She felt happy.  For years past she had not enjoyed the feeling of contentment, of quiet bliss, that filled her now.  It seemed as if the danger that threatened her so direly had vanished.  Her thoughts were all with the future of the child whom only a few hours ago she had so bitterly accused.  Shotaye had worked wonders.

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.  The rainbow of whose presence the awkward boy informed her appeared to her, not in the natural order of phenomena, but, in the light of her creed, as a messenger specially sent by one or more of the innumerable spirits which surround man in nature, whose call she had to obey implicitly.  This implicit, slavish obedience to signs and tokens of a natural order to which a supernatural origin is assigned, is the Indian’s religion.  The life of the Indian is therefore merely a succession of religious acts called forth by utterances of what he supposes to be higher powers surrounding him, and accompanying him on every step from the cradle to the grave.  The Indian is a child whose life is ruled by a feeling of complete dependence, by a desire to accommodate every action to the wills and decrees of countless supernatural beings.

In the eyes of Say Koitza, the whole afternoon appeared now like an uninterrupted chain of dispensations from Those Above.  She was, of course, convinced that the rain had come in response to the prayers and ceremonies of yesterday’s dance.  That same rain had driven Shotaye to shelter under her roof, had given the medicine-woman an opportunity to clear the mind of Say of many a dismal fear, many a distressing apprehension and suspicion.  The rainbow, in her eyes, was a token that what the cave-dweller said was true; it was also the messenger through whose agency Okoya, and later on Hayoue, had drifted into her home with cheering tidings.  Even Shyuote had arrived at the right moment, in time to be sent after the husband and father.  So happy felt Say, that in view of Shyuote’s opportune coming, she almost regretted having scolded the boy.

An intense feeling of gratitude toward the powers above filled her heart.  Among these powers there are two that appear not so much superior to the rest as more intimately connected with the fate of man,—­as more directly influencing his weal and woe.  These are the prominent figures of the sun-father and his spouse the moon-mother.  It is principally the latter that moves the hearts of men, and with whom mankind is in most constant relations.  Say Koitza felt eager to thank the Mother Above for all she had received that day.  She went to the recess in the kitchen wall where the yaya, that fabric of snow-white down tied into a graceful bunch of drooping plumage, was carefully stored away, wrapped in a cover of deerskin.  She took out the plumage and placed it before her on the floor, scattered sacred meal around it, and whispered a prayer of thanks.  Hardly had she replaced it, when the sound of voices approached the outer doorway.  It was Zashue and Shyuote, who were coming home together.