Tahn-te felt a certain consciousness of the great content to which the grinding songs and the steady beat of the prayer drum made music. He knew better than the others, the worth of that peace, and quiet plenty, for to the south he had seen hunger stalk in the trail of the white conquerors, and no woman weaving a robe could be sure that it would ever keep her children from the cold. The men of iron had entered doors as they chose and carried thence all manner of things pleasing to their fancy.

But the life of Povi-whah was a different life, and Tahn-te was glad often to know that it was his land. The great medicine Mesa of the Hearts stood like a guardian straight to the east and at morning its shadow touched the terraces.

Strange mystic rites belonged to that place where the Ancient Others had made high sacrifice. Great medicine was there for the healing of all the nations—and the secret of it was with the gods. He was glad as he looked at it that it was so close to his own people—if a day of need should come they would have the sacred place more close than any other people.

As he breathed a prayer and walked to his own door he met Po-tzah who was the Feeder of the Wind that fanned the Wheat. He was the first boy friend of Tahn-te in the valley and always their regard had been kind.

"This is a time of much striving and I am glad to see you, and see you here at my door," said Tahn-te the Ruler. "You come from the ceremonial bath after a night of prayer. I go from the bath for the making of many days and many nights of prayer. If my mother should return before I come down from the mountains—"

"She will be in the house of my wife, and she will be as our mother," said Po-tzah his friend and clansman.

"Thanks that it is so in your heart," and Tahn-te took the hand of his friend and breathed upon it. "My mother must not hear much talk of any trouble to come. If she thought there was danger she would not go from me, and in council it is decided that when the men of iron come into the valley, the young wives and the little maids must live for a season in the ruins of the wide fields of old, and my mother—the 'Woman of the Twilight' is to be the keeper of them there, and they must not be seen of the strangers."

"They take many wives—if they find them—and are strongest?" asked Po-tzah thinking of his own wife of a year, and the little brown babe in its cradle of willow wands swung from the ceiling of their home. Tahn-te smiled mockingly.

"Their priest will tell you they take but one. But their book where their god speaks, gives to all his favorites many wives, and helps his favorites to get them with fighting and much cunning, and in the days when I was with the christian men who said prayers to that god, I saw them always live as the book said—and not as Padre Luis said. That man was a good man—a better man than his book—He was good enough to be Indian—for that is what the Castilians call us—and all our brother tribes."

"They call us the same as the Apache or the Hopi people?" asked Po-tzah in wonder. "Why do they that?"

"The Ancient Father in the Sky has not wished them to know who we are. He has darkened their minds when they tried to see. They are very proud—that people! All they saw that was good in the villages, they argued long about. They are sure that some of their tribe in some older day did find our fathers and teach our people,—in what other way could we know to spin and weave, and live in good houses!"

The Priest of the prayers to the mighty Wind of the Four Ways laughed at the very curious ideas of the white strangers.

"Perhaps they taught our fathers also to eat when they were hungered and take wives when the time came!" he scoffed.

While they spoke, Ka-yemo crossed a terrace and halted to look at them, and Po-tzah commented on the fine beads now worn by Ka-yemo since he had taken a wife—but Po-tzah thought the wife very ugly and very stupid, and he would rather see his own wife even if her father had been a cripple and a poor man,—and the girl have never a garment but a poor one of her own making.

"Ka-yemo is the most beautiful man in the village," said Tahn-te,—"He has fine looks plenty for one house."

"Tahn-te"—and his friend came more close and spoke softly, "you are Po-Ahtun-ho, and you know wise things and many things. Do you know enough to care nothing that Ka-yemo and his friends are not your friends?"



"Why is it that you think in such a way?" asked Tahn-te quietly.

"He knows the white strangers will deal with one man of the tribe if they come,—and that will be honor for that man. He knows the words of the strangers. If you were not the most wise he would be chosen to make all talks, and he would be a great man. Not much has he said;—but his friends say things! Already they ask what magic touched the old men when you were made ruler. They say the Po-Ahtun-ho for all time was born in the place where he says prayers."

"And I was not born in this place," said Tahn-te, as he looked at the river valley, and remembered the desert sands of Tusayan, and the island of rock on which he had lived and been happy once. "It is true, Po-tzah. But the people forget when they say no other Ruler was born apart from his people. Po-se-yemo came from a cave in the cliff. He came down from the mountain to the people. He taught them to listen to mountain thoughts. I come from a rock in the desert, and the old men say I brought the Sign that the god made my way. We are yet young, Po-tzah, when we are older we will know whether the way of the gods is the way for this people. I know the words of Ka-yemo—but they are not to be talked of. Alone I go to face the Ancient Father—Sinde-hesi. I go to the mountain of the Stone Face—I go to dance the dance for ancient wisdom. The old men know that the time has come for that."

"Alone? No one in our day has danced alone before the faces! No one has danced in that place since the time of the fire across the sky, and that dancer did not live. You can dance there—Tahn-te?"

"I can dance there—By the arrow I have said it."

His friend looked at him with a strange new regard. Each knew what it meant to be chosen for that dance of the ancient days.

There are two things a man may not do and have breath to live. The sacred arrow is held aloft when an oath is made. If the thing which he has told is a false thing the Sun Father gives lightening to the arrow, and the man of the oath speaks no more, and lives no more. He dies there in that place. All Te-hua men can tell you that is how it is. No one asks another to make an oath.

Also no one asks a medicine man to dance before the ancient picture of the stone in the hills. Only the unmated can dance there. It is the dance to the Supreme Father who is named not often. He is that One who gives earth creatures to the world without earth matings. Thus Po-se-yemo, the mountain god, was given to a maid as her child, and only the eagles and the shadow of the pinyon tree knew. He also gave the two sons of wonder to the Apache goddess who slept on the mountain alone under the shadow of a rock reaching out. Water dripped from that rock and brought the birth dream, and the dream came true there in Apache land. Those two sons became the divine warriors. You can see to-day the giants who were demons and who were slain by those two sons who worked together for good on earth. The blood of the giants flowed through long valleys and turned to stone, and the heads of the giants are also stone now, and lie where they were severed from their bodies in the land of Navahu. Thus it has always been when the Ancient Father has sent the God-Thought to the earth. Only the Wind, or the Sun, or the Mist of the Cloud has been mate to the mother. Yet the sons have been strong for magic and works of wonder.

Thus there has been through the ages, one sacred place where men may go for highest medicine—if they go before it is not too late!

Not since these two men were born had a man danced there, and the last man who did so had danced without the truth or the faith in his heart. No one ever knew if he found great medicine dreams, for he died there. After many days they went—and they found him dead.

"Yes:—it is so," said Tahn-te the Ruler as he met the eyes of his friend. "All may know that I go to the fast, and the dance, and that I dance for them. It will be told from the house tops to-night, but when it is told I will have reached the hills."

"I may not dance, but I also will fast, and I will work with you," said Po-tzah. "Others will work with you when they know. Speak for our children to the god!"

Then he breathed on the hand of Tahn-te who was to do high work and high penance for the tribe, and Tahn-te felt glad music in his heart because of the words of his friend, and when he laid aside his white robe and left his house, he spoke to no other man, but went silent to the shrine on the mesa where the Arrow-Stone clan build the signal fire to the mountain god in the night time. There he said the prayers which were long prayers, and the people who had noted him as he passed (nude but for the girdle and the downy breath feathers of the eagle) halted at their work among the corn and the melon vines and watched him at the shrine. From the terraced roofs also the women turned from their weaving, or the shaping of pottery, and looked after the tall bronze figure girded, and white plumed. They could see his wide-stretched hands scatter the sacred meal of prayer, and then they saw only a brown runner on the mesa outlined against the western sky. He had entered the ceremonial run in which there is no moment of rest from the mesa of the river to the mountains of the pine.



CHAPTER XI

THE MAID OF DREAMS

Indian prayer is not the placid acceptance of thoughts comforting. The complete man is both mind and body—and all of him must work when the gods are called upon for work, and by fasting and exhaustion must the spirit path be made clear for dreams.

The first day Tahn-te had sat in meditation before the sacred wall of the stone face, chanting the songs to the clouds and the yellow birds of the sun color, watching the pictured rock until the lines moved when his body swayed to the chant, and a living thing seemed before him—the accumulated faiths of all the devotees in that place since the god was born!

As the sun went behind the mountain he knew the village herald was telling the people, and the leaders of Povi-whah would fast that night and send their thoughts to him. Po-tzah would fast although Po-tzah was not called upon by his position to do so.

And Po-tzah had said, "Speak for our children to the god."

He seemed to hear Po-tzah's voice, and the words repeat themselves in the dusk, and—stranger still—another voice back of Po-tzah's! it also spoke of children—through the chanted prayer he heard it—baffling yet insistent.

Then he knew it!

He knew it as the first shadow of the visions which the prayer was bringing:—it was the voice of the Ruler whose office he now held—the aged man who had once worn the white robe and said—"If she had not died—her children would be your children!"

The picture of Po-tzah's small brown babe came between him and the sacred figure on the rock,—a strange thing for the voice to suggest! A little child—in the dusk—and—sheltering arms around it!

"Oh You! Oh—Indwelling God! Come to me! Grey ghost—white ghost Why is the false enchantment? Grey ghost of darkness— White ghost of high hills Make way for sacred magic, Sink far your darkened spells! O You! O Indwelling God Come to me!"

In the dusk a shadow—or it might have been a drooping bough of the pinyon tree—gave outline of a bent head above the outline of the babe—only a strange trick of carving on the gray stone, and swaying branches outlining a head—then the shoulders—then an arm about the babe! To the mind of the mystic it was the visible temptation of a black enchantment in the very presence of the god!—The strongest the opposing powers could send to man under vows of prayer and search for the spirit medicine of the highest thought.



"Oh You! Goddess of the stars You—who gives the life! Why is there for me false magic? Mother mine of the starry skirt Why for me the darkened star? I, Master of spells, call to you! Ho:—there! It is I! Green and black spirit of power Seek elsewhere your victims! I seek the light—I find the light! Mother mine of the starry skirt I find the light! I—Master of spells!"

He was no longer merely a singer of prayers now. The dance before the Ancient gods had begun as the first stars glimmered in the blue.

After many hours of the dance all the world drifts far. There is nothing real left but the circle where the prayer is, and the space where the feet touch in the dull pad-pad on the trail to the swoons where visions come.

A lone figure chanting breathless things:—not aloud now! The utterance is only broken whispers—only a god could read the meaning of them!

But he did not feel alone. All the Lost Others were back of him looking on from the dusk of the pinyon boughs, and there to the right, ever in shadow, was a Presence! It stood close to the rock wall. The arms were folded, the line of the body strong and erect. The face was a hidden face, but if he—Tahn-te, faltered in the lines of the prayers,—or sank in the dance before the time—then he felt that the phantom there would become real, and the face would be seen, and that strong Thing would come forward—it would dance for jealous ghosts the dance of triumph—it would wipe out in mockery the unfinished homage to the gods!

The dawn came, and Tahn-te danced the stars of morning into the glow of the sun. The prayers had been all said, and the Watcher no longer stood by the rock!

Tahn-te saw nothing now but the glare of the sun on the rock wall—a spot of light in the circle of black pinyon.

He no longer even whispered. His moving arms seemed no longer a part of him—it was as if numbness was there. His feet moved mechanically—not able to lift themselves more quickly—neither able to cease by his own will.

The Trues were watching him now, waiting to help. There was the white bear of the North and the mountain lion of the East. There was the wildcat of the West, and the serpent of the South. There was the eagle of the upper world, and the mystic creature of the earth home which tells the weather wizards of the number of winter days.

They were all there—so the prayer had been a good prayer.

From some of them would come the medicine dreams!

The sun stood straight above,—then little by little reached towards the mountain. It made shadows, and as the shadow of the sacred rock touched the blinded dancer, he sank to the earth.

As he fell he strove to echo the prayer thought:—

"I find the light I—master of spells!"

But he did not speak it. Only the eagle of his dream repeated it over and over as it lifted him from the place where he had fallen, and bore him swiftly to the highest point of the mountain of Tse-cōme-u-pin. It has been the Sacred Mountain since men first spoke words in the land. When a man has climbed to the shrine of the summit there, it is as if all the world is very far below.

And that makes it lonely for the dweller there.

* * * * *

The stars were again alight in the heavens when the devotee awoke from his sleep of exhaustion. To his entranced senses the stars were as the eyes of the gods who watched the shrine where few men had ever danced and lived. The wind touched the pines—and he thought their whispered movement was the rustle of the wings of the eagle who had come in his vision.

For the eagle was now his medicine, and the place where the eagle had carried him in the dream was the best of all good places for medicine that was strong.

In the starlight he again faced the ancient diety of the Lost Others:—those Others who had carved the stone lions of Kat-yi-ti at their entrance to the Under world, and had set the white stone bear of the North on guard in the western hills. They did fine things—those people who had perhaps first named the stars above. And this one ancient cave god of the stone face was a link—so the wise old Ruler had told him—with strange Mexic Brothers of the far south—who gave worship—and gave human sacrifice, to a solitary mountain shrine, called the shrine of the Sleeping Woman, where few men could dance—or even learn the prayers of that dance.

No awesome Presence now faced him in the shadow of the rock as he chanted his prayer of farewell under the stars. He had danced all adverse spirits out of the charmed circle. His way was clearly marked now to follow the way of the eagle,—there on the shrine of Tse-cōme-u-pin he must say the final prayer. All of harmony and all of hope was about him. Three days and three nights had he ran or chanted prayers, or danced fasting, yet weariness was not with him as he ended the ceremony which no man since his birth had made in this place.

Somewhere, he would perhaps fall on the trail, and the men of Kah-po or of Povi-whah would find him, as fainting medicine men had been found ere this—but that must be after he had reached the shrine, and gave prayers at the place of the eagle dream.

Past Pu-ye he went—scarce seeing the ghost walls of the older day; in sight of Shufinne, the little island of forgotten dwellings on the north mesa—through the pines to the canyon of Po-et-se where rocks of weird shapes stood like gray and white giants to bar his way. He thought at times voices sounded from the stone pillars, but it might be the echo of his own.—He knew evil spirits did lurk along his trail—no mortal could escape their shadows. Even the god who had lived in the sun had been hurled to earth by them when the earth was new, and the first trees—the pines, had begun to grow at the edges of the ice. Since that time the Sun God only lived in the sky one half the time. In the night he went to the Underworld, and the strands of his dark hair covered his face. He must not let himself think that the adverse spirits were less than men in strength—for man needed all the medicine of the gods to war against evil!

Thus he thought—and muttered and stumbled blindly towards the north. Into the stream of Po-eh-hin-cha he crept and drank,—then up—up to Po-pe-kan-eh—the Place where the Water is Born, and from there to the shrine of the Sacred Mountain, though his hands reached for help from every tree and rock past which he staggered or crept.



Only water and the smoke of the medicine pipe had been his portion. One may not eat the food of man, yet commune with Those Above.

The first stars were above the hills as he fell, bleeding from many hurts—and breathless—at the shrine.

Far above one lone eagle soared, and the weariness was forgotten in the joy of Tahn-te. The sacred spark came quickly to the twigs crossed ceremonially for the fire on the shrine, and into the blue above, the slender trail of smoke led undeviatingly up where the great bird drifted as if awaiting to witness his offering of fire. Had any other found medicine like that? He knew now that his magic was to be strong magic, for his faith had been great—and he had followed the faith, and found the bird of the strong gods waiting his coming!

Time was lost to him in the trance of that which he had lived through. The day was gone, and he stood alone on the heights and reached his hands in ecstasy to his brothers the stars. He felt the exultant strength of the mortal with whom the gods have worked!

And when the last mountain prayer had been whispered, a reeling, staggering, nude figure walked, and sometimes ran and often fell down the steep sides of Tse-cōme-u-pin, and when the great dark pines and the slender aspens were reached, he used his hands as well as his feet in making his way, reeling from tree to tree, but holding with instinctive steadiness to the trail of the Navahu—the ancient way of the enemy, where ambush and slaughter was often known. Many captives had been driven between the high rock walls. Youths and maidens swept from Te-hua corn fields, and Navahu captives as well, caught by Te-hua hunters in the hunting grounds to the West,—all came through the one great pass—and the way of the trail was so narrow that to guard it was not a hard thing in time of battle.

The rush of the swift water was always near as he went on and on in the darkness. It had a lulling effect. The whispers of the pines also spoke of rest. This was the fourth day of the fasting. He, Tahn-te, had been strong as few men are strong, but suddenly in the night, earth and sky seemed to meet, and putting out his hands he groped through a thicket of the young pines, and fell there quite close to the dancing water—and all the life of earth drifted far. He, Tahn-te, the devotee of the Trues—the weaver of spells, and dancer of the Ancient Dance to the God of the Stone, lay at last in the stupor beyond dreams, helpless in the path of an enemy if any should trail him for battle.

His sleep was dreamless, and the length of it until the dawn seemed but a hand's breadth on the path of the stars across the sky.

But with the dawn a vision came, and he knew it again as the actual form of that which had been so often the vague dream-maid of charmed moments.

There was the flash of water in the pool—a something distinct from the steady murmur of its ripples—that was the sign by which he was wakened quite suddenly, without movement or even a breath that was loud. Under the little pines at the very edge of the stream he was veiled in still green shadows, and there before him was The Maid of Dreams. Those Above had let her come to him that for once his eyes should see and his heart keep her in the medicine visions of this fasting time of prayer.



Not once did she turn her eyes towards him as she stood, dripping with the water of the bath. Her slender figure was in shadow, and her movements were shy and alert and quick.

To the dry sand she stepped, and lifted thence a white deerskin robe. Two bluebird wings were in the white banda about her loosened hair, very blue was the color of the wings as the light touched them, and he thought of the wonderful Navahu Goddess Estsan-atlehi who was created from an earth jewel—the turquoise, and who is the beloved of the Sun. If a maid could be moulded from any jewel of earth, Tahn-te thought she would look like this spirit of the forest stream. Even while held by the wonder and the beauty of the vision, he thought of this, and recalled the bluebird feathers in the prayer plumes of Tusayan:—next to the eagle they were sacred feathers:—the gods were sending him strong thoughts for magic!

Suddenly the maid stood tense and erect as though listening—or was it only the nearness of a mortal by which she was thrilled to movement?—for she clasped the trailing white skin to her breast, and stepped into the deeper shadow where grew the fragrant thickets of the young pine under the arms of the great pine mothers.

Without sound she moved. His eyes watched in strained eagerness for the one turn of the head, or one look of the eyes towards him, but that was not to be. To mortal all the joys cannot be given at one time—else all would be as gods!

He stared at the shadows into which she had blended herself, and he stared at the pool from which she had arisen. It was again a mirror reflecting only the coming day. Yet his heart leaped as he saw a sign left there for him!

Drifting idly there in a circle was a bit of blue too vivid for the echo of the sky of dawn—it was the wing of a bluebird, and even as he looked, it was caught in an eddy more swift, and moved on the surface of the water straight to the edge of the bank nearest his place of rest.

Staggering to his feet, he went to meet it. It was not an empty vision as the maid had been, and it did not fade as he grasped it. The visions of the night had been strong visions, but with the dawn had come to Tahn-te the added medicine of the second gift of the Spirits of the Air. Above the clouds must his thoughts be in their height. The medicine of the eagle had made that plain to him, and the feathers of prayer lay in his hand as a sign such as had come to no other man!

The Brothers of the Air were plainly to be his kindred!

This was the dawning of the fifth day on the prayer trail. A little way he walked, and the world reeled about him,—to escape from the cloud of weakness he ran the way of the brook towards the far river—and then as a brook falls into the shadows of a cavern place, Tahn-te fell and lay where he fell. In the darkness closing over him he heard the rustle of wings—though another might have heard only the whisper of the pines.

When the sun stood straight above, and the bush of the sage brooded over its own shadow, it was then Po-tzah and the brothers of Po-tzah found him. They wondered at the wing of the bluebird in his hand, but carried him on a robe of the buffalo until they brought him to his own home. Then the people of his order brought to him the foods and the drinks allowed after the fasting time to the men who make many prayers.

When the strength had come back he spoke in secret council of the vision of the eagle and the vision of the maid born from the waters of the sacred mountain of prayer.

The old men debated wisely as to the visions and the meaning of the visions. The dance was a great dance and plainly had the favor of Sinde-hesi since Tahn-te had come out of it alive;—the Summer People would hold a long feast to mark the time, and the boys who were taught by the old men, would be told in the kivas of the ways in which a man might grow strong in body and strong in spirit to face the god who lives on high in the hills.

Of the visions of the eagles they were glad—for in his dream Tahn-te had been carried by the eagle to the shrine of power, and that was very great medicine. It was well he had kept strength to follow the trail and meet the eagle there.

Of the maid-vision there was long talk. To dream of a maid was the natural dream thought of a young man, and the wing of the bird could be only the symbol for thoughts that fly very high.

The clan of his mother—the Arrow Stone People, thought the vision by the pool meant that the time to choose a wife had come to Tahn-te. He had proven himself for magic. It was now time that he think of strong sons.

The elders agreed that it was so, and talked of likely maids, and that was when the name of Yahn the Beautiful was spoken. But Tahn-te heard part of the talk, and stopped it. He had read the books of the white god, and out of them all he had found one strong thought. The white god, and the prophets of that god, were strong for magic because they did not take wives of the tribes about them. Because of that they had been strong to conquer their world. He, Tahn-te, meant to work for the red gods as the priests of the dark robe worked for the white gods. He would work alone unless other men worked with him. It was not magic in which a woman could help. But alone he fastened four feathers of a bluebird to the Prayer Flute of the far desert, and in the dusks under Venus and the young moon he breathed through it softly to bring back the vision of the Maid of Dreams.

Not all this talk was spoken of outside the kiva:—only the name of Yahn had been said—and that Tahn-te would have no wife even when urged by the old men. But Koh-pe, the wife of Ka-yemo did hear of it—also some other wives, and Yahn Tsyn-deh heard their laughter, and carried a bitter heart in the days to follow. She had no love for Tahn-te, yet—to wed with the Highest—would be victory over a false lover!

For the feast made for Tahn-te the Po-Ahtun-ho, she would gather no flowers and bake no bread, and when the dance in honor of Tahn-te was danced, she put on her dress of a savage, brown deer skin fringed and trimmed with tails of the ermine of the north. About her brows she fastened a band on which were white shells and many beads in the pattern of the lightening path—and on it was also the white of the ermine—and the warrior feathers of the eagle which she wore not often—but this day she wore them!



Also she took from an earthen jar the strands of beads of the Navahu. With head held high she walked through the village and knew well that she looked finer than all the dancers. Thus proudly she walked to the sands by the river's edge, and held the beads against her brow and bosom—and twisted them about her round arms as she gazed at her reflection in the water. But the pride and the defiance died out of her face when there were no jealous eyes to watch, and a tear fell on the still water, breaking the picture.

For a space she stood—a lonely figure despite her trophies—and the music of the dance came to her on the wind, and filled her with sullen rage. A canoe was on the shore above; she pushed it into the water and stepped in lifting the paddle of split ash wood and sending the craft darting downwards—anywhere to be away from the voices of people.

And Koh-pe, of the red beads, laughed at a safe distance, and told her comrades of the terraces that the Apache had gone fishing without a net—she would come home empty!



CHAPTER XII

COMING OF THE CASTILIANS

Because a runner from Kat-yi-ti had been killed on the trail by a mountain lion, and because the village of Povi-whah had forgotten the strangers from the south in the excitement of Tahn-te's return (for many there were who thought never to see him again!)—because of these things it was that the men of iron rode unseen by the river, and the alarm was called from sentry to sentry on the mesa where the workers in flint shaped the arrow-points, and were guards as well for the village below.

There was no mistaking the glint of sunlight on steel and helmet, and the beasts with strange strappings. The men of the beards were indeed at the very edge of their planted fields!

And they saw more than that, for they saw a girl who ran from the shore to meet them. So fleet was her running that her hair swept like a dusk cloud behind her, and the soldier Gonzalvo stared at her with open mouth.

"By the true cross, that looks better to me than the thimble full of gold!" he announced, and Don Ruy laughed and put his horse on the other side of Don Diego as though to protect him from temptation.

"You, and his reverence the padre, have the records and the prayers to your share," he suggested,—"but eyes bright as those—and lips as tempting—"

"The heathen wench does look like the seven deadly sins for enticement," agreed Don Diego and made the sign of the cross.

"A shameless wench, indeed," agreed Padre Vicente—"with her bosom bare, and little but her hair as a cloak!—What is it she calls?—Holy God!—did you hear?"

All had halted now. Pretty women and girls had been hidden in the villages of their trail. Even if they chanced to glimpse one it was by chance—and among the wall-housed barbarians no dames bold as this one had been seen:—neither had one been seen so alluring.

Again her voice reached them and this time the tones were clear and the words certain.

"Greetings to you—Lords—Castilians!"

A shout went up from the men. At last a land had been reached where an interpreter was not needed for the woman. It put a different complexion on the day. Tired men straightened in their saddles and Ruy Sandoval laughed at the amaze on the face of Gonzalvo—that hardy soldier of many lands stared as if by a witch enthralled.

"How call you yourself, mistress?" inquired the priest coldly, "and is it the custom of the men of the Pō-sōn-ge to send their wives to greet men who travel?"

"Yahn Tsyn-deh I am,"—she said—"and not wife."

"Humph!" the grunt of Maestro Diego was not polite. Even the desert might not be a safe place to bring youth if damsels of this like grew in the sage clumps. "It is said to be a good luck sign when a man comes first over the threshold on a New Year's day and on a Monday,—it starts the year and the week aright—and how read you this of a female crossing first for us the line of welcome in the new land of treasure?—read you good fortune here in all that would be ill fortune at home?"

"Save your croaking since she is beautiful to a marvel!" said Don Ruy lightly. "If they tell us truly that the world is round, who knows that we may not be nicely balanced on an opposite to Seville, and all things of life and portent to be reversed? There's a thought for your 'Relaciones!'—treasure it, senor!—treasure it!

"I am not yet of a mind that the unsanctified globe theory is to be accepted by true believers!" announced Don Diego with decision—"that you well know!—and also you know that my scriptural evidence—"

"Is as good as that of any man!" agreed his charge who was more his master and tormentor. "But if we halt here while you make the maps of Cosmo in the sand, we will miss the rest of the maids, for all my looking shows me no others on the run to us."

Yahn was, meanwhile, with great unconcern, making braids of her hair, and breathing with more ease, and using her eyes well the while. The piercing look of the padre was the only one she faltered under, and that of Gonzalvo she met in elusive coquetry.

"I am alone," she said to Don Ruy. "The others feast this day. I know your words. I come alone; maybe you want that I talk for you."

"It is true that we all want much talk from you—and perhaps some smiles—eh? But give not another to Juan Gonzalvo—he looks like a mooing calf from the last one he got,—and I warn you that such special happiness—"



"Peace!" said the padre with impatient authority. "The girl has understanding, and it is best to move warily when the ground is new. Are you the only one who speaks Castilian?"

"No—two more. Ka-yemo the chief of war—He is of my clan. He learn it with Capitan Coronado."

The men closed around listening—this was the man they had heard of at Ah-ko and at Kat-yi-ti.

"He is the shaman who learned with Fray Luis," said the padre. "We have heard of him, and of his unsanctified devotion to the false gods. We have come to save such souls for the true faith. And he is now Capitan—eh?"

"Ka-yemo is Capitan—not shaman. He speaks your words—"

"And the other one?"

"Other one!"—The face of Yahn darkened, her lips grew straight in a hard line—her bosom heaved. Tahn-te had seen and known her abasement—also her name had been among those put aside—always she would hate Tahn-te,—"The other one is the man of the feast. He has danced where other men fall dead in the dance. He does not fall dead—not anything makes him dead! He holds snakes like other men hold rabbits." (She was watching warily the faces of her listeners and saw them shrink in distaste)—her own face grew keen and bright with cunning. "It is true—like this he takes the snake"—she held a wand of willow about her neck, and then held it in both hands above her head—"like this—and calls it 'brother of the sands.' He calls eagles down from the clouds to him—other birds, too"—and her eyes took on a look of fear—"and in dark nights—no—I can not say more words! It is bad medicine to say words of witches while witches are yet alive."

"He was taught by the padres to be Christian:—yet turns back to the false gods, and—is a sorcerer?" demanded Maestro Diego. "You have your work plainly cut out for you, Eminence!" and he turned to Padre Vicente—"A leader who has been granted the light, yet seeks darkness, is but a burning brand for the pit!"

"But"—suggested the lad Chico—who spoke but rarely in the face of the company, "is there not white magic as well as the magic of the darkness? Did not the saints of the church deal openly in the white magic of their god? This pretty woman plainly has only hate—or fear—of the sorcerer. Does the dame strike any of you as being so saintly as to be above guile?"

The men laughed at that, and Don Ruy clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well reasoned, Chico—and frankly said! We will see the sorcerer at his work before we pass judgement. But the lady will love you little!"

"The less ill luck to me for that!"—retorted the lad. "Her eyes are all for Juan Gonzalvo—and for your Excellency!"

"I am sworn for my soul's sake to the troth of a silken scarf and a mad woman somewhere in Mexico," decided Don Ruy whimsically. "If I am to live a celibate,—as our good padre imposes, it is well to cheat myself with a lady love across the border,—even though she gave me no favors beyond a poet's verse and a battered head."

"A lady—beat you?" queried Chico in amazement looking at the strong figure of Don Ruy—"and though mad, you give to her—faithfulness?"

"A faithfulness enforced, lad!" and his patron chuckled at the amaze in the eyes of the youth. "Since this crusade allows us no dames for company it is an ill one among us cannot cheat himself into the thought that a gracious dona awaits his return! It is the only protection against such sirens as this one of the loosened braids. To be sure, my goddess of Mexico—(so says the padre)—was only a mad woman—and her servants gave me a scratched skull. Yet, as I am weak and need protection, I carry the scarf of the wench, and call her a goddess and my 'Dona Bradamante'—in my dreams—that does no harm to any one, and enables me to leave the ladies of the road to Gonzalvo—and the others! Oh—a dream woman is a great rest to the mind, lad,—especially is she so when she affects a wondrous perfume for her silks!"

He drew the scarf from his pocket and sniffed at it, content to make the lad laugh at the idle fancy, and while he jested thus, Padre Vicente and Gonzalvo gathered much information from Yahn Tsyn-deh. There was a feast, she told them, and all the village was merry, and the time of the visit was a good time.

From the terraces of Kah-po and Povi-whah many eyes watched the coming of the men of iron. But the women who watched were few,—all the maids and even the young wives, had started at once for the sanctuary of the ancient dwellings of the place of Old Fields. There the Woman of the Twilight was awaiting them—much corn and dried meat and beans had been stored there in the hills in waiting for this time. If fighting was to be done, it should not be a quarrel for wives—as had happened with Coronado's soldiers in Tiguex.

But the white adventurers gave every evidence of the desire to be modest in their demands. They did not even enter the village—nor seek to do so until the place of the camp had been decided upon. Even Jose was not allowed to precede the others in search of kindred. He and his wife Ysobel watched the terraces, and the courage of the latter grew weak unto tears at the trials possibly behind the silent walls.

The boy Chico reassured her with jestings and occasional whisperings until the woman smiled, though her eyes were wet.

"I shall risk my own precious soul and body beside you," he stated,—"since my master Don Diego makes me a proxy while we learn if it is safe enough inside those walls for his own sacred bones. He will say the prayers for us until our faces are shown to him again!"

Then he threw himself on the green sward and laughed, and told Ysobel what a fine thing it was to be carefree of a spouse and able to kick up one's heels:—"If it had not been for love and a wedding day you would be happily planting beans in the garden of the nuns instead of following a foreign husband to his own people!"

Don Ruy sauntered near enough to hear the fillip and see the woman dry her eyes.

"Why is it, Dame Ysobel, that you allow this lad to make sport of serious things?" he asked austerely. "He is woefully light minded for so portentous an expedition."

Ysobel stammered, and glanced at the lad, and dug her toe in the soil, and was dumb.

"You overwhelm her with your high and mighty notice, Excellency," said the lad coming to her aid. "I will tell you truly—Ysobel has had patience with me since I had the height of your knee—and it is now a custom with her. She lived once in the house of my—relatives. We were both younger—and she had no dreams of wedding a wild Indian—nor I of seeking adventure among savages. She is afraid now that her husband may be blamed—or sacrificed for bringing strangers here—the story of the padre at the well of Ah-ko is not forgotten by her."

Whereupon Don Ruy told her there should be no harm to Jose—if he was treated without welcome by the Te-huas he should go back in safety to Mexico to follow his own will in freedom.

The woman murmured thanks and was content, and his excellency surveyed the secretary in silence a bit, until warm color crept into the face of the boy to his own confusion.

"So!—Your independence was because you had a friend at court?"—he observed. "It is fool luck that you, with your girl's mouth, and velvet cheeks, should get nearest the only woman in camp—and have a secret with her! It is high time you went to confession!"

Upon which he walked away, and left the two together, and Chico lay on the grass and laughed until called to make records of all that might occur between visiting Castilian and the Children of the Sun in their terraced village.

Then, while the men set about the preparations for a resting place, and supper Padre Vicente, with Don Ruy, Chico, Gonzalvo and the two Indians walked quietly to the gate in the great wall.

Many eyes were watching them as they were well aware, and ere they reached the gate, it opened, and the old governor Phen-tza, the war capitan and several of the older men stood there with courteous greeting of hand clasps and invitation.

For the first time since his marriage, Ka-yemo came face to face with Yahn Tsyn-deh, and quick anger flamed in his eyes as he saw her walk close to the side of Juan Gonzalvo who whispered to her—and her answer was a smile from provocative, half closed eyes.

"Yahn!"—the voice of Ka-yemo was not loud, but hard and full of angry meaning. "The other women of your clan have gone to the hills!"

"Let them go," said the girl insolently—"I do not go! For these strangers I make the talks to the old men, I am the one woman needful in the valley of Pō-sōn-ge!"

It was the hour of her triumph, and Padre Vicente looked at the two keenly. Here was a clash of two savage minds—potent for good or ill.

"To the council I will talk—I am of the people of your father—I am the nearest man—I tell you I forbid you!"

His words fell over each other in anger, and his uncle, the governor, looked at him in reproach—this was not a moment for private quarrel.

"Are you so!—the nearest?" and Yahn showed her teeth. "I do not see it so. I stand near two other men, and am well content!"

She stood between Gonzalvo and Chico, and smiled on the latter, who frankly smiled a response—at that moment Yahn was happy in her defiance. Ka-yemo need not think her forsaken! She had caught fish without a net! To the governor Jose was speaking; at once there were signs of delight among the listeners. One of the old men was of his clan—other of his people were alive—and all had thought never to look on him again, it was a good day at Povi-whah!

Jose showed them his wife, who was greeted with joy, and all proceeded to the court of the village, where, at the house of the governor, they were given cooked corn of the feast, then rolls of bread, and stew of deer meat.

Jose told of his days as a slave until he was traded into the land of Padre Vicente, and of the great desire of Padre Vicente to bring him back in some lucky year to his people, and also to see with his own eyes the fine land of the Te-huas. He added also that the padre had been very kind, and that he was near to the white god of the men of iron, and strong in medicine of the spirit world.

"We already know that the medicine of the men of iron is strong medicine—and that their gods listen," said the governor.

"Also Tahn-te the Po-Ahtun-ho makes it seen that the mountain god of this land, and the young god of the Castilian land, were maybe brothers,"—said Po-tzah watching closely the faces of the strangers. "Only your god made talking leaves—and our god gave us only the sunshine to see things for ourselves."

"Where is this man who tells you that books are made and that false gods are brothers to the true?" inquired Padre Vicente.

"It is the Po-Ahtun-ho," said Jose before Yahn could speak. "In Castilian he would be called Cacique. The word in Maya for that ruler is the same word as in Te-hua. It is a very old word. It is the head of the highest order of the Spirit Things. It is what you call maybe Pope. There are many priests, and many medicine men in each village. There is only one Cacique at one time."

"Which of these men may it be?" inquired Padre Vicente. Yahn it was who answered.

"The Cacique of Povi-whah is not seen by every stranger who walks by the river," she said, and smiled scornfully. "He has come out of the mountain from the dance to the greatest of gods, and after that dance it is not easy to talk to earth people!"

"But—when people come from the far lands of a strange king—"

"That is the business of the governor and of the war capitan," stated Yahn. "He who is named Cacique in this land has not to do with strangers in the valley. His mind is with the Spirit Things. These are the heads of the village of Povi-whah—here also is the governor of Kah-po. They will listen, and learn from your words, and answer you."

"I know words," stated Ka-yemo looking at Don Ruy and the priest. "I can say words—I teach it her,"—and he motioned to Yahn, who had dwarfed them all with quick wit and glib speech. "Woman not need in council. I—captain of war can make talk."

"Is not the damsel enlisted as official interpreter for one of us?" queried Don Ruy. "I hold it best that the bond be understood lest the beauty be sent beyond reach—and some of our best men squander time on her trail! Since you, good father, have Jose,—I will lay claim to this Cleopatra who calls herself by another name,—a fire brand should be kept within vision. Your pardon, Eminence—and you to the head of the council in all else!"

The padre directed his conversation to Ka-yemo, while the secretary set down the claiming of Yahn as the first official act in council of His Excellency Don Ruy de Sandoval.

At the scratching of the quill, his excellency looked over the shoulder of the lad, and read the words, and smiled with his eyes, while his lips muttered dire threats—even to discharging him from office if the records were kept in a manner detrimental.

"Detrimental to whom, my lord?" asked the lad, who saw well the restrained smile. "Your 'Dona Bradamante' of the scarf is not to set eyes on these serious pages,—and the Don Diego will certainly exact that I keep record of how near our company falls in the wake of the Capitan Coronado's—their troubles began about a wife—thus it is well to keep count of fair favorites—and this one who tells you plainly she is no wife, looks promising. Helena of Trois might have had no more charms to her discredit!"

Don Ruy said no more, for he saw that Yahn was straining her ears to catch at their meaning, and they were all losing the words of council. It appeared plain that all the chief men were quite willing that the Po-Ahtun-ho should meet the men of iron as was the padre's wish—but that no one could command it.

"Through what power is one man more supreme than others?—Yet you say you have no king!"

"No—no king. The Governor is made so each year by the men in council—only one year—then another man—the Governor gets no corn in trade for his time,—and no other thing, but honor, if he is good! Tahn-te has talked to us in council of kings,—thus we know what a king does. We have no king."

"But while a man is the governor does he not rule all the people?"

"No—it is not so. He works for the people. He has a right hand man, and a left hand man to talk with of all things. But when it is a big thing of trouble or of need, at that time the council is called, and each man speaks, and in the end each man put a black bean or a white bean in a jar to say for him 'yes' or to say for him 'no.' That is how the law is made in all the villages of the Pō-sōn-ge valley. There is no king!"

"We are of a surety in a new world if rulers work only for honor—and get not any of that unless they are good!" decided Don Ruy. "Make record of that novelty, Chico—our worthy Maestro Diego will find no equal of that rule in all Europe!"

"It is well for civilization that it is so!" decided Juan Gonzalvo. "Who is to advance the arts and knightly orders except there be Courts of Pontiff and of Royalty?"

"And the royalty would be a weak stomached lot if they gained not even extra corn for all their sceptre waving, and royal nods;—eh? But what of this Po-Ahtun-ho—this man who is not king—yet who is supreme?"

This query was interpreted by Jose, and after talk and deliberation one of the oldest men made answer.

"The Po-Ahtun is an order very ancient. When the earth was yet soft, and the rocks wet, and the first people were taught words by the mocking bird,—in that time of our Ancient Fathers, gods spoke to men—and in that time the order of Po-Ahtun was made. It was made that men could work together on earth for spirit good. When the Mountain God, Po-se-yemo, lived as a man on the earth,—he was the chief priest of the Po-Ahtun order. Po-Ahtun means 'The Ruler of Things from the Beginning.' Many men belong to the Po-Ahtun, and learn the prayers, and the songs of the prayers. When the Po-Ahtun-ho walks no more on the earth—and his spirit goes on the twilight trail to Those Above, at that time the brothers of the order name the man who is to be Ruler—and he rules also until he dies.

"Then it seems your Cacique is really a king. You but call him by a different name."

"No—it is not so. Tahn-te has told the men of Povi-whah what a king is. We have no king. A king fights with knife, and with spear, and he, in his own village, punishes the one who does evil, and orders what men work on the water canal for the fields:—and what men make new a broken wall, or what men clean the court which is the property of all. The king and his men say how all these things then must be done. With the people of Povi-whah the governor does these works and orders them done, and has the man whipped if the work he does is bad work. The chief of war does work as do other men, until the Navahu and the Yutahs have to be driven away;—then it is his work to fight them—he is a warrior, but he does king work in war. These are the men who do king work. But we have no king."

"By our Lady!—'tis a nice distinction," said Don Ruy as the old man ceased, and the men of Te-hua nodded their appreciation of the old man's statement. "Save your quill scratching, Chico—until you are in camp. Their eyes show little favor for the work."

The secretary obediently thrust in his pouch ink horn and quill, and clearly Don Ruy was right, for the bronze faces brightened, and their eyes regarded the young man with approval—the magic of that black water might prove potent and forbidding—never before had it been seen in council.

Padre Vicente had given a cigarro to each man, and while the ancient speaker rested, and Jose interpreted, all smoked the wonderful smoke from the south, and Chico took occasion to say low to Don Ruy:

"Of all this there is little to make record that is new. Tribes of Mexico have such rules of life. The legends of our people say they came ages ago out of the far North. These are maybe but the children of their brothers who the records say stopped on the way to plant corn, or to hunt, or to rest from travel."

"Records?—Where are such records?" asked Don Ruy derisively,—"in the royal archives of some mud hut?"

The eyes of Chico flashed fire for one instant; the amazed Spaniard was scarce certain of the anger in the secretary's face when it changed, and the boy shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarro.

"It is true, Excellency, that if any Tescucan manuscripts are yet entire, it can be only because some pagan Indian his risked death and torture to hide them in mud hut or cave in the hills. The first holy archbishop of Mexico made bonfires of Indian books because the beauty of them showed plainly they were the work of Satan. Without doubt the act earned the bishop an extra jewel for his heavenly crown!"

"Chico! If you pursue such fancies with determination you may end by being a logician and going to hell!" remarked Don Ruy. "I fear you lack a true Christian spirit, my son. But the records?"

"Only stone carved ones are still visible in the land of Anhuac," returned the boy. "The good padres say that they deal with the studies of the stars and planets, and other such speculation invented by Satanic power. When I wanted to know about them I was told that my soul was in danger of the pit."

"And that frightened you?"

"Very much, Excellency:—hence my running away."

Don Ruy was put to it to know whether or not the boy spoke truth. But his odd freaks of thought had many times the effect of an April sunlight on a day of storm. There was no way of calculating what the next moment would bring—but the unexpected was at least a diversion.

The smoking of the men was half over before Padre Vicente again asked Jose to state that the way of life of the Te-hua people was a thing of interest to the great king whom the Castilians served, and it would please him much to hear more of the Te-hua ruler who was Cacique.

But the old man was silent. He had talked much, he said.

"He thinks—" said Yahn with quick divination,—"that he would like to know of the strangers who are made welcome here:—and why they come far into a country not their own."

"We come because we have heard fair things of these people," was the reply. "Our god tells us all men are brothers on the earth—we come to find new brothers."

"And if the Navahu come in the night—or the Yutah come many and strong for the corn—whose brother would your god tell you to be at that time?" asked the governor of Kah-po, a tall shrewd faced old man who had not spoken heretofore. Chico showed his teeth in a quickly suppressed smile.

"Our god would tell us," said Padre Vicente with slowness and duly impressive speech—"that our brothers must be the men who are friends with us."

"That is good," agreed the man from Kah-po, and the others said also it was good. Brothers who wore iron coats would be good brothers to have in the time of a war.

"It is as Tahn-te told us of the priests of the white god—they are wise in their thoughts," said the old man who had insisted there was no king in Povi-whah, or any Te-hua village—"all Tahn-te has told us were true words."

"He told us also," said the man from Kah-po—"that the men of iron were not friends to trust."

"They were other men of iron, not these. These men Tahn-te has not yet seen."

The Padre gave no hint that he knew enough of Te-hua words to catch the meaning of their discourse. So long as might be, he would keep that secret,—much might depend upon it.

The name Tahn-te met him at every turn—this was the mysterious Ruler—the hidden Cacique or Po-Ahtun-ho—the one chief who gave them no greeting.

"Ask for me what the name means—the name Tahn-te," he said.

Jose pointed to a ray of sunlight streaming through the shelter of the vine trellis.

"It means that."

"And for what cause is a man called Light of the Sun?"

Jose did not know, but when asked, the ancient man spoke.

"For many reasons, Those Above put the thought of the Sun in the heart of the mother of Tahn-te. Sunlight he was to Povi-whah—you shall see!"

A little boy was carrying on his head a flat basket or tray of reeds, and on it were rolls of bread, and small melons for the feast; at a few words he set down the tray, and darted around a corner—it was a day big in history for him. He was doing the work of his sister who had been sent to the hills—but for this day the work of a girl was great work—it took him so close to the men of iron that his hand could have touched one of them—if his courage had not failed!

He came back with a jar of shining black pottery, and placed it beside the old man, who thrust his hand within and drew out a handful of peaches, dried in the summer sun of a year before.

"This fruit is gathered with prayer each year from the first tree planted by the Summer People in this land," he said. "To Tahn-te was given by the gods, the trees, and the seeds of the trees. Since the time when Po-se-yemo walked on earth, and brought seeds, no new seeds have been born from blossoms here in the land of Te-hua people. When the gods send a man, they also send a Sign. The sign of Tahn-te was the Flute of the Gods, the trees of this fruit, and another fruit;—also a grain of which food is made. It is a good grain. For all of this we make prayers each year when the fruit is gathered, and when the grain is planted, and for all of this we see why the name of the Sun has been given to Tahn-te. The old men of the Hopi desert say he was born of the falling rain and the light of the moon. We do not know, but his mother knew, and she is wise—and she named him as a child of the Sky would be named."

The Castilians listened with little enough belief in the god-given Cacique. The peaches and the grain had, without doubt, been brought by Coronado. Juan Gonzalvo said as much, and Yahn told it eagerly to the council, but the old men shook their heads.

The trees were a year old from the seed when Tahn-te carried them on his back from the heart of the desert, and Capitan Coronado had not yet seen the villages of the Pō-sōn-ge, called by him the Rio Grande.

"Then:—" said Padre Vicente—"it is because he found new seeds that he is above the cares of the daily life? I can bring many strange seeds from the gardens of Europe or Africa. For that would I be a son of the moon and the stars?"

"May be so,—" said the old man,—"and maybe so the gods would not need a son on that day." He inhaled the fragrant smoke and went on to make clear to these people of outlands some little gleam of the mysteries circling holy things,—"You must be born in a good year—and a good time in that year—the trail of the visitors of the sky must be climbing up—up!"

"The trail of the visitors in the sky?" The Padre looked with quickness into the bronze faces.

"He means the planets—the wandering stars," said Chico. "The Mexican tribes also watch them when a child is born. A god lives in each one—so they think!"

"Necromantic fancies devised by the Evil one!" stated the priest and crossed himself to ostracise such powers of the demon from the circle. The rest devoutedly imitated him, and the Te-hua men watched with interest the men of iron making their "medicine" against the celestial bodies on the descending trail.—That slight automatic gesture in unison proved even a sort of bond between them and the dusky old orator;—he could plainly see that the signs in the heavens were earnestly regarded by the white strangers. That showed they were wise to read the true things; for that he could tell them more.

"The maid who was mother to Tahn-te is named The Woman of the Twilight. When little, the spirit of her broke in two—and she went into the Land of Twilight. Her parents could not believe that she would no more walk on the earth. They went to the Po-Ahtun—they sealed her to that order—so it was, and the medicine prayer of the Po-Ahtun brought back the breath to her. But when a spirit goes to the Land of the Twilight, it does not come back at once—not all at once! The gods are strong and can do things. When they want to take her again and teach her hidden things—they take her! One Star visitor in the sky took her when she became woman, and hid her behind all the hills until her child moved,—then, in the far desert where the Sun Father is the great god, there in that place she was laid on the sands beside a well that the child be earth child like other men. That is how it was, and she knows why the earth child was called the child of the Great Star, and of the Sky."

Yahn listened eagerly—and with sulky frown—Neither she or Ka-yemo had ever before heard this account of the Woman of the Twilight and her son. The magic of it made her feel sullenly helpless. This then was the reason why no face smiled in scorn when Tahn-te would come sometimes from mesa, or canyon, bearing his mother in his arms as one would bear a little child:—all the elders knew she had been seeking the trail to the Land of Twilight where long ago she had found a god, and lost herself.

"And this woman tells to wise men a fable like this—and is given their faith?" asked Padre Vicente, while Juan Gonzalvo muttered that the savages had stolen the truth of the Mother of God, and should be made pay dear in good time, for the sacrilege!

"The mouth of the woman was sealed," stated the narrator. "But the wise men of the desert sent men to tell the Te-hua people of the magic of the woman. And the years and the work of her son made good the stories of the Hopi men."

"We have here no mere juggling pretender," remarked Padre Vicente—"a Cacique whose mother establishes family connection with the stars in the sky, could in truth have papal power among these heathen! With all their wise looks, and careful speech, these old men are not the influence we have to win for progress in this land:—this man who would place the false gods above the true God is the man to be won."

"Or to be conquered!" said Juan Gonzalvo whose wonder was that the priest had patience with their maudlin tales of village officers, or brats born of magic and the moon,—"If I might speak—Eminence?"

"Speak—my son."

"These people have sent their women away, and have told your reverence only of their own things of pride. Of their real king they give us no sight. In the New Spain of the South these under-men would be given few presents of value, and not so much of your gracious time."

He spoke rapidly with a wary eye on the interpreters,—only Jose could follow the swifter speech.

"Capitan Gonzalvo gives the word of a soldier, Padre," remarked Don Ruy, "and it may be a true word. Why not give the gifts, and let us see somewhat of the feast from which we have won these dignitaries?"

Padre Vicente was agreed, and spoke a few words to Jose who departed with his wife for the camp. The priest gave tobacco, and while the old men smoked the new medicine, he talked to Ka-yemo of the one religion, and the one God, and that the great new god gave the command to his priests to go into the far lands and carry the light of the faith to his children who live in darkness.

Ka-yemo interpreted, and the old men nodded their heads as if to say that was all good—but it was not told for the first time, and Don Ruy could have sworn he saw the governor of Kah-po smile at another man—as one who would question whether they should be considered as children. Don Ruy did not know that one man of Kah-po had been among the two hundred human torches making the night bright at Tiguex by order of advocates of that same new and holy god.

The summers and winters since that time had not made it all forgotten in the land of the great river. To the Indian mind in general, it was plain to be seen that the strong god of the men of iron required that many victims be made sacrifice at one time. The gods of the Te-hua people asked but one sacrifice at one time, and the knife of flint was very sharp, and found quickly the heart, and the spirit self was sent quickly and with prayers over the trail of the dusk to the Light beyond the light.

Ka-yemo alone seemed enchained by the words of the priest, as he heard again the words and phrases belonging to that time of which he still dreamed in the night, and awoke startled and alert.

Yahn watched him with a little frown. She did not know that the strongest power ever impressed on his boyish mind, had been the power of the white conquerors. He had through the years grown away from its influence, but at sight of the robe, and the cord, and the shiny black beads, it all came back. He felt the honor of the fact that the priest of that strong god was looking at, and talking only to him:—Ka-yemo!

His pride made his eyes kindle and he was very handsome. Don Ruy wondered why Yahn, his own official interpreter, looked at him sideways with disapproval.

Jose returned with his hands full of the gifts for which he had been sent. There was one for each of the men in the group, and the people of the village pressed close around the door to see them given away.

Then Padre Vicente stood up and offered to the governor of Povi-whah a rosary like his own, but of brown beads.

"They tell me that to you requests are made as prayers are made, and that from you they are given again to the Cacique for decision. We present our request and our gift. Tell him the gift is one kings have been graciously pleased to wear, and that our request is that he meet us at an early hour, that we may speak in kindness of many things."

"Tahn-te—you call Cacique—is not yet speaking with people out of his order," said Phen-tza, the governor. "But this can go, and the message can go, and on another day Tahn-te may ask you to go in his door."

Then there were clasping of hands, and friendly smiles and the visitors were free to go or wander about the village, and watch the greetings of Jose and the comrades of his boyhood. His wife Ysobel was caressed and admired by the ancient women of the tribe, and a garland of flowers placed on her head. At sun rise in the morning she was to present herself at the door of her new relatives for the baptism of adoption, and then she would be given also a Te-hua name.

Padre Vicente and the Castilians were offered an empty abode outside the wall. Despite the scowls of the Ka-yemo Yahn delighted to linger close as might be to Juan Gonzalvo while they all walked to inspect it. Then the Castilian camp with its wondrous animals was to be visited by the governor and other Te-hua men, and great good feeling prevailed. The wise ecclesiastical head of the cavalcade had asked nothing but gracious thoughts, and the gifts he brought had been good gifts.

Don Ruy with the secretary, let who might judge of the new camp, while he wandered in some surprise past the door ways decked with feast day garlands—and above certain ones were pendent bits of turquoise as if for ceremonial marking of some order or some clan, and instead of the blanket or arras there were long reeds strung, and at the end of each string a beaten twist of copper twinkling like bells when stirred by any one entering or leaving the dwelling.

The dwelling of the dove cotes had a tiny inside verandah, and one of the curious robes woven of twisted rabbit skins was laid over a beam. Great meal jars stood along the wall, and beside them were four melons, four full grained heads of the bearded wheat, also four peaches and four pears. They were arranged on a great tray of woven reeds, and placed without the doorway to the right. The careful arrangement gave all significance of an offering of the first fruits on an alter. All the other homes had feasting and laughter and the sound of gaity and much life; at every other door many smiling faces of old women and children met them, and the rolls of feast bread were offered, or bowls of cooked corn. But here all was silence, only the doves fluttering above gave life to the place. The reeds at the entrance hung straight and still. This entrance faced the south, but there was another towards the east and the river. The mysterious island of stone called the Mesa of the Hearts, loomed dark across the water and a beaten path led from that east door to the water's edge. Don Ruy could see from the bank that a canoe was there made from a log hollowed by careful burnings.

The silent corner where the doves fluttered, held his attention and he returned to it. Chico it was who stepped close to the rabbit skin robe, and saw beside the melons, the ears of wheat, and the yet green, unripe fruit of the pears and the peaches.

The dried peaches in the jar shown them by the old Te-hua man had not given either of them a second thought, but the two fruits grown from trees, and the bearded wheat of the Mediterranean arranged in the basket with the care given a sacred offering, was a different matter. Don Ruy noted the staring eyes and parted lips of the boy, and silently stepped nearer at a gesture.

Then they stared in each others eyes as men who look on death unexpected, or witchcraft—or some of the experiences of this life for which there are no words, and Don Ruy laid his hand on the shoulder of the lad, and drew him in silence out of the shadow of the roofed entrance.

"It is good to be where the bright sun shows things as they are," he decided. "The shadows and silence of that place tied the tongue. How feel you now, Lad, as to the story of Don Teo the Greek and the seeds that were given to the maid as sacred medicine?"

"But—the man died—so says the padre—and the woman—"

Then they fell silent and each was thinking back over the trails of the desert, and their company of thirty men—and the care needed to find the way alive with all the help of provisions and of beasts.

"The woman had a greater journey and a more troublous one,"—said Don Ruy. "These are clearly the fruits of Spanish gardens, but in some other way have they reached this land. It was made plain that the place of the palms where he left her was unknown leagues towards the western sea, and that the maid could only die in the desert."

"He crossed this river in his travels before he saw the Indian maid of medicine charms," reminded the secretary. "Do you not recall the journeys with the war people? He may have bestowed upon others the seeds of other lands."

Don Ruy drew a long breath, and then laughed.

"By our Lady!—You bring joy with that thought!" he said heartily.—"I made sure the Devil was alive and was working ahead on our trail when my eyes were startled by the offering of fruit and grain! You looked as if it might be your own hair was rising to stand alone! We are but children in the dark, Chico, and there come times when we have fear. But your thought is the right thought, lad. Of a certainty he crossed this country; that there is no record is not so strange a thing—he was only another brown savage among many!"

They spoke together of the strangeness of their findings in the village—and its exceeding good arrangement with ladders to draw above in case of attack, and only one house—that of the doves and the fruit—into which one could walk from the court. All the others were as in the other villages—terraces, and the first terrace had doors only in the roof so that a blank adobe wall faced the court and the curious. Each great house with rooms by the score, and its height from two to five stories, was the home of many, and a fort in case of need.

While they commented on these things, two men came running swiftly through the gate from the Castilian camp. One was Jose, and it was Po-tzah who ran beside him. They went straight to the house of the dove cote, and Jose waited without while, after a few eager hurried words, the other slipped behind the twinkling arras of river reeds and shells.

"What now?" asked Don Ruy coming up, and Jose showed fear at first and then spoke.

"It is your own horse to which it has happened, Excellency," he said. "The padre say it is not the fault of any one, for the bush is high there, and who could see through them? But it is the snake—the one you say has the castanets in the tail, and it has put the poison in the foot of your horse!"

Don Ruy swore an oath that was half a prayer, and the pert secretary did the first thing that was familiar since he was seen with the company—he laid his hand on Don Ruy's shoulder and felt that the horse lost was as a brother lost, and Chico had a fancy of his own to caress it, and even burnish the silver of his bridle.

"And—why come you here to this house?"

"Here is the one man who knows the ways of the snake—if he is not in prayer they think he may come—but not any man can know what the Po-Ahtun-ho may do—and the horse beautiful may die on our first day in Povi-whah!"

But the reeds with their copper and shell tassels tinkled, and Don Ruy looked to see the old medicine man of spells and charms come forth.

He saw a man young as himself and more tall. Almost naked he was, with only the white banda in which was a blue bird's feather—the girdle and moccasins. One glance he gave Don Ruy and his companion, bent his head ever so little in acknowledgement of their presence, and then ran beside his friend Po-tzah with the easy stride of the trained runner. Whatever his knowledge of the snake might be, he waited for no words, but moved quickly.

Many men were about the animal and Don Diego had bound tightly a cord of rawhide about the knee, and water was being poured on the foot. But Te-hua and Castilian alike stood aside as the swift nude figure came among them—and without word or question went straight to the hurt animal.

The other natives had approached the four-footed creatures with a certain curiosity—if not awe, and there had been more than a little scattering of prayer meal when the mules were hobbled. The braying of one of them had caused terror in the hearts of the older men.

But this man took no heed of the groups of men or of animals. He led the injured steed out of the pool of water, and with a knife of the black flint cut the bandage—to the extreme distaste of Don Diego, who had been chief surgeon.

Then, still without words to the people, he did a strange thing, for he knelt there on the ground and leaned his shoulder against the leg of the horse, and slipped slowly, slowly down until his cheek touched the pastern, and his strong slender hands slid downward again and again over the leg of the animal while his lips moved as though in whispered speech to the ground itself.

No man spoke for a long time, but some of the elder men cast prayer meal that it fell on the kneeling savage and on the horse, and the animal reached down and rubbed its nose on his shoulder as if he had been its well known and long beloved master.

Curious were all the Castilians, but Juan Gonzalvo, who had spent time in speech with Yahn Tsyn-deh, was more than curious. Like a tiger cat above its prey he stood frowning at the silent "medicine" of the naked worker in devilish arts.

Then the kneeling man arose and spoke in Castilian.

"It is good," he said. "It is done," but he did not lift his eyes from the ground. The task of some prayer was yet unfinished—and he turned again towards his home and walked swiftly and the horse followed him until Juan Gonzalvo caught it and gave careful heed to the stricken foot, and could see no sign where the swelling should be.

"It is big medicine," said the Te-hua men. "Now our brothers, the strangers have seen that our god is strong and our men to work are strong."

"It is sorcery of the devil," said Juan Gonzalvo. "Some medicine he had in his hands—some medicine we could not see. No physician in all Europe has skill to cure by such magic. Is it like that a naked savage should know more than the learned professors?"

"No:—it is not to be believed," assented Don Ruy—"but thanks to the Saints it is true for all that!—and that silent youth is after all Tahn-te the Cacique!"

"No—" said Padre Vicente with decision—"the sooner that office is no longer his the sooner do we arrive at that which brought us here. That is Tahn-te the worker in accursed red magic—Tahn-te the sorcerer!"



CHAPTER XIII

A PAGAN PRIEST IN COUNCIL

Little else was spoken of in the camp of the Castilians, but the witchcraft of the noble steed. The more pious picketed their own animals at a respectful distance from the one healed by sorcery.

Don Diego took the healing as a sign that the Evil One walked openly between the rows of the adobe dwellings, and that the field camp was a safer haven than a house whose every corner was, without doubt, a matter of unsanctified prayer in the building.

Others there were who had grown weary of drenchings of summer rains, and Yahn, hearing their arguments, warned them that old Khen-yah the rain priest was making medicine for more corn rains—they could easily hear his tombe if they but hearkened.

"That we can easily do without any strain to our ears," agreed Don Ruy—"but what of that? Is a piece of hide tied around a hollow log to serve as thunder from which the rain must come, whether or no?"

The girl did not grasp his raillery and liked it little. When Don Ruy spoke to her—or spoke of her, she felt she was being laughed at. Only her determination to be in some way a power through these strange people, kept her from betraying her anger.

"The rain comes," she stated coldly. "The drum of Khen-yah never rests in quiet until it does come. One night and one day he has made medicine—soon it must come."

"Then I cast my vote for the cover of a solid roof, gentlemen," decided Don Ruy. "I've had one taste of their red magic—it was speedy and effectual. If the old magician should decide to send us a flood, the sorcery would not be so much to my liking."

After some further discourse all agreed to accept the offered dwelling, though Don Diego warned Don Ruy it was unwise to speak in so light a manner of the power of the Evil One when it was rampant in the land. Already he had taken up the valiant battle for converts. His success was gratifying in that one woman had without understanding, yet with pleasurable smiles listened to the credo, and had accepted with equal gratification a string of blue beads of glass, and a rosary.—It was Saeh-pah. She had found courage to slip alone into the camp while Yahn talked in the village. After the little matter of the beads she at once became as a shadow to Don Diego, who had great confidence of leading her away from her false gods. When he stated his pious hope to the official interpreter of Don Ruy, that damsel seemed little gifted with the devout apprehension or sisterly affection so much to be desired in females. She was angry because of the blue beads, and later, when the sulkiness had departed enough that her tongue found again its right usage, she stated that the pious Don Diego would find little trouble in leading Saeh-pah to any place he chose—nor would any other man who wanted a convert!

Whereupon the eager and pious gentleman gave thanks—let the others discuss civil or ecclesiastical rule among the savage people—or even risk their souls in dealings with sorcerers, but he had made the only convert on this first day, and thus it was recorded by the secretary on the first page of the "Relaciones" pertaining to the chapters of Povi-whah, in that part of the "Province of New Spain in the Indian Island which is refreshed by the majestical stream called in the savage language Pō-sōn-ge, but the same called by the Castilians the Rio Bravo and the Rio Grande del Norte."

Yahn Tsyn-deh took with all seriousness her office as an adjunct of the Castilian camp, and Ka-yemo who also gave help in the tradings for corn, and for wood, and the various needs of the camp, found her there always except when she slept, and he went back and forth like a tethered beast, and dared not command her. He had not thought about her except to laugh in anger ever since a dawn when he had walked out of her dwelling because of her witch's temper and her tongue of a fiend:—and that day he had gone straight as the ravens fly, to the house of his oldest relative, and told him he wished to be married as early as might be to Koh-pe, the daughter of Tsa-fah. Then to the wilderness he had gone hunting, leaving all of trouble behind him while the two clans made the marriage.—When he came back again to his people all was decided—and he laughed loud in the face of Yahn—and passed her by, and carried fresh killed rabbits to the door of Koh-pe.

That was how it had ended between them. Not once afterwards had he spoken to her until he met her as she walked triumphant and very proud beside the Castilians at the gateway. Triumphant and very proud did she continue to walk, and insolent were her eyes when she let them rest on the husband of Koh-pe. In vain he talked to the governor that she might be banished with the other women who were young. Ka-yemo found himself laughed at by the Te-hua men;—was he angry because the Castilian capitan of war could give the girl beads of red shell and bracelets of white metal—while he—Ka-yemo—had not given her even meat from the hunt all those summers and winters when she had been his love?

So the men laughed—and told him each new gift given to the one woman who knew Castilian words—and he laughed also as one does who cares little, but in his heart was growing rage such as he had never known could be in him. The man who was sentinel of Povi-whah while the stars shone was visited in the night by Ka-yemo the chief of war, and the governor Phen-tsa was well pleased when he heard it. To be married had, he thought, made a stronger man of Ka-yemo, for never before had he watched with the sentinel through the night, except the nights of the young moon when it was part of his work to watch, and to make reports of the things in the sky to the Po-Ahtun-ho.

And no one guessed that while his visit to the sentinel on the highest terrace had been brief—his walks past the dwelling of Yahn Tsyn-deh had been many, and first and last had he halted and lay flat on the roof and put his soul into his ears to know that she slept soundly, and—alone!

Then, angry in his heart with everybody—he went to the kiva of his clan where all the boys and the men slept—and the sun was high and even the youngest boy had gone out to eat before he wakened and looked on the world. When he did so he found that many visitors were abroad. From Po-ho-ge—and Oj-ke—and Na-im-be and even far Ui-la-ua were men sent by council as if to a feast. The presence of all these men meant that they burned to know why the men of iron had come to the North.

They all spoke first with the governor, as was courtesy, and then on his good report of their good intent—they all approached the door of the Castilians, where smiles and greetings were exchanged, and those who breathed on the hand of the adventurers were asked also to kiss the silver figure on the cross of the padre, which they did with all courtesy since their hosts required it, and then with smoke to the pagan gods of the four ways, they all entered into converse of great intent, though the meanings at times were not so clearly understood each by the other, for all the help of Jose and of Yahn.

To tell an Indian that the Sacred Four Ways means not anything to the greatest of all gods, is a thing of confusion, more especially so when told that a sacred three is the real combination by which entrance to the paradise of an after life is made beyond all question a thing of certainty.

To the adventurer of the 16th century dire mishaps were to be expected if the Faith was not thus clearly borne, and set plainly before the heathen. Let him reject it if he choose, and die the absolute death of body and soul for such rejection,—let the search for gold or jewel be postponed as may be, but the first duty under authority civil or ecclesiastic must be the duty to the faith in the One God and Him crucified:—it opened the portal in a god-fearing, orthodox manner to any traffic deemed of advantage to the adventurers who bore the faith, and the cross;—on the hilts of swords!

The visitors listened with ceremonial courtesy to the words of the padre—and heard of the glories of the great Castilian king, the chosen of God—the pure and undefiled, and, of the still greater monarch above the skies, served by this king and by all righteous people to all ends of the earth.

In reply to which godly disquisition, the spokesman of Na-im-be and Te-tzo-ge invited the followers of the True God to a feast where only strong men could come. The women of the dance in that feast were strong and were young. Four days would the dance and the feast last. The padre who spoke for the high god could choose which of his men could enter the dance for that time.

The padre heard without special wonder, he had known many primitive people; but Don Diego was lost in amaze as the details were spelled clearly for his understanding.

"It is worship of Pan driven out of Greek temples to find lodging in this wilderness!" and he crossed himself with persistence and energy, and marvelled at the quiet of Padre Vicente. Or, "it is the ancient devils of Babylon to which these heathen give worship—Saint Dominec hear them! They would instruct their very gods in creation!—Blasphemy most damnable!—Blasphemy against the Ghost!"

Whereupon he went in search of his secretary to make record of the abomination, and found that youth witnessing the pagan baptism by which Ysobel was made a daughter of her husband's clan—each way he turned he found primitive rites bewildering and endless! All work done was done in prayer to their false gods. From the blessing of the seed corn laid away in the husk, until the time when it was put in the earth,—and the first ear ready for the roasting fire—at each and every stage he was told of special ceremonies required,—and as with the corn, so with the human plant—at each distinctive stage in the growth of a man or woman child, open ceremonial thanks was given to their deities whose names were too depraved for any Christian man to remember.

Where the pious Senor Brancedori had expected a virgin field for a wondrous mission, he found an ancient province with ceremonies complicated as any of ancient Hebrew or Greek tradition. Each little toddler of the clan put forth a baby hand to touch the head of Ysobel in sign of welcome, and one woman came whose brow was marked with pinyon gum—and he was told that the sign was that of maternity;—all who were to be mothers must wear a prayer symbol to the Maiden Mother of the god who was born of a dream in the shadow of the pinyon tree!

"Do I myself dream while wide awake, or do I hear this thing?" he demanded of Jose, in sore distress to divide the false from the true, and impress the last on those well satisfied minds. "Is it miracles as well as sorcery their misled magicians make jugglery of? When did this thing happen of which the shameless wenches parade the symbol?"

Yahn asked of an aged Te-hua man the question, and the man squatted in the sun and began ceremoniously:

"Han-na-di Set-en-dah-nh! It was in the ancient day when the people yet abode in the cliff dwellings of the high land. It was the time of the year when the stars danced for the snow, and as the time of the Maid-Mother came close, the sun hid his face a little more each day, and the longest night of all the nights in the year was the time of that birth of the god Po-se-yemo. The sun went away on the south trail and would not look on the earth until the god-child was born, for the Maid-Mother was much troubled, and the sun was sad because of her trouble. That is how it was, and each year the people remember that time, and make ready for the twilight trail if the god in the sun should not come again from the south,—but each time the sun god listens to the prayers and comes back and all are very glad. Han-na-di Set-en-dah-nh!"

Maestro Diego seated himself in a disconsolate mood at this artifice of Satan thus to engraft heathen rubbish on the childish minds of the natives:—for that they did lean on that faith the mark of the pinyon symbol was a witness before his eyes! It was a thing to dishearten even a true believer, and he feared much that Padre Vicente passed over many signs of the devil worship each hour—not realizing that it must be dug out, root and branch, ere the planting of the cross would mean aught but the Ways of the Four Winds to these brown builders of stone and mortar, and weavers of many clothes!

Juan Gonzalvo found him there disconsolate.

"Not any wondrous thing of the Blessed Twelve can you recite to the animals and win even a surprise," he lamented to this pious comrade in the cause.—"To tell them that the eye of their creator watches them from the skies is to bring only a retort that the great god has as many eyes as the stars—and sees through all of them at once! Their deceitful visions are such that even the miracles make naught of wonder in their darkened souls. They are not of doubting minds like to Thomas the tardy!—they accept all the records of the Faith as they would accept a good dinner—and then tell you that the fair victuals in the pot had been cooked by themselves time out of mind in a different, and more seasonable way! Everything but Satan himself do they believe, him they deny previous acquaintance with until told by me of his reality!—but in secret there is not any doubt that they do give him worship since he of course inspires their devilish heresies. Padre Vicente has the work of a saint facing him in this place, since only a miracle can make them Christian men!"

Gonzalvo was of the opinion that the good padre was disturbed over temporal things requiring prayer and thought. Between their visitors of the morning, discourse had been made of the fruitless quest of Capitan Coronado for the smile of the sun which became yellow metal in the earth. It was secret speech, for neither of the interpreters had disclosed it. The quick ear of Padre Vicente had caught the meaning. Also the visitors from other villages were plainly here to see what action the Po-Ahtun-ho of Povi-whah was to take, and there were some who deemed him too youthful to be a leader—which the padre gave agreement to. Also it was clear to his reverence that the youthful magician was the guardian of the gold, and must in some way be bought or mastered.

While they talked, and weighed as might be the complications to be met, a messenger from the governor came to them, and touched them with a slender wand of office that they follow him. As they did so, Jose came to them, and said that at last it was plain the Cacique meant to see both red and white visitors in the kiva of the Po-Ahtun. No secret things could be spoken to him,—all must hear the talk with the strangers! Jose was to go, and Ka-yemo the war chief, every one who knew both Te-hua and Castilian words—every one was to go but the damsel Yahn Tsyn-deh.

The governor and the Ka-yemo appeared dressed in their most gorgeous robes of fur, feathers, and painted skins. Also Ka-yemo wore much of the wealth of his wife in shell beads about his neck.

Taking a timely hint, Don Ruy appeared in unusual magnificence. He carried the standard of Spain and walked beside the padre who bore the cross. Behind them came Chico the secretary bearing the embroidered vest and cap of Don Diego with which they made him grand when they discovered him on the way.

Half the Castilians marched in order in the rear and formed for guard at a respectful distance under Capitan Gonzalvo. Seeing that all was well, he mounted the steps to the roof, and was the last to descend into the sanctuary.

One Te-hua sentinel stood on guard for his people at the place of council, and the serene life of the village went on as if no mail clad men were within its walls, only the children who were small, and the boys who were curious, loitered close and wondered of what the men of the beards wove their armor, for the water bottles woven of reeds and plastered with gum of the pinyon had that same glazed surface. Strange things must grow where these men grew!

In the circle of the council home it was an impressive line of men who faced each other in silence. Chico half in earnest, announced in a whisper to Don Ruy that the ladder of the entrance would be his choice of a seat;—so as to be nearest the outside world in case of trouble.

Shadowy it was in the great room where only the way of the sky gave light, and the only seat was that built around the wall—and to Don Ruy was like to pictures of the old Roman ruins. The walls were white, and there were lines and strange symbols in pale green, and in yellow:—the colors of the Summer People. An altar of stone was directly under the ladder, and the light from above fell on the terraced back of it—typifying the world of valley, and mesa, and highest level. A ceremonial bowl of red ware echoed this form on its four terraced sides. It held white and yellow pollen, and the sacred corn of four colors formed a cross with the bowl as a center;—all this was placed before the statue of a seated god carved from red stone. The arms were folded and the pose was serene—waiting! But as fragrant bark was tossed on the sacred fire below him,—and a flame awoke for a moment, the eyes reflected the light in a startling way—as though alive! Then the strangers saw that the eyes were of iridescent shell set in the carven stone,—and more strange than all was the fact that the god of the altar was a weeping god, and the tear under each eye was also of the strange shell mosaic. It was the Earth-Born God who had been driven out by the proud hearts of the Lost Others. Weeping, he waited the Sign in the Sky by which he was to return. His name meant Dew of Heaven—and the Dew and the Sun must work together for the best life of growing things, and of human things.

Among all the swart elderly faces it was an easy matter to pick the man who had given back to him the steed. The eyes of Don Ruy sought him eagerly, and more than ever wondered at the youth of him, and the countenance fairer than many a Castilian of their land. The other glimpses of him had been brief, and when kneeling by the horse, his face had been all but hidden.