Tyope was filled with thoughts of the most dismal nature.  He felt wretched, crushed, almost distracted!  The news brought by Kauaitshe weighed him down in a manner that allowed neither hope or quietude.  His plans had become realized, but how?  The loss of his wife he hardly felt, so much the more did he regret Mitsha’s disappearance.  But far above all this loomed up the terrible consequences, less of the defeat than of the blow which the Navajos, following the instructions he had once given Nacaytzusle, had struck during his absence.  He had done most toward bringing about the expedition to the Puye; therefore he had led the flower of the tribe into perdition.  During his absence and that of the majority of its defenders the Navajos had executed the fatal surprise.  He had often been reproached with his intimacy with the young Dinne, and while the savage remained at the Rito everybody knew that the boy was a favourite of his.  What else could the caciques, the leading shamans, infer but that the savage had been able to select his time, and that he, Tyope, had betrayed the tribe to the Dinne?  And the worst of it was, it was true!  He had at one time suggested the plan and had abandoned it afterward as too dangerous.  He had suggested it with the view of furthering his personal ends.  Now its execution took place when he least expected it, and when the very event which he had prepared for his benefit struck the most crushing blow he could ever have imagined possible for him to have suffered.

Had Tyope returned from the campaign victorious, it might have been different; but now the Shiuana bore down upon him with crushing power; there was no hope nor thought of his ever rising again.  The best he could expect was to be set aside forever as a broken, useless unfortunate.

But the Koshare still remained, and they would not forsake him in the hour of need.  The Naua, if alive, would certainly not permit his utter ruin.  The two conspirators had prevailed upon the Hishtanyi so that only a few of the Delight Makers accompanied the war-party.  Of these, two or three had escaped.  How had the majority fared,—­that majority which remained at the Rito for prudence’s sake?  Tyope dared not ask questions; he went along mutely as if in a dream.

The Hishtanyi Chayan stopped Kauaitshe, and asked him,—­

“Have any of my brethren the yaya suffered?”

Tyope’s heart throbbed, and he turned his face away, so fearful was he of the reply.

“The Shkuy Chayan,” replied Kauaitshe, in his simple manner, “is dead.  An arrow entered his eye.”

Tyope shivered; misfortune crowded upon misfortune.  He could no longer resist inquiring.  Panting, he asked,—­

“Is our father the Naua still alive?”

“He lives and mourns.  After you were gone with the people, he retired to the place in the cliffs with the Koshare; and when the Moshome came, nearly all the men were up there.”