THE FIRE DANCE
The round moon looked down upon a scene so weird and compelling that
Oliver Drew vaguely wondered if it all were real, or one of those
strange dreams that leave in the mind of the dreamer the impression that
ages ago he has looked upon the things which his sleeping fancy
pictured.
The moon rode low in the heavens. The night was waning. Tall pines and
spruce stood black and bar-like against the silver radiance. Away in the
distance coyotes lifted their yodel, half jocular, half mournful, as a
maudlin drunkard sings dolefully a merry tune.
In a cup of the hills, surrounded by acres and acres of almost
impenetrable chaparral and timber, a hundred or more human beings were
clustered about a blazing fire. Horses stamped in the corrals. Now and
then an Indian dog cast back a vicious challenge at the wild dogs on the
hill. White men and women and Indian men and women stood about the fire
in a great circle, silent, intent on what was taking place at the fire's
edge.
Within this outer circle of spectators revolved another smaller circle
of brown-skinned men and women. But one of this number was white, and in
the flickering light of the fire his skin glowed in odd contrast to the
skins of those who danced with him.
For Oliver Drew was stripped but for a breechcloth about his loins, and
directly opposite him in the circle, always across the fire from him as
the human snake revolved about the flames, was a stalwart young Indian,
likewise nearly nude. He it was who at the proper moment would dash upon
the fire with this white man, when, with hands clasped over it, they two
would strive to beat it to ashes with naked feet.
Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into the circle like canned
fish, the fire dancers circled the leaping flames. Sweat streamed from
their bodies, for the fire was a huge one and roared and crackled and
leaped at them incessantly.
For two solid hours the dance had been in progress. Now and then an old
squaw, faint from the heat of the fire and the nerve strain which only
the fanatic knows, dropped wearily out and staggered away. Then the rank
would close and fill the vacancy; and this automatically made the circle
smaller and brought the dancers closer to the flames, for they must
touch each other always as they circled slowly.
Round about them hobbled Chupurosa, adorned with eagle feathers dyed red
and yellow and black. In his uplifted hand he held a small turtle shell,
with a wooden handle bound to it by a rawhide thong. In the shell, whose
ends were closed with skin, were cherry stones. The incessant rattling
of them accompanied the dancers' elephantine tread. It was the toy of
childhood, and those who danced to its croaking music were children of
the hills and canyons, simple-minded and serene.
Slowly as moves a sluggish reptile in early spring the dancers circled
the fire, times without number. Guttural grunts accompanied the constant
thud of tough bare feet on the beaten earth. Now and then they broke
into chanting--a weird, uncanny wailing that sent shivers along the
spine and made one think of heathen sacrifices and outlandish, cruel
heathen rites. Straight downward, almost, the dancers planted their
feet. When their feet came down three inches had not been gained over
the last stamping step. It required many long minutes for the entire
circle to complete the trip around the fire; and this continued on and
on till the brain of Oliver Drew swam and the fire in reality took on
the aspect of a tormenting, threatening ogre which this rite must crush.
Occasionally some fanatic would spring from the line and rush upon the
fire, striking at it with his feet, slapping at it with his hands,
growling at it and threatening it in his guttural tongue. Then the dance
would grow fiercer, and the chanting would break out anew, while always
the cherry stones rattled dismally and urged the zealots on.
When would it end? There was fresh, clean pitch in the great logs that
blazed; and it seemed to Oliver that the exorcism must continue to the
end of time.
At first he had felt like an utter fool when he was led from the tent,
almost nude, to face the curious eyes of thirty or more white people.
His simple instructions had been given him by Chupurosa in the hut where
he had been kept virtually a prisoner since his arrival. Then he had
been led forth and pressed into his place in the circle, across from the
other nearly naked man who swam so dizzily before his eyes. Then the
slow ordeal had begun, and round and round they went till he thought he
must surely lose his reason.
On his feet and legs was the liquid courtplaster, and Chupurosa had not
observed it. Coat after coat he had applied, and had a certain feeling
of being fortified. Yet he doubted if, when the moment came for him to
leap upon the fire and clasp hands with the man opposite, any of the
mucilaginous substance would be left on the soles of his already burning
feet.
He had seen Jessamy's face beyond the fire. She had smiled at him
encouragingly. But now her face had blended with the other faces that
danced confusedly before his eyes, and he could not separate it as the
circle went slowly round and round.
An old man dropped, face down, on the earth, completely overcome. From
beyond the circle of dancers a pair of arms reached through and dragged
him out by the heels. The dance went on, and the dancers now were closer
to the fire by the breadth of one human body.
Weirdly rose the chant to the moonlit night. Coyotes answered with
doleful ribaldry. A woman pitched forward on her face--a young woman.
She lay quite still, breathing heavily. Oliver stepped over her body as
they dragged her out to resuscitate her, and it seemed as he did so that
he scarce could lift his feet so high.
Now one by one they dropped, exhausted, reeking with sweat caused by the
intensity of the heat from the burning pitch logs. Two fell at once--one
inward, the other back. Up rose the chant as they were dragged away;
fiercer grew the stamping; frenziedly the cherry stones clicked in the
turtle shell.
Lower and lower rode the radiant moon. Blacker and blacker grew the
outlined woods. The coyotes ceased their insane laughter and scurried
off to where jackrabbits played on moonlit pasturelands. And still the
passionate exorcism went on and on, with men and women dropping every
minute and the circle narrowing about the fire and closing in.
The blaze was lower now. The pitch in the logs no longer sputtered and
dripped blazing to the ground. But the heat was still intense, and the
white man's tender flesh was seared as the giving out of some dancer
forced the circle nearer and nearer to the flames.
But into his heart had come a fierce purpose born of the fanaticism
responsible for this ordeal. He was a man of destiny, he felt, though
obliged to "carry on" with blinded eyes. Something of the fierce, dogged
nature of these wild people of the woods entered his soul. He was dying
by inches, it seemed, but the fire, glowing and spitting hatred at him,
became a real enemy to be conquered by grit and stern endurance: and,
held up by the bodies that pressed against his on either side, he
stamped on crazily, his teeth set, the ridiculous side of his plight
forgotten.
And now the circle was pitiably small; and those who formed it staggered
and reeled, and scarce found breath to chant or revile their dying
enemy. But still the cherry stones rattled on while that old oak of a
Chupurosa moved round and about, tireless as an engine.
Oliver dragged his feet now; he thought he could not lift them. His
brain was a dull, dead thing except for that passionate hatred of the
fire that the weird chanting and the strangeness of it all had brought
about. And now the fire grew lower, lower. Back of the ragged hills the
moon slipped down and left the wilderness in blackness. Only the fire
gleamed.
Then suddenly the rattling of the cherry stones was quieted. Now the
only sounds were the weary thud-thud of tough bare heels and the
stentorian breathing of the zealous worshippers, an occasional
heartrending grunt.
On and on--round and round. The very air grew tense. Dawn was at hand.
Its cold breath crept down from the snow-capped peaks. A glimmer of grey
showed in the eastern sky.
Only fifteen of the Showut Poche-dakas plodded now about the failing
fire, by this time smouldering at their very feet. Fifteen Showut
Poche-dakas--and Oliver Drew! All were men, young men in life's full
vigour. Yet they swayed and reeled and staggered drunkenly as the
dizzying ordeal went on through the grey silence of dawn.
Now dawn came fast and spread its inchoate light over the silent
assemblage in the hills. Then like a burst of sound disturbing a weary
sleeper, the cherry stones resumed their rattling.
At once, back of the circle of tottering dancers, a weird chant arose
till it drummed in Oliver's ears and seemed to be lulling him to sleep.
Out of the void taut fingers came and clasped his own. His hands were
jerked high over his head. Something stung his feet and legs, and he
thought of the rattler on the hill. The chant rose to a riotous
shouting. The air was filled with imprecations, wailings, shrieks, and
spiteful challenges. Now Oliver realized that his fingers were locked
with those of the nude Indian who had danced opposite him; that they two
were over the waning fire, fighting it with their feet.
How long it lasted he never knew. Life came back to his mistreated
muscles, and with his feet he fought this thing that stung him and
seared him and filled his heart with burning wrath. Then came a long,
concerted shout. In rushed the Showut Poche-dakas to the fighters' aid.
Bare feet by twenty-fives and fifties slapped at the fire, and a herd of
dark forms trampled over it and beat it to extinction.
A long shout of triumph that sped away on swift wings toward the coming
dawn and the distant mountain! And then a single voice lifted high in
words which in English are these:
"The evil fire god has been defeated. No barrier stands between the
white man and the Showut Poche-dakas. From this hour to the end of time
he who has danced the fire dance tonight and conquered the evil spirit
shall be brother to the Showut Poche-dakas!"
Then just before Oliver fainted in some one's arms he heard in English:
"Seven hours and twenty minutes--the longest fire dance in the history
of the tribe!"
And the new brother of the Showut Poche-dakas heard no more.