Shotaye was not an old woman.  Her appearance was not in the least repulsive, on the contrary.  The men knew that the woman showed no objections to occasional attentions, even to intimacy.  For this reason, also, she was not popular among her own sex.

Shotaye had had a husband once; but he had left her and was living with another woman.  That husband was called Tyope, badger, a man of strong physique and one averse to monotony in conjugal life.  Tyope was a scheming man, cunning and unscrupulous in the highest degree; Shotaye an energetic woman, endowed with a powerful will of her own.  Had there not been the little cloud of marital inconstancy on both sides, the pair would have been well-assorted for good as well as for evil.  Tyope was a Koshare rather than an agriculturist, he spent his time mostly in other people’s homes and in the estufa of the Delight Makers, leaving his wife to provide for herself and for him also, whenever he chose to remain at her house.  In short there were flaws on both sides, and Shotaye being the house-mistress held the main power.  One fine evening when Tyope presented himself in the grotto occupied by his wife, she refused to recognize him any longer.  He protested, he stormed, he menaced her; it was of no avail.  Shotaye told him to go, and he left.  Henceforth the two were mortal enemies.  The woman said little; but he was bent upon her destruction by every possible means.  She kept on the defensive, avoided all conflicts, and was very careful not to give any cause for a direct accusation of sorcery.  She cured people incidentally, never asking any compensation for it.  She lived alone, and thus earned enough to be independent of her own clan if need be.

This woman called on Say occasionally, but only between the periods of the attacks of fever.  On such visits she would assist the patient, do the housework, and arrange the hides or covers for her.  Say harboured a wish to consult her about her disease; but Shotaye studiously avoided any opportunity for confidential talk.  One day, however, when the two were alone in the kitchen, and the invalid felt somewhat relieved, she opened her heart to her visitor.  Shotaye listened very attentively, and when Say had concluded, instead of asking for further details, she abruptly asked whether Say had no suspicion of being bewitched.

If such a question were put to us, we should doubt the sanity of the questioner.  Not so the Indian.  Say felt like one from whose eyes thick scales are suddenly removed.  Indeed, she thought this was the cause of her evil, this alone could explain the tenacity of the disease, its mysterious intermittence.  She told her interlocutor that she must be right, or else why these regular returns and always during the season of rain?  Shotaye listened and listened; every word she heard was in confirmation of her own thoughts.  Say must be under the influence of some evil charm, and unless counteracted by magic, it was clear to her that the poor woman must succumb to its workings.