ome, were the results
that crowded upon him so wonderfully, so completely at variance with his
own intentions. And yet they were strictly the consequences of what he
had schemed and done. Everything he had thought of and planned had taken
place, but the results did not coincide with his expectations. Those
Above alone could have directed the course of events; they were against
his doings; he was a doomed man.

* * * * *

The reader will forgive a digression. We will leave Tyope and his
companions on the brink of the Rito, and abandon them for a while to
their sombre thoughts; nay, we will leave the Rito even, and transport
ourselves to our own day. I desire to relate a story, an Indian
folk-lore tale of modern origin, which is authentic in so far that it
was told me by an Indian friend years ago at the village of Cochiti,
where the descendants of those who once upon a time inhabited the caves
on the Rito de los Frijoles now live. My object in rehearsing this tale
is to explain something I have neglected; namely, the real conception
underlying the custom of taking the scalp of an enemy.

The Indian friend of whom I am speaking, and whose home I inhabited for
quite a while, came over to the little dingy room I was occupying one
winter evening. The fire was burning in a chimney not much better than
the one Shotaye possessed at the Tyuonyi. He squatted down on his folded
blanket, rolled a cigarette, and looked at me wistfully. I felt that he
was disposed for a long talk, and returned his glance with one of eager
expectation. Casting his eyes to the ground, he asked me,--

"You know that the Navajos have done us much harm?"

"Yes, you and your brother Shtiranyi have told me so."

He curled his lip at the reference to his brother's knowledge, and said
sneeringly,--

"Shtiranyi is young; he does not know much."

"Still he told me a great deal about the wars you had with the Moshome
Dinne."

"Did he ever tell you of the hard times the people of Cochiti suffered
three generations ago?"

"Never."

"He knows nothing of them. He is too young. I,"--he assumed an air of
solemn importance,--"I will tell you something; something true,
something that you can believe; for the old men, those from a long time
ago, tell it, and what they say is so. The Mexicans never hear of it,
and to the Americans we don't tell such things, for they think they are
too smart, and laugh at what we say."

"Is th