* * * * *

The position in which the Queres had taken refuge was tenable only for a short time, because the Canada Ancha has no permanent water-supply.  There were a few pools, however, containing remnants of the rain that had lately fallen.  But that was not enough.  To abandon the groves, in which they felt comparatively safe in presence of the foe, would have been reckless; so the Queres remained during the whole day, while the Tehuas kept guard over them, observing their movements from the cover of the timber on the mesa.  As night set in, the Hishtanyi Chayan ordered a slow, noiseless retreat down the Canada toward the Rio Grande.  Tyope passively did what the shaman told him; he had no longer a will of his own.  He who had always judged others from the standpoint of their usefulness to him as his tools, was now reduced mentally to be a blind instrument of the man of whom he expected to rid himself on this very campaign.  All of Tyope’s authority was gone; the men did not reproach him, did not scorn; they simply ignored him, except when he spoke in the name and by direction of the Hishtanyi Chayan.  The latter saw more and more the mental downfall of the war-chief, and took pity on him, making him his lieutenant.  When morning dawned, the little troop halted on the Ziro kauash.  They had made a long detour, and now were in dread lest the Tehuas had prepared an ambush near home.  Tyope himself was still further concerned.  He who had boldly attempted to carry out the most daring schemes, was afraid of returning to his people, now that these schemes had failed.  He feared, like a child, reproach and punishment.  The spirit of the man was utterly crushed.

When a war-party returns, it never enters the village directly, but halts at some distance and sends a messenger to inform the people of its approach.  The Queres halted on the Ziro kauash, and some of them scoured the woods, but no trace of the enemy appeared.  The dreaded ambush had not been laid; the Tehuas had certainly returned content with victory and their trophies.  A runner was sent to the Rito, and the men waited and waited.  Even the Hishtanyi Chayan became startled at the long delay.  Tyope squatted at the foot of a tree; he was thinking of the reception that might be in reserve for him.  Everything manly and strong had left his heart; nothing of it remained but a languidly putrid core, whose former fermentation had produced the effervescence that took the shape of energy, shrewdness, and daring.

At last toward evening a man approached the silent group.  He came, accompanied by the runner, and every one recognized the features of Kauaitshe, the delegate from the Water clan.  He went straight to Tyope; and the latter looked at him timidly, almost tremblingly.  Kauaitshe’s face looked sad and mournful, but not wrathful.  He grasped the hand of Tyope, breathed on it, lifted it upward with both his hands, and said in a tone of intense sorrow,—­