WHITE MESA
“Whoa, thar, pards! The world ain’t fell over the moon, jist yet!”
guffawed Big John at their blank faces. “She’s thar, boys, only you’ve
got to dig fer her. This desert’s full of them little tricks on the
pore tenderfoot.”
He got out his camp plate from a saddle bag and started digging. Ruler
and the dogs were already shoveling industriously with eager paws, for
their noses smelled the water. Sid grabbed out his plate and fell to,
while Scotty held back the horses to keep them from burying their hoofs
to the fetlocks in the sand and packing it too tight to dig.
After a time it came out damp, then moist, then wet mud. Big John hove
out the dogs and stood Sid aside, as they all watched the deep hollow
they had made, nine pairs of eyes all trained on the one object of
most engrossing interest in all the world,--the seepage of an almost
invisible puddle of cool, clear water!
“Git me the canvas pail, an’ a cup, Sid--the hosses is first. Git outer
thar, Ruler, you ole potlicker!” he roared, batting back the persistent
hound. Scotty was struggling with the horses, jamming back on their
curbs as they plunged and pawed, wild to get down into the sand and
drink, drink, drink! Then three equine noses shoved urgently, fiercely
at them, as a few cupfuls in a canvas pail were passed up.
“This is nawthin’, boys!” grinned Big John, as the impatient animals
were being watered. “Onct I hed to save myself by cuttin’ open a
bisanaga cactus and go to poundin’ the inside with a club. Thet pulp is
full of sweet water, an’ ye squeezes out the pulp an’ throws it away
ontil ye hev maybe a pint of good clear water to drink. No old-timer
dies of thirst, the way them writers is allus makin’ ’em do, down south
in the barrel cactus country!”
It was all of two hours later when the last of the water bags was
filled and the party set off toward the southeast. If no accident
befell they had water enough for the run to Los Capitanos del Canyon,
where a blessed brook awaited them. The sandstorm had delayed them one
day; the whole party were now worried lest they should be too late,
for Neyani’s fate hung in the balance, and, perhaps, also that of
Niltci’s mother and his sister.
“That thar letter says the Injuns has took ’em off, somewhere, don’t
it, Sid?” asked Big John as they discussed the matter, urging the
horses along. “Waal, it’s a leetle deetour over to White Mesa, but I’m
going thar, boys. That’s a sacred spot to them Navaho; they’re scairt
to death of it, an’ think it’s full of ghosts, but the hull tribe
sometimes comes thar to pull off some reeligious stunt, each brave
sorta bolsterin’ up the other’s courage. It’s just whar they mought
take ole Neyani--an’, of course, the Major, he couldn’t do nawthin’ but
follow an’ try to talk some sense inter them, ef he heard tell that was
whar Neyani was.”
“I’ve heard of the Enchanted Mesa,” replied Sid. “The Navaho call it
the ‘Judgment Throne of the Ghosts,’ don’t they?”
“I dunno. It’s a skeery place to go by, in the moonlight, even for a
white man. It’s as full of howls and roars, and the awfullest sounds a
body ever listened to,” said Big John. “But I’ll bet my ol’ lid thet
that’s whar Neyani _is_, right now!”
After an hour’s riding White Mesa itself jutted up, in a long
escarpment, shimmering with heat, in the immense distances. As they
gradually neared it Sid felt that never had he beheld such a place.
The odd chalky formation rose in ramparts and pinnacles, like bastions
of huge whitened giant’s bones. By moonlight one could well expect to
see whole regiments of bleached skeletons of departed Indians skipping
across it. But there were living beings there, now!
“What did I tell you?” chortled Big John. “Them little moving dots
along the base is Injuns, on their ponies. Somethin’ doin’, thar, boys!”
As they rode nearer to the blazing white sepulcher the moving dots
showed color and took form. They were the Navaho, a lot of them. Soon
some stopped to look at them and there was a commotion among the tiny
black figures. Then a lone rider galloped furiously out toward them,
mounted on a large black horse.
“That’s no Injun, an’ no pony--it’s Major Hinchman himself!” exclaimed
Big John as the rider streaked out toward them.
The man waved his sombrero. “Hi! Hi!--Back!--Halt!” he called excitedly
as he thundered toward them.
“Yaas--we’re haltin’, a lot!” muttered Big John as they all reined up
and he called back Ruler. “Wonder what’s up?”
“Hi!--Is that you, boys?--Howdy, strangers--get right down!”
yelled the white giant on the horse, for it was Hinchman himself.
“Jee-mentley-dingit, but it’s a mercy of Providence that you-all
happened to come this way!” he exploded as he rode up close. “I
couldn’t have met you at Monument Canyon with this coming off. But I
see you’ve got the dawgs--Jeementley but they look good to me! Whar’s
the Colonel, Sid?”
“Father’s laid up, sir, over in the Grand Canyon,” explained Sid. “Had
a mix-up with a whale of a grizzly and got mauled some, but he’ll be
all right, soon. It’s an old-time California silver-tip, Major, the
biggest bear I ever saw. Got him in back of Buckskin. Niltci’s looking
after father, while we came over----”
“_Niltci!_ Eh? Splen--did!” beamed Major Hinchman, his keen face
lighting up with joy and relief. “You don’t tell me! Nothing on earth
can convince these Injuns but that the Black Panther came and took him
that night----”
The boys laughed, and Big John grinned sheepishly. At the Major’s
questioning glance he told him just how that affair really _was_
managed. Hinchman howled with delight. “Better and better and better!”
he cried, his eyes snapping with pleasure. “You see, boys, since you
have been gone the Black Panther has been visiting _all_ the Navaho
sheep corrals---- I suppose the dogs running him scared him off
Neyani’s--but anyhow he’s become a regular plague. The Navaho now think
the Dsilyi is angry with the whole tribe, and they got madder and
madder at Neyani over it. One day I found Neyani’s hogan broken down
and he and the wife and girl were gone. Couldn’t get a word out of the
tribe about it, but I suspected White Mesa would be where they would
take them. To-day the whole tribe set off for here, and I followed.
Ever hear of the Ganhi, boys?”
They all shook their heads.
“Well, they are giant spirits who live in the mesas and mountains, and
they sometimes interfere in mortal affairs when things get too complex.
This White Mesa’s a regular abode of them. Not a Navaho will come here
except by daylight, and a crowd of them at that. They’ve got Neyani
here, somewhere, up in the cliffs, waiting for the Ganhi to give some
judgment as to what Dsilyi wants. Now, you-all have got Niltci, which
they don’t know. Easy! We’ll stage a miracle with him on White Mesa!
Niltci will come back from the dead--from the house of Dsilyi, b’gosh!
and he’ll tell them”--he paused a minute while his quick brain plotted
something plausible--“I’ve got it!” he shouted joyously. “Why, it’s the
chance I’ve been waiting for these five years! For five years I’ve been
arguin’ with these fool redskins about their using these cheap traders’
dyes for their blankets. But they’re lazy and indifferent, and can’t
see that the mills back east can make Navaho blankets by the thousand
and eventually cut them out of their industry with vile imitations. The
mills can imitate the patterns, but they can’t get those soft colors
of the earth dyes made out here! My stunt is to drive that in by a
miracle, and right now! I’ll appear on White Mesa, you’ll see! I’ll be
an oracle from Dsilyi, telling them that Niltci will come back to earth
on White Mesa, and that the Black Panther will come no more, _if_ they
will get back to their native dyes again.”
“Sounds good, sir,” said Sid. “How about Neyani?”
“I’ll take care of him, too. We’ll see what we shall see!” smiled the
Major enigmatically. “I’m riding along with you, now. You-all turn
back, presently, after we get out of sight of the Injuns around the
bases of those buttes yonder, and scout around. You’ll soon see where
they are keeping Neyani and his family. Then--don’t be scared if you
see a Ganhi, yourselves, boys! And keep your wits about you! Better
go into camp somewhere in here, and tie up the dogs--they’d only make
trouble.”
Once around the chalky bastions of the butte, the Major dismounted and,
taking a bundle from his horse, began to climb up a deep cleft that led
to the top of the mesa. Big John and the boys unsaddled the ponies and
tethered them out, with the dogs leashed on watch under the shade of a
huge cliff.
“Better hook on your canteens, fellers,” said Big John as they started
out. “’Twon’t look well to be askin’ the Injuns for a drink, an’ thar
ain’t no water around hyar.”
Presently they came upon Indians loping in on their ponies from the
general direction of Canyon Cheyo. They tethered them in a rude corral,
hastily thrown up near the entrance of a huge gap that cleft into
the heart of the mesa. Its gorge was filled with Navaho, all silent
and scared, and crowding close together for protection. Usually the
noisiest of Indian tribes, these bucks were now sullen and silent,
greeting the white party with frightened nods, superstitious fear
written on every face.
The way led up a steep, narrow ravine, bare of vegetation, a hideous
gulch of hot and thirsty rocks. The procession had dwindled down to
twos and threes, as Big John and the boys pushed on up it, passing the
hesitating and reluctant Navaho. Evidently the tribe feared what they
were about to see.
Up near the head and slightly below the top of the mesa jutted a tall
white shaft of stone. It was at least fifty feet high, and detached
entirely from the cliff wall for some twenty feet down from the top.
A stratified shelf of rock jutted out here, and upon it they saw the
qcali and three assistant priests, in a ceremonial dress of feathers
and plumes that almost disguised them. They were beating on small skin
drums and chanting a dreary monotone as they danced in the jerky steps
of the Indian.
The boys watched them as they climbed, and then their attention was
attracted to a sort of pocket or cave, opening by a cleft from the
top of the mesa, in the sheer wall of the cliff opposite. The wind
bellowed and sighed in it, making the weird noises that they had heard
without being able to explain them, as they had come up the ravine.
With every swirl of the wind scouring over the flat mesa top above,
this cave answered with a huge sigh. A most uncanny effect--one would
not like to be there at night!
“The mouth of a Ganhi, I suppose!” whispered Sid to Scotty as they
paused. “They are supposed to be a sort of giant genii----”
Then he stopped as his eye roved again to the stone pillar. Up on top
of that white shaft of stone something moved! What he had thought at
first glance were mere hummocks of rock or dusty bowlders, proved to
be three human figures! How they had been put there, or how long they
had been there, he could not imagine. One of them was smaller than the
other two, a pathetic little heap of misery--it was without doubt the
girl, and the other two were Neyani and his wife! the boy realized with
a sudden shock. They were isolated, starving--and worse than that--oh,
much worse--dying of thirst! That lonely rock,--under the pitiless
desert sun!
He and Big John and Scotty pushed up rapidly toward the ledge as he
passed word of his discovery. The Navaho were down below them in the
ravine, straggling along in a thin line, watching the rock fearsomely,
while the priests above chanted. This was the day when Neyani and his
family were expected to die, or confess, or tell of some vision from
the Ganhi, evidently.
Sid looked up. Neyani and his wife had long since given up hope, for
they did not move. They squatted in the stony immovability of Indian
pride, huddled on the bare top of the rock, enduring the thirst torture
stolidly. But the girl was young, and life to her was yet sweet. She
had moved and was now looking down at Sid, and her tongue stuck out
at him, black and dry and revolting. At first the boy thought she was
making a face at him; then he realized that she _could_ not draw back
her tongue! She had reached the last stages of thirst, when the tongue
protrudes like a strangling person’s, black and cracked and dry. Her
dark eyes looked down at him beseechingly.
“Gee, boys, do you see _that_?--Here! I can’t stand this!” barked
Sid, tugging at his canteen. “That girl’s dying of thirst. I’ve been
thirsty, too! I’m going to toss her up my canteen and let the Indians
do what they please about it!”
At sight of it the girl stretched down her arms appealingly. Neyani and
his wife might scorn to beg water, and their spirits still have stern
command over their flesh, but the girl was young, and the all-devouring
wants of her body drove out pride and all else in her overpowering
desire for water, water, water!
A shout went up from the Navaho as Sid sprang up on the ledge, followed
by Scotty and Big John. He motioned to toss up the canteen to the
girl’s outstretched arms.
The qcali stopped, angrily. “No!” he grunted, in English. “White boy
not dare!” A roar went up from the ravine below and knives flashed out,
while men stooped to pick up rocks. The three medicine men crouched
behind the qcali, their eyes blazing hate and defiance.
“No!” yelled the qcali, stretching out his arm in sign to halt.
“_Yes!_--Darn you! Have you _no_ pity?” shouted Sid, stooping to toss
up the canteen to the girl’s waiting hands.
On the motion the qcali leaped for him, his three assistants at his
back--but that was as far as they got! For Big John had leaped in
front, and his guns had flashed out like two level bars of light. It
was the first time the boys had ever seen a gun thrown, and the speed
and certainty of it was astonishing.
“Back off, thar, Injun!--or I’ll fill you so full of bullets they’ll
put ye in the ammynition wagon instead of the ambulance!” gritted Big
John’s quiet, iron-hard tones. “You leave the boy alone!”
There was a tense instant. A single shrill war whoop rang out down in
the ravine and then all was quiet. For,--out of the stillness, came
an insistent rattle, like the whirr of some huge desert rattlesnake.
It seemed to come from the cave opposite, and the Indians’ quick ears
directed all their faces that way. Sid seized the moment when no eyes
were on him to toss up the canteen, where it disappeared over the rim
of the rock pillar.
The whirr from the cave continued. Then a thin trickle of smoke came
weaving out from the edges of its floor. A kind of gasp came from all
the Navaho below, and into the medicine men’s eyes near Sid there crept
an expression of superstitious fear. More smoke wafted out, as they all
watched. It had a greenish tinge, then bluish.
“_Ganhi! Ganhi!_” rose the indistinct, awe-stricken murmur from the
crowd, while the weaker ones turned to flee. It needed but a touch to
stampede them all!
Then from the black depths of the cave, towards its mouth, floated the
weirdest object the boys had ever looked on! It was immensely tall,
filling the whole aperture from top to bottom. It had neither arms
nor legs; and what might be a head was a mass of feathers and prayer
plumes, such as one would see on Indian momo masks. The rest was a
confused drapery of skins and mystic ceremonial objects.
In a hollow voice the Ganhi began to speak, addressing the Navaho
in ghostly sentences that for them had all the tones of almighty
authority. It paused between each utterance, while the crowd shuddered
and all the Navaho raised their arms in prayer, following the lead of
the medicine men on the ledge. After a time the Ganhi ceased, while
fumes of smoke filled the cave and rendered it more and more indistinct.
The qcali finally plucked up courage enough to croak out a word or two
in reply, and then the Ganhi receded gradually into the cave, finally
disappearing in clouds of smoke which puffed out as the vagrant winds
listed up above.
For a long time the crowd stood awe-struck, spell-bound. Then the qcali
shouted out an order. A few responded, but the rest were hastening
out of the ravine, flying from the Enchanted Mesa as quickly as they
could get to their ponies. Big John and the boys waited until they saw
a pole bridge being produced from somewhere and preparations being
made to take down Neyani and his family, the qcali and his assistants
addressing them with every mark of respect and tenderness.
“Now’s a good time to ooze out of this, boys,” whispered Big John. “If
that was the Major, he’s sure a shark on Indian ceremonials!”