Like a statue of light-coloured bronze decked with scanty drapery, and
adorned with crude trinkets, holding a bow in the right hand, while the
left clenched a few untipped arrows, the youth stood on the boulder
outlined against the shrubbery, immovable above the running brook. His
gaze was fixed on the opposite bank, where a youngster was kneeling.

The latter was a boy of perhaps nine years. A dirty wrap hung loosely
over shoulders and back, and no necklace or ear-pendants decorated his
body. But the childish features were enlivened by a broad grin of
satisfaction, and his eyes sparkled like coals just igniting, while he
pointed to a large mountain trout which he pressed against a stone with
both hands. He looked at the older youth with an expression not merely
of pleasure, but of familiar intimacy also. It was clear that both boys
were children of the same parents.

The younger one spoke first,--

"See here, Okoya," he began, grinning; "while you are older than I, and
bigger and stronger, I am more cunning than you. Ever since the sun came
out you have followed the turkeys, and what have you? Nothing! Your
hands are empty! I have just come down from the field, and look! I
caught this fish in the water. Shall we fry and eat it here, or carry it
home to the mother?"

The older brother did not relish the taunt; his lips curled. He replied
scornfully,--

"Any child may catch a fish, but only men can follow turkeys. The tzina
is shy and wary; it knows how sure my aim is, therefore it hides when I
go out to hunt."