“But surely we are safe—”
“They can not reach our village—”
“We could hold the cliff against a thousand, even—”
A babel of voices broke out anxiously. Mosu held up his hand again.
“All you say is true,” he said. “When our fathers came here from the Great Mesa, driven out by the savages from the far north, they sought a place where they might rest secure from attack. And here they found it.” He waved his hand toward the great walls of rock rising protectingly all about them.
“But we must eat, and planting time is near. Those who stay in the village are indeed secure, but what of the men who must plant the seeds and care for the grain in the far fields? We must say farewell to Waka (the sun) with full storehouses, and with heaped fuel for the cold days of winter. And if the thieving Utes swarm down upon our fields and carry off our corn and beans and squashes, what then? Then there is the danger while we plant and harvest. The Watcher in the High Tower must indeed be keen of eye to guard every path that leads to the fields. It is of these things we must think. And in the meantime,” he broke off abruptly, “this lad is weary and hungry. See that he has refreshment and rest. We must not send him back to the Seven Cities to tell of our ingratitude for a friendly deed.”
But Sado shook his head.
“There are many others to warn,” he said earnestly. “I must not stay, though the thought of rest is tempting. But first I will eat—”
“Has the Snake Clan no runners?” interrupted Mosu proudly.
Old Honau stepped out from the group.