“So you have taken many ahtzeta?” one of the bystanders asked.
Kauaitshe began to count, “Eleven—two—twelve—nine; thirty-four,” he concluded, adding, “without those that Okoya may have if he be alive.”
An exclamation of admiration and a grunt of satisfaction sounded from the lips of those present. But they became silent and sad again at once, for they, the warriors, had only eight or nine all told.
Kauaitshe’s pride and exultation could not last long. He bethought himself of the losses, and continued in a tone of sadness,—
“But we have lost many, many. Nearly one hundred of our people have gone over to Shipapu, and twice as many are now in the woods, hungry and forlorn, or the Moshome have taken them with them. Luckily, they are mostly women. Hardly more than twenty of the men can have died, for it may be that Okoya is still alive. Of these, sixteen were Koshare; and the Shkuy Chayan is no more.” He cast a glance of sincere pity at Tyope. The latter said nothing, and all the others stared in mournful silence.
The lamentations below had gone on uninterruptedly. Corpses might be seen lying on the roofs, others partly hanging down over the walls. Two men were carrying a dead body toward the caves of the Turquoise people. In the distance a group was seen dragging another corpse up the gorge. Below the house of Yakka hanutsh there stood a group of men, their faces turned toward the brink of the mesa.
The nashtio of the Water clan rose, and pointed at the group.
“There stand Hayoue, the Shikama Chayan, the three Yaya, the Hotshanyi, Shaykatze, and Uishtyaka; and see, the Hishtanyi Chayan is down on the Tyuonyi already, and goes up to them. Let us go now, and”—he turned to Tyope—“you, brother, tell us what you have achieved and how you all have fared. We cannot receive you as it behooves us; there is too much mourning on the Tyuonyi. The Shiuana have punished us so that we cannot be merry and glad. Therefore I have been sent to receive you, for the men are few in the vale and”—he looked around as if counting the bystanders—“of those that went out to avenge the death of our father not many have come back either.”
In dreary silence they began to move downward. Not a shout, not a whoop, heralded their coming; not a scalp was waved on high in triumph. In dead silence those below watched the sombre forms as they descended slowly, clambering over rocks, rustling through bushes, and coming nearer and nearer. From the caves issued plaintive wails; from the big house moans and subdued crying ascended,—the lament over the dead on the Rito.
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