The little one replied to this pompous explanation with a clear mocking
laugh.

"Turkeys care nothing about you," he retorted. "It is nothing to them
whether you go out or not!"

"Shyuote," his brother scolded, "stop prating about things of which you
do not know. It is true I am not one of the order of hunters, Shyayak,
but I may become so soon." He stopped, as if a sudden thought had struck
him, and then exclaimed: "Now I know why luck has failed me this
morning! When I left our houses I should have scattered meal, and placed
a pebble on the heap beside the trail, and offered a plume to our Mother
Above. All this I neglected. Now I am punished for it by the birds
concealing themselves. For had they come out--"

"You would have missed them," tauntingly replied the other. "If you want
to kill turkeys join the Koshare. Then you will catch them with roots
and flowers."

Okoya grew angry.

"Hush! foolish boy," he retorted, "what are the Koshare to me? Don't
speak about such things here. Come, take your fish, and let us go home."

With this Okoya leaped over the brook. Shyuote whispered audibly to him,
"Yes; you are very fond of the Koshare." But the sarcastic remark was
not heeded by the elder lad, who turned to go, Shyuote following him.
Proudly the little boy tossed his fish from one hand to the other.