As the two men approached the place, they noticed that a number of others were already congregated in front of it, but that no light issued from the interior.  It was a sign that the council was not yet assembled, and especially that the religious chiefs had not made their appearance.  Those who were present assumed any posture imaginable, provided it gave them comfort.  They talked and conversed about very unimportant matters, and laughed and joked.  There was no division into separate groups, foreshadowing the drift of opinions and of interests; for no lobbying was going on.  Every one seemed to be as free and easy as in his own home or in the estufa among his companions, and the greatest apparent harmony prevailed.  One man only had retired to a rocky recess where he sat aloof from the others in the darkest shadow of the already shadowy spot.  It was the old chief of the Delight Makers, the Koshare Naua.

When the last two comers reached the group and offered the usual greeting, the conversation—­in which the delegate from Tzitz hanutsh, a short, stout man, and his colleague from Oshatsh had been the loudest participants—­came to a sudden stop.  The subject of the discussion was not a reason for its abrupt breaking off, for it was merely the all-absorbing topic as to whether two summers ago it had rained as early as this year.  It was out of respect for the maseua, out of deference to his presence, that the other clan representatives became silent, all except one.  That one was Tyope, who continued the subject, as if he intended to display greater independence than the rest.  Nevertheless, as no one paid attention to his speech, he felt at last constrained to drop into silence.  Not for a long time, however, for as if he wished to atone for his lack of civility he called out to Topanashka,—­

“You are late, sa nashtio!”

“Early enough yet, satyumishe,” replied the old man quietly, and Tyame remarked,—­

“Shyuamo dwells nearer to the uuityam than we.  The Turquoise men have everything close at hand,—­the tapop, the place, everything, and everybody.  All we have is the maseua,” he added laughing, “and he is very old.”

The laughter became general, and Tyope said in a tone of flattery,—­

“Our nashtio is old, but he is still stronger than you, Tyame.  He is also wiser than all of us together.  Our father is very strong, runs like a deer, and his eye is that of an eagle.”

There was something like irony in this speech, but Topanashka took no notice of it.  He was looking for the tapop, a difficult task in the darkness, where a number of men are grouped in all kinds of postures.  Finally he inquired,—­

“Where is Hoshkanyi?”

“Not here,” came a reply from several voices.

“And the yaya?”

“Tza yaya,” was the negative answer.

“Then we are not too late,” said the war-chief, turning to Tyame.  He sat down among the rest, and the talk went on as before his arrival.