Okoya shook his head and muttered,—
"I am afraid of the Koshare."
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"I am not," he said. "Men can do harm with their hands and with their weapons; and against those you have your fist and the shield. Those Above"—he pointed at the skies—"can harm us; they can kill us. But men—why, we can defend ourselves."
Okoya felt shocked at words which sounded to him like sacrilegious talk. Timidly and morosely he objected,—
"Don't you know that there are witches!"
"Witches! There are no witches."
Again there was a mutter from the west, a hollow, solemn warning; and the cliffs responded with a plaintive moan. Even incredulous Hayoue started, and Okoya sighed.
"I will tell you why I ask all this," said he, and he went on to explain. Beginning with the incident provoked by Shyuote, he confessed to the suspicions which it had aroused in his mind, and laid the whole process of his reasoning bare before his listener. His speech was picturesque, but not consciously poetic; for the Indian speaks like a child, using figures of speech, not in order to embellish, but because he lacks abstract terms and is compelled to borrow equivalents from comparisons with surrounding nature. Hayoue listened attentively; occasionally, however, he smiled. At last Okoya stopped and looked at his friend in expectation. The latter cast at the boy a humorous glance; he felt manifestly amused by his talk.