All was lost, for the Navajos were well acquainted with this garment, peculiar to the war dress of the Pueblos.  Tyope saw that only the most reckless act could save him.  So he dropped all his arrows, which until now he had carried in his right hand, and thrust his club like a slung-shot into the other’s face.  With a yell of pain and surprise the Navajo tumbled backward into a bush, while Tyope darted forward in the direction of the Rito.  Behind him sounded the hoarse cries of the wounded man, loud yells answering.  They came from four sides; all the pursuers were running at full speed to the assistance of their companion.

Madly, like a deer pursued by wolves, Tyope bounded onward.  But soon his speed slackened; he believed that he was safe, and there was no use in tiring himself.  His movements were no longer noiseless as before.  During his first run he had made so much noise as to lead the pursuers directly on his trail.  These pursuers had suddenly become silent.  Nevertheless, from time to time, rustling sounds struck the ear of Tyope, and proved that the pursuit was carried on unrelentingly.  He noticed a suspicious twittering and cracking, not behind him, but at one side; and it approached.

He comprehended at once that one of the Navajos, instead of rushing to the rescue of the one whom Tyope had struck down, had taken a direction diagonal to his own, with the hope of intercepting him near the brink of the declivity leading down into the Rito, or perhaps sooner.  A change in his line of flight was thereby rendered necessary, but in what direction?  The warning sounds were heard directly north of him; then everything became quiet.  The same stillness reigned all around; and this proved that the pursuers, while certainly approaching with the greatest possible alacrity, were anxious to cover their movements.  Tyope stood still, undecided what to do.  The sound of a breaking or bending twig, faint though audible, caused him to crouch behind a cedar bush again.  He held his breath, listened, and peered through the branches.  Soon a man appeared,—­a Navajo; but whether it was Nacaytzusle or not, he could not discover.  The Indian glided across the open space as noiselessly as a spectre, and disappeared in a northerly direction.  Tyope remained in his concealment for a while, and as nothing more was heard or seen, he crawled to the nearest shrub to the west.  There he again listened and watched, then rose to his feet and moved in a westerly direction.

The moon had risen, and its crescent shed a glimmer over the tree-tops.  For some time Tyope walked on.  Frequently he halted to listen; everything was still.  From this he inferred that his enemies had passed him, and were now stationed along the brink of the gorge in order to intercept him, and that he had gone far enough to risk a descent from where he stood.  It did not seem likely that the Navajos had posted themselves so far up the brink, since he knew it to be beyond the highest cave-dwellings.  Turning to the north, therefore, he soon found himself under the last trees of the mesa.  Beyond opened a whitish chasm, and the northern cliffs of the Rito rose like dim gigantic phantoms.  Here he knew the descent had to be made, but here also the most imminent danger was lurking.