“It looks as if we would have to give up,” said Hinpoha.
Just then Nyoda sprang up with a shout. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” she cried. “It’s ‘Keewaydin,’ key-wade-in. What else could you expect from Sahwah?”
“That’s it,” said Sahwah. “You must be a mind reader.”
“Here’s where we finish you off,” said Nyoda, as her side came out again. “We’ve taken a word of four syllables this time.” The whole team advanced in single file, Indian fashion, keeping closely in step. Round and round they marched, back and forth, never slackening their speed, until one by one they tumbled to the ground from sheer exhaustion and stiffened out lifelessly. The guessers looked at each other, puzzled.
“Do it again,” said Sahwah. The strenuous march was repeated, and the marchers succumbed as before. Still no light came to the onlookers. Sahwah whispered something to Gladys.
“Would you just as soon do it again?” asked Gladys. Again the file wound round the trees and tumbled to the turf. Nyoda made a triumphant grimace as no guess was forthcoming. Sahwah’s eyes began to sparkle.
“Would you please do it once more?” she pleaded.
“Have mercy on the performers,” groaned Nyoda, but they went through it again, and this time they were too spent to rise from the ground when the acting was done. “Do you give up?” called Nyoda.
“No,” answered Gladys.
“You have five seconds to produce the answer, then,” said Nyoda.