The former resumed his seat by the hearth, whereas the tapop cowered in front of him.

He looked anxiously in the old man's face, and at the same time shot an occasional quick glance over toward the maseua.

In a hollow voice the Hotshanyi said,-- "You may speak now, sa uishe; the kopishtai know that you are here." "Sa umo Hotshanyi," the tapop commenced, "I have listened to a speech.
Things have been said to me that concern the tribe." He stopped short and fastened his eyes on the floor.
"This is well," the cacique said encouragingly; "you must hear what the children of P[=a]yatyama and Sanatyaya are doing; you are their father." Hoshkanyi sighed, and appeared to be much embarrassed.
"Speak, mot[=a]tza," urged the old man.
"I don't know what to do," the little man stuttered.
"Have you been asked to do anything ?" "Yes, they have--" He stopped, sighed again, and then proceeded hastily and with an expression of anguish in his face, "Shyuamo hanutsh asks that Tzitz hanutsh--" The Hotshanyi commanded him to desist.
"Stay, stay, Hoshkanyi Tihua!" he hoarsely exclaimed.

"You know that we, the mothers of the tribe, will not listen to anything that divides our children among themselves or that might cause division among them.

You ask for advice from me.