CHAPTER XVI.
Lamentations over a dead body are everywhere a sad and sickeningperformance to witness and to hear. Among the aborigines of NewMexico--among the sedentary tribes at least--the official death-wail iscarried on for four days. The number four plays a conspicuous role inthe lives of those people. And it is natural that it should. Four arethe cardinal points, four the seasons, four times five digits dependfrom hands and feet. The Queres has not even a distinct term for fingeror for toe. He designates the former as one above the hand, the latteras one above the foot. Four days the redman fasts or does penance; fourdays he mourns, for that is the time required by the soul to travel fromthe place where it has been liberated from the thralls of earthly lifeto the place of eternal felicity. At the time of which we are speaking,the body was still cremated, and with it everything that made up thepersonal effects of the deceased.[11] If a man, his clothes, hisweapons, his loom, in case he had practised the art of weaving, wereburned; if a woman, the cooking utensils were "killed;" that is, eitherperforated at the bottom or broken over the funeral pyre and afterwardconsumed. In this manner the deceased was accompanied by his worldlygoods, in the shape of smoke and steam, through that air in which thesoul travelled toward Shipapu, in the far-distant mythical North. Theroad must be long to Shipapu, else it would not require four entire daysto reach it; and there are neither eating-places nor half-way houses onthe way, where the dead may stop for refreshments. Therefore thesurvivors placed on the spot where the body had rested for the last timean effigy of the dead, a wooden carving, and covered it with a piece ofcloth; while by the side of this effigy they deposited food and water,in order that neither cold, hunger, nor thirst might cause thetravelling spirit to suffer. But the road is not only long, it is alsodangerous; evil spirits lie in wait for the deceased to capture him ifpossible, and hamper his ultimate felicity. To protect himself againstthem a small war-club is added to the other necessaries, and to renderthe journey safe beyond a doubt a magic circle is drawn, encompassingthe statuette with a circle of cruciform marks, imitating the footprintsof the shashka, or road-runner. As these crosses point in all fourdirections, it is supposed that evil spirits will become bewildered andunable to pursue the soul in its transit. At the end of the fourth day,with many prayers and ceremonies, the circle is obliterated, and theother objects, including the effigy, are taken away by the shamans to bedisposed of in a manner known to them alone.
During the period of official mourning the loud wail was carried onincessantly, or at least at frequent intervals; fasting was practised;the women wept, sobbed, screamed, and yelled. Both sexes gathered dailyaround the place where the effigy lay, praying loudly for the safejourney and arrival at Shipapu of the defunct. The women alone shedtears on such occasions, the men only stared with a gloomy face andthoughtful mien. They recalled and remembered the dead. What the greatmaster of historical composition has said of the ancient Germans may beapplied here also: "Feminis lugere honestum est, viris meminisse."
In the humble abode where Topanashka Tihua had dwelt with his deaf oldwife, and where his bloody remains had rested previous to being borne tothe funeral pyre, his effigy lay covered by the handsomest piece ofcotton cloth that could be found among the homes of the Rito, and aquaintly painted and decorated specimen of pottery contained thedrinking-water for his soul. It was dusky in the room, for the window aswell as the hatchway afforded little light. Subdued voices sounded fromthe apartment, monotonous recitals, which the loud refrain, "Heiti-na,Heiti-na," at times interrupted. The poor deaf widow sat with tearfuleyes in a corner; her lips moved, but no sound came from them; only,when the leader of the choir broke out with appropriate gesticulations,she chimed in loudly. When at such a signal the other women presentbegan to tear their hair, she did the same, and shouted at the top ofher voice like the others, "Heiti-na, Heiti-na!"
Group after group of mourners visited the room, until both clans, Tanyiand Tyame, had performed their duty. Hannay, too, had made herappearance; she had shed tears like a rain-cloud, had howled and whinedmore than any one else. Her grief was surely assumed, for when Tyopeasked her in the evening she told him everything in detail that she hadnoticed,--how this one had looked, how such and such a one hadyelled,--plainly showing that the flood of tears had in no mannerimpeded her faculties of perception, the sighs and sobs around her in nomanner deafened her attentive ear. Tyope listened with apparentindifference, and said nothing. She attended to the weeping part, he notso much to the duty of pious recollection as to that of deep thinkingover the new phase which matters had entered upon in consequence of thebloody event.
For this sudden death of the maseua was for his designs a most fortunateoccurrence. The only man who in the prospective strife between the clansmight have taken an attitude dangerous, perhaps disastrous, to hispurposes, was now dead; and the office which that man held had becomevacant. There was but one individual left in the tribe who might yetprove a stumbling-block to him; that was the Hishtanyi Chayan. But thegreat medicine-man was not so much a man of action as a man of words,and the force of his oracular utterances Tyope hoped to destroy throughthe powerful speeches of the Koshare Naua and the strong medicine of theShkuy Chayan. The plans of Tyope had been immensely furthered by theterrible accident; they had advanced so much that he felt itindispensable to modify them to some extent. Terror and dismay weregreat at the Rito, and the council had been adjourned _sine die_. Therecould be no thought of a fresh accusation against Shotaye until the fourdays of official mourning were past, and the campaign against the enemy,which the bloody outrage imperatively called for.
The murder by the Tehuas, as Tyope and the others believed, of theprincipal war-chief of the tribe, at a time when the two tribes werewithout any communication with each other, was too great an outrage notto demand immediate revenge. The murder could not have been the resultof a misunderstanding or accident, else the scalp would not have beentaken by the murderer. It was premeditated, an act of deliberatehostility, a declaration of war on the part of the Tehuas. The deadman's scalp had certainly wandered over to the caves of the northerntribe; it was certainly paraded there in the solemn scalp-dance by whichthe Tehuas, beyond all doubt, publicly honoured and rewarded themurderer.
Tyope knew that the Queres were of one mind and that the officialmourning alone kept them from replying to this act of unjustifiablehostility by an attack upon the Puye, but he also knew that as soon asthe four days were past a campaign against the Tehuas would be set onfoot. The Hishtanyi Chayan had retired to work, and that meant war! Heand the Shikama Chayan fasted and mourned together; their mourning wasnot only on account of the great loss suffered by the tribe in theperson of the deceased; they bewailed a loss of power. That power hadgone over into the enemy's ranks with the scalp of the murdered man.
Although the death of Topanashka was for Tyope an event of incalculablebenefit, he had exhibited tokens of regret and sorrow. His manner wasdignified; he did not mourn in any extravagant fashion, but conductedhimself so that nobody could suspect the death of the old man to beanything else than a source of regret to him. Furthermore, he intendedby his own example to foster the idea among his tribal brethren that theoutrage was so grave that it demanded immediate and prompt redress. Thecarrying out of this redress was of the greatest importance to him. Thesooner it was executed the better it would suit his plans.
During the last interview of Tyope with the young Navajo, the latter hadcharged him with having asked the Dinne to kill the old maseua during anincursion which his tribe were to make into the valley of the Rito. Itwas true that Tyope had suggested it, but he had not told the Navajo allthat he designed through this act of treachery. His object was notmerely to rid himself of the person of Topanashka; he sought anopportunity of becoming the ostensible saviour of his tribe in the hourof need. If the Dinne had made the premeditated onslaught, he would,after he had given them time to perform the murder, have appeared uponthe scene, driven off the assailants, and thus recommended himself tothe people for the vacant
position of war-chief. The game was a doubleone on his part; first he was to betray his kinsfolk to the Navajos, andsecondly to turn against the Navajos in defense of the betrayed ones.Tyope realized that it was a very dangerous game, and he had thereforedesisted and even gone so far as to repel the young Navajo at the riskof his own life.
As matters stood, all had gone far better than he ever hoped for.Without complicity on his part, Topanashka had been put out of his way;and the office coveted by Tyope was vacant. An important militaryenterprise was to follow at once. Tyope intended to go on this campaignat all hazards, in order to distinguish himself as much as possible.This he was able to do, for he possessed all the physical qualitiesnecessary for a powerful Indian warrior, and he was very crafty,cunning, bold and experienced. He belonged to the society of warmagicians, and held in his possession most of the charms and fetichesused for securing invincibility. There was no doubt in his mind that hewould return from the war-path crowned with glory and with scalps,provided he was not killed. Should he return alive, then the time wouldcome for him to set the Koshare Naua to work to secure him the desiredposition. Once made maseua he would resume his former plans, push thecase against Shotaye to the bitter end, and try to divide the tribe. Forthe present the two objects had to be set aside. The expedition againstthe Tehuas must take the lead of everything else.
While Tyope was prompted, by the grief and mourning that prevailed, todisplay fresh activity and resort to new intrigues; while at the sametime his wife improved the occasion for her customary prying, listening,and gossip,--their daughter, Mitsha, on the other hand, really mournedsincerely and grieved bitterly. She mourned for the dead with thecandour of a child and the feeling of a woman. When she, too, had goneto the house of the dead to pray, her tears flowed abundantly; and theywere genuine. The girl did not weep merely on account of the deceased,for she could not know his real worth and merits; she grieved quite asmuch on Okoya's account. The boy had been to see her every evening oflate. He was there on the night when the corpse was brought home, andthey heard the wail and rushed out on the roof. At that moment Hannayhad returned, full to the brim with the dismal news. Okoya forgoteverything and returned home, and Mitsha went back to the room and wept.While her mother proceeded in her account with noisy volubility, Mitshacried; for Okoya had often spoken of his grandfather, telling her howwise, strong, and good sa umo maseua was. She felt that the young manlooked up to him as to an ideal, and she wept quite as much because ofher feeling for Okoya as for the murdered main-stay of her people.
While she thus mourned from the bottom of her heart, the thought came toher how she would feel in case her father was brought home in the sameway. Mitsha was a good child, and Tyope had always treated her not onlywith affection but with kindness. He gave her many precious things, asthe Indian calls the bright-coloured pebbles, shell beads, baseturquoises, crystals, etc., with which he decorates his body. He likedto see his daughter shine among the daughters of the tribe. With him itwas speculation, not affection; but Mitsha knew nothing of this, andfelt that in case her parent should ever be borne back to this housedead, and placed on the floor before her covered with gore, she mustfeel just as Okoya felt now. And yet the dead man was only hisgrandparent. No, it was not possible for him to be as sad as she wouldbe in case Tyope should meet with such a fate. And then she wonderedwhether the whole tribe would regret her father's death as much as theyregretted the loss of Topanashka. Something within her told that itwould not. She had already noticed that Tyope was not liked; but why,she knew not. Okoya himself had intimated as much. She knew that the boyshunned her father; and her attachment to Okoya had become so deep thathis utterances began to modify her feelings toward her own parents.
If she would sorrow and grieve for her father's loss, if Okoya wasmourning over his grandfather's demise, how must the child of themurdered man, of such a man as Topanashka, feel? His only child was awoman like herself. A true woman always feels for her sex andsympathizes with other women's grief; and besides, that woman was themother of the youth who had won her heart. Okoya had told her a greatdeal about his mother,--how good she was and how content she was to seehim and her become one. The girl was anxious to know his mother, but avisit to a prospective mother-in-law is by no means an unimportant step.If it is accompanied by a present it bears the character of an officialacceptance of courtship. That step Mitsha was afraid as yet to take; itwas too early; there were too many contingencies in the way.
Still she longed to go to Say Koitza now. But visits of condolence arenot in vogue among Indians as long as there is loud mourning, except atthe house where the mourning is going on. How much Mitsha would havegiven to be permitted to go to Say, sit down quietly in a corner, andmodestly and without speaking a word, weep in her company. At the sametime she felt another longing. Since the night of the murder Okoya hadof course not been to see her, and she naturally longed to meet him alsoin this hour of sadness and trial. Once when she had gone to the brookfor water, Zashue had crossed her path; but he looked so dark andfrowning that she did not venture even to greet him.
It was the last day of mourning, and nearly everybody at the Rito whocould or ought had paid his respects to the dead. The Chayani of lesserrank alone returned from time to time to perform specially strongincantations in aid of the still travelling soul. Mitsha had gone downto the brook to get water. It occurred only once a day during thesedays, for the people of Tyame fasted, taking but one frugal meal daily.Everybody was very careful also not to wash, and Mitsha herself was asunkempt as any one else of her clan.
Bearing the huashtanyi on her head, she was returning, when as shepassed the corner of the big house her eyes discovered a man standingwith his back turned to her, gazing at the cliffs. He seemed to face thedwellings of the Eagle clan. As the girl approached, the noise of herstep caused him to turn, and she recognized Okoya.
The youth stepped up to her; his eyes were hollow, and now they becamemoist. He attempted to control himself, to restrain the tears that werecoming to his eyes at the sight of her; but he sobbed convulsively. Whenshe saw it tears came to her eyes at once. The two children stood there,he struggling to hide his grief, for it was unmanly to weep, and yet hewas young and could not control his feelings; she, as a woman, feelingat liberty to weep. She wept, but silently and modestly. It grieved herto see him shed tears.
He, too, felt for her; but it was soothing to his own grief that Mitshamourned. He too was longing to meet her; the four days of separation hadbeen very long to him.
"He was so good," Okoya at last succeeded in saying. Fresh tears came tohis eyes.
Mitsha merely nodded and covered her face with a corner of her wrap.
"Have you been to him?" he asked.
She nodded; Okoya continued,--
"To-morrow I will come again."
Eager nods, mingled with sobs and accompanied by rubbing of the eyes,were her reply. The nodding proved that his call would be very, verywelcome. She uncovered her face, her eyes beamed through tears, and shesmiled. As sincerely as she felt her grief, the announcement that hewould return as soon as the mourning-time was over made her happy, andher features expressed it. She went her way quietly, Okoya following herwith his eyes.
He longed to say to her, "Come with me, and let us go together to mymother; she weeps so much." But it could not be; it was useless tomention it. About his mother Okoya felt deeply concerned, for she didnot bear her grief as the others bore theirs. She was not noisy like therest. Utterly oblivious of her daily task, she neither cooked nor bakednor cared for anything. Her husband and children had to go hungry, whileshe sat in a corner sobbing and weeping. It was indeed a blessing forher that she was able to weep; otherwise her reason might have given wayunder the terrible and crushing blow. With the loss of her father shefelt as if lost forever, as if her only support, her only hope, hadgone. The past came back to her, not like an ugly dream, but as afearful reality threatening sure destruction. Between her and theaccusation which she felt certain had been fulminated
against her beforethe council, there stood henceforth no one, and at the end of themourning she expected to be dragged before the council at once andcondemned to death! And what sort of death? Exposed to public wrath as awitch, bound and gagged, tied to a tree, with the rough bark laceratingher breast, and then beaten, beaten to a jelly, rib broken after rib,limb after limb, until the soul left the body's wreck under the cursesof bystanders. Oh, if she could only die now a swift, an honourabledeath like that of her father!
If she could only have seen Shotaye! She expected the cave-woman surelyto come down to cheer her up. She felt a longing for her friend, adesire to see her, to hear her voice. But day after day ran on, nightafter night followed, and Shotaye did not come. It did not surprise herthat Shotaye did not appear on the first day, but on the evening of thesecond she began to tremble. When the night of the third came, herapprehensions became distressing. On the fourth, Shotaye must surelycome; expectation, and finally disappointment, almost tortured to deaththe poor woman, for Shotaye came not.
Everything seemed to conspire to render her hopelessly miserable. Shelost sight of her surroundings, grew speechless, and almost devoid offeeling. The others explained her state as one of profound and verynatural grief, and let her alone. But it was uncomfortable in the housewhen the mistress took no notice of anything, and did not even providethe most necessary things, not even drinking-water. Therefore Zashue, aswell as Okoya, preferred to go out of doors, there to await thetermination of the disagreeable period of mourning at the end of whichthey confidently expected Say to return to her normal condition.
After he had separated from Mitsha, Okoya sauntered, without reallyknowing whither, up the gorge and down the northern side of thecultivated plots. He gradually neared the cliffs, and found himselfbeyond the dwellings of the Water clan, and therefore beyond theuppermost caves that were inhabited. The gorge, narrow and coveredmostly with underbrush and pines, afforded to his sight but a singleconspicuous object, and toward this he turned at once.
To his right lay some caves that had been long ago forsaken, and whosefront wall had partly crumbled. Below the short slope leading up to themare the traces of an old round estufa. A plain concavity in the groundindicates its site to-day. At the time when Okoya strolled about, theroofing alone was destroyed, and part of the interior was filled withblocks of stone that had tumbled from the cliffs, crushing the roof.Okoya, from where he stood, had the interior of the ruin open beforehim, and he saw in it, partly sitting and partly reclining, the figureof his friend Hayoue. It was a welcome discovery.
He had not met Hayoue since the death of his grandfather, for thebrother of Zashue had avoided the great house and its inmates onpurpose. He mourned earnestly and sincerely, and wished to be alone withhis thoughts. But Okoya was not disposed to let him alone. He knew thatif his uncle spoke to any one he would speak to him, and that if he feltindisposed to enter into any conversation he would say so at once.Hayoue was very outspoken.
The boy jumped down from block to block noisily, for he wanted toattract his uncle's attention beforehand. The latter looked up. As soonas he saw who the disturber of his musings was, he waved his hand,beckoning him to come. Okoya obeyed with alacrity, for he saw thatHayoue felt disposed to talk. Throwing himself down beside him he waitedpatiently until the other saw fit to open the conversation. They bothremained for a while in silence, until Hayoue heaved a deep sigh andsaid,--
"Does Zashue, my brother, mourn also?"
"Not as we do," replied Okoya; "yet he is sad."
"It is well. He is right to feel sad. Sad for himself, for you, for allof us."
"Sa umo was so good," whispered the boy, and tears came to him again;but he controlled his feelings and swallowed his sobs. He did not wishthe other to see him weep.
"Indeed sa umo maseua was good," Hayoue emphasized, "better than any ofus, truer than any of us! None of us at the Tyuonyi is as strong andwise as he was."
"How could the Moshome kill him, if he was such a great warrior," Okoyanaively inquired.
"See, satyumishe, he was struck from behind. In this way a Moshome maykill a bear, and so yai shruy destroys the strongest mokatsh. Sa umo hadno weapons, neither bow nor arrow nor club. He did not suppose thatthere were any Moshome lurking about as tiatui lies in wait for thedeer. Had sa nashtio gone south or toward the west, he would havecarried what was right, but over there,"--he pointed northward,--"whowould have believed the people over there to be so mean as theseshuatyam of Tehuas now prove to be? Destruction come upon them!" Hespoke very excitedly, his eyes flashed, and he gnashed his teeth.Shaking his clenched fist at the north, he hissed, "And destruction willcome upon them soon! We shall go to Kapo and come back with many scalps.We will not get one only, and crawl back, as shutzuna does after he hasstolen a turkey. We shall go soon, very soon!"
Okoya yielded to the excitement which the latter part of his friend'sspeech bespoke. His eyes sparkled also, and his chest heaved at themention of blood.
"Satyumishe," he exclaimed, "let us go, I and you together. Let us goand get what may please our father's heart!"
Hayoue looked at him; it was an earnest and significant look.
"You are right, brother. You are wise and you are good. You also knowhow to hit with an arrow, but you are not uakanyi."
"But I shall be one, if I go with you," boldly uttered the boy.
His uncle shook his head, and smiled.
"Don't you know, sa uishe, that every one cannot go with the warriors,when they go on the war-path? Every one cannot say, 'I am going,' andthen go as he pleases and when he pleases. Every one cannot think, 'I amstrong and wise, and I will follow the enemy.' If the Shiuana do nothelp him, the strongest is weak, and the wisest is a child before thefoe. See, satyumishe, I am as good a uakanyi as any one, but I do notknow whether, when the Hishtanyi Chayan says in the uuityam which menshall go and take from the Tehuas what is proper, I may go with them.Perhaps I shall have to stay, and some other one will go in my stead."
"Must not all go?" Okoya asked; he was astonished.
"Every one must go whom the maseua chooses." With a sad expression headded, "Our maseua is no more, and ere the Hotshanyi has spoken to theyaya and nashtio, and said to them, 'such and such a one shall bemaseua,' it is the Hishtanyi Chayan who decides who shall go and whoshall stay at home."
His nephew comprehended; he nodded and inquired,--
"Does not the Hishtanyi Chayan fast and do penance now?"
"Our nashtio _yaya_," Hayoue replied with an important and mysteriousmien, "has much work at present."
"Do you know what he is working?" naively asked Okoya.
"He is with Those Above."
The reply closed the conversation on that subject. Okoya changed thetopic, asking,--
"Satyumishe, you are not much older than I. How comes it that you areuakanyi already?"
Hayoue felt quite flattered. He was indeed very young for a warmagician, and he felt not a little pride on account of it. Assuming aself-satisfied and important air, he turned to his nephew with thequery,--
"When you go out hunting, what is the first thing you do?"
"I take my bow and arrow and leave the house," readily answered the boy.
"This is not what I ask for," growled Hayoue. "What kind of work do youdo ere you rise to the kauash?"
The boy understood at last.
"I place the stone, and speak to Those Above."
"If before you go hunting you do not speak to them, are you lucky?"
"No," Okoya mumbled. He recalled the unlucky turkey-hunt of some timeago, when he had forgotten to say his prayers before starting, of whichwe have spoken in the first chapter.
"Why have you no luck?" Hayoue further asked.
"Because the Shiuana are not satisfied," replied the other. His unclenodded.
"Are you a hunter?" he asked.
"Not yet, I am only learning."
"Why do you learn?"
"In order to know."
"When you once know, what can y
ou do then?"
"I can--" Okoya was embarrassed. "I can make the Shiuana help me."
"That is it!" Hayoue exclaimed. "If the Shiuana do not help, you can donothing; no matter how swift you run, how far you see, and how sure youraim is. But of the Shiuana there are many, as many as grains of sand onthe shore of the great river below here, and when we do not know them wecannot speak to them and beg for assistance. Just as there are Shiuanawho assist the hunter, there are those who help us, that we may strikethe enemy and take away from him what makes him strong, that it maystrengthen us. Look at Tyame, the nashtio of Tzitz hanutsh; he is swiftand strong, but he knows not how to call to Those Above and around tohelp him take the scalp of the Moshome. We must be wise, and listen towhat those speak who know how to address the Shiuana, and what to givethem. We must learn in order to act. I have learned, and thus I havebecome uakanyi. And he who will soon be where in time we also shall findrest,--he taught me many things. He was good and wise, very good, ourfather the maseua," he added, sighing deeply.
"Will you help me to learn and become uakanyi?" Okoya turned to him nowwith flashing eyes.
"I will, surely I will. You shall become one of us. But you know,brother, that you must be silent and keep your tongue tied. You must notsay to this or that one, 'I am learning, I have learned such and suchthings, for I am going to become uakanyi.'"
Okoya of course assented. Then he asked,--
"I am not uakanyi, and can the Hishtanyi Chayan tell me to go along toowith the men to strike the Tehuas?"
"Certainly, for there are not many of us, and in the Zaashtesh all muststand up for each, and each for all. But when many go on the war-paththere are always some of us with them in order that the Shiuana be inour favour."
"Do the Shiuana help the Tehuas also? For the Tehuas are people likeourselves, are they not?"
"They are indeed Zaashtesh, like the Queres. But I do not know how theShiuana feel toward them. Old men who knew told me that the MoshomeTehua prayed to Those Above and around us, and that they call them Ohua.Whether they are the same as ours I cannot tell; but I cannot believethem to be; for the kopishtai who dwell over there must be good to theirpeople, whereas the kopishtai here are good to us. Only those who holdin their hands the paths of our lives help those who do right and givethem what is due, wherever and whoever they be."
"How soon shall we go against the Tehuas?"
"The Yaya Chayan and the uishtyaka perhaps alone know that. As soon asthe Hishtanyi has done his work he will call the uuityam, and then thoseshall go that must. Perhaps I may go, perhaps not. It may be that bothof us will be sent along. But we will go soon," he fiercely muttered,"soon, to take from the Tehuas what is precious to the heart of ourfather, who now goes toward Shipapu."
Okoya felt wildly excited and could barely restrain himself. Thirst forrevenge joined the intense wish to become a warrior. But Hayoue's placeda damper on his enthusiasm, else he might have left that night alone,with bow and arrow and a stone knife, to hover about the Puye until someluckless Tehua fell into his hands. He saw, however, that nothing couldbe done without the consent and support of the higher powers, and thathe must curb his martial ardour and abide by the decisions of ThoseAbove. The present topic of conversation being exhausted, both sat insilence for a while, each following his own train of thoughts. Okoya wasthe first to speak again.
"Does your hanutsh mourn?"
"The women have gone to weep with the dead," replied Hayoue. "I too ammourning," he added sorrowfully; "but I mourn as is becoming to a man.Crying and weeping belong only to women."
"I have cried," whispered Okoya timidly, as he looked at his friend witha doubting glance. He was ashamed of the confession, and yet could notrestrain himself from making it. Hayoue shrugged his shoulders.
"You are young, satyumishe, and your heart is young. It is like theheart of a girl. When you have seen many dead men and many dying, youwill do as I do,--you will not cry any more." He coughed, and his facetwitched nervously; with all his affectation of stoicism he had tostruggle against tears. In order to suppress them completely he spokevery loudly at once,--
"Tzitz hanutsh has nothing to do with the dead, and yet the women lamentand its men think over the loss that the tribe has sustained. I tellyou, Okoya, we have lost much; we are like children without theirmother, like a drove of turkeys whose gobbler tiatui or mokatsh havekilled. Now,"--his eyes flashed again and he gnashed his teeth,--"nowTyope and the old Naua are uppermost. Just wait until the men havereturned from the war-path, and you will see. Evil is coming to us. Didyou notice, satyumishe, on the night when they carried sa nashtio maseuaback to the Tyuonyi how angry the Shiuana were; how the lightning flamedthrough the clouds and killed the trees on the mesa? I tell you,brother, evil is coming to our people, for a good man has gone from usto Shipapu, but the bad ones have been spared."
Okoya shuddered involuntarily. He recollected well that awful night.Never before had a storm raged on the Rito with such fury. Frightful hadbeen the roar of the thunder, prolonged like some tremendoussubterranean noise. Incessant lightning had for hours converted nightinto day, and many were the lofty pines that had been shattered orconsumed by the fiery bolts from above. The wind, which seldom does anydamage at such places, had swept through the gorge and over the mesaswith tremendous force, and lastly the peaceful, lovely brook, swollen bythe waters that gushed from the mountains in torrents, as well as by therain falling in sheets, had waxed into a roaring, turbid stream. It hadflooded the fields, destroying crops and spreading masses of rockydebris over the tillable soil. Yes, the heavens had come upon the Ritoin their full wrath, as swift and terrible avengers. Both of themremembered well that awful night, and dropped into moody silence at thedismal recollection.
"Are there any other bad men at the Tyuonyi?" Okoya asked; but low, asif he were afraid of the answer.
"There may be others," Hayoue muttered, "but those two are certainly theworst."
Okoya felt disappointed; Tyope, he saw, must indeed be a bad creature.
"Do you know whether Tyope is mourning?" asked his uncle.
"I have not seen him," grumbled the other.
"I am sure he will look as if his mother had died," scolded Hayoue. "Heis a great liar, worse than a Navajo. He puts on a good face and keepsthe bad one inside. I would like to know what the Shiuana think of thatbad man."
"Have we any bad women among us?" Okoya said, to change theconversation.
"Hannay is bad!" his uncle cried.
A pang went through the heart of the other youth. His prospective fatherand mother in-law appeared really a pair of exquisite scoundrels.
"Are there any others?"
"I don't know, still I have heard." Hayoue looked about as if afraid ofsome eavesdropper,--"what I tell you now is only for yourself,--thatShotaye is bad, very bad! After being Tyope's wife for a while, I shouldnot be surprised if--"
"Does she speak to those that can do us harm?" Okoya interrupted in atimid whisper.
"It may be. There is no doubt but she is a harlot; I know it myself, andevery man on the Tyuonyi knows it. Other women are also spoken of, butnobody says it aloud. It is not right to speak thus of people when we donot know positively. I have not seen Shotaye since our father died. Sheis mourning perhaps, for her cave is shut and the deerskin hangs overthe doorway. She is likely to be inside in quiet until the trouble isover and the men can go to her again."
Okoya rose to go.
"Are you coming along?" he asked his uncle.
Hayoue shook his head; he still wished to remain alone.
"It may be," he said, "that we shall have to leave in two days againstthe Tehuas, and I shall remain so that I may be ready when the tapopcalls upon us. You rely upon it, satyumishe, we shall go soon, and whenit so happens that we both must go you shall come with me that I mayteach you how the scalp is taken."
Thus dismissed, Okoya sauntered back down the valley.
When opposite the caves of the Water clan he furtively glanced over tothe one
inhabited by Shotaye. The deerskin, as Hayoue had stated, hungover the opening, and no smoke issued from the hole that served as ventand smoke-escape. The woman must be mourning very deeply, or else shewas gone. She did not often enter his thoughts, and yet he wishedShotaye might come now and see his mother. He was convinced, withoutknowing why, that his mother would have been glad to see her.
At all events the dismal period of mourning was drawing rapidly to aclose, and with it official sadness would vanish. He could hardly awaitthe morrow. On that day he hoped that the question would be decided whenthe great work of revenge should commence and whether he would bepermitted to take part in it. The words of his uncle had opened anentirely new perspective to Okoya. To become uakanyi was now his aim,his intense ambition. As warrior, and as successful warrior, heconfidently expected that no one would dare refuse him Mitsha. This hopeovercame the grief he had harboured during the days that elapsed, forthat grief belonged to the past; and as the past now appeared to him, itseemed only a stepping-stone to a proud and happy future.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 11: I borrow these facts from Spanish sources. Both Castanedaand Mota Padilla mention cremation as being practised in the sixteenthcentury by the Pueblos. The latter author even gives a detaileddescription. Withal, the fact that the Pueblos also buried the body ismore than abundantly established. Both modes of burial were resorted to,and contemporaneously even, according to the nature of the country andsoil. There is comparatively little soil at the Rito. The mourningceremonies, etc., I have witnessed myself.]