"Did you find that?" asked the shaman.
"Yes, I found it. I and Hayash Tihua together."
"Where?"
"On the kauash, on the trail that leads to the north."
"Who killed sa nashtio?" the chayan further inquired. He alone carried
on the investigation; Hoshkanyi Tihua had mingled with the rest again,
and stood there silent and speechless over the terrible news. Neither
did any of the others utter a single word, but from time to time one or
the other shook his head and sighed deeply.
"We don't know," replied the Indian, "for we did not find anything
else."
"Have you looked for more?" emphasized the medicine-man.
The other hung his head as if he felt the reproach. "No," he said in a
low tone.
"Why not?"
"Because we were afraid that other Tehuas might be around."
"How do you know that the people from the north have killed our
nashtio?"
"Because the Moshome Dinne never wear such." He pointed to the sandal,
which he had handed to the tapop.
"Did the shoe lie where our father died?"
"No, we found it closer to the Tyuonyi."
A flutter went through the group,--a movement of surprise and of terror.
Many persons had collected, and the steps of more were heard coming up.
In the valley the wind sighed. Louder than its plaintive moaning sounded
the howling wail that continued in the great house with undiminished
power. The Hishtanyi continued,--
"How did the shuatyam kill our father?" His voice trembled as he uttered
these words.
"With arrows."
"Have you brought them along?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"One."
"Where is the corpse?"
"At the house of Tanyi hanutsh."
The shaman turned around. "Tyame," he called to the delegate of the
Eagle clan, "do your duty. And you, too, Tapop."
The group was about to disperse when the Shikama Chayan called back the
men who had brought the news. All stood still and listened.
"Is the head entire?" asked the medicine-man.
"The scalp is not on it."
A murmur of indignation arose. The chayan turned away and walked slowly
along the foot of the cliffs toward his dwelling. Every one set out for
the great house, talking together excitedly, but in low voices. The
tapop, Tyame, and the two men who had found the body took the lead. The
Hishtanyi Chayan and the Shkuy Chayan came last.
The nearer they came to the great building, the louder and more dismal
sounded the lamentations.
The storm was approaching with threatening speed. One dense mass of inky
clouds shrouded the west. From time to time it seemed to open, and
sheets of fire would fill the gap. To this threatening sky the
death-wail ascended tremulously and plaintively, like a timid appeal for
redress. In response the heavens shot angry lightning and thunderpeals.
The cliffs on the Tyuonyi trembled, and re-echoed the voices from above,
which seemed to tell feeble humanity below, "We come!"
* * * * *
It was long before sunset when the old war-chief of the Queres, after
having thoroughly examined the spot where the interview between Shotaye
and the Tehua Indian took place, began to follow on the tracks of the
latter. He was undertaking a difficult, an extremely dangerous task. It
is not easy for a man well provided with weapons to pursue an armed
Indian, but to attempt it unarmed is foolhardiness. The Indian is most
dangerous when retreating, for then he enjoys the best opportunities to
display his main tactics in warfare, which are hiding and patient
lurking. He has every opportunity to prepare his favourite ambush, and
woe unto him who runs after an Indian on the retreat, unless the pursuer
is thoroughly prepared and well acquainted with the war-tricks of the
redman. The annals of western warfare give sad evidence of the
disastrous results. The mountaineers among the Indian tribes are those
who are best skilled in the murderous hide-and-seek game. Indians of the
plains have less occasion to cultivate it.
Topanashka Tihua was aware that if he followed the Tehua he was risking
his own life. But it was not the first time he had attempted such
dangerous undertakings, and so far he had never failed. With the
configuration of the ground and the landmarks in vegetation and scenery
he was far better acquainted than the Tehua. Furthermore, he enjoyed the
material advantage that the latter could not have noticed him.
Everything depended on ascertaining unseen as much as possible about the
enemy's movements.
From some of Shotaye's gesticulations the maseua had concluded that the
Tehua would proceed on the old trail leading from the Rito to the Puye,
or at least keep himself very near that trail. He was confirmed in it by
the direction which the friend of the woman took after leaving her.
Topanashka maintained, therefore, the same course, going slowly and with
the greatest caution. He kept on the alert for the least noise that
struck him as suspicious, or for which he could not at once account.
In consequence of the heat of the day, the forest was remarkably still.
Not a breeze sighed through the tops of the pines, for the wind that
blows toward a coming storm and heralds its approach rises later in the
day. The distant gobbling of turkeys was a sound that awakened no
suspicions, the more so as it grew fainter and fainter, receding in the
direction of the higher crests and peaks. Neither were the numerous
crows a source of uneasiness to him. On every clearing these birds
gravely promenaded by half-dozens together, and his cautious gliding
across such exposed places did not in the least discommode the dusky
company. As soon as Topanashka came in sight of the trail again he kept
near it, but to its left, gliding from tree to tree or creeping across
clear expanses from shrub to shrub. He therefore moved more slowly than
the Tehua whom he was pursuing.
In this manner he had advanced for quite a while, always keeping an eye
on the trail to his right, when he caught sight of a suspicious object
lying directly in the path, where the latter was barely more than a
faint streak across the thin grass that grows sometimes on the plateaus
in bunches. At once the old man stopped, cowered behind a juniper, and
waited.
A novice on the war-path, or an inexperienced white man, would have gone
to examine the strange object more closely, but the old scout takes
such unexpected finds in the light of serious warning. Nothing appears
more suspicious to him than something which seems to have been
accidentally dropped on a trail over which hostile Indians are
retreating. He forthwith thinks of a decoy, and is careful not to
approach. For Topanashka it was doubly significant, for had the object
purposely been placed there, it led to the disagreeable inference that
the Tehua was aware of his pursuit. In that case he was sure to lie in
wait for him, and upon nearer approach he could expect an arrow-shot
without the least doubt. That shot might miss him, but at all events the
lurking enemy would find out that his pursuer was an unarmed man, and
that there was no danger in attacking him openly. Then the situation
would become desperate.
Still, as the old man had always kept to the right of the trail, it was
possible that the enemy had not so far noticed him. But somewhere in the
neighbourhood of the suspicious object that enemy must be hidden; of
that he felt sure. It was a very serious moment, for any awkward
movement or the least noise might bring about his destruction. Under
such circumstances many a one sends a short prayer to Heaven for
assistance in his hour of need. Not so the Indian; he has only formulas
and ritualistic performances, and there was no time to remember the
former or to think of the latter. Topanashka strained his eyes to the
utmost to find out the nature of the suspicious object that lay not far
from his hiding-place, but he could arrive at no satisfactory result. It
appeared to be round, like a flat disk; but of what material it was made
and for what purpose it had been manufactured, he could not discover. At
last it flashed upon him that it might be one of the circular
war-sandals of the Tehua, whose tracks he had noticed from time to time,
which the owner might have taken off and deposited here. There was no
doubt that the enemy must be close at hand.
Topanashka had no thought of turning back. Flight was very difficult,
since he did not know where the foe lurked. To wait was the only thing
to be done,--wait until night came, and then improve the darkness to
return to the Rito in safety. But what of the all-important
council-meeting, at which he was compelled to assist? Crouched behind
the juniper-bush, cautiously peering out from behind it now and then,
the old warrior pondered over the situation. At last he saw what to do.
Slowly extending his feet and legs backward, he little by little
succeeded in laying himself flat on his stomach. He had noticed that not
far behind him there was another and much taller bush. Toward this bush
he crept, but like a crawfish, feet foremost. Had his enemy stood
otherwise than in a line with the first shelter which Topanashka had
made use of, he would surely have sent an arrow during this retrograde
performance. He continued to crawfish until the tall bush was between
him and the smaller one. Once covered by the former, he raised his head
and looked around.
A peculiar stillness reigned. Not a breeze stirred, the sun was blazing
hot, notwithstanding the long, trailing clouds that traversed the sky.
"Kuawk, kuawk, kuawk!" sounded the cries of several crows, as they flew
from a neighbouring tree. They went in the very direction where
Topanashka suspected the Tehua to be, and alighted on a piñon in that
neighbourhood. The old man glanced, not at the birds, but at the trunk
above which the crows were sitting. It was not thick enough to conceal
the body of a man, and about it the ground was bare. If there had been
anybody hiding there, the cunning and mistrustful birds would never have
alighted. The maseua took this into consideration, and began to doubt
the correctness of his former conclusions. Yet it was wiser not to
attempt a close examination of the sandal; such curiosity might still
lead to fatal results.
Like an old fox, Topanashka determined to circumvent the dangerous spot,
by describing a wide arc around it. He would thus meet the trail farther
north, and be able to judge from signs there whether or not the Tehua
was close upon the Rito. First he would have to crawl backward until he
was at a sufficient distance to be out of sight altogether.
This movement he began to execute in his usual slow and deliberate
manner, crawfishing until he felt sure that he could not be seen from
the point where the crows had taken their position. Once during his
retreat the birds fluttered upward, croaking, but alighted again on the
same spot. Something must have disturbed them.
Topanashka arose, straightened himself, and moved ahead as noiselessly
as possible. He maintained a course parallel to the trail.
The old man considered himself now as being in the country of the enemy
and on hostile ground. For whereas he was in reality not far from the
Rito, still, possibly, he had an enemy in his rear. It is the custom of
a warrior of high rank in the esoteric cluster of the war magicians, ere
the trailing of an enemy begins, to pronounce a short prayer, and
Topanashka had neglected it. His indignation at the discovery of
Shotaye's misdeed was the cause of this neglect. Now it came to his
mind.
"Kuawk, kuawk, kuawk!"
A crow flew overhead. It came from the tree where the others had been
sitting, or at least from that direction.
To the Indian the crow is a bird of ill omen. Its discordant voice is,
next to the cry of the owl, regarded as the most dismal forewarning.
The use of its plumage in magic is strongly condemned. Was it not
strange that those harbingers of misfortune so persistently followed
him, and that their repulsive croaking always interrupted his thoughts?
Topanashka resolved to make good on the spot what he had omitted, and
ere he moved, to pray.
In place of the formula which the warrior recites when he is on the
track of an enemy, Topanashka selected another one, spoken upon entering
dangerous ground where enemies may be lurking. It seemed to him that the
latter was better adapted to the occasion, since he was unarmed and
therefore unable to fight in case of necessity. He still carried with
him the same fetich, a rude alabaster figure of the panther, which we
saw dangling from his necklace on the day he went to visit the tapop.
But the necklace he had left at home this time, and he carried the
amulet in a leather satchel concealed under his wrap. He took out the
wallet and removed the fetich from it. To the back of the figure was
fastened a small arrow-head, on the sides a turquoise and a few shells
were tied with strings of yucca fibre.
The old man squatted on the ground, took from the same satchel a pinch
of sacred meal, and scattered it to the six regions. Then he
whispered,--
"[=A]-[=a]. Nashtio, Shiuana, Kopishtai! Make me precious this day, even
if the land be full of enemies. Let not my life be threatened by them.
Protect me from them. Let none of the Moshome go across this line," he
drew a line in the sand with the arrow-point, "give me protection from
them! Mokatsh, Tyame, Shiuana, shield my heart from the enemy."
While pronouncing the latter words he drew three more lines, breathed on
the fetich, placed it in the satchel again, and rose. He felt
strengthened, for he had performed his duty toward the Shiuana, had
satisfied Those Above.
"Kuawk, kuawk, kuawk!" The crow soared back over his head. The ugly,
ill-voiced bird! Topanashka's eyelids twitched angrily; he was amazed.
He resumed his walk, or rather his cautious, gliding gait, his head bent
forward, all his faculties strained to see, to hear, and to detect.
Frequently he would stop, hide himself, and listen. All was quiet around
him, for even the crows kept silent or were heard in the distance only.
The glare of the sunlight was less vivid, the afternoon was on the wane.
The late hour was not alone the cause of the diminution of light; the
sun was shrouded by heavy masses of clouds. With the waning daylight it
grew cooler, a faint breeze being wafted over from the Rio Grande.
The old man rightly supposed that he was approaching the trail again and
would soon strike it. The cañon near which he had surprised Shotaye and
her ally lay some distance in his rear and to the right, for the old
trail crosses it at its upper end, and the cañon bends to the north.
Topanashka intended to reach this upper terminus. He expected in case
other Tehuas should be about, that they would be hidden in that
vicinity. He wanted to strike the path first, and survey it, if from a
distance only, then keep on again in a line parallel to its course until
it crossed the ravine. Afterward he would go back to the Tyuonyi, if
possible, with the sandal as corroborative evidence.
He almost chided himself now for not having picked up the foot-gear. The
more he reflected, the more he became convinced that his suspicions
about some ambush having been prepared by means of the sandal were
groundless. The crows especially seemed to be a sure sign of it. That
bird is very bold, but also very sly; and had a warrior or any human
being been in concealment, would never have selected his vicinity for a
place of comfortable rest. Had they not flown away as soon as he
approached their roosting-place? And yet he moved very slowly and
noiselessly.
But why did the crows so persistently follow him? What signified their
restlessness, their loud and repeated cries? It boded nothing good. The
black pursuivants either foretold or intended evil. Were they real
crows?
The Indian is so imbued with the notion of sorcery that any animal that
behaves unusually appears to him either as a human being changed into an
animal, or some spirit which has assumed the form for a purpose. That
purpose is either good or bad. Owls, crows, and turkey-buzzards, also
the coyote, are regarded as forms assumed by evil spirits, or by men
under the influence of evil charms. The more Topanashka reflected upon
the conduct of the birds, the more superstitious he became concerning
them. They certainly meant harm. Either they sought to allure him into
danger, or they indicated the presence of imminent peril.
Whatever that danger might be and wherever it might lurk, the man
thought of nothing but to do his duty under all circumstances. He was,
after all, glad that he had not taken up the sandal. It had brought him
as far as he was now, and he considered it his duty to go to the bitter
end, and find out everything if possible. That he exposed himself more
than was really necessary did not enter his mind. He failed to consider
that if he were killed, nobody would be able to give timely warning at
the Rito, and that the very search for him might expose his people to
the danger which he was striving to avert. Death had little terror for
him; it was nothing but the end of all pain and trouble.
As soon as Topanashka believed that he had come again into proximity of
the path, he resumed his previous methods of locomotion; that is, he
began to crawl on hands and feet. The timber was of greater density
here, for it was nearer the foot of the mountains.
In proportion as the trees become taller and as they stand closer
together, the ground below is freer from shrubbery, and may be scanned
from a certain distance with greater ease. Nevertheless the soil is more
rocky, ledges crop out on the surface, isolated blocks appear, boulders,
and sometimes low, dyke-like protuberances.
When Topanashka felt certain of the proximity of the trail, he scanned
the ground very carefully. It was still flat, notwithstanding some rocky
patches. The shade was deep, and as far as the eye reached, nothing
moved; nothing suspicious was seen, nay, nothing that bore life, except
the sombre vegetation. The wind increased in force; the pines faintly
murmured from time to time; a blast penetrated beneath them to the
surface of the soil, chasing the dry needles in fitful whirls or playing
with the tall bunch-grasses that were growing profusely here.
If any man was about he certainly kept outside the range of vision. So
the old man reasoned, and he began to creep toward a place where the
smoothness of the rocks indicated the wear and tear of human feet. It
was the only trace of the trail, and barely visible. As he approached
the place he knew that he must be seen, but he relied upon the fact that
a man lying flat on the ground is very difficult to hit. An arrow could
scarcely strike him, and in no case could the wound be other than
slight, for the shot must come from a distance, as there was, he felt
certain, no one near by.
He glided like a snake, or rather like a huge lizard, which crawls over
obstacles, and whose body adapts itself to depressions instead of
crossing or bridging them over. His cautious progress scarcely caused a
leaf to rustle or a stone to rattle, and these noises were perceptible
only in the vicinity of where they were produced. So he pushed himself
gradually close up to a ledge, which, while of indifferent height,
still protected his body somewhat. On this ledge he expected to notice
scratches which indicated that the trail passed over it.
It was as he suspected,--the rock was slightly worn by human feet; but
of fresh tracks there could of course be no trace here, for only long
and constant wear and tear, and not an occasional hurried tread, can
leave marks behind. But Topanashka noticed a few fragments of rock and
little bits of stone that lay alongside the old worn-out channel.
Without lifting his head, he extended his arm, grasped some of the
fragments, and began to examine them.
Loose rocks or stones that have been lying on the ground undisturbed for
some time, always have their lower surface moist, while the upper dries
rapidly. When the yellowish tufa of these regions becomes wet, it
changes colour and grows of a darker hue. Topanashka had noticed that
some among the stones which he was examining were darker than the
others. The Indian, when he examines anything, looks at it very
carefully. One of the fragments was darker on the surface; of this he
felt sure, as when he removed them he was careful to keep them as they
lay. Below, the piece had its natural colour, that of dry stone. He
assured himself that the darker shade really proceeded from humidity; it
was still moist. The fragment, therefore, must have been turned over;
and that, too, a very short time ago. Only a large animal or a man could
have done this. He looked closely to see whether there were any
scratches indicative of the passage of deer-hoofs or bear-claws, but
there were none except those that appeared so large as to show plainly
from a distance. There was every likelihood, therefore, that some human
being had but very lately moved the stones, and not only since the rain
of last night but since the surface had had time to dry again; that is,
in the course of the afternoon.
He moved his body forward where he could examine the soil alongside the
ledge. The grass was nowhere bent and broken, still that was no
sufficient indication. There at last was a plain human track, the
impression of a naked foot with its toe-marks to the north, and the
impression was fresh! But the Tehua walked on round sandals. Had he not
lost one of them? It was very uncomfortable walking on one of the
circular disks only. Topanashka rose on hands and feet and crept
farther, regardless of what might be behind him. His eyes were directed
northward and he relied upon his ear to warn him of danger in the rear.
The trail lay before him quite distinct for a short distance. Close to
it some grasses were bent, and on the sandy place near by there was a
print as if from a small hoop, but the impression was old and partly
blurred. In vain did the old warrior search for other marks; the rain
had obliterated everything except this faint trace that might originally
have been plainer because deeper. It looked as if the wearer of the
sandal had stepped on the grass-bunch with the fore part of his foot,
slipped back lightly, and thus pressed the hind part of the hoop deeper
into the soil. In that case some trace of the heel-print might still be
found. And indeed a very slight concavity appeared behind the impression
of the sandal. The heel was turned from the north, consequently the man
was going to, not coming from the Rito. The tracks were surely old ones.
Everything was plain now. The Tehua had lost one of his sandals and was
returning on his bare feet. But why should he leave it? Why did he not
take it along? Even that Topanashka could easily explain. People from
the Rito frequently roamed over the northern mesa, close to the Tyuonyi.
He might have noticed the presence of some of them, and have fled in
haste, leaving his foot-gear behind. Most likely the ties or thongs had
given way, and he had no time to mend them. That was an evidence also
that the man was alone, else he would not have fled with such
precipitation. Neither was he in this vicinity any longer. Topanashka
felt that his task was done; he could not gain anything by proceeding
farther.
"Kuawk, kuawk, kuawk!" sounded overhead. A crow had been sitting quietly
on the tree above him, but now it flew off again, the unlucky bird! Its
cry startled the old man, and he raised his head to look after the
herald of evil, following him with his eye. All was still. Then he rose
to his knees.
A sharp humming twang, a hissing sound, and a thud followed in
lightning-like succession. Topanashka bends over, and at the same time
tumbles forward on his face. There he lies, the left cheek and shoulder
on the ground. The left arm, with which he has sought to support the
body, has slipped; and it now lies fully extended partly below the head,
the prostrate head. The chest is heaving painfully, as if under
extraordinary pressure. Face and neck are colouring; the lips part; the
throat makes a convulsive effort to swallow. The eyes are starting; they
denote suffocation and terrible pain. The legs twitch; they seem
struggling to come to the rescue of the body's upper half.
From the back of the old man there protrudes an arrowshaft. It has
pierced it close to the spine, between it and the right shoulder-blade,
penetrating into the lungs, where it now stabs and smarts.
From a distant tree-top there sounds the hoarse "kuawk, kuawk" of the
crow. Otherwise all is still.
The wounded man coughs; with the cough blood comes to his lips,--light
red blood. The thighs begin to struggle, as if formication was going on
in the muscles. It is an impotent movement, and yet is done
consciously; for the trunk of the body, which was beginning more and
more to yield, now begins to turn clumsily backward; the left hand
clutches the soil; the arm is trying to heave, to lift. But the weight
is too heavy, the shaft inside too firmly and too deeply rooted.
Nevertheless the hips succeed in rising; the trunk follows; then it
tumbles over on the back, contracts with a moan of pain and suffering,
and lies there trembling with spasmodic shivers.
Topanashka has made this superhuman effort for a purpose. He feels that
his wound is severe, that his strength is gone; his senses are darkened
and his thoughts confused. Still there is a spark of life left, and that
spark demands that he should attempt to see whence came the arrow that
so terribly lacerates his breast. But as he has fallen over heavily, the
point of the arrow has been pressed deeper. Flint--an arrow-head of
flint with notched edges--tears; the muscles do not close about the
intruder. The blood flows into the chest; it fills the lungs; he
suffocates. Yet all consciousness has not vanished, although pain and
oppression overwhelm the physical instruments of consciousness, and
deprive the will of its connection with its tools. The will longs to see
him who has destroyed its abode, but it no longer controls the shattered
tissues; the nerves shiver like the broken springs of clockwork ere they
come to a stand-still forever. The eye still distinguishes light
occasionally, but it cannot see any longer.
Weaker and weaker become the breathings. On both sides of the mouth a
fold begins to form over the blood that has curdled and dried; new
fillets stream to the lips from within. The legs still twitch
convulsively.
Now a stream of blood gushes from the open mouth; wave after wave rushes
up with such swiftness that bubbles and froth form between the lips and
remain there. A chill pervades the whole body; it is the last nervous
tremor; the lower jaw hangs down, showing with fearful distinctness the
folds, the ghastly folds, of death.
All is still. Through the tops of the pines comes a humming sound like a
chant, a last lay to the brave and dutiful man. Still, stark, and stiff
he lies in his gore. His career is ended; his soul has gone to rest.
And thus all remained quiet for a short time. Then the grass was waved
and shaken in the direction to which the old man had turned his back in
the last hapless moment. The grass seemed to grow, to suddenly rise; and
a figure appeared which had been lying flat behind a projecting rocky
ledge. As this figure straightened itself, bunches of grass dropped from
its back to the ground. It was the figure of a man.
But it is not the Tehua Indian who stands there motionless, with bow
half drawn and an arrow in readiness, who gazes over to the corpse to
see whether it is really a corpse, or whether it will need a second
shaft to despatch it forever. The man is of middle height, raw-boned and
spare. Shaggy hair bristles from under the strands that surround his
head like a turban. He wears nothing but a kilt of deerskin; from his
shoulders hangs a quiver; a flint knife depends from the belt. This man
is no village Indian, notwithstanding that dark paint on his body. It is
one of the hereditary foes of the sedentary aborigines,--a Navajo!
He is eying the dead body suspiciously. If it is surely dead the second
arrow may be saved. Those glassy eyes; that sallow face; and the fold,
the ghastly fold that runs on both sides of the mouth, of that mouth
filled with blood now clotting,--they show that life is gone.
Still the savage keeps his bow well in hand, as with head and neck
extended he steals forward slowly, mistrustfully approaching his victim.
When he is close to the body his eyes sparkle with delight and pride,
and his face gleams with the triumph of some hellish spirit.
He touches the corpse. It is warm, but surely lifeless. He grasps at the
wrap; it is of no value to him, although made of cotton. Beneath,
however, there must be something that attracts his attention, for he
quickly tears off the scanty dress and fumbles about the chest of the
victim. A horrible grin of delight distorts his features, already
hideously begrimed, for he has found the little bag and takes from it
the fetich of the dead man. That fetich is a prize, for with it the
magic power that was subservient to the victim while alive now becomes
the victor's. He handles the amulet carefully, almost tenderly, breathes
on it, and puts it back into the bag. Then he detaches his stone knife,
grasps it with the right hand, and with the left clutches the gray hair
of the dead man and with a sudden jerk pulls the head up. Then he begins
to cut the scalp with his shaggy knife-blade of flint.
A faint whistling sound, as of some one hissing near him, is heard; and
ere he looks up a male voice by his side has said,--
"That is good, very good!" The words are spoken in the Dinne language.
The murderer looks up, staying his work of mutilation. By his side there
stands another Navajo, dressed, painted, and armed like himself.
A short time after he had risen from his hiding-place and was stealing
over toward the body of his victim, this other Navajo had appeared in
sight. He watched from the distance his companion's proceedings, and as
he recognized that he was busying himself with some dead body,
approached rapidly, though without the least noise. He discovered the
dead, stood still, fastened a piercing glance on the prostrate form, and
heaved a great sigh of relief. Notwithstanding the paint on his face it
was easy to see how delighted he was at the sight. He again advanced,
not unlike a cat which is afraid to go too near another that is playing
with a mouse, for fear of being scratched or bitten by her. But when
unobserved he had reached the Navajo, he could not withhold a joyful
exclamation that startled and interrupted the murderer. He asked,--
"Dost thou know who that is?"
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"That is Topanashka, the strong and wise warrior. That is very, very
good!"
Navajo number two looked closely at the corpse; then he grasped the hair
again and resumed the cutting. Number one touched his arm.
"Why do you do this?" he asked.
The other chuckled.
"Dost thou not see it, Nacaytzusle," said he; "the people of the houses
know that we only take a lock of the hair. If now they find the body and
see that this"--he pointed to the skin--"is gone, they will think it is
one of those up here"--waving his hand to the north--"that has done it."
Nacaytzusle, for he was indeed the second Navajo, nodded approvingly and
suffered the other to go on.
Cutting, scraping, tearing, and pulling, he at last succeeded in making
a deep incision around the skull. Blood flowed over his fingers and
hands. Then he grasped the gray hair, planted himself with both feet on
the neck, and pulled until the scalp was wrenched off and dangled in his
fist. Over the bare skull numberless fillets of blood began to trickle,
at once changing the face and neck of the dead into a red mass. Then he
turned to the other, nodded, and said,--
"It is well."
Nacaytzusle turned his eyes upon the dead, and replied in a hoarse
voice,--
"It is well."
He scanned the surroundings suspiciously.
"Thou hast done well, very well," he said to the murderer. "Thou art
strong and cunning. This one"--he touched the body with his toes--"was
strong and wise also, but now he is so no longer. Now," he hissed, "we
can go down into the Tu Atzissi and get what we want."
"What dost thou mean, Nacaytzusle?" inquired the victorious Navajo.
"Go thou back to the hogan," whispered Nacaytzusle to him, "and tell the
men to be there," pointing southwestward, "four days from now. I will be
there and will speak to them."
The other nodded.
"Let us go," said he.
They moved off in silence without casting another glance at the dead.
Their direction was southwest. They carefully avoided making the least
noise; they spied and peered cautiously in every direction, shy,
suspicious. Thus they vanished in the forest like wolves sneaking
through timber.
* * * * *
Evening had set in. Stronger blew the wind, and the top of the pines
shook occasionally with a solemn rushing sound that resembled distant
thunder. The breeze swayed the grass, the blades nodded and bowed beside
the remains of the brave man as if they were asking his forgiveness for
the bloody deed of which they had been the innocent witnesses. A crow
came up, flapping her wings, and alighted on a tree which stood near the
corpse, and peered down upon the body. Then she croaked hoarsely, jumped
to a lower limb, and peered again. Thus the bird continued to descend
from one branch to another, croaking and chuckling as it were to
herself. At last she fluttered down to the ground, a few paces from the
body, peeped slyly over to where it lay, and walked toward it with slow,
stately steps and eager nods. But something rattled in the distance; the
bird's head turned to the east, and as quick as lightning she rose in
the air and flew off with a loud, angry, "kuawk, kuawk, kuawk!"
Two men are coming toward the spot. They are Indians from Tyuonyi who
came up in the course of the afternoon with bows and arrows. They
perceive the body, and the blood on it and around it. Both stand still,
terrified at the sight. At last one of them exclaims,--
"It is one from the Zaashtesh!"
They run together to the spot, heedless of the danger which may yet be
lurking about. They bend over the dead, then look at each other
speechless, confused. At last they find words, and exclaim
simultaneously,--
"It is our father, Topanashka Tihua!"
"It is sa nashtio maseua!"
Both men are young yet, they weep. Their sorrow is so great, in presence
of the loss sustained by them and by all, that they forget all caution.
Had the Navajos been about still, two more of the house-dwellers would
have fallen.
They attempt to decide what is to be done; their thoughts become
confused, for the terrible discovery distracts them. Little by little
they become conscious that it is impossible to leave the body here, a
prey to the wolves and carrion crows; that it must be brought home, down
into the valley where he was so beloved, so worshipped almost, by
everybody. Nothing else can be done.
With sighs and sobs, stifled groans and tears, the body is raised up,
one supporting the head, the other the feet. Thus they drag and carry it
along on the old trail to the Rito. Blood clings to their hands and to
their dress. Never mind. Is it not the blood of a good man, and may not
with that blood some of his good qualities perhaps pass into them? Not a
word is spoken, not even when they lay down the corpse to rest
themselves a while. In such moments they stand motionless, one by the
mutilated head, the other at the feet. They look neither at each other
nor at it, for if they should attempt it tears would be sure to come to
their eyes. Without a word they lift up the body again, tenderly as if
it were a child's, and on they go, slowly, painfully, and silently.
It is night now, and the forest is more full of life. The dread voices
of the darkness are heard around them; coyotes howl and whine; in the
distance owls hiss and shriek and flit from tree to tree, as the panting
men approach. They think not of danger, not even of those who so
ruthlessly slaughtered their great and good maseua; on they go as fast
as the heavy load permits and as their heavy hearts afford them
strength.
Now one of them stumbles and falls, and as he rises he notices that the
object over which he has tripped is still clinging to his foot. He
cannot see what it is, but grasping it, discovers a round war-sandal,
over which he has stumbled, whose thongs have remained between his toes.
This discovery he communicates to his companion. With fresh vigour they
resume their dismal march. It is dark, so dark that nothing more can be
seen; nothing more is heard save distant thunder and the discordant
voices of the night in the forest. Slowly and silently they proceed
homeward with their gory but precious burden.