Then he turned homeward.  The very thought of that home, however, made his heart heavy and sad.  For more and more he became convinced that his mother was false to him.  The assertion made by Tyope’s wife that he was welcome in her house, and that Tyope would not object to his visiting there, worked another breach in the faith he was wont to place in his mother’s words.  Not that the invitation to join the Koshare had exercised any influence upon his opinion regarding that society of men and women.  He mistrusted, he hated, he feared them as much as ever, but toward Tyope personally he felt differently.  His thoughts were carried back to the gloomy subject; one by one his doubts and misgivings returned with them, and a longing after some friend to whom he might communicate his fears and whom he might consult with absolute confidence.  As he was thus pondering and walking on, slowly and more slowly, he saw at some distance two men climbing up toward where the cave-dwellings of the Water clan lay.  One of them was his father; he recognized him at once.  Who was his companion?  He stopped and looked.  It was his father’s brother, Hayoue; and with this it seemed as if a veil had suddenly dropped from his eyes.  The tall, slender young man yonder, who was advancing up the declivity at such an easy gait, was the friend upon whom he could fully rely, the adviser who would not, at least purposely, lead him astray.  Hayoue was but a few years older than Okoya.  The relations between the two were those of two brothers and chums, rather than those of uncle and nephew.  Hayoue was not a member of his clan, consequently not exposed to any influence which his mother, through her father, Topanashka, might attempt to exert.  Hayoue, he knew, disliked the Koshare as much as he disliked them himself, and Hayoue was thoroughly trustworthy and discreet, though very outspoken if necessary, and fearless.  Yes, Hayoue was the friend in need he so anxiously desired to find, and now that he had found him he resolved to seize upon the first opportunity of consulting him on the subject that so seriously troubled his mind.  He was so delighted at this sudden discovery, as it might be called, that he attributed it to an inspiration from above, and stood for a moment in doubt whether he should not return to the stone-heap and offer another prayer of thanks to the mother above, for what he considered to have been a gift of her goodness to him.  But the house was too near, and he bethought himself of Shyuote and what the mischievous urchin might have done since he had left him.  He entered the front room of his mother’s dwelling with a lighter and easier mind than the day before, and what he saw at once diverted his thoughts into another widely different channel.

Shyuote sat in a corner, and his eyes were red from crying.  Beside him stood Say, agitated and angry.  Without giving her elder son time to speak, she asked,—­

“Who sent the boy to the fields?”