who had boldly attempted to carry out the most daring
schemes, was afraid of returning to his people, now that these schemes
had failed. He feared, like a child, reproach and punishment. The spirit
of the man was utterly crushed.

When a war-party returns, it never enters the village directly, but
halts at some distance and sends a messenger to inform the people of its
approach. The Queres halted on the Ziro kauash, and some of them scoured
the woods, but no trace of the enemy appeared. The dreaded ambush had
not been laid; the Tehuas had certainly returned content with victory
and their trophies. A runner was sent to the Rito, and the men waited
and waited. Even the Hishtanyi Chayan became startled at the long delay.
Tyope squatted at the foot of a tree; he was thinking of the reception
that might be in reserve for him. Everything manly and strong had left
his heart; nothing of it remained but a languidly putrid core, whose
former fermentation had produced the effervescence that took the shape
of energy, shrewdness, and daring.

At last toward evening a man approached the silent group. He came,
accompanied by the runner, and every one recognized the features of
Kauaitshe, the delegate from the Water clan. He went straight to Tyope;
and the latter looked at him timidly, almost tremblingly. Kauaitshe's
face looked sad and mournful, but not wrathful. He grasped the hand of
Tyope, breathed on it, lifted it upward with both his hands, and said in
a tone of intense sorrow,--

"Satyumishe, Those Above are not kind to us."

A terrible pang flashed through Tyope's heart, for he had experienced
how little the Shiuana liked him.

Kauaitshe continued in a low voice,--artless, but the more impressive
for its natural sadness,--

"While you went to strike the Tehuas with our men, the Moshome Dinne
came upon us."

A shriek of dismay, of terror, issued from every one present, Tyope
excepted. He only groaned, and sinking shrivelled, pressed down his
chest against his knees, as if suffering intense physical pain. He
recalled his intrigues with the young Navajo. This last blow to the
tribe was his work also.

In a monotonous voice the messenger of evil tidings proceeded,--

"My hanutsh is no more. Tanyi hanutsh is dispersed, scattered, fleeing
through the timber. Of Mokatsh hanutsh only one girl has remained
alive. Of Tyame a few women, but your wife, satyumishe, is dead; your
child Mitsha the Moshome have carried away, or els