“Is my brother the maseua willing to go?”

“I have not asked him as yet.”

“Then ask him,” sternly commanded the old man.

Almost trembling, the tapop turned to Topanashka, who was sitting immovable, with lips firmly set and sparkling eyes.

“Will you call the council together, nashtio?”

“No!” exclaimed the maseua.

“You have heard what your brother says,” coldly proceeded the cacique; “you know now what you are to do.  My brother will not go, and you can only command him if the council orders you to do so.  Therefore send the assistant; he is your messenger.  Do your duty and nothing else, for it is not good to attempt anything new unless P[=a]yatyama has so directed.”  The words were spoken in a tone of solemn warning, and even Topanashka was startled, for never before had he heard the Hotshanyi speak thus.  The old man had always been very meek and mild in his utterances, but now his voice sounded almost prophetic.  Was he inspired by Those Above?  Did the Shiuana speak through him?  Was there danger for the tribe?

At all events the conference had come to a close, for the cacique had bent his head, and spoke no more.

“Trouashatze, sa umo,” said Topanashka, and left the room.  Hoshkanyi followed hurriedly.  The cacique took no notice of their departure.

When both men stood outside, Topanashka turned to the tapop coldly, asking,—­

“Are you going to call the council?”

“I will,” whined the little man.

“For what day?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“But I want to know,” sternly, almost menacingly, insisted the other.  “I want to know, for I shall be present!”

“Four days from now,” cried Hoshkanyi, trembling.

“What time?”

“I don’t know yet.  When the moon rises,” he added in despair, as the cold, determined gaze of Topanashka met his eye.  Without a further word the war-chieftain turned and went off.

Hoshkanyi was utterly annihilated.  He had made a total failure, and as he stood there like a child that has just been thoroughly whipped he began to curse the weakness that had caused him to yield to the advice and the demands of Tyope.  For it was Tyope who had brought him to act the part in which the unfortunate governor had so disgracefully failed.  Tyope, when as representative of the clan Shyuamo he asked the tapop to call together the council for a matter wherein the Turquoise people were interested, had artfully told him that as one of their number it would be better if the maseua would issue the call.  He knew very well that this was an innovation; but the deceiver made it apparent that if Topanashka should yield, and commit the desired misstep, the blame would of course fall upon the war-chief, and the civil chief would profit by the other’s mistake, and would gain in the opinion of the people at the expense of the maseua.