All at once he darts out of the house, rushing past her with a large ear of corn in each hand which he forthwith hurls at the head of one of his comrades.  This provokes intense merriment, increased still more by his lying down and rolling over several times.  The climax of his humour is attained, and exhibits itself in his squatting on the ground close to one of the clay-grinding artists, where he begins to feed very eagerly upon the liquid mud, literally eating dirt.  But a terrible weight has been lifted from the breast of the poor woman, for the dangerous man has, so she must conclude from his actions, discovered nothing.

Meanwhile the other Koshare had stepped out of the house with well-filled hands.  Say is unconscious of his approach, and as he passes her he empties his treasures, fine ashes, upon her devoted head.  So sudden is his disappearance and so loud the laughter which this display of subtle humour excites among the bystanders, that Say Koitza fails to recognize its author, Zashue, her own husband.

She feels much relieved, and her heart has grown light now that the immediate danger is past.  And intently she tries to catch her father’s eye, but the old man is quietly seated and does not look toward her.

The drum beats to signal the close of the intermission.  The clowns are becoming too impudent, too troublesome, so that an end must be made to their pranks.  The society of the Koshare will appear now for the last time, as after the next dance they retire.  While this is at its height, Topanashka rises and returns to his former place.

Walking slowly past his daughter, he looks at her.  She meets his gaze cheerfully, and with a slight nod of approbation he moves onward.

The dance is over, and the Koshare depart to scatter beyond the large house and to rest.  On the disappearance of the last of their number, including the jesters, whoops and shouts fill the air again from without, and a second procession similar to the former marches into the court-yard.  It is composed of different persons similarly costumed, except that their paint is bluish instead of white.  No clowns accompany them.  They go through a similar performance, and sing the same songs; but everything is done with gravity and even solemnity.  This band is more numerous by at least ten couples, and as a consequence the spectacle is more striking on account of a greater variety of dress and finery.  A tall, slender young man opens the march.  It is Hayoue.  His partner is a buxom lass from the Bear clan, Kohayo hanutsh, a strong, thick-waisted creature, not so good-looking for a girl as he is for a man, yet of such proportion and figure as strike the Indian fancy.  They pay each other little attention.  During the pauses each one follows his own bent, and when the time calls they meet again.