“Umo,—­’grandfather!’"[1]

“To ima satyumishe,—­’come hither, my brother,’” another voice replied in the same dialect, adding, “See what a big fish I have caught.”

It sounded as though this second voice had issued from the very waters of the streamlet.

Pine boughs rustled, branches bent, and leaves shook.  A step scarcely audible was followed by a noiseless leap.  On a boulder around which flowed streams of limpid water there alighted a young Indian.

He was of medium height and well-proportioned.  His hands and feet were rather small and delicate.  He carried his head erect with ease and freedom.  Jet-black hair, slightly waving, streamed loose over temples and cheeks, and was gathered at the back in a short thick knot.  In front it parted naturally, leaving exposed a narrow strip of the brow.  The features of the face, though not regular, were still attractive, for large black eyes, almond-shaped, shone bright from underneath heavy lashes.  The complexion was dusky, and the skin had a velvety gloss.  Form, carriage, and face together betokened a youth of about eighteen years.

His costume was very plain.  A garment of unbleached cotton, coarsely woven, covered the body as low as the knee.  This garment, sleeveless and soiled by wear, was tied over the right shoulder.  A reddish-brown scarf or belt of the same material fastened it around the waist.  Feet, arms, and the left shoulder were bare.  Primitive as was this costume, there was, nevertheless, an attempt here and there at decoration.  The belt was ornamented with black and white stitches; from each ear hung a turquoise suspended by a cotton thread, and a necklace of coloured pebbles strung on yucca fibre encircled the neck.

Like a statue of light-coloured bronze decked with scanty drapery, and adorned with crude trinkets, holding a bow in the right hand, while the left clenched a few untipped arrows, the youth stood on the boulder outlined against the shrubbery, immovable above the running brook.  His gaze was fixed on the opposite bank, where a youngster was kneeling.

The latter was a boy of perhaps nine years.  A dirty wrap hung loosely over shoulders and back, and no necklace or ear-pendants decorated his body.  But the childish features were enlivened by a broad grin of satisfaction, and his eyes sparkled like coals just igniting, while he pointed to a large mountain trout which he pressed against a stone with both hands.  He looked at the older youth with an expression not merely of pleasure, but of familiar intimacy also.  It was clear that both boys were children of the same parents.

The younger one spoke first,—­

“See here, Okoya,” he began, grinning; “while you are older than I, and bigger and stronger, I am more cunning than you.  Ever since the sun came out you have followed the turkeys, and what have you?  Nothing!  Your hands are empty!  I have just come down from the field, and look!  I caught this fish in the water.  Shall we fry and eat it here, or carry it home to the mother?”