he premeditated onslaught, he would,
after he had given them time to perform the murder, have appeared upon
the scene, driven off the assailants, and thus recommended himself to
the people for the vacant position of war-chief. The game was a double
one on his part; first he was to betray his kinsfolk to the Navajos, and
secondly to turn against the Navajos in defense of the betrayed ones.
Tyope realized that it was a very dangerous game, and he had therefore
desisted and even gone so far as to repel the young Navajo at the risk
of his own life.

As matters stood, all had gone far better than he ever hoped for.
Without complicity on his part, Topanashka had been put out of his way;
and the office coveted by Tyope was vacant. An important military
enterprise was to follow at once. Tyope intended to go on this campaign
at all hazards, in order to distinguish himself as much as possible.
This he was able to do, for he possessed all the physical qualities
necessary for a powerful Indian warrior, and he was very crafty,
cunning, bold and experienced. He belonged to the society of war
magicians, and held in his possession most of the charms and fetiches
used for securing invincibility. There was no doubt in his mind that he
would return from the war-path crowned with glory and with scalps,
provided he was not killed. Should he return alive, then the time would
come for him to set the Koshare Naua to work to secure him the desired
position. Once made maseua he would resume his former plans, push the
case against Shotaye to the bitter end, and try to divide the tribe. For
the present the two objects had to be set aside. The expedition against
the Tehuas must take the lead of everything else.

While Tyope was prompted, by the grief and mourning that prevailed, to
display fresh activity and resort to new intrigues; while at the same
time his wife improved the occasion for her customary prying, listening,
and gossip,--their daughter, Mitsha, on the other hand, really mourned
sincerely and grieved bitterly. She mourned for the dead with the
candour of a child and the feeling of a woman. When she, too, had gone
to the house of the dead to pray, her tears flowed abundantly; and they
were genuine. The girl did not weep merely on account of the deceased,
for she could not know his real worth and merits; she grieved quite as
much on Okoya's account. The boy had been to see her every evening of
late. He was there on the night when the co