Peaceful as Nature appeared, neither of the youth were in the least struck by its charms or influenced by the spell which such a tranquil and cheerful landscape is likely to exercise upon thinking and feeling man.  With both it was indifference; for the Indian views Nature with the eyes of a materially interested spectator only.  But the elder brother had another reason for not noticing the beauty of the scene.  He was not only troubled, he was seriously embarrassed.  The hint thrown out by his little brother about the Koshare had struck him; for it led to the inference that the child had knowledge of secret arts and occult practices of which even he, Okoya, although on the verge of manhood, had never received any intimation.  Far more yet than this knowledge, which Shyuote might have obtained through mere accident, the hint at unpleasant relations between Okoya and the Koshare startled the latter.

It was perfectly true that he not only disliked but even hated the cluster of men to which the name of Koshare was given in the tribe; but he had concealed his feelings as carefully as possible until now.  Only once, as far as he could remember, had he spoken of his aversion; and then it was during an absolutely confidential conversation with his own mother, who seemed to entertain like sentiments.

To his father he had never uttered a word; because his father was himself a Koshare.  Whatever Shyuote knew, he could only have gathered by overhearing a conversation of the Koshare among themselves, in which it was mentioned that he, Okoya, harboured ill-feelings toward that brotherhood.  In that case he might be exposed to serious danger, since, as he believed, those people were in possession of knowledge of a higher order, and practised arts of an occult nature.  Against danger arising from such a source, Okoya considered himself utterly defenceless.

The more he tried to think over these matters, the more troubled his mind became.  Only one thought appeared logical and probable and that was that the boy had overheard one or other of the Koshare’s intimate conversations.  But how came it that the Koshare knew about Okoya’s aversion toward them?  Who could have told them?  Only his mother knew the secret!  Had she, perhaps, she—­The thought was like a spark which glowed for a while, grew to a flame, flared and flickered unsteadily within his heart, then began to shrink.  No, no; it was impossible! it could not be!  His mother would never betray her child!  The flame died out, the spark remained fast dying.  Suddenly it blazed up again as if some breath had fanned it.

With renewed insistence, it struck Okoya that even if Shyuote had merely overheard a conversation and the child’s knowledge was derived from that source, the most extraordinary part of the information could only have come from one source,—­the person in whom he had confided, his mother!  She alone could have told the Koshare that Okoya hated them.  The spark flared up anew; it burst out