Not one half of their number succeeded in reaching the bottom of the Cañada Ancha and taking shelter in the groves of tall pines that dot the vale. It was an anxious time for those who had already found safety behind trees, when they saw the stragglers rush down the rugged slope and tear through the thickets, followed by the Tehuas, who crowded along the brink in greatly superior numbers, yelling, shooting arrows, and waving triumphantly the many, many scalps they had taken. A few of their skirmishers descended some distance, but the main pursuit was stayed by strict orders from the Tehua war-chief. As soon as the first group of fugitives, among them Hishtanyi and Tyope, had reached the bottom of the Cañada, the shaman arrested their farther flight, prevailing upon them to make a stand.
Their position was temporarily a good one. No approach was possible without exposing the assailant to arrow-shots, whereas the defenders were thoroughly protected.
As their numbers increased by accessions from those who had also been able to extricate themselves, their courage returned, and they willingly remained until the time came when the shaman, and Tyope by his command, should direct farther retreat. The leaders of the Tehuas saw this and desisted from an attempt at complete extermination. It would have cost them dearly, and would only have increased the number of their trophies. So the Tehuas remained above the gorge, displaying a threatening front, while in reality the majority of them returned home, and with them Shotaye.
Great was the exultation of the woman when she saw the triumph of her new friends over her own people. She was proud of this result of her craftiness and her skill. When, the engagement over, she scanned the field, looking at the dead and searching for Tyope among them in vain, her disappointment was fearful. Corpse after corpse she scrutinized, turning over the ghastly bodies, peering into the lifeless features, raising the mutilated heads to see more closely, more distinctly. In vain; Tyope was not among them, Tyope had escaped. Her revenge was sterile; it had fallen on the least guilty. She, too, felt that a higher hand must have interfered and made her triumph next to worthless. As she scanned the bloody, distorted features of the men of her tribe, in the expectation of gloating over those of him against whom she had schemed, she recognized more than one of whose company she had agreeable recollections, more than one whom in her cold-blooded, calculating way, she had made her tool for a time. Something like regret arose within her,—regret at her treason. She went back to the Puye with a sting in her heart forever. Outwardly she led a contented life as the consort of Cayamo, and the Tehuas looked upon her as a useful accession, if not as one who had at one time become the saviour of their tribe; but she could never think of the Rito nor hear it mentioned without feeling a pang. It was remorse, but she did not know it. Never again was she seen by any of her former people.
The position in which the Queres had taken refuge was tenable only for a short time, because the Cañada Ancha has no permanent water-supply. There were a few pools, however, containing remnants of the rain that had lately fallen. But that was not enough. To abandon the groves, in which they felt comparatively safe in presence of the foe, would have been reckless; so the Queres remained during the whole day, while the Tehuas kept guard over them, observing their movements from the cover of the timber on the mesa. As night set in, the Hishtanyi Chayan ordered a slow, noiseless retreat down the Cañada toward the Rio Grande. Tyope passively did what the shaman told him; he had no longer a will of his own. He who had always judged others from the standpoint of their usefulness to him as his tools, was now reduced mentally to be a blind instrument of the man of whom he expected to rid himself on this very campaign. All of Tyope's authority was gone; the men did not reproach him, did not scorn; they simply ignored him, except when he spoke in the name and by direction of the Hishtanyi Chayan. The latter saw more and more the mental downfall of the war-chief, and took pity on him, making him his lieutenant. When morning dawned, the little troop halted on the Ziro kauash. They had made a long detour, and now were in dread lest the Tehuas had prepared an ambush near home. Tyope himself was still further concerned. He who had boldly attempted to carry out the most daring schemes, was afraid of returning to his people, now that these schemes had failed. He feared, like a child, reproach and punishment. The spirit of the man was utterly crushed.
When a war-party returns, it never enters the village directly, but halts at some distance and sends a messenger to inform the people of its approach. The Queres halted on the Ziro kauash, and some of them scoured the woods, but no trace of the enemy appeared. The dreaded ambush had not been laid; the Tehuas had certainly returned content with victory and their trophies. A runner was sent to the Rito, and the men waited and waited. Even the Hishtanyi Chayan became startled at the long delay. Tyope squatted at the foot of a tree; he was thinking of the reception that might be in reserve for him. Everything manly and strong had left his heart; nothing of it remained but a languidly putrid core, whose former fermentation had produced the effervescence that took the shape of energy, shrewdness, and daring.
At last toward evening a man approached the silent group. He came, accompanied by the runner, and every one recognized the features of Kauaitshe, the delegate from the Water clan. He went straight to Tyope; and the latter looked at him timidly, almost tremblingly. Kauaitshe's face looked sad and mournful, but not wrathful. He grasped the hand of Tyope, breathed on it, lifted it upward with both his hands, and said in a tone of intense sorrow,—
"Satyumishe, Those Above are not kind to us."
A terrible pang flashed through Tyope's heart, for he had experienced how little the Shiuana liked him.