His youthful uncle—­so much he saw at a glance—­was not in.  Another young gentleman of the tribe lay on the floor beside the other members of the family.  All were sound asleep yet, and Okoya dropped the curtain quietly and turned toward the brook.  On its banks he selected a spot where, unseen to others, he could look down the valley.  Here he threw himself on the ground to watch, and await Hayoue’s coming.

Although deeply anxious to meet his uncle, Okoya entertained no thought of impatience.  He had to wait, that was all.  Beside, his heart was so heavy, so full of grief and despair, that not even his surroundings could divert him from gloomy thoughts.  The brook murmured and rustled softly by his side, its waters looked clear and limpid; he neither heard nor saw them.  He only longed to be alone, completely alone, until his uncle should come.  Okoya had not performed his morning ablutions, but there was no thought of them; for he was in deep sorrow, and when the Indian’s heart is heavy he is very careful not to wash.

Flat on his stomach, with chin resting on both hands, indifferent to the peculiar scenery before him, he nevertheless scanned the cliffs as far as they were visible.  The grottoes of Tzitz hanutsh opened right in front of him; lower down, the entrances of a few of the caves of Kohaio hanutsh could be seen, for the rocks jutted out like towering pillars.  They completely shut out from his gaze the eastern cave-dwellings of Tzina hanutsh.  Farther to the east, the wall of cliffs swept around to the southeast, showing the houses of the Eagle clan built against its base, the caverns of Yakka hanutsh opening along a semicircle terminating in a sharp point of massive rocks.  In that promontory the port-holes of some of the dwellings of the Cottonwood people were visible.  Beyond, all detail became undistinguishable through the distance, for the north side of the Rito turned into a dim yellowish wall crowned by dark pine-timber.

Okoya lay there, scanning, watching every doorway back and forth the whole length of the view; hours went by; there were no signs of Hayoue.  Yet Okoya did not rise in anger and pace the ground with impatience, he did not scratch his head or stamp, he did not even think of swearing,—­he simply waited.  And his patient waiting proved of comfort to him, for he gradually cooled off, and freed from the effects of his violent impressions, began to think what he could do.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, at least until he had seen Hayoue.  To wait for the latter was a necessity, if it took him the whole day.  But to wait in the same posture for hours was rather tiresome, so he rolled over on his back, and folding his arms under his head began to gaze on the skies.