LETTER XV. 167 



fires are lighted, and the dead man in all his 

 finery is laid out amongst the guests, who feast 

 and make merry while his portion is given to the 

 flames to devour, along with the gifts which his 

 neighbours bring to the dead. In the darkness, the 

 chiefs horses are led round and round his corpse. 

 His sisters make presents from among them to 

 his nearest friends ; the rest are driven out into 

 the murky midnight pursued by the assembled 

 warriors, lassoes in hand. What each captures 

 is his to have and to hold. At dawn the guests 

 dig a deep grave, and lay therein gifts and robes, 

 and last of all their chief, his bow and arrows at 

 his feet, his knife in his hand. Then they cover 

 him from sight, and pile high the stones above 

 him, that the wolf and the coyotes may not dis- 

 turb the sleep of the mighty hunter. Here for 

 three years Tumisco rests in peace the dead 

 have no place among the living the snows fall 

 and melt into his grave, and he is forgotten. At 

 the end of three years there is a whispering in 

 the village : women hide their heads, strong chiefs 

 shudder for fear. Orola, the young brave, saw 

 it last night saw the tall gaunt thing rise from 

 the grave of the buried chief; heard its sighs 

 and lamentations ; saw it go whirling and whirl- 

 ing down the valley, fire and smoke coming from 

 its jaws, its grave-clothes fluttering on the night- 



