things, good and bad, they shared together, save one, which made them
mad. In that heated frenzy the younger man slew his most intimate
friend. He killed his elder brother, for long had their affection made
them kin."

The voice of the old woman broke. Swaying her stooped shoulders to and
fro as she sat upon her feet, she muttered vain exclamations beneath her
breath. Her eyes, closed tight against the night, beheld behind them the
light of bygone days. They saw again a rolling black cloud spread itself
over the land. Her ear heard the deep rumbling of a tempest in the
west. She bent low a cowering head, while angry thunder-birds shrieked
across the sky. "Heyã! heyã!" (No! no!) groaned the toothless
grandmother at the fury she had awakened. But the glorious peace
afterward, when yellow sunshine made the people glad, now lured her
memory onward through the storm.

"How fast, how loud my heart beats as I listen to the messenger's
horrible tale!" she ejaculates. "From the fresh grave of the murdered
man he hurried to our wigwam. Deliberately crossing his bare shins, he
sat down unbidden beside my father, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He had
scarce caught his breath when, panting, he began:

"'He was an only son, and a much-adored brother.'

"With wild, suspecting eyes he glanced at me as if I were in league with
the man-killer, my lover. My father, exhaling sweet-scented smoke,
assented--'How,' Then interrupting the 'Eya' on the lips of the
round-eyed talebearer, he asked, 'My friend, will you smoke?' He took
the pipe by its red-stone bowl, and pointed the long slender stem
toward the man. 'Yes, yes, my friend,' replied he, and reached out a