THE INDIAN VILLAGE
Not only was the Sunrise Camp Fire guardian a little relieved by the
companionship of Ralph Marshall and Terry Benton and their western
friend, Howard Brent, the next day, but the girls as well.
The climb up a precipice of four hundred or more feet to reach the
village of Oraibi required a good deal of effort, but, fortunately, the
camping party had grown accustomed to climbing in the past two months.
But once there, for the difference in appearance between Oraibi and a
white man’s city, one might have made a journey to the moon.
The houses were gray, like the native stone, and built on terraces with
outside ladders ascending to their second floors. They were made of
slabs of stone set in mud, and had many tiny windows.
Today the narrow streets were thronging with Indian men and women
dressed in extraordinary festal clothes.
The Camp Fire party had arisen at daylight and yet they had missed the
singing and the race from the plain below in the early morning
performance of the great Snake Ceremony. At present, young men and old
kept appearing out of kivas, which are the underground chambers where
the Indian secret religious ceremonies are performed. And their faces
were so strangely painted, their heads decorated with such brightly
colored feathers, and their bodies so strung with beads, gay blankets
and strips of long fur, that they might have come from some region far
deeper under the ground.
The group of Camp Fire girls remained as close together as possible.
For, beside the Indians, there were many tourists in the streets—Mexican
cowboys, western ranchmen, travelers from the East and visiting Indians
from other tribes.
Whenever it was possible, Bettina kept her arm linked in Peggy’s, for
Peggy was such a sensible person she seldom suffered from imaginative
fears. However, Peggy’s attention was absorbed, whenever the young man
could manage it, by Howard Brent. He seemed to like Peggy’s
straightforwardness and her fearless, original comments on everything
that interested her.
Ralph Marshall and Terry Benton devoted themselves to Sally Ashton and
Gerry Williams, except when they deserted the girls to talk to Mrs.
Burton. And this they seemed to do as often as it was possible.
Although Ralph Marshall had been to camp two or three times since the
evening of the dance, Bettina had never talked to him again alone. She
was polite, of course, because of her mother’s wishes, but it was idle
to attempt a friendship with any human being with whom one felt so
uncongenial. His somewhat flippant comments on the Indian preparations
they were witnessing annoyed Bettina.
Nevertheless she wondered how she could have ever believed that she
would be attracted by the life and customs of the Indians. If they were
a peaceful semicivilized tribe, their appearance belied it. Bettina did
not understand that the Snake Festival, which they expected to witness
that day, was the strangest and most incomprehensible of all the
religious ceremonies of the western Indians.
The morning songs had been sung; the race of the young Indian warriors,
from the plain to the mesa to obtain the consecrated objects to place in
their fields of corn, had taken place.
There would be nothing further of importance until toward noon.
Therefore, the Sunrise Camp Fire party was wandering about, not knowing
exactly what to do next.
They were standing in front of an Indian house which looked a little
handsomer than the others, when the door opened and a young man came
out.
He was really splendid in appearance, for he was not costumed in the
fantastic fashion of the other braves. He wore a shirt of a wonderful
shade of blue—the dye once made by the Hopi Indians—but now almost
unknown, leather trousers, an embroidered belt, and moccasins bound
about his legs with strips of leather. In his belt there was a beautiful
hand-made javelin or dagger with a hilt of unpolished jewels, turquoise
and topaz and sapphires. His face and body were unpainted, but about his
head was a circle of gray and white feathers fastened to a band on which
was set in jewels a design meant to represent the rising sun. And the
young man’s figure was nearly perfect and his skin of light bronze.
He would have moved on, merely bowing gravely to his friends, for they
of course immediately recognized him, except that Mrs. Burton
impetuously spoke. She was really filled with admiration and also with
amazement. Could it be possible that a man with the education and
apparently the intellect the young Indian had, could take part in a
ceremony which one knew to be as revolting to civilized ideas as the
Snake dance?
“Tewa, is it true you are one of the Snake Priests?” Mrs. Burton
demanded unexpectedly.
The young man turned and came up to her.
Ralph Marshall, who was standing beside Mrs. Burton at the moment, gave
a low exclamation.
“Mase, it can’t be you,” he said in astonishment, making no effort to
conceal his bewilderment. “Why, at college I should never have thought
you would ever dress or behave like your own people again. You were a
grind except when it came to being on top in athletics.”
It was the Indian who explained the situation.
“Mr. Marshall and I were classmates at college.” Then, without appearing
to notice the others in the group, all of whom were listening to his
reply: “I see no reason, Marshall, why you should be astounded. I am an
Indian; being educated as a white man has neither changed my race nor
blood. Many of the customs that seemed good to my father still seem good
to me. We shall never understand each other. When the Indian wants rain
to save himself and his people from hunger he prays to the gods who have
power over the clouds to send down rain on the earth. In your white
man’s religion, though you say if you have faith the size of a mustard
seed you can remove mountains, yet you make no prayers to the forces of
nature. No, Mrs. Burton, I am not a Snake Priest,” Se-kyal-ets-tewa
answered, “or my costume would be unlike this, as you will see later.
But I am one of the runners at dawn and at dusk when the ceremony is
over.” He stopped, hesitating a moment and looking from Mrs. Burton to
Bettina, to whom he had not yet spoken.
“You said at one time that you would like to see inside an Indian house.
This is my home. Would you and your friends care to look through it?”
No one could have spoken more simply or more courteously, and Mrs.
Burton was unfeignedly glad to accept. Indeed, she was first to follow
the young man indoors, the rest of the party close behind her, and
Bettina still holding to Peggy’s arm.
They came into a big living room, the floor covered with sand, but clean
and straight. Jars and vases of handsome pottery were about the room and
the walls hung with bright blankets.
In the room was Dawapa and an elderly Indian squaw whom Tewa explained
was his father’s wife. Only here did he show any feelings of
embarrassment or shame. He was careful to let them know that the squaw
was not his own mother.
But the interesting room was the corn room, or the Indian storehouse.
Here the corn was sorted according to color—blue and red and yellow—and
laid on the stone floor. In one corner of the room were three hollow
stones and a big stone to be held in the hands and used for grinding
corn.
As Peggy was interested in this and the room was not large, she walked
over toward the place, leaving Bettina for the moment alone. However,
standing near were Mrs. Burton and Ralph Marshall, Gerry Williams and
Vera.
But Bettina was not talking to any one of them and was a few feet away.
At once the Indian youth turned and walked up to her.
“Have I offended you, Miss Graham?” he asked. “I thought you were my
friend and the thought gave me pleasure. But of late you do not speak to
me. You do not care to listen to the legends and songs of my people,
which you once said you enjoyed. If you are weary I do not wish to
trouble you, but if I have given you cause for anger I desire to ask
pardon.”
There was nothing in what the Indian said to make one embarrassed or
unhappy; his manner was perfectly respectful and courteous, yet Bettina
found herself blushing hotly. She realized that the others, even if they
were not listening, could not fail to hear. And she wondered what her
Camp Fire guardian would think of the situation.
But Bettina was not a coward, nor was she ever wilfully unkind. Indeed,
she had an unusual gentleness and sweetness and did not like to wound.
“No, you have not offended me and I am still interested in what you used
to tell me,” she answered with quiet friendliness, “only it is not
possible that I should listen to you any more.”
Whatever the young man’s feelings at Bettina’s reply, he gave no sign,
and she moved across the room and stood pretending to look at a crude
drawing in bright colors which was painted on the wall.
Her back was turned to the rest of the party.
As the room was a small one, Peggy and a few of the others had already
gone out of doors.
Except the Camp Fire guardian, really no one paid much attention to the
conversation between Bettina and their Indian host save Gerry Williams.
Ralph Marshall looked at them a little curiously, but was too well bred
to overhear what was being said.
But Gerry saw that Mrs. Burton was pleased, both with Bettina’s speech
and manner and suffered an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. She had no
idea of being able to rival Peggy Webster in her aunt’s affections, but
she did not intend that any one else should supplant her as the next
favorite.
Gerry really felt a great admiration and affection, a girl’s hero
worship—which is more frequent than most people realize—for the great
actress who had made so much of her life with no help save her own
ability. But, more than this, Gerry felt that it would be extremely
useful to her if she could have Mrs. Burton’s friendship and, more than
that, her assistance. For Gerry had her own way to make and did not see
how she could make it in the way she wished unaided.
More than this, she disliked Bettina, and a sudden spirit of mischief
possessed her.
As soon as Bettina walked away, Tewa joined Mrs. Burton and together
they left the room, the others following. But Gerry, seeing that Bettina
had not turned, remained behind till the last.
Then, just as soon as she saw that Bettina had become aware the others
were leaving her, Gerry slipped out, quickly fastening the big wooden
door behind her. It fastened with a crude wooden latch.
It did not occur to Gerry that Bettina would not soon follow them. Some
one in the Indian house would be sure to open the door as soon as she
called out.
Once in the narrow street where the crowds were now gathering in greater
number, Gerry really repented her foolish, indeed her malicious,
childishness. She thought of returning herself to open the door, but she
had been careful to hide from Bettina’s gaze and, even if Bettina saw
what she had done, Gerry was of course prepared to insist she had not
dreamed the room was not empty.
In the street Tewa said good-by to the Sunrise Camp Fire party at once,
and they started immediately toward the great Snake Kiva.
A special effort had been made that Mrs. Burton and her party have
entrance to this underground chamber where the first part of the famous
festival was to take place.
It was then nearly noon and it was with difficulty that each person made
the way along. Except that Ralph tried to be of service to Mrs. Burton
in engineering her, and Sally clung to Terry Benton’s arm, the others
struggled alone, too intent on the surroundings to think of anything
else.
Moreover, the procession of Snake Priests were passing on their way to
the kiva.
Each priest wore on his head a brilliant head-dress of gay feathers and
about his knee a tortoise shell rattle. And all of them were painted in
an alarming fashion and had their necks strung with silver and jeweled
beads.
They went first into the underground chamber which was on the outskirts
of the village, the persons who were to be allowed to enter following
behind them. For, this rite of the Snake Ceremony the Indian guards
carefully.
The Camp Fire party was standing crowded to one side and as near the
entrance as possible.
The scene made one’s nerves on edge with a curious combination of fear,
repulsion and curiosity.
A large bowl in which holy water was placed was brought into the kiva
and the floor then sprinkled with sand for about ten feet. Around the
sand the Snake Priests seated themselves on flat stones, one priest
costumed as a War God.
All this the Camp Fire party watched with absorbing interest and no
particular horror.
But, now, three or four of the priests arose and, going over to a corner
of the kiva, picked up great jars in which the rattlesnakes had been
kept for several days.
Quite calmly and coolly each priest thrust his hand into the jar and,
pulling out the snakes as if they had been long coils of ribbon, thrust
them into a canvas bag which he carried.
As they started back toward the other priests, instinctively Peggy
Webster made her way toward Mrs. Burton and slipped her hand into hers.
In spite of the heat of the day and the stuffiness inside the great
chamber, her aunt’s hand was cold as ice.
“I feel horribly ill, Peggy, dear; I don’t know why I ever thought of
bringing you girls to a festival like this, no matter how celebrated.”
Peggy looked quickly about at their group and for the first time missed
Bettina. But, being wise, Peggy said nothing.
The girls did not seem to be so unpleasantly affected as Mrs. Burton;
but, then, none of them had quite her sensitiveness and quick response
to emotions and conditions, except, perhaps, Bettina, who was not
present.
“I think you had better go out, Tante,” Peggy whispered.
Polly set her teeth with her old obstinacy. “No, dear, remember I am the
Camp Fire guardian; I can’t leave you girls alone to a scene like this.”
The solemn moment had arrived; a low chanting song begun.
A priest stuck his hand into the bag, drawing out as many snakes as
possible. These he flung into the great basin of holy water. Other
priests followed suit. Then, when the snakes had been washed, they drew
them out, flinging them onto the floor of sand where the great mass
wriggled and curved and twisted, kept in place by other priests with
snake whips.
In spite of her effort, in spite of her self-condemnation, Mrs. Burton
felt the scene getting farther and farther away and a kind of darkness
steal over her.
Then she heard Peggy’s voice saying quietly, “You must walk, Tante; we
are all going to get out of this.”
A few moments later, in the fresh air again, Polly was even more annoyed
with her own weakness and failure as a Camp Fire guardian. But, of one
thing was she determined; no more of this particular Indian festival did
she wish her Camp Fire girls to see. Beautiful and symbolic as many of
their customs, the Snake Festival, whatever its mystic origin, was not
one for women to witness.
[Illustration: THE GREAT MASS WRIGGLED AND CURVED]
Yet Mrs. Burton feared the girls would oppose the return to camp.
The actual Snake dance did not take place till sundown.
Fortunately no one objected to going down to camp for food and rest,
except Alice Ashton. Alice seemed perfectly calm and self-possessed. As
she was making a study of Indian customs, she was aggrieved at being
taken away in the midst of the most interesting part of the ceremony.
However, she was too well brought up to do more than mildly object.
Then, as they made their way toward the nearest trail leading down the
precipitous mesa, almost at the same instant several of the Camp Fire
group missed Bettina.