The Delight Makers | Page 8

once, as far as he could remember, had he spoken of his aversion; and then it was during an absolutely confidential conversation with his own mother, who seemed to entertain like sentiments.
To his father he had never uttered a word; because his father was himself a Koshare. Whatever Shyuote knew, he could only have gathered by overhearing a conversation of the Koshare among themselves, in which it was mentioned that he, Okoya, harboured ill-feelings toward that brotherhood. In that case he might be exposed to serious danger, since, as he believed, those people were in possession of knowledge of a higher order, and practised arts of an occult nature. Against danger arising from such a source, Okoya considered himself utterly defenceless.
The more he tried to think over these matters, the more troubled his mind became. Only one thought appeared logical and probable and that was that the boy had overheard one or other of the Koshare's intimate conversations. But how came it that the Koshare knew about Okoya's aversion toward them? Who could have told them? Only his mother knew the secret! Had she, perhaps, she--The thought was like a spark which glowed for a while, grew to a flame, flared and flickered unsteadily within his heart, then began to shrink. No, no; it was impossible! it could not be! His mother would never betray her child! The flame died out, the spark remained fast dying. Suddenly it blazed up again as if some breath had fanned it.
With renewed insistence, it struck Okoya that even if Shyuote had merely overheard a conversation and the child's knowledge was derived from that source, the most extraordinary part of the information could only have come from one source,--the person in whom he had confided, his mother! She alone could have told the Koshare that Okoya hated them. The spark flared up anew; it burst out in a wild flame of suspicion. It singed the heart and smothered feeling as well as reason. It so completely absorbed his thoughts, that Okoya forgot everything else. Instead of walking along at a quiet easy gait, he rushed fast and faster, wrapped in dismal despair and in wild impotent wrath. Heedless of his little companion he ran, panting with agitation, until Shyuote, unable to keep pace and startled at his wild gait, pulled his garment and begged him to stop.
"Brother," he cried, "why do you go so fast? I cannot follow you!"
Okoya came to a sudden halt, and turned toward the boy like one aroused from a sinister dream. Shyuote stared at him with surprise akin to fright. How changed was his appearance! Never before had he seen him with a countenance so haggard, with eyes hollow and yet burning with a lurid glow. Loose hair hung down over forehead and cheeks, perspiration stood on the brow in big drops. The child involuntarily shrunk back, and Okoya, noticing it, gasped,--
"You are right, the day is long yet and the houses near. We will go slower."
Bowing his head again he went on at a slower gait.
Shyuote followed in silence. Although surprised at the change in his brother's looks, he did not for a moment entertain the thought or desire of inquiring into the cause of it. He was fully satisfied that as long as Okoya did not see fit to speak of the matter, he had no right to ask about it: in short, that it was none of his business.
Meanwhile dark and dismal thoughts were chasing each other within the elder brother's soul. Doubt and suspicion became more and more crushing. He was tempted to break the spell and interrogate Shyuote once more, even to wrench from him, if needs be, a full explanation. The boy was old enough to enjoy that great and often disagreeable quality of the American Indian, reticence. Furthermore, he might have been forbidden to speak.
If the Indian is not an ideal being, he is still less a stolid mentally squalid brute. He is not reticent out of imbecility or mental weakness. He fails properly to understand much of what takes place around him, especially what happens within the circle of our modern civilization, but withal he is far from indifferent toward his surroundings. He observes, compares, thinks, reasons, upon whatever he sees or hears, and forms opinions from the basis of his own peculiar culture. His senses are very acute for natural phenomena; his memory is excellent, as often as he sees fit to make use of it. There is no difference between him and the Caucasian in original faculties, and the reticence peculiar to him under certain circumstances is not due to lack of mental aptitude.
He does not practise that reticence alike toward all. A great number of examples seems to establish the fact that the Indian has developed a system