The argument was forcible, and Shotaye felt the truth of it. The other proceeded,—
"Okoya may have been going with the girl for a long while; and I knew nothing of it. Have you found out, sister,"—she leaned forward and looked at her guest with a very earnest expression,—"how the Koshare have learned about the owl's feathers in my house?"
The other shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
"Neither have I," continued Say; "but might not Okoya—" The hand of her friend closed her lips.
"Hush!" cried the medicine-woman, imperatively; "speak not, believe not, think not, such a thing! Okoya is good; I, too, know the boy. He will never do what you suspect."
But Say was too excited to listen to her. She drew Shotaye's hand away from her mouth and exclaimed,—
"Remember that it is but a short time that the Koshare have known about the feathers."
"And remember, you, that Okoya is of your own blood!"
"He is young, and the makatza has great power over him, for he likes her. When Zashue"—her voice trembled and she turned her face away with a suppressed sigh—"came to me and I went to him, he often told me things about your people,—things that your hanutsh would not have liked, had they known that I knew of them."
"Hush! I tell you again. Hush, koitza!" the other commanded. "Hush! or I will never listen to you any more. You loathe your own flesh, the very entrails that have given birth to the motātza! I tell you again, Okoya is good. He is far better than his father! Thus much I know, and know it well." She looked hard at the wife of Zashue, while her lips disdainfully curled. Say cast her eyes to the ground; she did not care to learn about her husband's outside affairs.