tive air-hole, sit and crouch half a dozen
people. They surround at some distance a human being whose head rests on
a bundle of skins, the body on a buffalo-robe. The knees are drawn up,
and cotton mantles cover the lower extremities. The chest, scantily
covered with a ragged, dark-coloured wrap, heaves at long intervals; the
extremities begin to stretch; the face is devoid of expression; the eyes
are wide open, staring, glassy; the lips parted; and on each side of the
mouth-corners ominous wrinkles begin to form. The sufferer is a woman,
and as we look closer we recognize her as Say Koitza, the wife of
Zashue. He must hasten his steps if he wishes to find her upon earth,
for she is dying!

It is very still in the room. The prayers which the medicine-man of the
Tanos has been reciting are hushed, the little idols of lava with
red-painted faces and eyes made of turquoises by means of which he hoped
to conjure the sickness, lean against the wall useless. Those whose duty
it is cower about the dying woman, and look on speechless. How faint the
breathings grow, how the chest rises and falls at longer intervals,
weaker every time! They listen as the rattling in her throat becomes
harder and slower. They dare not weep, for all is not over.

Say Koitza is dying! Not the sudden death she once prayed for when
Topanashka her father went over to Shipapu; but still she dies a
painless death,--she dies from exhaustion.

What is going on in her mind while the fetters which tied her soul to
the body are being dissolved? That body is henceforth powerless; it has
no wants, no cravings. The soul becomes free. Can it already glance
beyond? Not yet, for as long as earthly matter clings to him man cannot
perceive the other world. Flashes of light gleam through the mist in
which he is plunged, through both physical weakness and the efforts of
the soul to become free. The body struggles for preservation, the spirit
for freedom from its henceforth useless shell.

Are mind and body merely one? Does not death put an end to everything
that we ever were and can be? Does there remain after death anything
beyond the memory of our former existence, preserved in the hearts of
our fellow-beings? Nobody has ever returned from beyond the grave to
tell us how he felt, what he thought, while dying. But a dying person
always casts rays of light over his surroundings, and the surroundings
of dying Say Koitza are not without their lesson for us.

What do