Three times the new-comer called her name; she gave no reply.

At the fourth call, "Koitza!" she started at last, and faintly answered,-- "Opona." Zashue, her husband, entered the kitchen and good-naturedly inquired,-- "Are you ill ?" She raised herself hastily and replied,-- "No; but I was asleep." "The sun is resting on the western mountains," said Zashue; "give me something to eat, I am tired." She stirred the fire, and when dry brush flamed over the hearth she placed the stew-pot on it.

The remainder of the cornmeal she stirred with water, and began to mix cakes in the usual way.

Her husband watched her pleasantly.
Zashue was indeed a good-looking Indian.

Lithe and of a fair height, with black hair and large bright eyes, he appeared the picture of vigour and mirth.