Next the Cuirana came.  Their labours are over; the germs which they were to protect with incantations have sprouted long ago, and the plants are ready for maturing.  For these results of their work they give thanks to the sun-father,—­thanks loud and emphatic, so that he may hear and see how grateful his children are.  Their performance to-day is a testimonial of gratitude.

To close the dance, both societies will finally appear together, and with them representatives of the tribe at large.  All together they will go through the same succession of ceremonies, in token that all acquiesce in the sentiments of the Koshare and the Cuirana,—­that each individual for himself and in behalf of all the others joins in giving thanks for the past and praying for the future.

This is the signification of the ayash tyucotz when performed about the time of the summer solstice.  However clumsy and meaningless it may seem, it is still a solemn performance.  It gives public expression, under very strange forms, to the idea that has found its most perfect utterance in the German philosopher’s[8] definition of “abject reliance upon God;” whereas in its lowest form it is still “a vague and awful feeling about unity in the powers of nature, an unconscious acknowledgment of the mysterious link connecting the material world with a realm beyond it.”

Seated comfortably and alone, surrounded by the symbols of his creed, the old leader of the Koshare was tapping his drum and humming softly a prayer.  On a sudden the hatchway above him became darkened, and as he looked up he saw the legs of a man appearing on the uppermost rounds of the ladder leading down into the subterranean chamber.  As that man continued to descend, the body, and finally the head, of Tyope appeared.  Then followed Zashue Tihua.  When both men were below, they went to the nearest sacrificial bowl, each one took from it a pinch of yellow cornmeal and scattered it in front of the altar.  Then they turned to the old man, but he did not take any notice of either of them.  Tyope squatted by his side, while Zashue remained erect.

“Sa nashtio,” began the former, “we have not found anything.”

“There is nothing,” added Zashue, rather excitedly; “my wife is innocent.”

The Naua raised his eyes with an expression of astonishment and surprise, as if failing to understand.

“What is it that you have not found?” he asked, rather dreamily.

“No coco—­” Tyope stopped and looked at the pictures on the wall.  It is improper to mention the names of evil powers or agencies in presence of the symbols of Those Above.  So he corrected himself and said,—­

“No hapi.”

“Hapi?” the Naua inquired with a vacant stare, “what sort of hapi?  Where did you look for them?” He bent his head, as if trying to remember.

“Hapi,” exclaimed Tyope, “in the house of Say Koitza, this mot[=a]tza’s wife;” and he pointed at his companion.