The Delight Makers | Page 8

the
inference that the child had knowledge of secret arts and occult
practices of which even he, Okoya, although on the verge of manhood,
had never received any intimation. Far more yet than this knowledge,
which Shyuote might have obtained through mere accident, the hint at
unpleasant relations between Okoya and the Koshare startled the latter.
It was perfectly true that he not only disliked but even hated the cluster
of men to which the name of Koshare was given in the tribe; but he had
concealed his feelings as carefully as possible until now. Only 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