he sought an opportunity of becoming the ostensible saviour of his tribe in the hour of need.  If the Dinne had made the premeditated onslaught, he would, after he had given them time to perform the murder, have appeared upon the scene, driven off the assailants, and thus recommended himself to the people for the vacant position of war-chief.  The game was a double one on his part; first he was to betray his kinsfolk to the Navajos, and secondly to turn against the Navajos in defense of the betrayed ones.  Tyope realized that it was a very dangerous game, and he had therefore desisted and even gone so far as to repel the young Navajo at the risk of his own life.

As matters stood, all had gone far better than he ever hoped for.  Without complicity on his part, Topanashka had been put out of his way; and the office coveted by Tyope was vacant.  An important military enterprise was to follow at once.  Tyope intended to go on this campaign at all hazards, in order to distinguish himself as much as possible.  This he was able to do, for he possessed all the physical qualities necessary for a powerful Indian warrior, and he was very crafty, cunning, bold and experienced.  He belonged to the society of war magicians, and held in his possession most of the charms and fetiches used for securing invincibility.  There was no doubt in his mind that he would return from the war-path crowned with glory and with scalps, provided he was not killed.  Should he return alive, then the time would come for him to set the Koshare Naua to work to secure him the desired position.  Once made maseua he would resume his former plans, push the case against Shotaye to the bitter end, and try to divide the tribe.  For the present the two objects had to be set aside.  The expedition against the Tehuas must take the lead of everything else.

While Tyope was prompted, by the grief and mourning that prevailed, to display fresh activity and resort to new intrigues; while at the same time his wife improved the occasion for her customary prying, listening, and gossip,—­their daughter, Mitsha, on the other hand, really mourned sincerely and grieved bitterly.  She mourned for the dead with the candour of a child and the feeling of a woman.  When she, too, had gone to the house of the dead to pray, her tears flowed abundantly; and they were genuine.  The girl did not weep merely on account of the deceased, for she could not know his real worth and merits; she grieved quite as much on Okoya’s account.  The boy had been to see her every evening of late.  He was there on the night when the corpse was brought home, and they heard the wail and rushed out on the roof.  At that moment Hannay had returned, full to the brim with the dismal news.  Okoya forgot everything and returned home, and Mitsha went back to the room and wept.  While her mother proceeded in her account with noisy volubility, Mitsha cried; for Okoya had often spoken of his grandfather, telling her how wise, strong, and good sa umo maseua was.  She felt that the young man looked up to him as to an ideal, and she wept quite as much because of her feeling for Okoya as for the murdered main-stay of her people.