Kla-quitch (who, it was naturally supposed, had appeared and announced
his return from the spirit world); but it was far from being what his
son and intending successor had hoped.

This was the very dickens (or whatever the Elcuanam equivalent may be),
for poor Pio! Whatever was he to do now? He prowled about among the
houses trying to find some one to whom to explain, but the panic had
swept even the old men and women away. He could hear the people calling
to one another from their spots of refuge, and ever the burden of the
shout was either "Kla-quitch!" or "Yellow!"--that is to say, the
Elcuanam word for that suddenly unpopular color. He began to feel
bitterly toward Big Flower, the cause, it seemed, of so much trouble,
and even toward his departed parent, whose name, so long after his
death, was such very bad medicine as to wreck his son's chances
everywhere.

He squatted down by the fire, hoping that some of the men would return
after a time, but none came. After sitting again by the fire for two
hours or so, hoping vainly for company and pondering on his doubtful
future, he felt sleepy, and stretched out with his feet to the blaze,
not forgetting to set up his wind-break, really the only thing, he began
to think, that Big Flower was good for.

He did not wake till morning, when he looked round anxiously. He could
see the whole population gathered a quarter of a mile away, pointing
toward him and skirmishing for the best positions for viewing his
actions. Evidently he was taboo for good and all, and the vision he had
had of himself, as the feared and prosperous medicine-man of his tribe
had been a very fancy portrait: feared he certainly was, but there it
ended. It looked as if he had to choose between being a medicine-man all