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Updated: May 3, 2025
Mitsha had placed herself so as to shield the trembling lad with her own body. 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 down his cheek. "It is not enough!" shouted one of the older boys, angrily. "Get out of the way, Mitsha!"
So happy felt Say, that in view of Shyuote's opportune coming, she almost regretted having scolded the boy. An intense feeling of gratitude toward the powers above filled her heart. Among these powers there are two that appear not so much superior to the rest as more intimately connected with the fate of man, as more directly influencing his weal and woe.
He noticed that the two returned his compliments without reserve, whereas Mitsha stood in silence leaning against the house-wall. One single look, one earnest almost sad glance, she sent after the disappearing form of Shyuote's elder brother. The main building was now close at hand. It was an irregular pentagon, and at places two, at others three stories high.
Beside him stood Say, agitated and angry. Without giving her elder son time to speak, she asked, "Who sent the boy to the fields?" "I don't know," replied Okoya, in astonishment. He knew nothing of Shyuote's morning rambles. "He must know; how could I tell?" "He says that they drove him from the corn because he threw mud at a girl," added the mother.
Tears of rage rolled down his cheeks over patches of sand and mud, and when he noticed the mirth of the others Shyuote's fury knew no bounds. He rushed madly at the triumphant lass, who did not shrink from the hostile approach.
You cannot prevent it; neither can Tyope, the tapop, the Hotshanyi, not even the whole tribe! Those on high hold the paths of our lives; they alone can do and undo, make and unmake." Say wept no more. She was convinced, and lifted her eyes again. "Mother," it was Shyuote's voice which called into the outer room from the court-yard, "mother, come out and look at the fine rainbow."
The interior of the estufa appeared quite different from what it did on the day when Shyuote's peep into it was so poorly rewarded. Its walls had been whitened, and were in addition covered with strange-looking paintings. The floor was partly occupied by a remarkable display of equally strange objects.
We recognize easily in this musician the head of the Koshare, Shyuote's late tormentor. At no great distance from the exit, the chorus comes to a halt, but the singing, gesticulation and beating of the drum proceed.
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