The older brother did not relish the taunt; his lips curled.  He replied scornfully,—­

“Any child may catch a fish, but only men can follow turkeys.  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.  It is true I am not one of the order of hunters, Shyayak, but I may become so soon.”  He stopped, as if a sudden thought had struck him, and then exclaimed:  “Now I know why luck has failed me this morning!  When I left our houses I should have scattered meal, and placed a pebble on the heap beside the trail, and offered a plume to our Mother Above.  All this I neglected.  Now I am punished for it by the birds concealing themselves.  For had they come out—­”

“You would have missed them,” tauntingly replied the other.  “If you want to kill turkeys join the Koshare.  Then you will catch them with roots and flowers.”

Okoya grew angry.

“Hush! foolish boy,” he retorted, “what are the Koshare to me?  Don’t speak about such things here.  Come, take your fish, and let us go home.”

With this Okoya leaped over the brook.  Shyuote whispered audibly to him, “Yes; you are very fond of the Koshare.”  But the sarcastic remark was not heeded by the elder lad, who turned to go, Shyuote following him.  Proudly the little boy tossed his fish from one hand to the other.

Beyond the straight and lofty pine trunks a whitish glare soon appeared.  Brilliant sunlight broke through the tree-tops, and played around the dark needles, turning them into a brighter, lighter, emerald green.  A background of yellow and cream-coloured rocks, visible now through openings in the shrubbery, showed that the boys were approaching a clear space.

Here the elder one suddenly stopped, turned to his brother, looked straight at him, and asked,—­

“Shyuote, what have you heard about the Koshare?”

Instead of answering the child looked down, indifferent and silent, as if he had not heard the query.

“What have you heard, boy?” continued the other.

Shyuote shrugged his shoulders.  He had no inclination to reply.

“Why don’t you answer?” Okoya persisted.

His brother looked up, cast a furtive glance at the interlocutor, then stared vacantly, but with head erect, before him.  His eyes were glassy and without any expression.

[Illustration:  The east end of the Canon of the Tyuonyi]