THE NEW WAR CHIEF
THE council gathered, the chiefs and the warriors sitting in a great
circle about a central fire. Naliza, the orator, arose and stepped
within the circle.
“Men of the Shis-Inday listen to Naliza,” he began. “Cochise is not
present. We have many brave chiefs, but we have no war chief to whom all
the tribes will listen and whom they will follow upon the war trail. It
is not well that we should be thus unprepared against our enemies.
Tonight we must select one who will by his bravery set our warriors an
example upon the field of battle and by his wisdom lead us to victory.
“The war chief of the Be-don-ko-he has suffered great wrongs at the
hands of our enemies and he has wrought upon them a great revenge. He
has led his people, and often ours, many times upon the war trail
against the foe. Cochise trusted him. Cochise knew that he was a great
leader and upon his death bed Cochise counselled us to name Geronimo war
chief of all the Apaches when Cochise should be tats-an. I, Naliza, have
spoken.”
Others spoke, then, some for Geronimo, some for Victorio and some for
Juh, for each was a great warrior and a great chief. Then, one after
another, around the great circle, each warrior cast his vote and
Geronimo became war chief of all the Apaches; and later in the evening
Na-chi-ta, son of Cochise, was accepted by the Cho-kon-en to succeed his
father as chief of that most warlike of tribes, the Chihuicahui Apaches.
Shoz-Dijiji was squatting near the wives of the dead Cochise listening
to them wail when suddenly out of the deep woods came the hoot of an
owl. Instantly all was silence; the wailing ceased and the women looked
at one another in terror.
“Listen!” whispered one of the squaws. “It is the spirit of Cochise, he
has returned and he is trying to speak to us. What does he want?”
“Have we not done everything to make him happy on his journey to
chidin-bi-kungua, the house of spirits?” demanded another.
“He is not happy, he has come back,” whimpered a young squaw and then
with a muffled scream, she lifted a shaking finger and pointed toward
the black woods. “Look! It is he, come back.”
They all looked. To their overwrought imaginations, harried by days of
mourning and ages of superstition, anything was possible, and so it was
not strange that they should see the vague and nebulous outlines of a
warrior standing among the deep shadows of the trees. They shuddered and
hid their faces in their blankets, and when they dared look again the
apparition had disappeared.
Attracted by their screams some warriors had joined them, and when they
heard the cause of the women’s terror they sent for Na-kay-do-klunni to
arrange for a feast and a dance that the spirit of Cochise might be
appeased and made happy on its journey to chidin-bi-kungua.
The sorrows of death do not lie heavily or for long upon the spirit of
youth and so on the morrow the children romped and played and
Shoz-Dijiji organized a rabbit hunt with Gian-nah-tah, his best friend,
and a dozen others who could borrow or steal ponies for the purpose.
Laughing and joking, they rode down to the plain at the foot of the
mountains, each lad armed with a hunting club.
A mile behind them a childish figure astride a pinto pony lashed its
mount with a rawhide quirt in an effort to overtake the loping ponies of
the boys, and when the latter halted to discuss their plans the belated
one overtook them. The first boy to discover and recognize the newcomer
raised a shout of derision.
“A girl! A girl!” he cried. “Go back to camp. Only warriors follow the
chase, go back to camp with the squaws and the children.”
But the little girl did not go back. Her dishevelled hair flying, she
rode among them.
“Go back!” shouted the boy, and struck at her pony with his hunting
club.
“Go back yourself!” shrilled the little girl as she lashed him across
the head and shoulders with her quirt, pushing her pony against his
until he fled in dismay. The other boys screamed in derision at the
discomfited one, yet some of them could not resist the temptation to
bait the girl and so they rode in and struck at her pony with their
clubs. Lashing to right and left her stinging quirt fell impartially
upon them and their mounts, nor did she give a foot of ground before
their efforts to rout her, though by the very force of their numbers it
was evident that she must soon succumb in the unequal struggle.
It was then that Shoz-Dijiji rode to her side and swung his club against
her tormentors, and Gian-nah-tah, following the example of his friend,
took a hand in her defense.
Shoz-Dijiji, having killed a bear and scalped an enemy, stood high in
the estimation of his fellows who looked upon him as a leader, so that
now, when he had taken his stand upon the girl’s side, the outcome of
the battle was already a foregone conclusion for immediately the
majority lined themselves up with Shoz-Dijiji. The vanquished scattered
in all directions amid the laughter and the taunts of the victors while
both sides felt gingerly of numerous bumps and abrasions. It was then
that some of the boys again demanded that the girl return to camp.
She looked questioningly at Shoz-Dijiji, her great brown eyes pleading
through dishevelled raven locks.
The lad turned to his fellows. “Ish-kay-nay plays like a boy, rides like
a boy, fights like a boy. If Ish-kay-nay does not hunt with us today,
Shoz-Dijiji does not hunt. I have spoken.”
Just then one of the lads cried “ka-chu!” and, turning, lashed his pony
into a run; a jack rabbit had broken cover and was bounding away across
the plain in long, easy jumps. Instantly the whole pack was after him
and Ish-kay-nay was in the van. Clinging with naked knees to the bare
backs of their wiry little mounts the savage children streaked after the
fleeing ka-chu. The foremost lad, overhauling the rabbit, leaned far
forward over his pony’s shoulder and struck at the quarry with his
hunting club. The rabbit turned directly at right angles across the
pony’s track and as the latter, as accustomed to the sport as the boys
themselves, turned sharply in pursuit, the rider, far overbalanced
following the blow he had aimed, tumbled from his mount and rolled over
and over upon the turf.
With wild whoops the children followed the chase and as the rabbit
turned and doubled many were the spills of his pursuers. Sometimes a
boy, almost within striking distance, would hurl his club at the quarry,
but today ka-chu seemed to bear a charmed life until at last the plain
was dotted with riderless ponies and unhorsed riders, and only two were
left in pursuit of the rabbit.
Knee to knee raced Shoz-Dijiji and Ish-kay-nay. The rabbit, running upon
the boy’s right was close to the pony’s forefoot when Shoz-Dijiji leaned
down and forward for the kill, but again ka-chu turned, this time
diagonally across the front of the pony. Shoz-Dijiji missed, and at the
same instant Ish-kay-nay’s pinto stepped in a badger hole, and turning a
complete somersault catapulted the girl high in air to alight directly
in the path of Shoz-Dijiji’s pony as it turned to follow the rabbit, and
as the boy toppled from its back the active little beast leaped over
Ish-kay-nay’s head and galloped off with head and tail in the air.
Shoz-Dijiji rolled over twice and stopped in a sitting posture at the
girl’s side. They looked at each other and the girl grinned. Then she
reached beneath her and withdrew the flattened body of the rabbit—in
falling, the girl had alighted upon the hapless ka-chu.
“Ish-kay-nay should have been a boy,” said Shoz-Dijiji, laughing, “for
already she is a mighty hunter.”
Together they arose and stood there laughing. Their copper bodies,
almost naked, shot back golden highlights to the sun, as the two tousled
black heads bent close above the prey. The lad was already a head taller
than his companion and well-muscled for his age, yet they looked more
like two lads than a boy and a girl, and their attitude toward one
another was as that of one boy to another, and not, as yet, as of the
man to the maid. Two little savages they were, blending into Nature’s
picture of which they were as much a part as the rolling brown plain,
the tree-dotted foothills, or the frowning mountains.
Ish-kay-nay’s pony, none the worse for its spill, had scrambled to its
feet and trotted away a short distance, where it was now contentedly
feeding upon the grama grass. Still farther away the boy’s mount
browsed. Shoz-Dijiji looked toward it and whistled—once, shrilly. The
pony raised its head and looked in the direction of the sound, then it
started toward its master, slowly at first; but at the second whistle,
more peremptory than the first, it broke into a gallop and came rapidly
to stop before the lad.
Shoz-Dijiji mounted and drew Ish-kay-nay up behind him, but when they
sought to catch the girl’s pony it snorted and ran away from them.
Herding it toward camp the two rode in the direction of their fellows,
some of whom had regained their ponies; and so, several of them mounted
double, driving the riderless animals ahead, they came back to camp.
Thus the happy days rolled by with hunting, with games, with play; or
there were long trails that led down into Sonora or Chihuahua; there
were raids upon Mexican villages; upon wagon trains; upon isolated
ranches; there were the enemy’s attacks upon their own camps. In the
springs there was the planting if the tribe chanced to be in a permanent
camp and then, with wooden hoes, the children and the squaws broke the
ground, planted the corn in straight rows, melons and pumpkins at
haphazard about the field, and the beans among the corn.
Sometimes the children, tiring of so much work, would run away to play,
staying all day and sneaking into camp at dark, nor were they ever
chided by their elders; but woe betide them should one of these discover
them in their hiding place, for the ridicule that was sure to follow was
more bitter to the Apache taste than corporal punishment would have
been.
As the boys, playing, learned to use the weapons of their people, to
track, to hunt, to fight, so the girls learned the simple duties of
their sex—learned to prepare the maguey for each of the numerous
purposes to which their people have learned to put this most useful of
plants; learned to grind the mesquite bean into meal and make cakes of
it; learned to dry the fruit of the Spanish bayonet; to dress and tan
the hides that the braves brought in from the chase.
And together the children, under the admiring eyes of their elders,
learned the gentle art of torture, practicing upon birds and animals of
the wild and even upon the ponies and dogs of the tribe. Upon these
activities Shoz-Dijiji looked with interest; but for some reason, which
he doubtless could not have understood had he tried to analyze it, he
found no pleasure in inflicting pain upon the helpless; nor did this
mark him particularly as different from his fellows, as there were
others who shared his indifferences to this form of sport. Apaches are
human and as individuals of other human races vary in their
characteristics, so Apaches vary. The Apaches were neither all good, nor
all bad.
In the early summer of Shoz-Dijiji’s fourteenth year Geronimo and Juh,
with half a dozen other warriors, were preparing to make a raid into
Mexico, and when Shoz-Dijiji heard the talk about the camp fires he
determined, by hook or by crook, to accompany the war party. He told
Gian-nah-tah, his best friend, of this hope which occupied his thoughts
and Gian-nah-tah said that he would go too, also by hook or by crook.
“Go to Geronimo, your father,” counselled Gian-nah-tah, “and tell him
that Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah wish to become warriors, and if his
heart is good he will let us go out upon the war trail with him.”
“Come with me, then, Gian-nah-tah,” replied Shoz-Dijiji, “and I will ask
him now before chigo-na-ay sets again and yan-des-tan grows dark.”
Squatting beneath a tree and holding a small mirror in his left hand,
Geronimo was streaking his face with vermilion, using the index finger
of his right hand in lieu of a brush. He looked up as the two boys
approached. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes as he nodded to them.
With few preliminaries Shoz-Dijiji went to the point. “Shoz-Dijiji and
Gian-nah-tah,” he said, “will soon be men. Already has Shoz-Dijiji slain
the black bear in fair fight and upon the field of battle taken the
scalp of the enemy he had killed. No longer do Shoz-Dijiji and
Gian-nah-tah wish to remain in camp with the old men, the women and the
children while the braves go upon the war trail. Shoz-Dijiji and
Gian-nah-tah wish to go upon the war trail. They wish to go with the
great Geronimo tomorrow. Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah await the answer
of the great war chief of the Apaches.”
Geronimo was eying them keenly while he listened in silence until the
boy had finished, nor was there any change in expression to denote how
he was receiving their appeal. For a while after the boy became silent
the chief did not speak. He seemed to be weighing the proposition
carefully in his mind. Presently he opened his lips and spoke in the
quiet, low tones that were his.
“Geronimo has been watching Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah,” he said, “and
is pleased with them. They are both young, but so too was Go-yat-thlay
when first he went upon the war trail. The time is short. Go, therefore,
this very night to the high places and pray to Usen. Make your medicine,
strong medicine, in the high places. Nakay-do-klunni will bless it in
the morning. Go!”
Never were two boys more elated, more enthusiastic, more imbued with a
desire to shout and dance; but they did nothing of the sort. Stolidly,
without a change of expression, they turned and walked away. They were
Apaches and they were on the high road to becoming warriors. There are
times when warriors shout and dance; but such an occasion was not one of
them.
Together the two boys left the camp, heading deep into the mountains,
Shoz-Dijiji leading, Gian-nah-tah stepping directly in his tracks. They
did not speak, but moved silently at a dog trot, for the time was short.
Better would it have been to have spent days and nights in preparation,
but now this could not be. A mile from camp Gian-nah-tah turned to the
left, following a branch of the main canyon up which Shoz-Dijiji
continued for a matter of several miles, then, turning abruptly to the
right he scaled the sloping base of the canyon wall.
Where the fallen rubble from above ended against the rocky cliff side
the blackened stump of a lightning-riven pine clung precariously. Here
Shoz-Dijiji paused and, searching, found a flat splinter of wood not
three inches long nor an inch wide and quite thin. With a slender
buckskin thong he tied the splinter securely to his G-string and
commenced the ascent of the nearly perpendicular cliff that towered high
above him.
Taking advantage of each crevice and projection the lad crept slowly
upward. Scarcely was there an instant when a single slip would not have
hurled him to death upon the tumbled rocks below, and yet he never
paused in his ascent, but moved as confidently as though on level
ground, up and up, until, three hundred dizzy feet above the canyon
floor he drew himself to a narrow, nichelike ledge. Settling himself
here with his back against the cliff and his legs dangling over the
abyss, he unfastened the pine splinter from his G-string and with his
hunting knife set to work to fashion it to his purpose.
For an hour he worked unceasingly until the splinter, smoothed upon its
two flat sides, suggested, roughly, the figure of a short legged,
armless man, and had been whittled down to a length of two and a quarter
inches and a width of about a sixth of its greatest dimension. Upon one
flat side he carved zigzag lines—two of them running parallel and
longitudinally. These represented ittindi, the lightning. Upon the
opposite side he cut two crosses and these he called intchi-dijin, the
black wind. When he had finished the carving he tied it firmly to a
thong of buckskin which formed a loop that would pass over his head and
hang about his neck.
Thus did Shoz-Dijiji, the Black Bear, fashion his tzi-daltai.
From a buckskin bag upon which Morning Star had sewn pretty beads the
boy took a still smaller bag containing hoddentin, a pinch of which he
sprinkled upon each side of the tzi-daltai, and then he tossed a pinch
out over the cliff in front of him and one over his left shoulder and
one over his right and a fourth behind him.
“Be good, O, winds!” he prayed.
Another pinch of hoddentin he tossed high in air above him. “Be good, O,
ittindi! Make strong the medicine of Shoz-Dijiji that it may protect him
from the weapons of his enemies.”
All night he stood there in the high place praying to Usen, to ittindi,
to the four winds. Making big medicine was Shoz-Dijiji, the Black Bear;
praying to be made strong and brave upon the war trail; praying for
wisdom, for strength, for protection; praying to the kans of his people;
and when morning came and the first rays of chigo-na-ay touched his
aerie he still prayed. Not till then did he cease.
As deliberately as he had ascended, the Black Bear climbed down the
escarpment and, apparently as fresh as when he had quit camp the
preceding day, trotted rapidly down the canyon and into camp. No one
paid any attention to him as he went directly to the shelter of
Nakay-do-klunni, the medicine man.
The izze-nantan looked up as the youth stopped before him, and grunted.
“Nakay-do-klunni,” said the lad, “Shoz-Dijiji goes upon the war trail
for the first time today. All night he has prayed in the high places.
Shoz-Dijiji has made strong medicine. He brings it to Nakay-do-klunni to
bless, that it may be very strong.” He held his tzi-daltai toward the
izze-nantan.
Nakay-do-klunni, squatting in the dirt, took the amulet and blew upon
it; he mumbled gibberish above it; sprinkled hoddentin upon it; made
strange passes in the air that thrilled Shoz-Dijiji—Shoz-Dijiji, who
could climb a sheer precipice without a thrill. Then he handed it back
to Shoz-Dijiji, grunted and held out his palm. The lad emptied the
contents of his little pouch into his own hand and selecting a piece of
duklij, the impure malachite that the whites of the Southwest call
turquoise, he offered it to the izze-nantan.
Nakay-do-klunni accepted the proffered honorarium, examined it, dropped
it into his own pouch and grunted.
As Shoz-Dijiji turned to depart he passed Gian-nah-tah approaching the
shelter of the medicine man and the two friends passed one another as
though unaware of each other’s existence, for the preparation of the
youth aspiring to become a warrior is a sacred rite, no detail of which
may be slighted or approached with levity, and silence is one of its
prime requisites.
An hour later eight warriors—grim, terrible, painted men—set out upon
the war trail and with them went two hungry youths, empty since the
morning of the preceding day.