“But if Mitsha herself inquires of me?”

“You must be wise, brother, wiser than she is; for women are seldom wise,—­only forward, curious, and inquisitive.  Wisdom”—­and the dandy of the Rito shrugged his shoulders—­“is a gift to man, never to woman.  When you and Mitsha are together alone, be wise.  Don’t ask her anything that does not concern you; and if she begins to pry into your matters, you will have a right to say to her, ’I don’t pry into your affairs, so don’t ask me about those of my people.’  I am sure that she will let you alone thereafter, for Mitsha is a good girl.  Nevertheless, be careful, for it is as certain as that the brook runs through here that they will attempt to draw you out.  Tyope will say to his wife, ’Find out this or that from him.’  He may even tell her why he wants to know it.  The woman goes to her daughter, and bids her ask the boy about such and such a thing.  But she is careful not to let out why, and that Tyope is at the bottom of the inquiry.  The girl suspects nothing wrong and asks you, and you tell her all you know.  In this manner precious things get little by little into evil hands, and the end of it is evil.  If you will promise me that you will be very cautious, I will speak to Say Koitza such words that she will feel glad to see you and Mitsha become one.”

Okoya seized the hand of his friend, breathed on it, then clasped it with both hands, lifting it up to heaven.  He could not utter a word; joy and hope deprived him of the power of speech.  Hayoue suffered him to go through this ceremony; he also felt glad.

The storm was drawing nearer; dense clouds hovered over the Rito, but they did not notice them.  Louder and louder the thunders rolled, and in quicker succession came the peals; they heeded not.  From the heights in the west there was a sound of gushing rain; they paid no attention to it.

Hayoue spoke again,—­

“Something I have yet to tell you.  Although Mitsha may like you, and even if her mother be in your favour,—­perhaps as much for her own sake as on her daughter’s account,” he added, with a scornful smile,—­“it is by no means certain that Tyope will give his consent.  If you become his tool, if you let him wield you as a hand wields flint or stone, then he will be in your favour; if not, he will not be.  He knows very well how precious Mitsha is, and with the aid of her mother and of that mother’s clan he hopes to sell his pretty girl to his own best advantage.  Unless you are willing to let him use you to grind his corn as a woman grinds it on the yanyi, you have no chance; he will barter away Mitsha to a Navajo, if thereby he reaches his ends.”

Okoya started, horrified.  “Is Tyope as bad as that?” he asked.

“Do you recollect Nacaytzusle, the savage stranger boy?” Hayoue inquired in return.

“I do; but he has left us.”

“It does not matter; for to that wild wolf he would rather give Mitsha than let her be your wife.  There is no danger of my obtaining her,” he added, with a grim smile, “for he hates me like a water-mole.  True it is that I, too, detest him as I do a spider.”