Sleep! For so She is glad!”
Pablo sat up, bending forward if he might see the singer; but there was only a gleam of soft eyes around the wall, and then they were gone. The old man eyed him kindly. He was dressed now like Pablo, with the garments of the Pueblos; and the stern, quiet face, with its strange scar-stripes, seemed after all very good.
“Thou hast slept well, son,” he said at last, “for we have been here many hours. But it is hard to fight them of the evil road, and for that thou wast tired. But rise now, eat and be strong, for other days come.”
As he spoke the maiden came bringing a steaming earthen bowl and set it down timidly before the stranger, at whom she dared not look, and disappeared again in her nook. The hot broth revived the young hunter, and a new heart came in him and he was strong. When he had eaten, the old man said:
“Now thou art a man again. Tell me how goes with the village of the Tee-wahn? For in fifty winters I have not seen Shee-eh-huíb-bak—since my wife had come from there to P’ah-que-toó-ai, where I loved her. Is it well with the town? Do they keep the ways of the Old?”
“There are many True Believers,” answered Pablo slowly, “but many have forgotten the ways of the Old and taken the evil road, so that it is hard to know who are good, there are so many witches. For that, the young men that believe in the Olds are afraid to make nests, lest they find feathers of the accursed birds therein—for many that look to be snowbirds are inwardly owls and woodpeckers.”
“And thou hast no nest?” asked the old man with a keen glance.
“In-dáh-ah!” replied Pablo emphatically—and from the corner he caught a bright gleam of eyes.
“It is well! For if the nest be bad, how shall the young birds grow up clean? And thy parents?”