The brink of the Rito on the south side is lined by shrubbery, with high timber interspersed; but ledges of friable volcanic rocks advance in places beyond this shade, crowning the heights like irregular battlements.  Their surface is bare, and anything moving on them might become visible to a watchful eye, notwithstanding the dimness of the moonlight.

Tyope lay down, and began to glide like a snake.  He moved slowly, pushing his body into every depression, hugging closely every protuberance.  Thus he succeeded in crossing the open space between the woods and the rim of the declivity.  Now he could overlook the valley beneath and glance down the slope.  It was not very steep, and thickets covered it in places.  But between him and the nearest brush a bare ledge had yet to be crossed.  He crept into a wide fissure, and then down.  The crags were not high, scarcely ten feet.  Then he pushed cautiously on to the open space.  When near the middle of it he raised his head to look around.  Immediately a twang sounded from the heights above him, and a whiz followed.  Tyope bounded to his feet, reeled for a moment; another twang and another whizzing,—­an arrow struck the ground where he had lain; but already the Queres was away, leaping from rock to rock, tearing through shrubbery and thickets like a frightened mountain sheep.  Stones rolled from above; somebody was hastening down in pursuit; arrow upon arrow sped after the fugitive.  But Tyope was safely out of reach and in the bottom, whither the Navajo did not dare to follow.  A drizzling noise, like that of pebbles dropping from a height, told that the pursuer had withdrawn to the woods again; then all was still.

Down below on the edge of the brook lay Tyope, panting from exhaustion.  His life was safe and he felt unhurt, but he was overcome by emotion and effort.  As long as the excitement had lasted his physical strength had held out.  Now that all was over he felt tired and weak.  Yet he could not think of rest, for daybreak was close at hand.  He dipped some water from the brook and moistened his parched lips, taking care not to touch his face or body with the liquid.  Tyope was tired and worn out, but at the same time angry; and when the Indian suffers or when he is angry he neither washes nor bathes.  Physical or mental pain, disappointment, and wrath, are with him compatible only with lack of cleanliness, and since he becomes wrathful or disappointed or sick quite as often as we do, his bodily condition is frequently far from pleasant.

Tyope felt angry and disappointed at himself.  The failure in regard to Nacaytzusle was not the cause of his disappointment.  What angered him was that he had not killed the Navajo whom he struck down on the mesa, and taken his scalp.  There would have been ample time, and he could have concealed the trophy, returning for it in the daytime.  He had already taken one scalp in his life, but to have missed this opportunity of securing a second one was an unpardonable failure.  It was this which caused him to avoid the cooling waters and forget the demands of cleanliness.