“Where have they attacked?” he roared.

“West.”

“Have they killed any of our people?”

“I—­don’t—­know,” breathed the poor fellow.  His head was swaying; it rolled back and forth on the ground.  Tyope could not obtain any further reply.  So he crawled back and left him to die.  The Moor had done his duty; the Moor might go to Shipapu.

Tyope had been so eager to secure from the dying man any information the latter might still be able to impart, that he paid no immediate attention to the noise and uproar which had arisen in his own vicinity.  Almost at the very moment when the Queres warrior was mortally wounded, one of Tyope’s companions despatched one of his arrows at a Tehua whom he had distinctly seen in front.  This shot he accompanied by a loud yell.  The foe replied to the challenge in the same manner; arrows whizzed and hissed through the air, crossing each other and tearing through the shrubbery or penetrating the trunks of trees with dull thuds.  The fight had begun here too, but little if any damage was done as yet by either side.  Most of the arrows were shot at random, and both parties whooped and yelled.  Their purpose was manifestly to frighten the adversary by creating an exaggerated impression of their own numbers and strength.

All this did not make an unfavourable impression upon Tyope.  On the contrary, as soon as he saw that the engagement had broken out in his rear also, he felt a thrill of pleasure and changed his plans at once.  He believed now, in presence of the attacks made by the Tehuas, that the latter had indeed placed all their men between him and the Rito, and that consequently the road to the Puye lay open, and he could rush up, capture the women and children, and hold them for ransom.  But he must move swiftly and energetically, leaving the fight to go on as best it might.  By advancing with a part of his forces, first to the west and then straight to the north, Tyope might execute his plan of leaving enough men behind to make a desperate stand against the Tehuas here.  Without the consent of the Hishtanyi Chayan, however, he felt unauthorized to adopt decisive measures.  So he again crept over to the shaman and communicated his plans to him.  To his delight the old man rose and said,—­

“It is well.  Let us go.”

It was daylight now, and everything could be plainly seen.  The extended skirmishing went on with less ardour than before, neither party pressing the other very closely.

Tyope glided back to one of his men.  An arrow well directed struck the ground very near.  Whispering into his ear the change of programme, Tyope took off his shield, turned it toward the enemy, and rose on his right knee.  Fastened to the left arm and resting on the ground with its lower rim, the shield covered the kneeling man almost completely.  The left hand held the bow, and the weapon slightly protruded from behind the protecting target.  Tyope then pushed his body forward from behind the bush where he had been crouching.