Hayoue’s hand was again grasped by one of the guards, and he was motioned to descend into the apartment below.  Zashue had to follow.  They found themselves in a long room, whose whitewashed walls reflected the light of a small fire burning on a rude hearth.  Close to the hearth sat a man whom the prisoners at once supposed to be the puyo, or governor.  By his side sat another, a small figure, somewhat wrinkled.  He wore nothing but a breech-clout of buckskin, for it was summer.  Several aged men were gathered in the neighbourhood of the fire.  Although none of them wore either ornaments or badges, it was easy to surmise that they were the principal shamans.  Along the wall sat, lounged, or squatted the clan delegates, so that all in all there were present about eighteen persons, including the prisoners.  Outside, the faces and eyes of listeners appeared from time to time through the air-holes.

The man whom the two Queres rightly took to be the civil chief, motioned them, adding, “Sit down.”

They obeyed, and remained sitting with downcast looks.  The councilmen glanced at them furtively from time to time.  None of them spoke.  At last a whisper was heard, and now a voice said in the Queres dialect,—­

“Whither are you going?”

Hayoue started, and stared about in the room, looking for the man who in this foreign country spoke his own language.  When he finally discovered that it was the small old man sitting by the side of the governor, he gaped at him with lips parted, and an expression akin to fright.  He had acquired a dim knowledge of the fact that it might be possible for one man to know more than one language, but he had never met such a prodigy as yet.  After the first surprise was over, he still stared at the speaker with inquisitive glances, eager to see whether it was possible to speak two dialects with one and the same tongue.  Zashue was less startled.  He knew that there were people who had learned a speech different from the one to which they were born.  Therefore he replied to the query,—­

“We are searching for our women, our daughters, and our children.”

“Why do you look for them here?  We have them not,” said the old man.

“Because we have hunted for them everywhere else and have not found them.”

“Are you alone?” continued his interlocutor.

“I and my brother are alone,” Zashue asserted.

“Why did your koitza and makatza leave you?”

“The Moshome drove them off.”

“The Moshome?” The inquisitor criticised his words.

Hayoue had recovered from his surprise.  He interjected in a loud, blunt voice,—­

“While the men went out to strike the Tehuas, the Moshome Dinne came upon us.  We were only a few, and the shuatyam laid waste our corn, and killed many women.  Many more, however, fled; we do not know whither.  These we have gone out to find; we are looking for them this day here among you, but you have taken us captives.  You have treated us, not as it is customary between the Zaashtesh, but as the Moshome are wont to do when strangers come to their hogans.”  He looked down again, angry.  Zashue endeavoured to give him a warning sign, but Hayoue saw it not.