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Updated: June 25, 2025
Shyuote, whose trout had been ruined during the combat with the girls, threw himself on the roll in the corner, there to mourn over his defeat. Okoya went out into the court-yard. Both expected an early meal, for the fire crackled in the dark kitchen, and a clapping of hands gave evidence that corn-cakes were being moulded to appease their hungry stomachs. The court-yard had become very quiet.
"Then you are better than people say." "Sh sh !" the woman cried, pointing to Shyuote, "you need not speak thus. Sa uishe," she turned to the boy, "go to rest." "I won't!" growled the disobedient child, "I want to hear what you say." "That is just what you shall not," commanded the woman. "Go out at once. Lie down on the hides."
Even the father became impatient now, for he saw that nothing would be said in the boy's presence. So he ordered him to leave. Slowly and reluctantly Shyuote obeyed; but when his sullen glance accidentally met the eye of Hayoue he accelerated his motions. His uncle was not a favourite of his. "Well, what do you want? Why did you call me?"
Still it is an old acquaintance, although since we saw him last he has sadly changed. Now he turns his face to the south, and we catch a glimpse of his profile. It is Zashue Tihua, the Indian from the Rito de los Frijoles, husband of Say Koitza, and father to Okoya and Shyuote. What is he doing here?
The tzina is shy and wary; it knows how sure my aim is, therefore it hides when I go out to hunt." The little one replied to this pompous explanation with a clear mocking laugh. "Turkeys care nothing about you," he retorted. "It is nothing to them whether you go out or not!" "Shyuote," his brother scolded, "stop prating about things of which you do not know.
Her eyes remained fastened on his features; she was manifestly more and more pleased with his appearance. But at the same time she occasionally glanced toward her daughter Mitsha, and it struck her forcibly that Mitsha, too, was handsome. "I know who you are," she said smilingly. "You are Okoya Tihua, your little brother is called Shyuote, and Say Koitza is your mother's name.
The latter cast at the boy a humorous glance; he felt manifestly amused by his talk. It is colour, white colour. It is nothing. You have been painting; the picture is done, but no spirit is there. Shyuote is a lazy, idle brat; he shirks work; but when you say to him, Sit down and eat, then he all at once becomes active. In this way he sneaks around from house to house.
But it was not the influence of Shotaye alone that produced such a great change in the mind of Say Koitza. It was the fact that at the same time, and through the unwelcome interruption by Shyuote, the Shiuana so she believed had sent her a message confirmatory of the woman's admonition. Say did not, she could not, reason as we should under similar circumstances.
Be quiet, mother; it is all over now." Her mother at last yielded to these gentle remonstrances, turned away from the brink, and surveyed the roof. She saw Okoya standing before weeping Shyuote, and scolding him. "What are you doing to this child?" asked Mitsha's mother, still under the pressure of her former excitement. She was ready for another fray.
So strong were the contrasts between shadow and light that even Shyuote was struck by it. He stood still and stared. Something indefinite, a vague feeling of awe, crept over him. For the real grandeur of the scenery he had no sense of appreciation, and yet it seemed to him as if everything about were new and strange.
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