The round chamber in which the meetings of the tribal council were usually held exists to-day as a semicircular indentation in the cliffs, the rudely arched ceiling of which is still covered with a thick coating of soot. The front wall has crumbled long ago. At the time we speak of it was entire, and the apartment formed a nearly circular hall of more than usual size, with a low entrance in front and two small air-holes on each side of the doorway.

As the two men approached the place, they noticed that a number of others were already congregated in front of it, but that no light issued from the interior. It was a sign that the council was not yet a.s.sembled, and especially that the religious chiefs had not made their appearance.

Those who were present a.s.sumed any posture imaginable, provided it gave them comfort. They talked and conversed about very unimportant matters, and laughed and joked. There was no division into separate groups, foreshadowing the drift of opinions and of interests; for no lobbying was going on. Every one seemed to be as free and easy as in his own home or in the estufa among his companions, and the greatest apparent harmony prevailed. One man only had retired to a rocky recess where he sat aloof from the others in the darkest shadow of the already shadowy spot. It was the old chief of the Delight Makers, the Koshare Naua.

When the last two comers reached the group and offered the usual greeting, the conversation--in which the delegate from Tzitz hanutsh, a short, stout man, and his colleague from Oshatsh had been the loudest partic.i.p.ants--came to a sudden stop. The subject of the discussion was not a reason for its abrupt breaking off, for it was merely the all-absorbing topic as to whether two summers ago it had rained as early as this year. It was out of respect for the maseua, out of deference to his presence, that the other clan representatives became silent, all except one. That one was Tyope, who continued the subject, as if he intended to display greater independence than the rest.

Nevertheless, as no one paid attention to his speech, he felt at last constrained to drop into silence. Not for a long time, however, for as if he wished to atone for his lack of civility he called out to Topanashka,--

"You are late, sa nashtio!"

"Early enough yet, satyumishe," replied the old man quietly, and Tyame remarked,--

"Shyuamo dwells nearer to the uuityam than we. The Turquoise men have everything close at hand,--the tapop, the place, everything, and everybody. All we have is the maseua," he added laughing, "and he is very old."

The laughter became general, and Tyope said in a tone of flattery,--

"Our nashtio is old, but he is still stronger than you, Tyame. He is also wiser than all of us together. Our father is very strong, runs like a deer, and his eye is that of an eagle."

There was something like irony in this speech, but Topanashka took no notice of it. He was looking for the tapop, a difficult task in the darkness, where a number of men are grouped in all kinds of postures.

Finally he inquired,--

"Where is Hoshkanyi?"

"Not here," came a reply from several voices.

"And the yaya?"

"Tza yaya," was the negative answer.

"Then we are not too late," said the war-chief, turning to Tyame. He sat down among the rest, and the talk went on as before his arrival.

At last the governor came. He offered a short greeting and received a careless reply. Then he crawled into the cave, and his a.s.sistant followed him. Soon a rustling noise was heard inside, a grating like that of a drill followed, and everybody outside became silent. The tapop was starting the council-fire, and he used for the purpose that venerable implement of primitive times, the fire-drill. It was a sacred performance, therefore the sudden silence of all within hearing of the process. Little by little a glimmer of light illuminated the entrance of the cave; the fire had started, which was a favourable omen. Now the conversation might be resumed, but n.o.body entered the room. The fire was burning, and its light shone vividly through doorway and port-holes, and the men outside were beginning to move and to yawn, and some had even fallen asleep, but no one gave a sign of impatience. Stillness prevailed; it was so late that all noise and bustle had ceased, and the rippling and rushing of the brook alone pervaded the night.

Several more men approached from various directions; their steps were almost inaudible, and when they reached the company each invariably uttered a hoa.r.s.e "guatzena, sa uishe." One by one the new-comers glided into the estufa, until six of them had entered. Then a metallic sound was heard within, as if two plates of very hard material were beaten against each other. All rose at once; those who had fallen asleep were shaken and pulled until they woke; and one after another filed into the chamber, Topanashka being the last. The metallic sound produced by two plates of basalt had been the call to council.

The interior of the estufa was as brightly illuminated as a small fire could make it, the smoke of which found egress through the door and the two air-holes, or rose to the low ceiling, where it floated like a grayish cloud. The air was heavy and stifling, and the odour of burning pitch proceeded from the pine wood with which the flames were fed in the centre of the room. Close to the fire the tapop had squatted, with three aged men by his side in the same posture. All three wore short, black wraps with red stripes. We recognize in one of these men, who sit with humble, downcast looks, the chief penitent, or Hotshanyi; the other two are his a.s.sistants, the shaykatze and the uishtyaka. In their immediate neighbourhood sat three others, whose hair also was turning gray; but they sat upright and looked around with freedom and a.s.surance. Their dress had nothing particular or distinctive about it, but each carried on his head feathers of a certain kind. One, with a tall, spare figure, an intelligent face, and dark complexion, wore behind each ear one blue and one yellow feather. He was the Hishtanyi Chayan, the princ.i.p.al medicine-man of the tribe. Next to him was the Shkuy Chayan, or great shaman for the hunt, equally tall, slender, and with a thin face and quick, unsteady glance. The third, or Shikama Chayan, was an individual of ordinary looks and coa.r.s.e features, who was decorated by a single upright feather. The leaders of the societies of the Koshare and Cuirana had squatted among the central group, while a projection that ran around the whole room served as a bench, or settee, for the representatives of the clans.

This arrangement corresponded closely to the degree of importance of the various officers, or rather to their a.s.sumed proximity to the higher powers under whose protection the tribe believed itself to be placed.

The tapop, as chairman of the meeting, occupied the middle, together with the princ.i.p.al religious functionaries,--the yaya, or mothers of the tribe. On the outer circ.u.mference were placed the nashtio, or fathers, the delegates of the clans. The Koshare Naua and his colleague of the Cuirana held an intermediate position. Topanashka, as military head, and the a.s.sistant governor, who had neither voice nor vote, sat beside the entrance, guarding it. A lieutenant of the maseua crouched outside to prevent the approach of eavesdroppers.

As soon as the rustling noise occasioned by so many people taking their seats in a small room had subsided, the Hishtanyi Chayan again seized the two basalt plates and caused them to ring. When the metallic sound was heard, everybody became very quiet; and not one of the twenty-three men that composed the meeting moved. All maintained the deepest silence, fastening their eyes on the ground. The shaman scattered sacred meal to the six regions, then he raised his eyes to the ceiling, and finally turned to the three caciques with the formal greeting, "Guatzena, yaya!"

then to the others, with "Guatzena, nashtio!"

Raising both hands upward, he p.r.o.nounced the following prayer:--

"Raua P[=a]yatyama our father, Sanatyaya our mother, Maseua, Oyoy[=a]u[=a]! You all, the Shiuana all, the Kopishtai all,--all, raua! Hear what we shall speak, witness all our deeds. Make wise the heart, cunning the ear, bright the eyes, and strong the arm.

Give us wisdom and goodness, that our hearts may listen ere we say 'yes,' 'no,' or 'perhaps.' a.s.sist your children, help the Zaashtesh, that they may remain united among themselves, wise, far-seeing, and strong. We call upon you, the Shiuana, the kopishtai; whisper to us good thoughts and guide us to the right.

To you, P[=a]yatyama, Sanatyaya, Maseua,--to all of you we pray.

Raua, raua! Ho-[=a], ho-[=a], raua!"

Again the speaker scattered yellow meal in front of the princ.i.p.al penitent, who only bowed in a dignified manner in response. The remainder of the a.s.sembly uttered an affirmative "[=A], [=a]," and one after the other rose and deposited sacrificial meal before the cacique.

When each of them had resumed his seat, the Hishtanyi Chayan turned to the tapop and looked inquiringly.

Hoshkanyi Tihua a.s.sumed an air of solemn importance, for he was to play a prominent role. He glanced around the circle pompously; but when his eye caught the cold gaze of Topanashka he felt almost a chill, and shrank to natural and more modest proportions. He looked quickly in the direction where Tyope was sitting; but the delegate from Shyuamo hanutsh held his face covered with both hands, and did not notice the pleading look of the little governor. So the latter began in an unsteady tone,--

"Hotshanyi, shaykatze, uishtyaka, and you, the mothers of the tribe, hear me! Hear me also, you who are our fathers,"--his voice grew stronger; he was recovering a.s.surance. "I have called you together to listen to what I say." He crowed the last words rather than spoke them.

"My brother, the nashtio of Shyuamo hanutsh," continued he, "has spoken to me and said,"--he stopped and shot a glance of inquiry over toward Tyope, but Tyope failed to note it,--"satyumishe has said, 'Tapop, my hanutsh is numerous and has many children, but only very little maize; the mot[=a]tza and the makatza are many, but of beans there are few, and the field we are tilling is small.'" Hoshkanyi Tihua was manifestly pleased with his own eloquence, for he again looked around the room for marks of admiration. Only the icy look of Topanashka met his gaze, and he proceeded more modestly,--

"My brother from Shyuamo then said to me, 'See here, nashtio Tapop, there are the people from Tzitz; they are the least in numbers on the Tyuonyi, and yet they have as much ground as we; and they raised as much maize and even more beans, for they are higher up than we, and get more water than we. Now, therefore, call them together, all the yaya and the fathers, and say to them, "Shyuamo hanutsh demands from Tzitz hanutsh that it should share its field with us, for where there are two mouths of Shyuamo there is only one of Tzitz; but when Tzitz raises one ear of corn, Shyuamo grows not more than one."'"

He had spoken, and drew a heavy sigh of relief. The most profound silence reigned. Tyope remained with his head bowed and his face covered with both hands. Topanashka sat rigidly immovable, his cold piercing gaze fastened on the tapop. The representative of the Water clan made a very wry face and looked at the fire.

The tapop had yet to perform one duty ere discussion could begin. He turned to the Hotshanyi and addressed him,--

"Sa umo, you and your brethren the shaykatze and the uishtyaka, I address; what do you say to what Shyuamo is asking? Speak, yaya; we are your children; we listen. You are old and wise, we are young and weak."

The old cacique raised his dim eyes to the speaker and replied in a hoa.r.s.e voice,--

"I thank you, sa uishe,--I thank you for myself and for my brethren here that you have put this question to us. But"--the voice grew more steady and strong--"you know that it is our duty to pray, to fast, and to watch, that peace may rule among the Zaashtesh and that nothing may disturb it. We cannot listen to anything that calls forth two kinds of words, and that may bring strife,"--he emphasized strongly the latter word; "we cannot therefore remain. May the Shiuana enlighten your hearts. We shall pray that they will counsel you to do good only."

The old Hotshanyi rose and went toward the doorway. His form was bent, his step faltering. His two a.s.sociates followed. Not one of those present dared to look at them. None of them noticed the deeply, mournfully significant glance which the cacique, while he crept through the door, exchanged with Topanashka.

The address which the governor had directed to the official penitents was a mere formality, but a formality that could not be dispensed with.

It was an act of courtesy toward those who in the tribe as well as in the council represented the higher powers. But as these powers are conceived as being good, it is not allowed to speak in their presence of anything that might, in the remotest manner even, bear evil consequences such as disunion and strife. Therefore the caciques, as soon as they had been informed of the subject, could not stay at the meeting, but had to retire.

This happens at every discussion of a similar nature, and their departure was merely in the ordinary routine of business. n.o.body felt shocked or even surprised at it. But everybody, on the other hand, noticed the reply given by the aged Hotshanyi, felt it like some dread warning,--the foreboding of some momentous question of danger to the people. An uneasy feeling crept over many of the a.s.sistants who were not, like Tyope and the Koshare Naua, in the secrets of the case. After the departure of the caciques, therefore, the same dead silence prevailed as before.

The tapop broke the silence by turning officially to the princ.i.p.al shaman and asking him,--

"Sa umo yaya, what do you hold concerning the demand of our children from Shyuamo?"

The Chayan raised his face, his eyes sparkled. He gave his reply in a positive tone,--

"I hold it is well, provided Tzitz hanutsh is satisfied." He bent his head again in token that he had said as much as he cared to say for the present.

Hoshkanyi Tihua then interrogated the Shkuy Chayan, who very pointedly answered,--

"It is good."

His colleague, the Shikama Chayan, remained non-committal, saying,--

"It may be good, it may not be good; I do not know. My hanutsh is Shutzuna,"--he cast a rapid glance to where the delegate of the Prairie-wolf people was sitting,--"and we have enough land for ourselves."

The governor now addressed the same question successively to the Koshare Naua and to the leader of the Cuirana. The dim eyes of the former began to gleam; his shrivelled features a.s.sumed a hideous, wolfish expression as he spoke in a voice trembling yet clear,--

"It is well. Our brethren deserve what they demand. If the crops ripen, my children from Shyuamo are those who pray and fast most of all. My hanutsh alone counts more Koshare than all the others together. If they get more land they will fast and pray so much the more, and this they do not for themselves only, but for the benefit of all who dwell on the Tyuonyi."

The Cuirana Naua, on the other hand, gave a confused and unsatisfactory reply. In his opinion it would be well if both clans could agree.