Loud laughter, screams, and animated talking diverted his attention, and caused him to run in the direction of the new house of the Corn clan.  He heard the voice of his brother, but at the same time women’s voices also, and as soon as he turned the farther corner of the building, he saw what was plainly a playful encounter between Okoya and a pair of young girls.

The former had his bow in hand ready to shoot, and he pointed the arrow at the maidens alternately; they, utterly unconcerned about his weapon, were pressing him with weapons of their own, which he was much more anxious to avoid than they his missiles.  These were two pairs of very dirty hands filled and covered with liquid mud with which the damsels attempted to decorate his person.  Okoya was clearly on the defensive, and the advantage so far seemed on the side of his aggressors.  Shyuote flew to his assistance.  Rushing to a large vessel of burnt clay, standing alongside the wall and filled with water, he plunged both hands into it, and began to bespatter the assailants with the not very clean liquid.  Forthwith one of the girls turned against the new enemy.  She was older and taller than Shyuote.  Seizing his raven locks she pulled him to the ground on his face, knelt on the prostrate form, and then and there gave the boy a series of energetic cuffs against which the youngster struggled and wriggled in the most desperate but absolutely ineffectual manner.  The fair sex held the balance of power and wielded it.  At every attempt of Shyuote to rise or to roll over, she pushed his face back into the moist ground, she pulled his hair, thumped his shoulders, and boxed his ears.  She was in earnest, and Shyuote was powerless in her firm grasp.  He could not even scream, for a thick coating of soil had fastened itself to his features, had penetrated into eye, mouth, and nostrils.  His fate was as melancholy as it was ludicrous; it brought about a truce between Okoya and the other maiden.  They dropped, he the weapon, she her muddy arms, and looked at the other set of combatants with surprise and with immoderate laughter.  The Indian is not tender-hearted on such occasions.  When the victorious beauty at last arose, suffering her victim to turn over again, the merriment became uproarious, for Shyuote presented the appearance of a blowing, spitting, coughing, statue of dirt.  His looks were in no manner improved by his frenzy after the boy had rubbed his eyes, and recovered his breath.  Tears of rage rolled down his cheeks over patches of sand and mud, and when he noticed the mirth of the others Shyuote’s fury knew no bounds.  He rushed madly at the triumphant lass, who did not shrink from the hostile approach.  The contest was threatening to assume serious proportions, when another person appeared upon the scene, at the sight of whom even Shyuote temporarily stayed all demonstrations, while Okoya seemed both startled and embarrassed.  The new-comer was a young girl too; she carried on her head a vessel of burnt clay similar to a flat urn, decorated with black and red designs on cream-coloured ground, and filled with water.