“Koitza,” she replied, imitating his motions; “Tehua hachshtze;” and with a wink, “amoshko.”

The Indian shook his head; he dropped the arm of the woman, made with both hands the motion of stringing a bow, and exclaimed,—­

“Uan save.”  Grasping the war-club that hung from his wrist he struck two or three blows with it at random, repeated the words “uan save,” and looked askance.

This was beyond Shotaye’s powers of comprehension.  She again pointed at herself, saying,—­

“Tyuonyi koitza,” then in the direction of the Rito, made the gesture-sign for killing, and looked at the stranger inquiringly and with an anxious face.

Now the Indian understood her.  His eyes sparkled; he shook his head emphatically, uttering,—­

“Nyo nyo tema, uan save, uan save;” at the same time he pointed to the west and brandished his war-club.

It became clear to the woman that the warrior was on an expedition against the Navajos, and not after the scalps of her own people; but it was equally plain to her that, being on the war-path, any kind of enjoyment was prohibited to him.  This was a disappointment, and the strange dialogue came therefore to a stand-still.  Each eyed the other in silence.  All at once the stranger stepped up to her, and extending his arms to the west, asked,—­

“Uan save?”

She shrugged her shoulders in silence.

“Quio,” he said now, and grasped her hand; “tupoge,” pointing toward the Rito.  “Quio,” he beckoned her to go with him.  “Puye,” waving his hand to the north.  Lastly he grinned and whispered, “cuinda?”

There was no possibility of misunderstanding the smile and the motions, although the words, of course, were beyond Shotaye’s comprehension.  In return she pointed to the west again, made the conventional sign for night and sleep, and began to count her fingers.  As she bent the eighth digit the Tehua stopped her, held up every finger of the right hand and three of the left, described, as if in confirmation eight times, an arch from east to west, and concluded by pointing to the north, exclaiming very emphatically,—­

“Puye!” He looked at her and laughed aloud, as the Indian does when he feels delighted, pressed both hands against his chest, and uttered proudly,—­

“Cayamo.”

“Shotaye,” she eagerly replied.

The black-painted hero burst out in immoderate laughter.

“Shotaye, Shotaye,” he repeated, caught hold of one of her hands, caressed his chest with it, and danced about merrily, exclaiming,—­

“Cuindae, Cayamo, cuindae, Shotaye, cuinda!” He counted the number eight several times, and then suddenly bent down.  One of his sandals had become loose.

These sandals consisted, as mentioned before, of wooden hoops covered by strips of rabbit-skin and tied to the naked foot with bands of the same material.  The wearer stood on them as on wheels lying flat on the ground; he was able to walk and even to run at a moderate speed, and the prints which he made, being circular, gave a pursuing enemy no clew to the direction of his going or coming.