to see his
child, is it not easy for the young serpent to ask this and that of my
son? Then she will go and tell the old sand-viper, her mother, who will
whisper it to Tyope himself. Don't you see it, sister?"

The argument was forcible, and Shotaye felt the truth of it. The other
proceeded,--

"Okoya may have been going with the girl for a long while; and I knew
nothing of it. Have you found out, sister,"--she leaned forward and
looked at her guest with a very earnest expression,--"how the Koshare
have learned about the owl's feathers in my house?"

The other shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"Neither have I," continued Say; "but might not Okoya--" The hand of her
friend closed her lips.

"Hush!" cried the medicine-woman, imperatively; "speak not, believe not,
think not, such a thing! Okoya is good; I, too, know the boy. He will
never do what you suspect."

But Say was too excited to listen to her. She drew Shotaye's hand away
from her mouth and exclaimed,--

"Remember that it is but a short time that the Koshare have known about
the feathers."

"And remember, you, that Okoya is of your own blood!"

"He is young, and the makatza has great power over him, for he likes
her. When Zashue"--her voice trembled and she turned her face away with
a suppressed sigh--"came to me and I went to him, he often told me
things about your people,--things that your hanutsh would not have
liked, had they known that I knew of them."

"Hush! I tell you again. Hush, koitza!" the other commanded. "Hush! or I
will never listen to you any more. You loathe your own flesh, the very
entrails that have given birth to the mot[=a]tza! I tell you again,
Okoya is good. He is far better than his father! Thus much I know, and
know it well." She looked hard at the wife of Zashue, while her lips
disdainfully curled. Say cast her eyes to the ground; she did not care
to learn about her husband's outside affairs.

It was very still in the dark room. Even the rain was scarcely heard;
and from the ceiling it dripped in one place only,--the very spot where
the owl's feathers had lain buried. It seemed as if the waters from
heaven were eager to assist in obliterating every trace of the fatal
tuft. Shotaye turned away from her friend indignantly; the mere thought
of a mother accusing her child, and such a son as Okoya, was revolting
to her. Say hung her head and pouted; and yet she felt that Shotaye was
right, after all. And then it was so