“What, the Koshare?” she cried in terror.

Convulsive sobs and groans were the only reply to her exclamation.  They amply confirmed her worst apprehensions.  “The Koshare know all.”  Unconsciously the cave-dweller uttered these words while staring into the remnant of gleaming coals on the hearth; then she became silent.  Neither could Say Koitza utter a word; only from time to time her spasmodic sobs broke the stillness of the room.  The bright disk which the light from the outside painted on the wall opposite was fading little by little, a sign of approaching sunset.

Shotaye’s features displayed few signs of the terror which her friend’s disclosures had produced.  Soon her face betokened that fear could not retain its hold long on her resolute mind, that intense reflection had superseded dismay.  She turned to her visitor and asked,—­

“Tell me, sister, how you came to know that the Delight Makers are acquainted with your doings?  Tell me, and do not weep.”  And as Say remained silent and immovable she crouched beside her, removed her hair gently from her face, then raised her head and placed it so as to rest on her bosom.  Then she looked deep into the eyes of the poor woman.  They were glassy and almost lifeless.  While thus gazing intently at Say, Shotaye’s features changed and became sad and dejected.

It was for a moment only.  Soon the expression of hopelessness vanished and the lines of her face became resolute, hard, and determined.  Surprise had yielded to reflection, reflection to pity and remorse.  Now remorse in turn gave way to determination.  Shotaye felt that she, much rather than her friend, was lost, irretrievably lost; but her energetic nature demanded that she should see the situation clearly.  Although the spasmodic hints of Say, her broken words, spoke enough, she wanted more.  Her mind craved the full truth, however terrible it might prove.

Say Koitza had slowly recovered from her stupor.  She became quieter and quieter.  In the arms of her resolute and sympathizing friend consciousness returned; she sobbed no more, and from time to time would raise her eyes with a look that besought pity, mercy, and assistance.  The medicine-woman eagerly watched these changes and repeated her previous query.

“How do you know that the Koshare are aware of it?”

“Sa nashtio told me,” moaned the poor woman.

Shotaye sighed.  This was bad news indeed.  She muttered,—­

“This is bad, very bad.  If the maseua knows it, then the tapop will not be long without notice.”

“The tapop knows nothing,” breathed Say.

“But how can the maseua have been informed without the knowledge of the other?” Shotaye asked with surprise.

“He is my father,” replied Say, and wept aloud.  “He is my father, and yet”—­she started to rise and grasped her hair with both hands, screaming—­“he has to kill me with his own hands!”