max. It
is terrible even in our days to be compelled to flee from house and home
in time of war into the cold, strange world. And yet nowadays one can
flee to one's kind; and where there are human beings there are hearts.
But in the days of old, and for Indians, it was not only distressing, it
was ghastly to be obliged to fly. Nature alone stared them in the face,
and Nature has no heart, although it is said that we are one with her.
The Navajos had driven away the fugitives, had tracked and tormented
them fearfully, and yet once relieved from the enemy's clutches and
thrust upon Nature alone, the wretched band regretted the days when the
ruthless enemy swarmed about them. The Moshome at least fed those whom
they captured, and those whom they killed were happy forever. Nature
knows but law and force, and whoever depends upon her at a time when her
laws will not tolerate the existence of man, falls a victim to the power
of her forces.

Now all this was past. It rained gifts about them, and with a sad smile
Mitsha gathered them into a little pile. Okoya looked on; he thought the
girl was making provision for their future household.

The distribution stopped, for the dancers were resting. They began to
sit down along the walls of the houses to rest and to enjoy the needed
recess, Mitsha took some of the fruit on her arm, and said to Okoya,--

"Come, let us go down again."

"What do you want to do with that?" asked he, designating her little
burden.

"I give it to the Chayan for what the Shiuana are doing for our mother."

Even in the state of most abject poverty, the Indian shows gratitude to
Those Above.

The head of a man rises above the hatchway and signals the two young
people gravely, sadly. They descend hastily; Okoya remains standing in
the middle of the room, and Mitsha goes over to him as soon as she has
deposited her burden. As nobody notices her she grasps his hand, and he
presses it softly with his own. Say Koitza remains in the same position
as before, but she lies more extended, and her chest heaves no longer.
The bystanders are motionless like statues, expectant. A last rattle
sounds from the throat of the woman; a deep heavy effort, and all is
over. Light froth issues from her lips. Say Koitza has breathed her
last.

It has become very quiet outside, as if men there had guessed at what
was going on within. In the little apartment it is as still as the
grave,--a stillness which speaks louder to the