Mitsha nods, and tears come to her eyes.  Here she is not afraid to weep.  Okoya continues,—­

“I knew it would happen.  Yonder”—­he points at the mountains—­“I heard the owl, and I knew it meant what is now coming upon us.”

The girl shudders.  She weeps no longer; dread scenes of the past are looming up before her mind.

“In the kote,” says she, “it was very bad.  Do you remember over on the other side of the great river on the mesa, from which one can see so very far, almost over where we are now?”

“Not as far as that,” replied Okoya, in a quiet tone, “but far enough.  You are right, makatza; on the mesa we suffered much; there the Moshome did us a great deal of harm.  If it had not been for you we should not be here.”

“For me?” Mitsha asked in surprise.

“Yes, you.  You saved me, saved the yaya, saved Shyuote from the fierce shuatyam!  Yes, surely,” he continued as the girl shook her head incredulously.  “Do you remember, sa uishe, when one Moshome was holding my hands while another struck at me with his club?  You took a big stone and hit him so that he fell and I could kill the other.  Afterward you took the bow away from the dead Moshome, and you did as much with it as I did with mine.  Yes, indeed, you are strong, but you are wise too, and good.”  He fastened his eyes on her with a deep, earnest look, and the girl turned away her face.  She felt embarrassed.

“We shall be happy when you have built your house and you dwell in it as my koitza,” Okoya whispered.

Mitsha cast her eyes to the ground, and a faint glow appeared on her bronzed cheeks.  The young man was not misled by her manner, he knew well enough that she liked him to speak in this way.

“Sanaya goes to Shipapu,” said he, moving closer to her, “and I must have a koitza.  You said you would be mine and I should be your husband.  It was the night of the council on the Tyuonyi.  Do you remember?”

“I do, and so it will be,” she said, raising her head.  Her large eyes beamed upon him with an expression of softness and deep joy.  “But whither shall we go?  Here we are strangers; and the Puyatye, although they are very good to us, speak a tongue we do not understand.  Shall we return to the Tyuonyi and live with my mother and the hanutsh?”

“Are you sure that your mother is still alive?  Are you sure that there is a single one of our people alive?” Okoya objected.

Again the eyes of Mitsha grew moist; she turned her head away and Okoya heard her sobs.  Well did he understand her grief; it was stirred for the fate of her parents.  Had he, had she, known all that had happened on the Rito!

A tremendous shout arose from the dancing crowd below.  The distribution of gifts was beginning anew.  Again the majority of the missiles were directed toward the Queres; a perfect shower of provisions, cooked and raw, pattered down upon the strangers.  A large ear of corn tumbled into Mitsha’s lap, and she handed it to Okoya, whispering,—­