TWO HONORS
The houses were not separate, but the whole village was like one big
rambling house of many rooms. We cautiously entered one of the houses.
As soon as our eyes became accustomed to the dim light we saw that it
had been deserted for a long time. There were no marks of recent
habitation.
On the hard, worn floor were shards of pottery of red and grey clay that
had been baked according to the method of the tribe. In the blackened
fireplace was a heap of rags.
"I bet the Apaches have cleared this town out," said Jim, reaffirming my
previous statement.
"There's no doubt of it," I replied. "It's too near their territory
anyway. It makes me feel sorry for these people. They must have been
comfortable here and they were no doubt superior to the other Indian
tribes because they have built themselves houses instead of living in
tepees."
"Yes," remarked Jim, "and instead of living on wild meat they raised
grain. You can see where they have crushed it in this round stone,
that's hollowed out."
We were standing near the fireplace as Jim was speaking, when I saw the
rubbish moving slightly, and then a great hairy spider rushed out at us.
"Look out, Jim," I cried, in alarm. "There's a big spider coming for
you."
And I made for the door. If there's one thing I hate more than another
it's spiders. If it had been a roaring mountain lion or a stealthy
Apache or even a snake, I would not have cared, but a spider! that was
my particular horror.
It's peculiar about folks; each one has some particular aversion that is
natural and not unreasonable. I have known people that would have a fit
if you threw a cat at them. Actually faint with horror if a cat should
jump in their laps. Others have the same feeling towards snakes. My
horror was spiders.
I think if that one should crawl up my arm I Would almost expire with
horror. That was the reason I took to the door. This fellow was no
ordinary customer, I can assure you.
His hairy, bent legs carried his body in the center and he had poisonous
nippers and wicked little eyes. He rattled across the hard floor
straight for Jim. My cry caused Jim to look down and he jumped to one
side just in time to escape the rush of the reptile.
I expected to see the spider scurry away to a dark corner. Not he, for
he came for Jim again. Then Jim picked up a stone and crushed Mr. Spider
with a crunching sound.
"Come and have a look at him, Jo," cried Jim. "He's a beaut."
"I'll take your word for it," I replied. "I don't want to see it."
"Did you ever see a spider like that?" asked Tom, when Jim came out.
"That wasn't a spider," Jim said. "That was a tarantula. He must have
been five inches across. But the gall of him prancing right up to me."
"Lucky he didn't bite you," I said.
"Well, I guess yes," remarked Jim, "I have heard that their poison will
just about lay a man out."
"Judging from the looks of him I should think as much," I said.
"Let's have a look at the roof of this village," proposed Jim.
We searched around until we found a long ladder and we raised it up to
the second story of the town.
"I feel like I belong to a hook and ladder company," laughed Jim. "Do
you remember what fun we used to have running to the fires at home with
the hose carts?"
"Sure I do," I replied, "and I recollect when we paraded with one of the
companies on the Fourth of July and you had a belt that was intended for
a fat man and it went around you twice and then you had to hold it up
and your cap was two sizes too large and the visor was generally over
your left ear. You were the feature of the parade."
"Never mind that now," grinned Jim, "you weren't much more of an
ornament yourself if I remember rightly. Let's see what we can discover
up here."
So he climbed the ladder, with me at his heels, and Tom came tumbling
after. We found part of the roofs covered with other houses like those
below. The roofs were perfectly flat and with round chimneys of grey
adobe standing here and there. There were also square openings to the
houses below where a ladder could be used for an inside stair.
"What is this long string of something, Jim?" I asked.
"Why that long string of something is dried peppers. I bet these Indians
used a lot of it. It will be fine to cook with our meat," and he wound
it gracefully over his shoulders.
We went into one of the houses on the roof and it seemed to be like the
others, entirely deserted. This room of the village was larger than any
that we had entered so far and it had a wooden door which Jim had shoved
open without any difficulty.
I was standing with my back to the door looking around to see if there
were any curiosities in view, when I felt something coming behind me
swiftly and stealthily. I had no time to turn before it sprang and one
dark skinny arm went around my neck.
It was an Indian, who held me with a grip like closing steel. I was
almost helpless, from the pressure on my throat when Jim turned, hearing
the scuffle and sprang to my help.
It took all his strength to tear the old Indian hag loose, for such it
was. She was a terrible object to my startled eyes, with her grey bush
of hair, parchment withered skin, the lean lines of her throat and the
eyes beaming with the weird light of insanity.
Her strength seemed to leave her suddenly and she sat crouching in a
dark corner. Keeping her eyes fastened on us and her lips moving in some
strange incantation. Suddenly she sprang up with her claw-like hands
stretched toward us, spitting at us; a very picture of demoniacal fury.
Then she subsided again.
It was more like the rage of a wild beast than of a human being. And it
gave me a sensation of horror to think that she had had me in her grip.
Next to the tarantula she seemed the most repulsive.
"The old lady seems to have taken a sudden fancy to you," said Jim, as
we stood looking at her.
"What is she doing up here all alone?" asked Tom.
"She may have been able to hide when the Apaches made their raid," Jim
replied, "or possibly she was so old that she was worthless and I guess
she is something of a sorceress, so they thought it best to leave her
alone. She is trying to get the Indian sign on Jo now."
The old hag was pointing at me, with one long skinny finger and
muttering; something that repeated the same words over and over again.
She started to rise up and I shrunk back. I hated being singled out by
her.
"Sit down you," thundered Jim, "down, I tell you. No more of your cursed
nonsense."
The old woman actually obeyed him and she sank back, her grey head
shaking with palsy. I guess she thought that Jim was the Big Chief all
right.
"Come on, boys," he said, "let's call on somebody else. The poor old
lady is too eccentric and we don't want to excite her."
So we went out, but we found nothing more of especial interest, except
that Jim unearthed a blanket that had evidently belonged to some Navajo.
It was thick and warm, with white ground and grey design.
After finishing with the village we went out on the mesa to look around.
We found that it was covered with quite a depth of soil and there were
signs that it once had been well cultivated.
"I guess these people grew maize up here. You can see where the soil has
been turned over," said Jim. "Look here, boys, I have found an old
plow."
We looked at it with real curiosity. It was certainly a primitive
article, made of grey weathered wood and the plowshare also of some hard
wood, just enough to stir the ground.
"These people must have been independent here and happy too," said Tom.
"It was a shame they had to be run out by those Apaches."
We had now advanced to the edge of the mesa and were looking off to the
west. It was a marvelous view in the afternoon light that brought out
the strange and symmetrical lines of the desert architecture with
startling distinctness.
"There rolls the Colorado and hears no sound save its own rolling," said
Jim, pointing in his most oratorical manner to the southwest.
"You can see the zigzag of it through that plateau," I cried.
"Yes, and way over there in the south is where it plunges into the
mountains," said Jim. "Jove! it makes me anxious to reach it. This will
be our last picnic till we reach the river, you can count on that."
"Down, boys, quick!" cried Tom. We dropped into some brush--scrub bushes
that grew near the edge of the mesa without waiting to question. Tom's
eyes were keen and his vision was to be respected.
"What is it, brother?" inquired Jim, in mock anxiety. "What dost thou
see?"
"See! there is a party of Indians coming out around that butte over
there," pointing to the north. Then we saw them all right. There was a
large party, we could tell that. Though the distance was so great that
they looked like moving specks.