was insensible to all help from food, and lay as in a stupor, from which
it was impossible to rouse her. Mota returned sadly to the fire where
her husband was eating as only a hungry man can eat.

They finished their meal in silence, and after the wife had put away the
remains of the food, she came over to where her husband was sitting in
the opening of the hut, and crouched by his side. There, in the
gathering gloom of the night, he told of the experiences of his search
for food.

"It was a long, long distance I went, Mota," he began. "I journeyed on
and on to the far south, until I reached a river that flows across the
plains toward the sea. It was nearing evening of the second day after I
came to the river, when suddenly I heard a queer sound as of the steps
of a small army of some kind of hard-footed animals. It was far in the
distance when first I heard it; for the air was still as though
listening to the voice of the Great Spirit, its master; and I listened,
rooted to the spot where I stood. What could it be? Never had I heard
the tread of so many animals at one time. Nearer they came, and soon I
heard the voices of men, speaking to each other, but not in any Indian
language I am familiar with, and I know several. But if they were men I
must hide, for they would take me prisoner, if they did not kill me,
should I be seen. So I ran to the rushes growing on the bank of the
river, and sank down among their thickly-growing shoots. The army came
nearer steadily, and, in a few moments, I could see them climbing down
the steep bank of the river a little way above me. I took one peep, and
my breath almost left my body, for what I thought were men before I saw
them, now that they came in sight, I knew to be celestial beings."

"But that could not have been, Itatli," exclaimed his wife, "for such a