THE SUN DANCE
Sid whirled swiftly, after Hano had gone. The slight swaying of a
medicine skin--the pelt of an albino big-horn--told him where the
opening to the tunnel was. Lifting it aside, a jagged hole in the lava
showed, and from below came up a faint tinge of sulphur smell. Sid
thought first of going down into the tunnel and hiding in it somewhere,
watching his chance to escape. Then he decided against it. He ought to
give Hano all the time he could. That _both_ of them had disappeared
would be immediately noticed in the village. He looked around, thinking
rapidly about what to do next. A bundle of plumed prayer sticks among
the ritual appurtenances of the lodge caught his eye and it gave him
the idea he was searching for. Going outside the lodge and closing its
door, he secured it with a prayer stick. That sign would signify that
the lodge was closed to all but medicine men and would keep out any
casual stroller.
It was now nearly sunset. Sid sought out Honanta again but he was not
at his lodge. Sounds of busy life came from the grass huts. Fresh meat
of the ram was being prepared for an evening feast; more of it was
being hung on drying poles to cure in the sun. A knot of young braves
was playing the hoop game, rolling the hoop swiftly along a path and
striving to pierce it with lances as it sped.
Sid watched them awhile, a feeling of melancholy growing on him. These
people were happy, free, and independent. Under Honanta’s leadership
they were living life simply and nobly, as the early Indians did.
To match it, you had to go back two hundred years to the time when
religion was everything in an Indian’s life, when warfare was an
incentive to chivalry similar to our own warfare of the middle ages;
when there were no white men to set one tribe against another, to teach
them to scalp one another by offering a bounty for the hair of a fellow
red man, or to sell them whisky and weapons far more deadly than any
they naturally used.
Sid felt himself playing traitor to his best instincts when he thought
of what the coming of Scotty and Big John would mean to these people.
Scotty had come to the Pinacate region to find the Red Mesa mine. Well
he, Sid, had found it for him! But he had not dreamed to find it also
the home of a happy and peaceful band of red men--that race with which
Sid was becoming more and more in sympathy.
But now look what would happen! Scotty would claim the mine, stake
it out, ask him and Big John to sign as witnesses, and then file the
claim with the government. And then, with the publishing of that
claim, would come the inevitable stampede to this region. White men,
hundreds of them; ships, rails, ore cars, burros, rough and sweating
white miners--a rabble that would sweep Honanta and his people away
like chaff. It did Sid little good to tell himself that he had sent
Hano to bring his friends so that they could defend Red Mesa against
the Mexicans. That would be a mere incident in the march of progress.
Vasquez and his guerrillas would surely come here, riding along the
border from Nogales. They would find the pony tracks, climb the
mountain and discover Red Mesa. After that, no doubt Vasquez would
fight for it. But even if defeated and driven off, there was Scotty to
be reckoned with, for his heart was set on this mine, his whole future
depended on it. That he would insist on providing for these Indians,
of course, would be his natural instincts for right and justice. But he
would insist, too, on the mine being developed. Sid doubted whether it
could be done, in the nature of his race, without first bringing about
the destruction of these Apaches. Honanta would never give this place
up without a fight for it against all comers.
Sid wished that his father could be here to counsel him. He had almost
a conviction that he was really that officer who had saved Honanta’s
life in Apache Cave so long ago. It would be just like him. That deed
would give his father vast influence over the chief, and some way out
of this tangle of perplexities would be found by the good old Colonel.
Sid wished now that he had sent Hano direct to bring his father. The
Colvin ranch was up in the Gila Cañon on the railroad not a hundred
miles away. The name was already well known in Arizona, their station
near the ranch being named “Colvin’s” on the main line. Hano could have
reached the rails by a fast push out to Tacna, and then have taken the
train to Colvin’s. That would bring the Colonel here in two days at
most, for there was a railroad to Ajo Mines only fifty miles away from
Pinacate.
But it was too late now. After-thought is mere aggravation! What would
Hano really do, now that he was free? Sid asked himself. He confessed
he didn’t know. We know nothing of the Indian mind and its workings. We
really know nothing of the race nor where they came from. Not Semitic,
surely, for, Phœnician Jew or Arab, the accumulation of vast stores of
wealth is the dominant Semitic trait, and the Indian scorns wealth and
miserliness alike.
Sid was convinced that they are of the same Aryan stock as ourselves.
If so, his theory was that they must have migrated east from Asia
at a far earlier period than our own ancestors’ westward migration,
for we still have the Aryan word roots, while in America there are
no less than three great Indian languages--Algonquin, Athapascan,
Siouan--totally different, the peoples also as different in physical
and moral characteristics as are our own Teutonic and Latin branches of
the same Aryan stock.
We developed individualism as we migrated westward. The Indian
developed it, too, in this great new land, but he retained one
distinctive Asiatic trait--the impersonal ego--the sinking of self in
the clan whose interests are always paramount to everything else.
Reasoning from that, Sid tried to conjecture what Hano’s motives would
be. To keep _all_ these whites, Mexicans and his own friends alike,
away from Red Mesa, the home of his clan; to kill Ruler, the tracking
dog, so that Sid could not be traced here, seemed to Sid what Hano
would really do. He would act on that basis, Sid was sure. His own
chance of rescue, then, was really very slight. His life was safe for
twenty-four hours, no matter what the old men might decide in council.
After that his fate really depended solely on the identity of his name
with that Colvin of Apache Cave! But how to prove to Honanta that that
man was Colonel Colvin himself? To claim it without proof would be
taken by the Indians as a mere forlorn hope to save his own life. Hano
could have brought that proof for him, given time enough; now it was
too late. Sid gave it all up; there was really nothing to do but wait
events.
The sun was setting as Sid finished his ruminations. The water pool
already lay in shadow, the black bottom of its lava basin turning the
deep blue-green of its waters to a mirror of shining black. A sharp
shadow line was creeping in horizontal masses of dark maroon far up on
the face of the east wall, every broken fissure and pinnacle of the
west wall shadow etched on its high face. Sid kept one eye nervously on
the door of the medicine lodge, wondering how it was all going to turn
out. No one had visited it yet, but discovery of Hano’s escape was sure
and would come soon.
As Sid waited and watched, Honanta came out of a sweat lodge near the
borders of the tank. He was naked save for breech cloth and moccasins,
and slowly he walked to the brink of the lava basin where it tumbled
out between the high walls of Red Mesa. Like some magnificent bronze
statue he stood for a time on the brink, facing the setting sun, his
arms outstretched in silent prayer. Then an old man tottered out from
the council lodge bearing a ceremonial pipe. Honanta took it from him
and, after a few whiffs, held its bowl toward the setting sun. Again he
dipped it reverently toward Mother Earth and the sunset ceremony was
ended. Sid noted that he did not add the modern symbolism of offering
the pipe to the four winds.
After him every brave in the tribe, down to the little boys of eight,
stood and did the same thing, that act of reverence to the Earth and
Sun, the most important of the creations of the Great Mystery, which
ethnologists often stupidly report as sun worship, earth worship. But
Sid knew that, like their nature worship, it was really reverencing
the Great Mystery through His creations. He had long ago adopted that
viewpoint as his own, and was about to share in the ceremony himself,
claiming the privilege as an adopted Blackfoot, when a soft footfall
along the path drew his attention.
The girl Nahla was approaching the medicine lodge! She bore food and
water for her husband, the prisoner. Sid felt tingles of excitement
running all through him as he rose and walked rapidly after her.
“Nahla!” he called, as soon as they were far enough away from the rest
of the village to be alone.
The girl turned and faced him.
“Do not enter!” he said softly in Apache.
“Oh, have they killed him?” she almost shrieked. “_Hai_--I hate you!”
Like a fury she faced the bewildered Sid. It was his first experience
with women--the instant feminine jumping to conclusions, the fierce
and unreasoning hate for the cause of her sorrows.
“No. He lives; but do not enter the lodge, I beg you. You must trust in
me, Nahla!” said Sid earnestly.
The girl shrugged her shoulders scornfully. “Pah! And is my husband to
go without food and drink!” she spat out. With a lithe, sudden dash she
had reached the lodge door and put her hand on the plumed prayer stick
that held it shut.
Sid leaped after her. “No!” he barked. “Listen, Nahla--Hano is gone! I
freed him. I sent him. They do not know, yet.”
The girl turned about, suspicion burning in her black eyes. “_You?_”
Rapidly anguish filled her whole expression, then anger. “You made him
run away!” she accused. “You made him break his honor--you, white man
with a serpent’s tongue!”
With a swift movement she withdrew the prayer stick and flung wide the
door. Unmindful of Sid’s expostulations she stood for a moment looking
inside. Then she turned and ran shrieking toward the huts. “Hano!
My Hano! He is gone! He has broken his honor! The white man freed
him!--Honanta! Honanta!” she cried, running along the path.
Sid looked after her helplessly. Honanta was stalking toward her as
fast as his dignity would permit. They stopped and exchanged a few
words. Sid braced himself for what was coming, hoping that his wits
would save him this time.
Honanta came up to him, his face a dark thundercloud, angry lines
seaming it. “What is this, white boy?” he demanded.
“I freed Hano, chief. I had a good reason for it. You must trust me,”
replied Sid, as stoutly as he could in the face of that towering
passion.
“Yes?” said Honanta, craftily, controlling himself. “Why?” He was
speaking in Apache now, and so was Sid, the subterfuge that he did not
understand it being abandoned by both.
“You shall learn, soon, chief. I am acting for the good of us all,”
said Sid earnestly.
Honanta studied him awhile in silence. “My son, because your name is
Col-vin I have persuaded my old men to spare your life. My heart tells
me that you may be the son of that officer who spared my mother and
me--whose name also was Colvin. In freeing Hano I believe that you
meant well. But it is dark to me why _my_ son, Hano, consented to run
away! His honor required him to await the judgment of my old men, even
if not a thong bound him.”
“He, too, did it for the sake of the tribe, Honanta,” declared Sid with
profound conviction.
Honanta knitted his brows, puzzled. “My son,” said he gently, “is
not the truth best? No--you do not lie!” he added hastily as a frown
gathered in Sid’s face, “but you know more than we do. I must tell what
you _do_ know to my old men, for they are very wise and their decision
is final. You have told me nothing that gray hairs can listen to, so
far,” he concluded persuasively.
Sid reflected. Would it not be better to tell the whole truth _now_ and
trust in Honanta’s judgment? He decided to tell part of it anyhow, for
Big John and Scotty might be led here by Ruler to-morrow, he felt, and
he might as well explain them now.
“I sent Hano to bring my friends here,” he replied. “They have a
tracking dog--a hound--and could trace me here in any event, so I
wanted to avoid a fight. The dog would lead them to Red Mesa, chief.”
“And so you sent Hano!” laughed Honanta. “My son Hano would kill that
dog, kill those friends of yours, too, sooner than permit them to
reach our home! Did you not think of that?”
Sid attempted to show his surprise at this Indian point of view on his
action, but the idea was not new to him and the chief saw it.
“Come! There is more back of it, yet, my son!” prompted Honanta. “The
truth--and I will do what I can for you with the elders.”
“There’s a party of Mexicans coming along the border,” replied Sid
desperately. “They will find our tracks and trace us all to this place.
I felt that we needed my friends to help you defend it, Honanta. That’s
the whole truth.”
“Ha!--No! There is more!” exclaimed Honanta, his choler rising. “_Why_
are the Mexicanos coming? And why is your party down here? Do you think
I do not know why? Somehow, the tale of our mine has gotten out! Don’t
I know what white men will do to possess themselves of a mine? What
_won’t_ they do!” he exclaimed bitterly. “You are all our enemies!”
“Not I!” retorted Sid, stoutly. “I am an ethnologist--no miner! The
study of your people is my lifework, chief. Sympathy for them has
become my ruling passion. Since I came here, my one idea has been to
preserve this place forever as your home. I’ll seal my friend’s lips
forever about this mine----”
Sid stopped hastily, for he had made a slip that he had not intended.
It did not escape Honanta, however.
“No! _we_ shall do that!” he said grimly. “My son, you are an enemy to
us. You cannot help yourself. But, because of him who saved my mother
and you who represent him, I have vowed to give a Sun Dance to-morrow.
You must be present at it, for you are the physical evidence of my
deliverer. According to our laws of hospitality you have one sun of
immunity among us. But to-morrow, when his shadow reaches _there_,” the
Chief pointed to a great crack on the inside of the west wall--“you
must go forth--if you can.... As for your friends, we shall take care
of them if Hano does not!”
He turned and motioned to two of his braves. “Bind him!” he commanded.
“Medicine lodge!”
They stepped forward and seized Sid. In a very few minutes he found
himself seated, firmly bound to the very post from which he had freed
Hano but recently. The food Nahla had brought for Hano was fed him;
then the door was shut and he was left in the darkness of the lodge.
Sid reflected over it all as he sat, awaiting the long vigil until
morning. Escape was impossible. Not only was he bound cunningly to the
post so that any movement of even his hands was impossible, but two
Apache guards squatted near him, silent as specters but watching him
fixedly.
“Go forth--if you can!” had been Honanta’s last words. In them Sid
found his sole hope. Honanta was still his friend, but the logic of
the situation had been too strong even for him. But Honanta was more
than his friend. It was true, then, that Colonel Colvin was that white
officer! Honanta had said so at last. Through his father he owed a debt
that to an Indian is never paid. Honanta, too, was torn between two
duties--that to his tribe and that to Sid as the Colonel’s son. In the
subtle workings of the Indian mind there would surely be a loophole
for him, somewhere, by Honanta, Sid felt. It was for him to find and
utilize that loophole of escape. It would be something that would clear
Honanta’s conscience as regards his tribe, yet fulfill his obligation
to him as the son of the man who had saved his life.
What it would be, Sid could not imagine. He decided to keep his eyes
open to-morrow, alert to seize the opportunity whatever it should be.
Then, with the ability of youth to sleep anywhere and in any impossible
posture, his head fell forward on his chest and he was soon oblivious
of his and any one else’s troubles.
Next morning as he was led from the lodge, a notable change in the
village greeted him. A high Sun Dance pole had been erected during the
night, with a cross bar secured near its top. From the bar dangled two
effigies; the figure of a man and of a mountain sheep. Sid recognized
the symbol of it. The figure represented Honanta, dead but for the
intervention of the Great Mystery in the person of that white officer
who had spared his mother. The mountain sheep represented man’s
physical life, his principal means of sustenance, the gift of Mother
Earth, replacing the buffalo of plains ceremonies.
After a time Honanta appeared, nude save for his moccasins and breech
clout; his hair was disheveled, his body daubed with clay. He dragged
after him the skull of a mountain sheep, symbolizing the grave from
which he had escaped by divine intervention. As the eastern sun flamed
over the wall of Red Mesa, an old priest cut and scarified Honanta’s
chest, signifying the natural accompaniments of a physical death.
The rest of the tribe now formed in a line under the east wall and
faced him. Sid himself was placed opposite Honanta, standing alone. He
felt awed at the part he was taking--for he obviously represented the
instrument through which the Great Mystery had shown His favor.
Looking with fixed eyes on the sun, Honanta began the Sun Dance,
dragging the skull after him and blowing from time to time on a sacred
whistle which he kept pointed at the sun as it rose toward the zenith.
Sid watched him, fascinated. He was seeing the original Sun Dance,
the Indian symbol of death and resurrection, as it was before later
changes degraded it into a meaningless exhibition of endurance under
torture--about on the level with our own bull-ring and prize-fight
arena. How long the dance would keep up depended solely upon Honanta’s
physical endurance. He was not much over forty years of age, so he
would be yet in his prime, and his fervor would lead him to dance
before the Great Mystery until his sinews could work no longer.
Sid’s prayers went out to aid him. He liked to see a man give his best!
This humbling of the body was nothing repulsive, when one thought of
the exalted mood of that soul, engaged in an act of Indian worship
so far above our own milder and, let us say, more self-indulgent and
vanity-ridden forms of ritual.
An hour passed; two hours, while still the devoted Honanta maintained
the peculiar syncopated rhythmic dance of the Indian. Occasionally his
voice rose in a wild, high chant, relating the story of his rescue by
that white officer of long ago. He called on the soul of his mother to
witness; poured out prayers in thankful chants to the Great Mystery.
Sid watched, himself entirely in sympathy, the whole band of Apaches
gradually working themselves to higher and higher exaltation of
religious feeling. He hardly noted the passage of time until a glance
over to the west wall brought home to him with a sudden shock that the
shadow of the east wall had nearly reached that crack in the granite.
His time was coming soon!
Others had noticed it, too, for one of the elders spoke a word. With
a final invocation to the Great Mystery, Honanta slowly brought his
dance to a close. He tottered toward Sid, his eyes sightless, his hand
groping until it gripped Sid’s.
Sid felt a renewed fervor in that grip, but all Honanta said was: “My
son, guide me--for you must now go forth from us.”
One of the braves pressed Sid’s rifle into his hands. Leading Honanta,
Sid started for the medicine lodge. Young bucks and elders surrounded
them. They were fully armed and their faces expressed the grim
determination of the executioner. Sid guided Honanta to the outlet of
the tunnel and himself raised the medicine sheepskin.
“Careful, my father!” he warned courteously, putting Honanta’s hands on
the ladder post.
They descended, the tunnel filled with creeping warriors, ahead and
behind them. Sid could not see what chance there was for his life in
this! To whirl and shoot the instant his foot left the cave?--before
he could move, a flight of arrows would feather themselves in him! If
Honanta had a loophole in mind it must be provided soon!
But the party crept on down steadily. Then along each side of the cave
entrance the bucks parted and lined up with arrow on string. Sid drew
a long breath and stepped steadily to the entrance. Beyond that he
could not go, without death. Bows creaked as he turned slowly, to find
arrows drawn to the head upon him.
But Honanta was close behind him. “You must go forth, now, my son,” he
pronounced gravely.
Sid tensed every muscle in his body, intending to throw himself down
the lava crevice and then turn and shoot for his life. It was a forlorn
hope, but----
Two long, fringed, buckskinned arms closed slowly around him as his
foot lifted for the first step. Sid halted wonderingly--but the push of
Honanta urged him on:
“Go forth, my son--_and I will go with thee_!” whispered the chief’s
voice in his ear. “I cannot see thee slain! Let them shoot!”
Honanta’s own arms were around him now, his body protectingly between
him and the Apaches. _That_ was the way he had solved his dilemma!
Sid backed rebelliously. “No, chief! No! You must not!” he protested,
attempting to turn in the chief’s arms. The utter silence of
astonishment was all around them, the Apaches hesitating, arrow on
bow, utterly disconcerted at this sudden development.
“On! While there is time!” grated the chief’s voice. “We shall escape
to your people. They must never find Red Mesa. I trust you, my son, to
keep silence!” urged Honanta.
Sid nodded. Honanta had found the best way out of it all. They were
about to go on, letting the tribe decide as it would, when the distant
_Rrrraammp! Rrrraammp! Rrrraammp!_ of rifle shots coming from over the
mountain arrested them.
“Halt! It is too late, Honanta!” barked Sid. “Listen!”
A fusillade of distant rifle shots broke out; then the rapid,
continuous discharge of a repeating rifle.
“Ten shots!” said Sid. “That’s the Navaho’s Winchester, chief. Ours
hold only five. Those other shots are _Mausers_--not hunting rifles!
The Mexicans are here!”
He pushed Honanta back in the cave and then faced the Apaches.
“Warriors of the Apache, I must stay and fight with you!” his voice
rang out. “Those rifles are of Mexicanos, coming to take your home.
After it is all over you can do what you will with me. Is it peace?”
The Apaches nodded sullenly and lowered their bows. Without Honanta
they were leaderless.
“Let no one go out!” ordered Sid. “We need every man right here!”