to overturn others, and had discovered the feathers, was not all hope gone?  Shotaye suddenly recollected how Okoya had greeted her that morning,—­how surly his glance, how gruff and unfriendly his call.  Was that significant?  Still, if the secret had been disclosed, there would surely have been some noise about it the night before.  On the other hand, it might be that the council had the case in hand and preferred not to make anything public for the present.  What if the council were in deliberation at the very moment, discussing her fate and that of her accomplice?  Would it not be safer, instead of returning to the Rito, to follow the tracks of her new friend, Cayamo, and join him on his dangerous errand?

Yes, it would have been safer, provided Cayamo would have tolerated the companionship of a woman.  But this he was not allowed to enjoy, and furthermore, what would then become of that accomplice of hers?  The latter thought staggered her.

Shotaye was a very strange woman.  She was heartless, cold-blooded, merciless, remorseless, in everything that concerned her relations to others.  One person only she excepted in her selfish calculations, and that was her accomplice and victim, Say Koitza.  Happen what might, she could not forsake Say.  She must at all hazards go back to the Tyuonyi, call at her house, and find out from her whether or not anything had occurred that might jeopardize her plans and designs.  In case matters were unchanged, she intended to tell her friend the occurrence of the day, giving her at the same time directions for the future.

Shotaye quickened her step, for the road was long.  It was not advisable to return by the trail she had taken in coming, for she needed a pretext for running into the abode of Say Koitza as if by chance.  At last she noticed the change in the weather and the approaching shower, and thought it a good plan to regulate her gait so as to reach the valley and the big house when the storm broke.  She might then seek shelter under her friend’s roof and avoid suspicion.

Crashing thunder roared in the high Sierra, and as Shotaye looked around she saw the rain-streaks that swept down on the mesas in advance of the shower.  The Sierra de la Jara had vanished in the clouds, and gray fleeces whirled about the flanks of the Sierra de San Miguel.  She stood on the brink above the eastern end of the Rito, and began to descend over boulders and crags, and through bushes.  Only a part of the valley was visible; in the corn-fields not a living soul appeared.  Faster and faster Shotaye ran, regardless of rocks and shrubbery.  The western mountains were completely shrouded, lightning tore the clouds, thunder bellowed nearer and stronger.  At last she reached the bottom and turned toward the houses, panting, perspiring, but untired.  As she passed the new house of the Corn clan, the first angry blast of the storm met her, and she had to stop.  It filled her with lively satisfaction, however, to see how accurately she had regulated her movements.  She might get into the big house almost unnoticed, for the rain began to fall.