“After that will not the Po-Ahtun-ho be Ruler always? Will he not remember his friends who are precious in the Beyond as he remembers this one to-day?” she asked mockingly. “K[=a]-ye-fah told the council that you have lived a life no other man lives, and that no woman is precious to you:––when you find the woman who is yet to come, may a viper poison her blood––may a cat of the hills tear her flesh! May you love until madness comes––and may the woman find only death in your arms––and find it quickly!”
When the Woman of the Twilight came in from the field with yellow corn pollen for the sacred ceremonies, the lattice of reeds at the outer door was yet shaking as from touch of a ruthless hand, or a strong wind.
“Who was it that cried here?” she asked. “Who has left you sad?”
“Perhaps a prophetess, my mother,” answered Tahn-té, and sat thoughtful where Yahn had left 62 him. And after a long time he arose and sought the governor.
But it was fated that the governor and the new Ruler were not to talk of the love of a maid or the marriage of a man that day.
A runner had been sent to Povi-whah from Kat-yi-ti. He gave his message, and stayed to eat while other runners took the trail, and before the sun had moved the width of a hand across the sky, the villages of Kah-po and Tsa-mah and Oj-ke were starting other runners to Ui-la-ua and far Te-gat-ha and at Kah-po the head men gathered to talk in great council over the word brought from the south.
For the word was that the men of the iron and the beards and the white skins were again coming to the land of the People of the Sun. They came in peace, and searched for the lost padres. A man of the gown was with them for prayers, and a Te-hua man who had been caught by the Navahu long winters ago and traded to the land of green birds. The Te-hua man said the white people were good people, and he was guiding them to the villages by the big river, P[=o]-s[=o]n-gé.