reath. The last
words of the medicine-woman shocked Say. She stood toward Shotaye almost
in the relation of a helpless child, and the thought of seeing her
friend exposed to death produced a feeling of dismay and sadness.

"But, sanaya," she asked, "how can they harm you and let me go free? Am
I not as guilty as you? What you did, was it not for me, for my good?
Why may I not go along if they send you to our mother at Shipapu?"

"Hush, sa uishe," the other retorted. "Do not speak thus. I have led you
to do things which those on high do not like, so I alone must suffer.
Nevertheless"--she laid her hand on the other's lap--"rest easy; I shall
not die."

In her simplicity, Say, when Shotaye mentioned the probability of her
suffering capital punishment, had not thought of her children and of the
consequences that would arise in case she herself were to share that
fate. She felt greatly relieved upon hearing the cave-woman speak so
hopefully of her own case, for she bethought herself of those whom she
would leave motherless. But her curiosity was raised to the highest
pitch. Eager and anxious to learn upon what grounds Shotaye based her
assurance of safety, Say nestled close to her side in order not to lose
a syllable of the talk. It was necessary, for Shotaye proceeded in a
slow solemn whisper,--

"Sister, I shall be accused and you will be accused also. If you are
brought before the council, and they ask you about our doings, deny
everything, say no to everything, except when the black corn is spoken
of. That you may confess. They will inquire of you why we used the evil
cobs. Answer, and mark well my words, that you did not understand what I
was doing, that you only did what I told you to do. Lay all the blame on
me."

"But it is not true," the little woman objected.

"Never mind, provided you go free."

"They, then, will kill you!" Say cried.

"Be not concerned about me; I will save myself."

"How can you?"

"That is my secret; still this I will confide to you;" her whisper
became scarcely audible as she added, "I shall flee!"

"Whither?" gasped Say in surprise.

"To the Tehuas! But, sa tao, be silent, as silent as the stone, as quiet
as kohaio when in winter he is asleep. Whatever you may hear, heed it
not; what you may see, do not notice. Deny everything you can deny, and
what you have to confess lay on me. Do as I tell you, sa uishe," she
insisted, as Say moved uneasily, "and trust to me for the rest."