“And you,” Tyope roared, “do you not know that you should speak the truth to the people?  Not say that the Shiuana are good, that they say it is well, while the kopishtai and the shuatyam go over to the enemy together to help him!  You are a liar!  You lie like a Dinne; you are foolish like a prairie dog when shutzuna plays before him!” It was Tyope’s last effort at passion.  He nearly cried from rage as he brandished his war-club in the face of the shaman.  The latter remained calm and spoke not a word, merely fastening on the maddened, raving man a cold, stern glance.  Heedless of his threats and insults he commanded,—­

“Hush, Tyope, hush!  If the evil ones are about us it is because they have followed along from the Tyuonyi!  Hush, I say, do your duty at last.  At the Tyuonyi, if we ever get there, we shall see further.”

At this moment several Queres burst from the timber.  One of them cried to Tyope,—­

“Nashtio, the Moshome are too strong, they are coming to kill you and all of us.  We must away into the karitya!” And with this he leaped from the brink.  He had selected a spot where the rim was precipitous for a short distance.  Over he went!  A cry of anguish and of helpless despair was heard; then followed a series of thuds, as though a heavy body were falling from step to step.  From the depths below a faint moaning arose.  Then all was still.  The din and noise of the battle was drawing nearer and nearer; soon more of the Queres rushed out and would in their precipitate flight have followed the example of their comrade had not others coming up behind them held them back.  Regardless of the danger, they clustered together on the brink, and gazed at the shattered, mangled, gory mass beneath, which was once the body of one of their companions.  The words of the shaman fell upon Tyope like another blow from above.  They cowed him.  To avoid the gaze which the old man fastened upon him still, he turned to fly, no longer a warrior, no longer the commander.  He was partly imbecile and absolutely cowed.  He trembled, but the shaman seized his arm and restrained him.  Pointing to the men he said,—­

“Save these if you can.”

Tyope obeyed, for he had no longer a will of his own.  He cast a vacant glance about, but arrows whistled from the timber; the Tehuas were coming.  Panic-stricken, the Queres ran along the brink to look for a descent.  There was no stopping them, no possibility of restoring order; every one looked out for himself.  Tyope cast a pleading glance at the old man by his side, and the Chayan felt that he must henceforth do what was yet to be done.  Seeing the Queres clambering down into the gorge in wild haste, and that others were still rushing out of the thickets, he caught Tyope by the shoulder and drew him along, saying in a milder tone,—­

“Follow me, sa uishe.”  He pitied the crestfallen man.

Henceforth it was the medicine-man who assumed the lead, Tyope gathering energy enough to act as his lieutenant.  The shaman was but a mediocre warrior; still in this dismal hour he was the only salvation of the remaining Queres.