"Not one; but I saw at a distance on the slope two bears very large and
strong."

The other shook his head.

"Then there are no mountain sheep toward that end of the Tyuonyi," he
said, waving his left hand toward the southeast, "thank you, boy," at
the same time extending his right to the youth. Okoya grasped it, and
breathed on the outside of the hand. Then he said, "hoa umo," and turned
and sauntered back to where his little brother was still squatting and
pouting, morose and silent.

The man had also turned around, bent down, and gone on weeding the corn.
Withal he did not lose sight of the boys; on the contrary, an occasional
stealthy glance from his half-closed eyes shot over where they met.

Shyuote rose from the ground. His eyes were dry, but he glanced at his
brother with misgivings as well as with curiosity. The latter felt a
sudden pang upon beholding the childish features. The short
interruption, though annoying at first, had diverted him from gloomy
thoughts. Now, everything came back to his mind with renewed force,--the
same anguish, the feeling of utter helplessness in case of impending
danger, indignation at what he believed to have been base treason on the
part of his mother,--all this rushed upon him with fearful force, and he
stood again motionless, a picture of wild perplexity. His face betokened
the state of his mind. Shyuote did not dare to inquire of him further
than to ask a very insignificant question,--namely, who the man was that
had called.