The change from night to daylight in New Mexico is by no means sudden.
Darkness yields slowly to the illumination streaming from the east; and
when the moon is shining, one remains in doubt for quite a while whether
the growing brightness is due to the mistress of night or to the lord of
day.
Nowhere is this more perceptible than on high plateaus covered by sparse
timber. Suddenly awaking, one is in doubt at first whether it is sunrise
or the full moon that illuminates the landscape. The shadows are
weakened, but objects are not much more distinct; a glow pervades the
air rather than a positive light.
When the Indian is on the war-path he sleeps but little, and never long.
He prefers the day to the night for rest, as he can conceal his
movements better in the darkness. Tyope had halted his little army just
before daybreak because he felt afraid of going any farther, and because
he had arrived close to the place where he desired to remain during the
day without exposing his forces to the chance of discovery. None of his
men slept; none of them dozed, even. They had all been warned of the
possible presence of foes, and although there seemed not the slightest
evidence of those foes being aware of their coming, yet the mere
apprehension caused uneasiness. There was therefore increased
watchfulness on their part.
Every one among the Queres was looking forward with anxiety to the hour
when there would be sufficient light to investigate the situation more
closely. The sky had cleared; the air became cooler, and the morning
star shone brightly, in spite of the luminous crescent of a waning moon.
The Hishtanyi Chayan was sitting at the same place where he had retired
a few hours before, but he no longer prayed; he stared motionless. Tyope
lay on his back behind a juniper-bush. He was watching the sky and the
approach of dawn. A number of warriors had lain down in the vicinity,
awaiting the signal to move.
One of these had placed himself in such a position that he could glance
at the forest, which loomed up before him like a mass of dense shadows
with rays of moonlight between. He peered into that maze of darkness and
light for hours. But nothing appeared in it worthy of note. So the
Queres warrior turned around on his back in order to change position. He
saw the moon rise to the zenith and the corona borealis disappear below
the western horizon. He noticed also how the stars grew dimmer and
dimmer, how the shadows commenced to wane. Finally he fixed his gaze on
the east.
Owing to the shrubbery it was not possible to see distinctly, yet
anything lying on the ground could be discerned. From the place where he
lay, the Queres Indian looked through a lane bordered on both sides by
bushes of cedar and juniper. At the end of that lane he discovered a
dark spot. That spot disappeared while he was still gazing at it. He
strained his eyes to find the spot again, but it had really vanished.
The man from the Rito became suspicious. Again he looked, but the spot
or object, whatever it might be, had gone out of sight altogether. He
crawled over to the man nearest him, told him what had occurred, and
returned to his post. The dark speck or thing had not reappeared; but on
the right side of the gallery formed by the trees it seemed as if,
somewhat nearer to his own position, something black became apparent and
disappeared in an instant. The scout strained both ear and eye. Nothing
could be heard, and nothing else of a suspicious character met his gaze.
Meanwhile his companion had crept over to where Tyope was lying, and had
reported to the commander the strange apparition. Tyope turned over so
as to face the east and said,--
"It is well."
He also began to scan the network of shadows and illuminated patches
extending in that direction. The Indian who had spoken to him went back
to his post, but very soon returned, whispering,--
"Somebody has crossed over from one tree to another."
"Where?" Tyope asked in a subdued voice.
"There," replied the scout, pointing with his hand toward a group of
bushes.
"It is well," said the leader; "go back and keep your eyes open."
The Indian crawled off. Tyope rose to his knees, seized two branches of
the tree behind which he had been reclining, and bent them asunder. In
this manner he was able to overlook the ground to the east at a greater
height than before. The light had increased, but it would have been
impossible to discern any object at a distance.
Daylight was growing on the waning night. Had Tyope stood up and looked
toward the east, he would have seen the dark, sinuous line which the
mountains east of Santa Fé trace along that part of the horizon. Their
uppermost snow-fields were beginning to glisten in the light streaming
up from beyond.
On Tyope's left a rustling sound was heard; he turned around. One of his
men was cautiously approaching.
"There are Moshome in front of us."
"I know it," replied the commander. "How many have you seen?"
"Two."
"And you saw them clearly?"
"Yes, but they sneaked off."
"Did they seem to come toward us?"
"They crept behind a juniper, and after that I could see nothing more."
"Do the others know it?"
"Not yet. Shall I tell them?"
"Go tell them. Afterward return here to me."
Tyope felt embarrassed. It was clear to him that several Tehuas were
lurking in the direction whence he had come, and that they were moving
toward him. It indicated that their numbers were strong enough to engage
him. That looked very, very ominous! If he only knew how matters stood
elsewhere, and whether the enemy had shown himself at other points!
Tyope grew very uneasy.
Tactics in Indian warfare reduce themselves to a game of hide-and-seek.
He who must show himself first is sure of suffering the greater loss.
Tyope knew that in case the Tehuas had actually surrounded him they had
the greater advantage at their disposal. They might wait much longer
than he and his men. They might even wait for days, keeping the Queres
penned up in uncertainty, and then break out as soon as the latter were
sufficiently exhausted.
The same scout approached again. He crawled like a mole.
"Nashtio," he whispered, "there are Moshome to the left of us."
"Many?" Tyope inquired hastily.
"Six of them have been noticed."
That was exceedingly alarming. He directed the man to stay on the spot,
while he glided through the bushes to where the Hishtanyi Chayan had
spent the night. The medicine-man was awake, and looked at the captain
in astonishment. Tyope placed a finger on his lips and shook his head.
The shaman asked,--
"Sa uishe, what is it?"
"Tzatze raua! Tzatze raua!" Tyope exclaimed in a low tone. "The Tehuas
are sneaking about us like shutzuna. There are many of them, and they
come up from the east. What shall we do, yaya? Speak."
"Tzatze raua," the shaman repeated, shaking his head. "As you say, the
Moshome come up behind us?"
"I thought," Tyope suggested, "of sending word to the men in front to
come back, and as soon as we could see anything, striking the enemies in
our rear. What do you think of it, sa nashtio?"
"Many will go to Shipapu to-day," the Chayan muttered.
"What shall I do? Speak!" Tyope insisted. The last words of the shaman
frightened him.
The Chayan gave no immediate reply, but sat musing in a manner
indicating that his thoughts were with Those Above. At last he raised
his head and replied,--
"We must wait until the sun stands in the sky."
Tyope suppressed a sigh. However much he attributed this answer of the
shaman to inspiration from those on high, it appeared to him dangerous.
Tyope felt very uneasy, but he was no coward. In case the worst had
really happened, if the Tehuas had anticipated and surrounded him, he
still inclined to the conviction that concentration of his forces and a
rapid onslaught on the foes in his rear would not only save him, but
secure a reasonable number of coveted trophies. If this could be
speedily effected, the less important would be his loss in attaining it;
for as long as the light was faint and dim, the enemy's missiles could
not be discharged with certain aim. He had hoped that the Chayan would
assent to this suggestion. Now on the contrary, the oracle spoke in a
manner that plainly indicated that the Shiuana ordered him to wait until
daylight. It was sure destruction, he felt it; but the Shiuana spoke
through the medium of the old man, and the Shiuana were of course right.
He could not complain or even grumble.
But he might at least prepare everything in advance, so that as soon as
the medicine-man gave the signal, his favourite move might be executed
with a promptness and alacrity that would surprise the enemy. So Tyope
crept back to the juniper-bush in whose neighbourhood his men were
grouped.
Dawn was coming on, and the shadows were beginning to assume definite
shapes and directions. Tyope sighed when he noticed the approach of
sunlight; precious time was being irretrievably lost.
He relieved the warrior whom he had left at his post. The latter
whispered to him that nothing suspicious had turned up. Suddenly Tyope
started and pressed his ear to the ground; then he darted up, rising to
his knees, and listened, straining every nerve, his head turned to the
southwest.
In that direction arose loud yells. They were followed by piercing
cries. Soon the sounds mingled, so as to create a noise like that which
a struggle between men and wolves might produce. These sounds told Tyope
that a severe engagement had commenced in that direction. At the same
time it struck him that the main body of the Tehuas were probably south
and east of his forces, and that consequently by moving swiftly westward
he could interpose himself between the Tehuas and their homes, cut off
their warriors from their village, and secure complete triumph. But
before he could order such a change of tactics he ought to know
something definite from the quarter where the fight had begun. To send a
runner seemed unadvisable, for he thought it unsafe to lessen the forces
around him, if only by a man. Several of his companions had approached,
startled by the sudden noise. He motioned them to return to their posts.
The noise of the battle diminished; then it broke out anew and sounded
nearer. It seemed to extend to the east. In the west and north
everything remained quiet; the enemy appeared to be entirely southwest
and east of the little army which Tyope commanded. He felt relieved, and
a grim satisfaction crept over his mind. He thought, surely the Tehuas
have committed a grave mistake.
If only his people would report to him! Now at last! The bushes rattled,
and a man stepped up. In a tone of intense agitation he said,--
"Where is the war-chief?"
"I am here," replied Tyope in a muffled voice, motioning the warrior to
lie down. The latter either failed to notice the gesture or
misunderstood it, and walked on upright. Something whizzed through the
branches of the shrubs; the messenger bent as if suddenly folded up; he
grasped at his stomach with his hand, and tumbled to the ground. Tyope
stood by his side in the twinkling of an eye. The shaft of an arrow was
sticking in his body, and in vain did the wounded man try to pluck it
out. Regardless of the horrible pain the unfortunate one was suffering,
bent upon catching the drift of his message before the soul could escape
the tortured body, Tyope almost lay down on the groaning man.
"What news do you bring? Speak!" he hissed into his ear.
The wounded warrior moaned, moaned again. Tyope grew wild.
"Speak!" he growled, and shook him by the shoulder so rudely that the
other screamed.
"The Moshome," he gasped, "they--they--have come on to us." A chill went
through his body; he lay there gasping, incapable of speech.
Tyope was frenzied; he again shook the dying man ruthlessly.
"Where have they attacked?" he roared.
"West."
"Have they killed any of our people?"
"I--don't--know," breathed the poor fellow. His head was swaying; it
rolled back and forth on the ground. Tyope could not obtain any further
reply. So he crawled back and left him to die. The Moor had done his
duty; the Moor might go to Shipapu.
Tyope had been so eager to secure from the dying man any information the
latter might still be able to impart, that he paid no immediate
attention to the noise and uproar which had arisen in his own vicinity.
Almost at the very moment when the Queres warrior was mortally wounded,
one of Tyope's companions despatched one of his arrows at a Tehua whom
he had distinctly seen in front. This shot he accompanied by a loud
yell. The foe replied to the challenge in the same manner; arrows
whizzed and hissed through the air, crossing each other and tearing
through the shrubbery or penetrating the trunks of trees with dull
thuds. The fight had begun here too, but little if any damage was done
as yet by either side. Most of the arrows were shot at random, and both
parties whooped and yelled. Their purpose was manifestly to frighten the
adversary by creating an exaggerated impression of their own numbers and
strength.
All this did not make an unfavourable impression upon Tyope. On the
contrary, as soon as he saw that the engagement had broken out in his
rear also, he felt a thrill of pleasure and changed his plans at once.
He believed now, in presence of the attacks made by the Tehuas, that the
latter had indeed placed all their men between him and the Rito, and
that consequently the road to the Puye lay open, and he could rush up,
capture the women and children, and hold them for ransom. But he must
move swiftly and energetically, leaving the fight to go on as best it
might. By advancing with a part of his forces, first to the west and
then straight to the north, Tyope might execute his plan of leaving
enough men behind to make a desperate stand against the Tehuas here.
Without the consent of the Hishtanyi Chayan, however, he felt
unauthorized to adopt decisive measures. So he again crept over to the
shaman and communicated his plans to him. To his delight the old man
rose and said,--
"It is well. Let us go."
It was daylight now, and everything could be plainly seen. The extended
skirmishing went on with less ardour than before, neither party pressing
the other very closely.
Tyope glided back to one of his men. An arrow well directed struck the
ground very near. Whispering into his ear the change of programme, Tyope
took off his shield, turned it toward the enemy, and rose on his right
knee. Fastened to the left arm and resting on the ground with its lower
rim, the shield covered the kneeling man almost completely. The left
hand held the bow, and the weapon slightly protruded from behind the
protecting target. Tyope then pushed his body forward from behind the
bush where he had been crouching.
Hardly was the shield visible when its owner felt a sudden blow against
it, and the point of an arrow came through the hide. The shot must have
come from a short distance, or it would not have pierced the shield. Ere
Tyope discovered whence it came, his companion had discharged his bow,
and with a loud whoop hurled himself forward, where he fell headlong
behind a little tree. Wild yells sounded from the Tehuas, and several of
their warriors rushed up to the spot; branches rattled and bushes shook
as the men brushed past them. Tyope had an arrow ready, and he
despatched it at one of his foes. He pulled another from the quiver
without looking to see whether the first had struck a mark or not,
darted up, and with a shout bounded ahead to encounter the enemy. A shot
grazed his right hand, scratching the wrist and causing him to drop his
arrow. For a time the arm was numb, but Tyope heeded it not. Where the
man who had stood beside him had fallen, a number of warriors from both
sides were wrangling. A Queres lay dead on the dead body of a Tehua
whose scalp he had intended to secure. Two of his brethren were
defending his corpse against half a dozen Tehuas. Tyope's right wrist
had been paralyzed by the arrow-shot, but he raised his arm and flung
the war-club that dangled from it against the head of the nearest foe.
The blow was too feeble, and Tyope grabbed the man's hair. Arrows
whizzed and shrieked past the fighting group; shrill yells and wild
howling sounded from every quarter. The contending parties exchanged
insulting cries and abusive words in both languages.
The Tehua whom Tyope had grabbed by the hair made desperate lunges at
him from below with a sharply pointed arrow. He succeeded in slightly
wounding him in several places. Tyope kicked him in the abdomen, causing
him to double up at once. Regardless of the pain in the right hand Tyope
succeeded in grasping the war-club at last. With it he directed several
blows at the head of the enemy, but they were so weak that only at the
third stroke did the Tehua fall. At this juncture an arrow grazed
Tyope's temple. He looked up, and saw that he had been very imprudent
in yielding so far to ardour and excitement as to mingle with his men in
a strife for the possession of a single scalp, and thus expose unduly
his own person. He began to think of withdrawal into the neighbourhood
of the Hishtanyi Chayan, but it was not easy to extricate himself.
Warding off a blow aimed at his skull, with his shield he pushed it into
the face of the new assailant with sufficient force to cause the man to
stagger. Then he shouted a few words to his own men, turned around, and
rushed back to his tree, where he fell down at full length, exhausted
and bleeding. The other Queres, two in number, followed his example, and
the Tehuas did not pursue. The result was so far favourable to the
Queres that they lost but one man and the Tehuas two; but the scalp of
the dead man from the Rito remained with the enemy.
When Tyope had recovered his breath, he sneaked back to where he had
left the shaman. As he approached the spot he heard the medicine-man
singing and beating his drum. It was a very good sign to see the shaman
at work with such enthusiasm; still Tyope must disturb him.
"Sa nashtio," he cried, "we must go."
"Heiti-na! Heiti-na!" shouted the praying shaman, drumming incessantly.
He was in ecstasies. His uplifted eyes sparkled; he paid no attention to
what was around him.
"Sa nashtio yaya," Tyope anxiously insisted.
"Do not disturb me, let me alone! Heiti-na! Heiti-na!" cried the
Hishtanyi Chayan aloud.
Tyope was in despair. Arrow after arrow was flying past him, rending
twigs and shattering branches. The Tehuas shot faster than the Queres.
They must have a large supply of missiles. Every shot was accompanied by
triumphant yells; the enemy was growing bolder.
Again the leader tried to rouse the medicine-man to decisive action, but
the latter only shook his head in an irritated manner and proceeded with
his song louder and louder. At last he dropped his drum, jumped to his
feet, and began to dance and to stamp, shaking his rattle and wildly
yelling,--
"Raua, raua! Ho-[=a]-[=a], Heiti-na! Ho-[=a]-[=a], Heiti-na!" Then he
stood still, and looked around as if aroused from a dream. At the sight
of Tyope he remembered, and spoke, panting still,--
"It is well. They are good, Those Above! We will do as you said!"
Heedless of missiles he walked on into the forest. Tyope heaved a great
sigh of relief.
A small whistle made of bone depended from Tyope's neck. He raised it to
his lips and blew a shrill, piercing blast. The warriors in his
neighbourhood turned their faces toward him. He beckoned to one of them
to approach. To this man he gave directions in a low tone. They were to
the effect that they should offer the most determined resistance to the
enemy, while at the same time they were to retire gradually but slowly
from the actual position, as if yielding to pressure. Their sturdy
resistance was to cover the movements of the main body.
Tyope now stealthily crept away from the line of the fight. Soon he met
a group of his people who, outside of the range of missiles, were
waiting to be called into action. He sent the majority of them to the
front to reinforce the others. Two runners were despatched to the south
and southwest with orders. With the remainder he set out slowly,
penetrating deeper into the timber. He thus collected, one after
another, the various groups into a fairly compact body, always sending a
few men back to reinforce the fighting portions. Over one hundred men
were now engaged with the Tehuas. The remainder moved, as Tyope
confidently hoped, upon the cave-dwellings of the unprotected Puye by a
detour which would enable the Queres to avoid the rather exposed site of
Tzirege.
A tremendous noise from the south indicated that a hand-to-hand
encounter was going on there. The noise lasted but a short time, then it
subsided. Shortly afterward a warrior rushed panting up to Tyope.
"Nashtio," he said, "the Moshome have taken five scalps."
"Where?" Tyope snorted.
"There;" he pointed southward.
"And we?"
"Three."
"Have the people gone back?"
"A little."
"It is well. Tell the men to come still farther this way, but very
slowly."
He ordered five of his own men to go back with the runner to replace the
five whom the Tehuas had killed. With the rest he pushed forward. He
kept beside the Hishtanyi Chayan, and both walked almost at the head of
their little troupe. Only a few scouts preceded them, so completely safe
did Tyope feel about the west and northwest.
The action in the rear seemed to lag. A wild uproar broke out in the
southwest but no messenger came with evil tidings. The Queres maintained
themselves. All was well.
The engagement had lasted two hours already, and it might continue in
this way for hours more without coming to a crisis in the mean time.
Tyope would creep up to the women and children of the Tehuas. In case
the rear-guard should be ultimately destroyed by the enemy it mattered
little, for by capturing the non-combatants the Queres still remained
masters of the situation. Tyope was explaining all this to the
Hishtanyi Chayan; and the two, in consequence of their conversation, had
remained behind the foremost skirmish-line. The shaman was listening,
and from time to time grunting assent to Tyope's explanations.
Suddenly the shrubbery in front rattled, and moved violently, as though
deer were endeavouring to tear through it at full speed. At the same
time there arose in that very west which had been so still, and close
upon the two men, a fearful war-whoop uttered by many voices. Like
wildfire this threatening howl spread to the west; it seemed to run
along an arc of a circle from the northwest to the south. The warriors
in front came running back in dismay. Many of them were already wounded.
One reached the spot where the commander and the shaman were standing
spell-bound. There he fell to the ground headlong, blood flowing from
his mouth. His body had been shot through and through.
However great his surprise at that completely unexpected attack, and
however disastrous it must be to all his plans, Tyope not only did not
lose his head, but rather seemed to grow cool and self-possessed, and an
expression of sinister quiet settled on his features. Yet he was
internally far from being at ease or hopeful. He blew his whistle.
Without regard to his office the old shaman crouched behind a shrub,
where, placing his shield before him, he listened and spied. The
medicine-man had imitated Tyope's example; the magician was now turned
into a warrior!
The signal given by the war-chief was heard by very few only, for the
yells of the Tehuas drowned every other noise. The enemy this time
rushed up without any preliminary skirmishing, and the surprise was so
sudden that the Queres were running back in every direction with their
foes in close pursuit. They had no time to gather or to hide. Ere Tyope
knew it, his men were far away in his rear, as well as a number of his
enemies also. To his left he noticed one of his tribe lying on the
ground dead, and a Tehua standing with both feet on his back, cutting
and jerking at the scalp of the dead man. Tyope was alone, for the
medicine-man had fled. The Tehua was so intent upon securing the trophy
that he had not seen Tyope, and he could easily have killed him. But
hurried footsteps, many voices, and the shaking of bushes in front
showed plainly that quite a numerous body of Tehuas was rapidly coming
toward him. His own life was too precious in this hour of terrible need
to permit exposure for the sake of killing one enemy, so he turned about
softly on his knees. The Tehua still did not pay any attention to him,
and now the temptation was too great; he quickly placed an arrow on the
string and sent the shaft, thanks to the short distance, between the
ribs of the unsuspecting foe. Then with a yell of triumph and defiance
he darted off in the direction whither his men had scattered.
He had been noticed by some of the Tehuas who were coming up from the
west, and without delay they followed in pursuit. But it was not easy to
overtake a man like Tyope when fleeing for life. The powerful onslaught
of the Tehuas had scattered the Queres in such a manner that friend and
foe were intermingled in the forest, and it was not safe for the
pursuers to shoot at the fugitives, who were only occasionally visible
between tree-trunks and bushes, for the arrow might have struck a
friend.
Tyope ran so fast that he soon left his pursuers far behind him. When he
noticed that their shouting sounded more distant, he stopped, crouched
under a bush that grew near the foot of a large tree, and listened and
peered again. He was breathless from the rapid flight, and his heart
throbbed so violently at first that he could not clearly distinguish
sound from sound. At last he grew quiet, and now heard the din that
seemed to fill the entire forest in every direction except the north. It
was nearest toward the east and south, and there the fight seemed to
concentrate. Above the shouting, yelling, whooping, sounded the piercing
war-whistle. There could be no thought of still winning anything like
success, for the day was irretrievably, disastrously lost. To save as
many of the survivors as possible was all that could be done. Tyope
would have raved, had it been of any avail. This terrible failure, he
saw clearly, ruined his prospects forever. He wished to die, and despair
began for the first time in his life to fill his heart.
The noise of the battle was now approaching rapidly from the east and
south. The Tehuas were forcing his men into a confused mass; it was no
longer an action, it was becoming a slaughter, a butchery of the
vanquished. Tyope felt as if chills and fever were alternately running
through him; his people were without head, for the Hishtanyi Chayan was
useless as a leader. He must try to get through, and as it was
impossible to force a passage, he determined to steal through at all
hazards.
A number of Tehuas had passed without seeing him, in their eagerness to
reach the slaughter-pen into which the timbered plateau above the Cañada
Ancha was converted. Tyope improved the opportunity to slip from one
tree to another, toward where the greatest uproar was heard. Voices
sounded quite near, and he cowered down between two cedars. The voices
came nearer, and the more he listened the more he became convinced that
his own tongue was spoken. He was on the point of rising and going up to
the parties who spoke Queres, for they must be friends. He distinctly
heard his name. He looked, and looked anxiously, for he preferred to
find out who they were ere addressing them. As they came closer he
thought he recognized a woman's voice.
Nearer and nearer came the voices, and at last a group of men stood out
between the trees. They were warriors of the Tehuas, and in their midst
was a woman. She was speaking to one of them in the language of the
Rito, and all around her seemed to be attentively listening. He stared
at her,--stared, his eye-balls starting from their sockets, his face
colouring and then becoming almost black. Had any one seen Tyope at that
moment he must have taken him for some baffled and terrified demon from
the nether world.
He felt neither indignation nor passion. His heart stood still; so
wonderful was the discovery he was making that he was benumbed, body and
soul! For that woman who so confidently stood in the midst of the
enemies of her tribe, and who spoke to them with an air of assurance
bordering upon authority, uttering his own name time and again, was
Shotaye!
Once more his passion came back, and delirious with rage and frenzied
with fury he lifted the bow with the ready arrow. But so monstrous was
the sight to his eyes that his hand dropped paralyzed, and he was unable
to speed the shaft. He stood disarmed, and stared, gaping like a fiend
in despair who does not venture to oppose his master. He understood now
the connection of events, the unexpected ambush. He saw that it could
not have happened otherwise. He saw it clearly, to his shame! The woman
whom he had persecuted for years, and whom he was certain that he should
destroy utterly at the end of this campaign, had outwitted him and
destroyed his plans and hopes forever. Then let her suffer for it! He
raised his bow, dropped it again and stared. It was not pity that
fettered his otherwise ruthless hand; it was superstitious fear. That
Shotaye could have divined all his secret moves and could have saved
herself at the right moment filled him with astonishment and gradually
with invincible dread. She was no common witch! Such wonderful insight,
such clear perception of the means to save herself and at the same time
destroy him, were not human. Rage and passion disappeared; a chill went
through his frame and his lower jaw hung down like that of a corpse, as
he stared motionless, powerless to act and unable to move.
A change came over Tyope,--a change so sudden and so complete that he
was henceforth another man. Hope, ambition, revenge, vanished from his
thoughts, and with them all energy left him. The appearance of that
woman crushed him utterly. Shotaye appeared to him by the side of the
great war shaman of his enemies like some fiend, to be sure, but a fiend
of so much higher rank than his own that it was futile to cope with her.
The Indian believes in evil spirits, but even they are subjected to the
power of deities of a higher order beneficial to mankind. As such a
shuatyam the woman appeared to Tyope,--as one whom the Shiuana had
directed to accomplish his ruin. Those Above, not Shotaye, not the
Tehuas, had vanquished him; and against them it was useless to strive.
With a ghastly look of terror on his countenance, his eyes staring in
uncontrollable fright, Tyope slowly receded. Mentally crushed, shivering
and shuddering, he at last turned about and fled.
The conviction that he was henceforth utterly powerless had seized upon
him. Like an utter coward, unmindful of his rank and duties, and bent
only upon saving his life, Tyope ran and ran until he found himself in
the midst of the slaughter. He had mechanically warded off some arrows
which the enemy had shot at his rapidly approaching figure; but he
passed in among friends and foes, heedless of both, until his mad career
was stayed by the brink of the Cañada Ancha. In the course of the
massacre the Queres had succeeded in breaking partly through the enemy,
and gathering on the south, thus securing a line of retreat, or at least
escape from the bloody trap. Tyope had reached that point without
knowing well whither he was fleeing. The sight of the ravine at his feet
stopped him; he looked around absent-mindedly at first, then little by
little self-control returned.
A man came up to him. He was covered with blood. A drum was suspended
from his shoulder. It was the Hishtanyi Chayan.
"How is everything?" Tyope gasped.
"Where have you been?" the shaman asked in a tone of stern reproach.
"I was cut off and had to hide," Tyope flared up; the manner of the
questioner irritated him, and with his anger a portion of his former
energy seemed to return.
"Do you not know that the war-chief should carry the life of his men
upon his own heart, and care for them more than for himself? That he
should not hunt for scalps in the rear of the enemy, as shutzuna follows
a herd of buffaloes to eat a fallen calf?" the Chayan hissed.
"And you," Tyope roared, "do you not know that you should speak the
truth to the people? Not say that the Shiuana are good, that they say it
is well, while the kopishtai and the shuatyam go over to the enemy
together to help him! You are a liar! You lie like a Dinne; you are
foolish like a prairie dog when shutzuna plays before him!" It was
Tyope's last effort at passion. He nearly cried from rage as he
brandished his war-club in the face of the shaman. The latter remained
calm and spoke not a word, merely fastening on the maddened, raving man
a cold, stern glance. Heedless of his threats and insults he
commanded,--
"Hush, Tyope, hush! If the evil ones are about us it is because they
have followed along from the Tyuonyi! Hush, I say, do your duty at
last. At the Tyuonyi, if we ever get there, we shall see further."
At this moment several Queres burst from the timber. One of them cried
to Tyope,--
"Nashtio, the Moshome are too strong, they are coming to kill you and
all of us. We must away into the karitya!" And with this he leaped from
the brink. He had selected a spot where the rim was precipitous for a
short distance. Over he went! A cry of anguish and of helpless despair
was heard; then followed a series of thuds, as though a heavy body were
falling from step to step. From the depths below a faint moaning arose.
Then all was still. The din and noise of the battle was drawing nearer
and nearer; soon more of the Queres rushed out and would in their
precipitate flight have followed the example of their comrade had not
others coming up behind them held them back. Regardless of the danger,
they clustered together on the brink, and gazed at the shattered,
mangled, gory mass beneath, which was once the body of one of their
companions. The words of the shaman fell upon Tyope like another blow
from above. They cowed him. To avoid the gaze which the old man fastened
upon him still, he turned to fly, no longer a warrior, no longer the
commander. He was partly imbecile and absolutely cowed. He trembled, but
the shaman seized his arm and restrained him. Pointing to the men he
said,--
"Save these if you can."
Tyope obeyed, for he had no longer a will of his own. He cast a vacant
glance about, but arrows whistled from the timber; the Tehuas were
coming. Panic-stricken, the Queres ran along the brink to look for a
descent. There was no stopping them, no possibility of restoring order;
every one looked out for himself. Tyope cast a pleading glance at the
old man by his side, and the Chayan felt that he must henceforth do
what was yet to be done. Seeing the Queres clambering down into the
gorge in wild haste, and that others were still rushing out of the
thickets, he caught Tyope by the shoulder and drew him along, saying in
a milder tone,--
"Follow me, sa uishe." He pitied the crestfallen man.
Henceforth it was the medicine-man who assumed the lead, Tyope gathering
energy enough to act as his lieutenant. The shaman was but a mediocre
warrior; still in this dismal hour he was the only salvation of the
remaining Queres.
Not one half of their number succeeded in reaching the bottom of the
Cañada Ancha and taking shelter in the groves of tall pines that dot the
vale. It was an anxious time for those who had already found safety
behind trees, when they saw the stragglers rush down the rugged slope
and tear through the thickets, followed by the Tehuas, who crowded along
the brink in greatly superior numbers, yelling, shooting arrows, and
waving triumphantly the many, many scalps they had taken. A few of their
skirmishers descended some distance, but the main pursuit was stayed by
strict orders from the Tehua war-chief. As soon as the first group of
fugitives, among them Hishtanyi and Tyope, had reached the bottom of the
Cañada, the shaman arrested their farther flight, prevailing upon them
to make a stand.
Their position was temporarily a good one. No approach was possible
without exposing the assailant to arrow-shots, whereas the defenders
were thoroughly protected.
As their numbers increased by accessions from those who had also been
able to extricate themselves, their courage returned, and they willingly
remained until the time came when the shaman, and Tyope by his command,
should direct farther retreat. The leaders of the Tehuas saw this and
desisted from an attempt at complete extermination. It would have cost
them dearly, and would only have increased the number of their
trophies. So the Tehuas remained above the gorge, displaying a
threatening front, while in reality the majority of them returned home,
and with them Shotaye.
Great was the exultation of the woman when she saw the triumph of her
new friends over her own people. She was proud of this result of her
craftiness and her skill. When, the engagement over, she scanned the
field, looking at the dead and searching for Tyope among them in vain,
her disappointment was fearful. Corpse after corpse she scrutinized,
turning over the ghastly bodies, peering into the lifeless features,
raising the mutilated heads to see more closely, more distinctly. In
vain; Tyope was not among them, Tyope had escaped. Her revenge was
sterile; it had fallen on the least guilty. She, too, felt that a higher
hand must have interfered and made her triumph next to worthless. As she
scanned the bloody, distorted features of the men of her tribe, in the
expectation of gloating over those of him against whom she had schemed,
she recognized more than one of whose company she had agreeable
recollections, more than one whom in her cold-blooded, calculating way,
she had made her tool for a time. Something like regret arose within
her,--regret at her treason. She went back to the Puye with a sting in
her heart forever. Outwardly she led a contented life as the consort of
Cayamo, and the Tehuas looked upon her as a useful accession, if not as
one who had at one time become the saviour of their tribe; but she could
never think of the Rito nor hear it mentioned without feeling a pang. It
was remorse, but she did not know it. Never again was she seen by any of
her former people.
* * * * *
The position in which the Queres had taken refuge was tenable only for a
short time, because the Cañada Ancha has no permanent water-supply.
There were a few pools, however, containing remnants of the rain that
had lately fallen. But that was not enough. To abandon the groves, in
which they felt comparatively safe in presence of the foe, would have
been reckless; so the Queres remained during the whole day, while the
Tehuas kept guard over them, observing their movements from the cover of
the timber on the mesa. As night set in, the Hishtanyi Chayan ordered a
slow, noiseless retreat down the Cañada toward the Rio Grande. Tyope
passively did what the shaman told him; he had no longer a will of his
own. He who had always judged others from the standpoint of their
usefulness to him as his tools, was now reduced mentally to be a blind
instrument of the man of whom he expected to rid himself on this very
campaign. All of Tyope's authority was gone; the men did not reproach
him, did not scorn; they simply ignored him, except when he spoke in the
name and by direction of the Hishtanyi Chayan. The latter saw more and
more the mental downfall of the war-chief, and took pity on him, making
him his lieutenant. When morning dawned, the little troop halted on the
Ziro kauash. They had made a long detour, and now were in dread lest the
Tehuas had prepared an ambush near home. Tyope himself was still further
concerned. He who had boldly attempted to carry out the most daring
schemes, was afraid of returning to his people, now that these schemes
had failed. He feared, like a child, reproach and punishment. The spirit
of the man was utterly crushed.
When a war-party returns, it never enters the village directly, but
halts at some distance and sends a messenger to inform the people of its
approach. The Queres halted on the Ziro kauash, and some of them scoured
the woods, but no trace of the enemy appeared. The dreaded ambush had
not been laid; the Tehuas had certainly returned content with victory
and their trophies. A runner was sent to the Rito, and the men waited
and waited. Even the Hishtanyi Chayan became startled at the long delay.
Tyope squatted at the foot of a tree; he was thinking of the reception
that might be in reserve for him. Everything manly and strong had left
his heart; nothing of it remained but a languidly putrid core, whose
former fermentation had produced the effervescence that took the shape
of energy, shrewdness, and daring.
At last toward evening a man approached the silent group. He came,
accompanied by the runner, and every one recognized the features of
Kauaitshe, the delegate from the Water clan. He went straight to Tyope;
and the latter looked at him timidly, almost tremblingly. Kauaitshe's
face looked sad and mournful, but not wrathful. He grasped the hand of
Tyope, breathed on it, lifted it upward with both his hands, and said in
a tone of intense sorrow,--
"Satyumishe, Those Above are not kind to us."
A terrible pang flashed through Tyope's heart, for he had experienced
how little the Shiuana liked him.
Kauaitshe continued in a low voice,--artless, but the more impressive
for its natural sadness,--
"While you went to strike the Tehuas with our men, the Moshome Dinne
came upon us."
A shriek of dismay, of terror, issued from every one present, Tyope
excepted. He only groaned, and sinking shrivelled, pressed down his
chest against his knees, as if suffering intense physical pain. He
recalled his intrigues with the young Navajo. This last blow to the
tribe was his work also.
In a monotonous voice the messenger of evil tidings proceeded,--
"My hanutsh is no more. Tanyi hanutsh is dispersed, scattered, fleeing
through the timber. Of Mokatsh hanutsh only one girl has remained
alive. Of Tyame a few women, but your wife, satyumishe, is dead; your
child Mitsha the Moshome have carried away, or else she hides in the
timber and starves. The great house is empty, and fire comes out from
its roof. Your people can have the field of Tzitz hanutsh," he added
with trembling voice; "we need it no longer. But your clan has land
enough now, for many of the men of Shyuamo have gone over to Shipapu!"
He dropped Tyope's hand, wiped away the tears that were forcing
themselves to his eyes, and stood in silence. Not one of the bystanders
moved; the Hishtanyi Chayan lifted his eyes to the sky, Tyope stared
vacantly. He seemed to stagger. The delegate from the Water clan grasped
his hand again, and said,--
"Come and see how the Shiuana have visited the Tyuonyi."