The dancers have formed a wide ring.  Men and women hold each other by the hands, and dance in a circle around the place which has been covered with objects of sacrifice.  One after the other, the Koshare, the Cuirana, after them each one of the four sections, step within the circle, stamping down the fruits spread out there.  Two or three of the Delight Makers improve the occasion to cut some of their usual capers, and the spectators laugh to their heart’s content.  Laughter is contagious, it captures even the melancholy group of Queres; the old among them smile, the young chuckle, the children shout and yell from sheer delight.  One boy in particular is very conspicuous from the intense interest he takes in everything the Koshare are doing.  He is about ten years of age.  A dirty breech-clout constitutes his only vestment, but a necklace of multi-coloured pebbles adorns his neck; and as often as a Koshare grimaces, or makes an extraordinary gesture, or displays his tongue to the public, this boy jumps up, screams and shouts, and screeches in delirious joy.  His whole heart is with the Koshare; he imitates their movements, improves on their gestures to such a degree that those around him smile, exchanging winks of approval as if saying, “He will be a good one.”

The head of a girl slowly rises through a hatchway; and as her face turns toward us, we recognize the soft, beaming eyes of Mitsha Koitza.  The maiden looks thinner, her features sharper.  She remains standing on the notched beam serving as a ladder, and calls out,—­

“Shyuote!”

No reply is made to the call.  The din and noise of the dance drown her voice, and all are so occupied by the sights that none pay any attention to her.  The youngster who has been devoting all his time to the pranks of the Delight Makers jumps forward in his enthusiasm, and would have tumbled sheer over the low parapet encircling the roof had not one of the men standing near grasped his hair and pulled him back.  It saved the boy’s life, but the urchin is highly displeased at the informal manner in which he is restrained.  He screams and struggles to free himself.  Again the voice of the maiden is heard; this time it is louder and the tone commanding.

“Shyuote!”

“She is calling you, uak,” the man says who has saved the brat.

“I won’t go,” retorts our old friend Shyuote, for he it is who attempts to play at Koshare here.

“Shyuote, come to sanaya!” again calls the maiden.

The mention of his mother creates a stir among the bystanders.  They forget the dance and turn toward Mitsha.  Shyuote still refuses to obey, but the others push him forcibly to the hatchway.  Several of the women approach Mitsha, and one inquires of her in a subdued voice,—­

“How goes it below?”

The girl’s eyes fill with tears.  At last she whispers,—­

“It goes—­to Shipapu.”  She turns around and disappears beneath, sobbing.  Shyuote is sent after her.