With renewed insistence, it struck Okoya that even if Shyuote had merely
overheard a conversation and the child's knowledge was derived from that
source, the most extraordinary part of the information could only have
come from one source,--the person in whom he had confided, his mother!
She alone could have told the Koshare that Okoya hated them. The spark
flared up anew; it burst out in a wild flame of suspicion. It singed
the heart and smothered feeling as well as reason. It so completely
absorbed his thoughts, that Okoya forgot everything else. Instead of
walking along at a quiet easy gait, he rushed fast and faster, wrapped
in dismal despair and in wild impotent wrath. Heedless of his little
companion he ran, panting with agitation, until Shyuote, unable to keep
pace and startled at his wild gait, pulled his garment and begged him to
stop.

"Brother," he cried, "why do you go so fast? I cannot follow you!"

Okoya came to a sudden halt, and turned toward the boy like one aroused
from a sinister dream. Shyuote stared at him with surprise akin to
fright. How changed was his appearance! Never before had he seen him
with a countenance so haggard, with eyes hollow and yet burning with a
lurid glow. Loose hair hung down over forehead and cheeks, perspiration
stood on the brow in big drops. The child involuntarily shrunk back, and
Okoya, noticing it, gasped,--

"You are right, the day is long yet and the houses near. We will go
slower."

Bowing his head again he went on at a slower gait.

Shyuote followed in silence. Although surprised at the change in his