with such force thatShyuote bounded and screamed. At the same time six or seven boys, someapparently of his age while others were taller and older, rushed fromthe bushes skirting the ditch. Two of them ran directly in front of him.They were armed with sticks and short clubs, and the largest, who seemedto be of the same age as Okoya, shouted,--
"You have injured Sayap, and caused her blood to flow. You rottensquash, you shall suffer for it."
Shyuote took in the situation at a glance. He saw that only desperaterunning would save him from being roughly handled. He darted off like anarrow toward the cave-dwellings in front of him. Unfortunately thesewere the quarters of the Corn people who had not yet moved into theirnew homes. To them belonged Sayap and the boys that were assailingShyuote; and as the fugitive approached the slope, he saw it occupied byother youth ready and eager to give him a warm reception. At the sametime the tallest of his pursuers was gaining on him rapidly; rocks flewpast his head; a stone struck him between the ribs, stopping his breathalmost. In despair he turned to the left, and making a last effort flewtowards the houses of the Eagle clan. Panting, blinded by exertion andby pain, he reached one of the beams leading to a roof, rushed upwardalong it, and was about to take refuge in the room below, when a younggirl came up the primitive ladder down which he had intended toprecipitate himself. Issuing from the hatchway she quietly pushed thelad to one side; then, as in that moment one of his pursuers appeared onthe roof, she stepped between him and Shyuote.
"Get out of the way, Mitsha! Let me get at the wren!" cried the youthwho had just climbed the roof. Shyuote fled to the very wall of therock; he gave up all hope and thought himself lost. But the girl quietlyasked,--
"What do you want with the boy?"
"He has hurt Sayap, our sister," the tall youngster answered. "He threwa stone at her and caused her to bleed. Now I am going to pay him forit."
"So will I!" shouted another one from below.
"I too!" "And I!" "He shall get it from all of us!" yelled a number ofyouthful voices, and in an instant the roof was crowded with boys.
Mitsha had placed herself so as to shield the trembling lad with her ownbody. Very quietly she said,--
"Don't you see that he also is bleeding? Let him go now, it is enough."A stone had indeed grazed Shyuote's scalp, and blood was trickling downhis cheek.
"It is not enough!" shouted one of the older boys, angrily. "Get out ofthe way, Mitsha!"
"You shall not hurt him on this roof," replied Mitsha, in a calm butvery positive tone.
"Do you intend to protect him?" cried the tallest one of the pursuers,and another one exclaimed,--
"How does it concern you? You have nothing to do here." All turnedagainst the girl. A little fellow, who carried several large pebbles inhis hand for the occasion, endeavoured to steal a march around Mitsha inorder to reach Shyuote; but she noticed it, and grasped his arm andpulled him back so vigourously that he reeled and fell at full length onthe roof. Then she ordered them all to leave forthwith.
"You belong to the Corn clan," she said, "and have nothing to do here onthe houses of the Eagle clan. Go down! Get away at once or I will callour men. As long as I am here you shall not touch the uak."
"So you take his part?" cried the biggest one of the invaders. He raiseda stick to strike her.
"Lay down your club, you dirty ear of corn," replied the maiden, "or youwill fare badly." With this she drew from under her wrap a heavywar-club; it was the same weapon which Tyope had used the nightprevious.
The boy's arm remained uplifted, but still the attitude of the girl, herthreatening look and resolute appearance, checked the assailants. Mitshastood with apparent composure, but her eyes sparkled and the expressionof her face denoted the utmost determination. Besides she was fully astall as most of her opponents, and the weapon she was holding inreadiness looked quite formidable. But the superior number of herassailants exercised a certain pressure on these assailants themselves,and the Indian under such circumstances has no thought of chivalrousfeeling. A dozen boys stood before the solitary maiden on the roof, andthey were not to be intimidated by her. For an instant only neither saida word; then a threatening murmur arose. One of the lads called out tothe tallest of the crowd,--
"Strike her down, Shohona!"
A stone was thrown at her but missed its aim. At this moment the boysnearest the brink of the roof were suddenly thrust aside right and left,the one who had threatened Mitsha with his stick was pulled back andjerked to one side violently, and before the astonished girl stoodOkoya. Pale with emotion, breathless, with heaving chest, and quiveringfrom excitement, he gasped to her,--
"Go down into the room; I will protect my brother." Then he turned toface the assailants.
The scene on the roof had attracted a large number of spectators, whohad gathered below and were exchanging surmises and advice on the meritsof a case about which none of them really knew anything. Now a woman'svoice rose from amid this gaping and chattering crowd,--the sharp andscreechy voice of an angry woman. She shouted to those who were on theroof,--
"Get down from my house! Get down, you scoundrels! If you want to killeach other do it elsewhere, and not on my home!" With this the womanclimbed on to the roof. She seized the boy nearest to her by the hairand pulled him fairly to the ground, so that the poor fellow howledfrom pain. With the other hand she dealt blows and cuffs, and scratchedand punched indiscriminately among the youngsters, so that a suddenpanic broke out among these would-be heroes. Each sought to get out ofher reach with the greatest alacrity. She at last released her hold onthe first victim and reached out for another; but the last of the youngCorn people was just tumbling down from the roof, and her clutch at hisleg came too late. In an instant the roof was cleared. The young bravesfrom the Maize clan were ungraciously received below. A number of theirparents had assembled, and when the woman began to expostulate, theylooked at the matter from her point of view. They saw that it was aninfringement, a trespass, upon the territory and rights of another clan,and treated their pugnacious sons to another instalment of bodilypunishment as fast as they came tumbling from above. The final resultfor the incipient warriors of the Corn people was that they wereignominiously driven home.
While peace was thus restored upon the ground it still looked quitestormy on the roof. The woman who had so energetically interfered atlast discovered Okoya, who was looking in blank amazement at this suddenchange of affairs. Forthwith she made a vicious grab at his ebony locks,with the pointed remark,--
"Down with you, you stinking weed!"
But Mitsha interfered.
"Mother," she said gently, "do not harm him. He was defending hisbrother and me. He is none of the others."
"What!" the woman screamed, "was it you whom they were about to strike,these night-owls made of black corn? You, my child? Let me tell themagain what they are," and she ran to the brink of the roof, raisedhandfuls of dust from it, and hurled them in the direction of the cavesof the offenders. She stamped, she spat; she raved, and heaped upon theheads of the Corn people, their ancestors, and their descendants, everyinvective the Queres language contains. To those below this appeareddecidedly entertaining; the men especially enjoyed the performance, butMitsha felt sorry,--she disliked to see her mother display such frenzyand to hear her use such vulgar language. She pulled her wrap, saying,--
"It is enough now, sanaya. Don't you see that those who wanted to hurtme are gone? Their fathers and mothers are not guilty. Be quiet, mother;it is all over now."
Her mother at last yielded to these gentle remonstrances, turned awayfrom the brink, and surveyed the roof. She saw Okoya standing beforeweeping Shyuote, and scolding him.
"What are you doing to this child?" asked Mitsha's mother, still underthe pressure of her former excitement. She was ready for another fray.
"He is my brother, and the cause of the whole trouble," Okoya explainedto her. "I chide him for it, as it is my duty to do. Nevertheless, theyhad no right to kill him, still less to hurt the girl."
The woman had at last had time to scrutinize the looks of the young man.She herself was not old, and when not under the influence of passion wasrather comely. Okoya's handsome figure attracted her attention, and shestepped nearer, eyeing him closely.
"Where do you belong?" she inquired in a quieter tone.
"I am Tanyi."
"Who is your father?"
"Zashue Tihua."
The woman smiled; she moved still nearer to the young man andcontinued,--
"I know your father well. He is one of us, a Koshare." Her eyes remainedfastened on his features; she was manifestly more and more pleased withhis appearance. But at the same time she occasionally glanced toward herdaughter Mitsha, and it struck her forcibly that Mitsha, too, washandsome.
"I know who you are," she said smilingly. "You are Okoya Tihua, yourlittle brother is called Shyuote, and Say Koitza is your mother's name.She is a good woman, but"--and she shrugged her shoulders--"always sick.Have you any cotton?" she suddenly asked, looking squarely into the eyesof the boy.
"No," he replied, and his features coloured visibly, "but I have somehandsome skins."
Mitsha too seemed embarrassed; she started to go into the room below,but her mother called her back.
"Sa uishe," she coaxed, "won't you give the mot[=a]tza something toeat?"
The faces of both young people became fiery red. He stood like a statue,and yet his chest heaved. He cast his eyes to the ground. Mitsha hadturned her face away; her whole body was trembling like a leaf. Hermother persisted.
"Take him down into the room and feed him," she repeated, and smiled.
"I have nothing," murmured Mitsha.
"If such is the case I shall go and see myself." With these words thewoman descended the beam into the room below, leaving the two alone onthe roof, standing motionless, neither daring to look at the other.
While the colloquy between Okoya and Mitsha's mother was going on,Shyuote had recovered somewhat from his fright and grief and had sneakedoff. Once on the ground he walked--still trembling and suspiciouslyscanning the cliff wherein the Corn people had their abodes--asstraight as possible toward the big house. Nobody interfered with him;not even his two defenders noticed that he had gone; they both remainedstanding silent, with hearts beating anxiously.
"Okoya," the woman called from below, "come and eat. Mitsha, come downand give sa uishe something to eat."
A thrill went through Okoya's whole frame. She had called him _sauishe_,--"my child." He ventured to cast a furtive glance at the maiden.Mitsha had recovered her self-control; she returned his shy glance withan open, free, but sweet look, and said,--
"Come and partake of the food." There was no resisting an invitationfrom her. He smiled; she returned the smile in a timid way, as shy andembarrassed as his own.
She descended first and Okoya followed. On the floor of the room, thesame chamber where Tyope had taken rest the night before, stood theusual meal; and Okoya partook of it modestly, said his prayer of thanks,and uttered a plain, sincere hoya at the end. But instead of rising, ashe would have done at home, he remained squatting, glancing at the twowomen.
While he ate, the mother watched him eagerly; her cunning eyes movedfrom his face toward that of her daughter like sparks; and gradually anexpression of satisfaction mingled with that of a settled resolveappeared on her features. There was no doubt that the two would be ahandsome pair. They seemed, as the vulgar saying goes, made for eachother; and there was something besides that told that they were fond ofeach other also. Okoya had never before entered this dwelling; but thewoman thought that they had met before, nay, that her desire had beenanticipated, inasmuch as the young people already stood to each other,if not in an intimate, in a more than merely friendly, relation.
"Why do you never come to see us?" asked the woman, after Okoya hadfinished his meal.
"I stay at the estufa during the night," was the modest reply.
"You need have no fear," she answered pleasantly, "Tyope and your fatherare good friends. You should become a Koshare!" she exclaimed.
Okoya's face clouded; he did not like the suggestion, but neverthelessasked,--
"Is she," looking at Mitsha, "a Koshare also?"
"No. We had another child, a boy. He was to have become a Delight Maker,but he died some time ago." The woman had it on her lips to say, "Do youbecome one in his place as our child," but she checked herself in time;it would have been too bold a proposal.
Okoya glanced at the daughter and said timidly,--
"If you like, I shall come again to see you;" and Mitsha's facedisplayed a happy smile at the words, while her mother eagerly nodded.
"Come as often as you can," she replied. "We"--emphasizing the wordstrongly--"like it. It is well."
"Then I will go now," said Okoya, rising. His face was radiant. "I mustgo home lest Shyuote get into more trouble. He is so mischievous andawkward. Good-bye." He grasped the woman's hand and breathed on it; gavea smiling look to the girl, who nodded at him with a happy face; andreturned to the roof again. Thence he climbed down to the ground. Howhappy he felt! The sun seemed to shine twice as brightly as before; theair felt purer; all around him breathed life, hope, and bliss. At thefoot of the slope he turned back once more to gaze at the house where somuch joy had come to him. A pair of lustrous eyes appeared in the littleair-hole of the wall. They were those of the maiden, which werefollowing him on his homeward way.
Tyope's wife was right in supposing that her daughter and Okoya were notstrangers to each other. And yet not a single word had passed betweenthem before beyond a casual greeting. As often as they had met he hadsaid "guatzena," and she had responded with "raua." But at every meetinghis voice was softer, and hers more timid and trembling. Each felt happyat the sight of the other, but neither thought of speaking, still lessof making any advances. Okoya was aware of the fact--which he feltdeeply and keenly--that a wide breach, a seemingly impassable chasm,existed between him and the girl. That gap was the relation in which hestood toward Tyope, the girl's father. Or rather the relation in whichhe fancied himself to stand toward him. For Tyope had hardly ever spokento him, still less done him any wrong. But Okoya's mother had spoken ofTyope as a bad man, as a dangerous man, as one whom it was Okoya's dutyto avoid. And so her son feared Tyope, and dared not think of the badman's daughter as his future companion through life. Now everything waschanged.
Mitsha's mother had said that Tyope was a friend of his father, and thatTyope would not be angry if Okoya came to her house. Then he was not,after all, the fiend that Say Koitza had pictured him. On the contraryhe appeared to Okoya, since the last interview, in the light of animportant personage. Okoya's faith in his mother was shaken befor
e; nowhe began to think that Tyope after all, while he was certainly to him animportant man, was not as bad as represented. The Koshare also appearedto him in a new and more favourable light. The adroit suggestion made bythe woman that he should join the society bore its fruits. Okoya feltnot only relieved but happy; he felt elated over his success. He waswell trained in the religious discipline of the Indians; and now that hesaw hope before him, his next thought was one of gratitude toward thatmother of all who, though dwelling at the bottom of the lagune ofShipapu at times, and then again in the silvery moon, was still watchingover the destinies of her children on earth, and to whose lovingguidance he felt his bright prospects due.
He had no prayer-plumes with him. These painted sticks--to whichfeathers or down of various birds, according to the nature of the prayerthey are to signify, are attached--the aborigine deposits wherever andwhenever he feels like addressing himself to the higher powers, be itfor a request, in adoration only, or for thanksgiving. In a certain waythe prayer-plume or plume-stick is a substitute for prayer, inasmuch ashe who has not time may deposit it hurriedly as a votive offering. Thepaint which covers the piece of stick to which the feather is attachedbecomes appropriately significant through its colours, the featheritself is the symbol of human thought, flitting as one set adrift in theair toward heaven, where dwell Those Above. But as in the presentinstance, the Indian has not always a prayer-plume with him. So he hasrecourse to an expedient, simple and primitive.
Two little sticks or twigs, placed crosswise and held to their place bya rock or stone, serve the same purpose in case of emergency. Suchaccumulations of rocks, little stone-heaps, are plentiful around Indianvillages; and they represent votive offerings, symbolizing as manyprayers. There were a number of them at the Rito around the big house,along the fields, and on the trails leading up to the mesa. Okoya wentto the nearest one and placed two twigs crosswise on it, poising themwith a stone. Then he scattered sacred meal, which he always carriedwith him in a small leather wallet, and thanked the Sanashtyaya, ourmother, with an earnest ho-a-a, ho-a-a.
Then he turned homeward. The very thought of that home, however, madehis heart heavy and sad. For more and more he became convinced that hismother was false to him. The assertion made by Tyope's wife that he waswelcome in her house, and that Tyope would not object to his visitingthere, worked another breach in the faith he was wont to place in hismother's words. Not that the invitation to join the Koshare hadexercised any influence upon his opinion regarding that society of menand women. He mistrusted, he hated, he feared them as much as ever, buttoward Tyope personally he felt differently. His thoughts were carriedback to the gloomy subject; one by one his doubts and misgivingsreturned with them, and a longing after some friend to whom he mightcommunicate his fears and whom he might consult with absoluteconfidence. As he was thus pondering and walking on, slowly and moreslowly, he saw at some distance two men climbing up toward where thecave-dwellings of the Water clan lay. One of them was his father; herecognized him at once. Who was his companion? He stopped and looked. Itwas his father's brother, Hayoue; and with this it seemed as if a veilhad suddenly dropped from his eyes. The tall, slender young man yonder,who was advancing up the declivity at such an easy gait, was the friendupon whom he could fully rely, the adviser who would not, at leastpurposely, lead him astray. Hayoue was but a few years older than Okoya.The relations between the two were those of two brothers and chums,rather than those of uncle and nephew. Hayoue was not a member of hisclan, consequently not exposed to any influence which his mother,through her father, Topanashka, might attempt to exert. Hayoue, he knew,disliked the Koshare as much as he disliked them himself, and Hayoue wasthoroughly trustworthy and discreet, though very outspoken ifnecessary, and fearless. Yes, Hayoue was the friend in need he soanxiously desired to find, and now that he had found him he resolved toseize upon the first opportunity of consulting him on the subject thatso seriously troubled his mind. He was so delighted at this suddendiscovery, as it might be called, that he attributed it to aninspiration from above, and stood for a moment in doubt whether heshould not return to the stone-heap and offer another prayer of thanksto the mother above, for what he considered to have been a gift of hergoodness to him. But the house was too near, and he bethought himself ofShyuote and what the mischievous urchin might have done since he hadleft him. He entered the front room of his mother's dwelling with alighter and easier mind than the day before, and what he saw at oncediverted his thoughts into another widely different channel.
Shyuote sat in a corner, and his eyes were red from crying. Beside himstood Say, agitated and angry. Without giving her elder son time tospeak, she asked,--
"Who sent the boy to the fields?"
"I don't know," replied Okoya, in astonishment. He knew nothing ofShyuote's morning rambles. "He must know; how could I tell?"
"He says that they drove him from the corn because he threw mud at agirl," added the mother.
"That is quite likely," rejoined his elder brother. "That is why thelads of the Corn clan intended to beat him, I presume."
"Why did you not stay with your father?" cried Say.
"Because,"--he held his arm up to his eyes and commenced tosob,--"because my father drove me off."
"Why did he drive you away?"
"Because--" He stopped, then raised his head as if a sudden and wickedthought had flashed across his mind.
His eyes sparkled. "I dare not tell." He cast his eyes to the ground,and a bitter smile passed over his lips.
"Why dare you not tell?" both Say and Okoya inquired. "Has sa nashtiotold you not to say anything about it?"
"Not he, but the Koshare Naua." It was like an explosion. Say Koitzafelt a terrible pang; she stared vacantly at the wicked lad for amoment, and then turned and went into the kitchen. Shyuote wept aloud;his brother looked down upon him with an expression of mingledcompassion and curiosity.
The doorway was suddenly darkened by a human form, and with the usual_guatzena_ the grandfather, Topanashka, entered the apartment. Okoyastood up quickly and replied,--
"Raua opona."
"What is the boy crying for?" inquired the old man.
"The Corn people tried to hurt him because he threw something at one oftheir girls," Okoya explained.
"Is that all? I heard scolding and crying going on here, and so Ithought I would come and see what was the matter. Where is your yaya?"
Say, when she heard her father's voice, came out and leaned against theentrance to the kitchen. Her face was convulsed, her eyes glassy.Topanashka scanned her features quietly and then said in a cold tone,--
"Guatzena."
She understood the meaning of his cold, searching gaze, and gathered allher strength to meet it with composure.
"Shyuote cries also," she said, "because his father sent him home fromthe fields."
"Why did Zashue do that?"
"This he dare not tell, for the Koshare Naua"--her voice trembled at themention of the name--"forbade him to say anything about it." Her eyesclung to the features of her father. Topanashka turned away slowly andquietly, and she followed him to the door. As he was crossing thethreshold he whispered to her,--
"There is nothing new as yet."