The Delight Makers
CHAPTER XXI.
Autumn in New Mexico, as well as in many other parts of the world, isthe most beautiful time of the year. The rains are over, and vegetationis refreshed and has developed. Yellow flowers cover the slopes of thehigher ranges; the summits are crowned with glistening snow again; thedays are pleasant and the nights calm, clear, and wonderfully cool.Nature in autumn seems to display its greatest charms to allure mankindinto placid submission to the approach of rigid winter.
Autumn has come, and the two adventurers of whose reception we havespoken in the last chapter are still guests, kindly treated and waitingfor the guide to give the signal of departure for the south. A few daysthe old man had said,--in a few days he would himself go to the southernpueblos of his tribe. But upon the rabbit-hunts there followedceremonial dances which lasted for days, and Hayoue and Zashue could notleave until they were over. Then it required several days to rest and toperform certain rites, and Zashue and Hayoue could not leave on thataccount. Furthermore, Zashue being Koshare, the Koshare of the Tanosheld him back for certain performances of their own, and Hayoue couldnot or would not start alone. Afterward, Hayoue being Cuirana, theCuirana held something in store for him, and Zashue did not care tostart without his brother. And when all that was finished the old manwas not ready; and so they are waiting and waiting, and autumn is herein all its beauty, and Hayoue and Zashue, Zashue as well as Hayoue,begin to chafe; but it is of no avail; they must wait.
While they are thus waiting until it pleases their friend to start, weshall precede them to that south which is their objective point, inorder to anticipate if possible the cravings of the two adventurousyoung men. They may overtake us there, perhaps when we least expect it.
* * * * *
About thirty miles south of Santa Fe, the southern rim of the so-calledBasin of Galisteo is bounded by a low and shaggy ridge running from eastto west, whose crest is formed of trap-dyke sharply though irregularlydentated. In Spanish this ridge and another similar one which traversesthe plain several miles north of it, running parallel to the former, iscalled very appropriately El Creston, for if seen from a distance andedgewise it strikingly resembles the crest of an antique helmet. Theplain of Galisteo expands between _crestones_, and on the edges of itstand several villages of the Tanos. Of the Galisteo Basin a Spanishreport from the sixteenth century says: "There they have no stream;neither are there any running brooks nor any springs which the peoplecould use."
The mountain clusters of the Real de Dolores and Sierra de SanFrancisco, and beyond these the high Sandia chain, divide the Galisteocountry from the valley of the Rio Grande in the west. To the souththere extends a dreary plain as far as the salt marshes of the Manzano;eastward spread the wooded slopes of the plateau; above the Pecos borderupon the basin. To the north the plain rises gradually, traversed onlyby the northern _creston_, until it merges into the plain of Santa Fe.
On the southwestern corner of the Galisteo Basin a broad channeldischarges its waters into it, passing between the San Francisco rangeand the mountains of Dolores. The channel is arid. Mountain torrentsrush through it only in the season of thunderstorms, and they haveburrowed and ploughed through its surface, scarring it with deep furrowsand shifting waterfalls. Near the mouth of the pass and at no greatdistance from the plain, one of these arroyos has cut through an ancientvillage, exposing on both banks the lower walls and rooms of itsbuildings, visible on the surface only as irregular lines andquadrangles of rubbish. The village must have been quite large for anIndian settlement, since seven rectangles with wing-like additions canstill be traced. This village in ruins is called to-day the PuebloLargo, and the name is not inappropriate.
At the time of which we speak, the Pueblo Largo was inhabited, and in ashigh a state of prosperity as Indian pueblos ever attain unto. Itcontained, as the ruins attest, nearly fifteen hundred people of theTanos tribe. Its name was Hishi. The name is well known to-day to theremnants of the Tanos, for they have piously preserved the recollectionsof their former abodes.
Hishi is not on a beautiful site. It lies in a wide ditch rather than ina valley. No view opens from it, and sombre mountains loom up in closeproximity both to the north and west. In the rear of the village, thesoil rises gradually to a low series of ridges, from the top of which,at some distance from Hishi, the eye ranges far off toward the plainsand the basin of the salt lakes. These ridges are convenient posts ofobservation. Scouts placed there can descry the approach of hostileApaches. The latter roam up and down the plains, following the immenseherds of buffalo, and prey upon the village Indians whenever the latterpresent any opportunity for a successful surprise.
The buffalo himself not infrequently comes to graze within a shortdistance of Hishi. South of the present ruins lies the buffalo spring.When the dark masses of this greatest of American quadrupeds aredescried from the heights above the village, the Tanos go out with bowand arrow; and woe to the straggling steer or calf that lags behind.Like the wolf, the Indian rarely attacked any but isolated animals. Onlywhen a communal hunt was organized, and a whole village sallied forth tomake war upon the mighty king of the prairies,--only then, previous tothe introduction of fire-arms, could the redman venture to assault evena small herd or the rear-guard of a numerous column.
September is drawing to a close, and the autumnal sky is as cloudlessand as pure over Hishi as it is over most of the other portions of NewMexico. But in the hollow where the village is situated the sun isscorching, as Hishi lies much lower than the "corner in the east" andlower than the Rito. The chaparro flowers, in dense masses of deepyellow, carpet the earth; and the dark pine forests on themountain-slopes stare, while yellow streaks sweep up among the duskytimber. In the distance we catch a glimpse of the eastern slope of theSandia range glistening in the bright yellow hue of the flowers thatcover miles of its slanting surface.
On the ridges south of Hishi human figures stand. They are scattered,watching and spying attentively. They are videttes,--outposts, placed toscan the plains and the slopes of the mountains, lest some enemy sneakup and pounce upon the defenceless village. For at the time of which weare speaking the Tanos, or Hishi, are not only defenceless, butsingularly unsuspecting and heedless of danger. They would be at themercy of an enemy, were it not for these guards and scouts, who watchand pry, straining every organ of perception that their people at homemay be without care while singing, praying, and making merry. Is notthe dance now going on at the village danced, prayed, and sung for theirbenefit also?
Whenever these outposts turn toward their pueblo they see clouds of dustrising from it, hear loud rhythmic shouting, whoops and yells, beatingof drums, and the shrill sounds of flutes. A haze seems to cover thetall and long terraced buildings quite distinct from the verticalcolumns of sand-whirls that drift over the plain of Galisteo, in calmweather rising above the horizon like thin films of smoke.
It is a great day at Hishi. A dance is performed, songs are sung, andprayers and sacrifices are offered that shall be powerful with ThoseAbove. The people make merry over the fruits of the soil that have nowmatured. They are grateful, and they wish to be precious to the higherpowers in years to come. The great harvest dance is performed to-day. Along procession perambulates the long village. The Koshare trot ahead.They are the same black and white goblins with whom we are alreadyacquainted, but their bodies are decorated now with ripe fruit, withsmall squashes and ears of corn, all strung to cords of fibre orbuckskin, and hung over their shoulders like wreaths. Wild sunflowersadorn their heads. They are followed by the Cuirana, whose bodies aredaubed over with bluish clay. Then the general public tramp along. Theprocession is divided into four sections, the faces of all being painted_ad libitum_. The first detachment is led by an old man whose snow-whitehair supports a wreath of yellow blossoms. He is the so-called summercacique.
The winter cacique leads on the second group. Behind each ear he wears atall plume from the wings of the eagle, and around his neck are strungrows upon rows of sacred shell b
eads, turquoises, and gaudy pebbles. Thethird is preceded by the great shaman of the hunt. His dress is atight-fitting suit of buckskin; long fringes depend from his sleeves,and the front and shoulders of his jacket are profusely embroidered withporcupine-quills. A small plumelet of eagle-down dances over his head.The last section is led by the highest shaman. His head is alsodecorated with yellow flowers, and a green and a yellow plume standerect behind each ear. The war shaman is not to be seen; the spirits ofstrife have nothing to do with the feast of peace. The war captain andhis assistants accompany the procession to keep order and clear the way.
This long, long pageant winds on, meandering through the pueblo to thesound of drums, of flutes, and of monotonous chants; the white satyrs goahead, then follow the blue ones, then come in single file the men,vigorously stamping, and behind each a woman, tripping lightly.
Every man is loaded with fruit of some kind, and carries corn andsquashes also in each hand. Every woman or girl bears on her head abasket of willows or yucca filled with corn-cakes, yucca preserve, andother delicacies, products of the vegetable kingdom. It is a processionof baskets filing through Hishi, solemn and sober, and in the mainextremely monotonous. At intervals the Koshare break ranks to cut a fewcapers, but to-day the Delight Makers of the Tehuas are remarkablydecent, for they are those, par excellence, who say grace. Since theirlabours have been rewarded, and the crops are now ripe, and the peoplehave sufficient food, they are merry in the prospects of an easy winter,and there is no need of any artificial delight-making.
The procession has passed through the entire village and returned to oneof its main squares. The end of the pageant is still on the march whenthe Koshare break ranks again and cluster in the centre of the square.From every side bystanders come up with fruits, scattering them over theground where the Delight Makers are waiting; and when the soil is wellcovered with squash, corn, and other vegetables, the white satyrs beginto dance with the most serious faces, singing and lifting their hands tothe skies. Gradually the whole of the offering is crushed, and at lastpounded into the earth by the feet of the dancing clowns. The earth hasbrought forth the necessaries of life to man; now man, in token ofgratitude, returns a tribute to the earth.
As soon as this part of the ceremony is over, there arises a great shoutfrom all sides. Ears of corn, gourds, cakes of corn meal, pieces ofdried preserve, ripe fruits of the yucca, are thrown up into the air;the baskets are emptied, and bystanders run home to replenish them.Whoever can catch anything proceeds to devour it at once. The wholetribe displays its gratitude by throwing heavenward the food whichheaven has enabled it to raise. Man intercepts and enjoys it after thewill and the deed have satisfied the invisible powers on high.
The usual mass of spectators are gathered on the roofs and along thewalls of the houses. When the noisy distribution of offerings begins,many run to get their share. But it is not those who are most eager thatare most considered; it seems that the bulk of the food thrown into theair is showering down upon a row of houses on whose terraces stands agroup of men, women, and children who seem no part of the inhabitants ofHishi, manifesting this not so much in dress as from their distant andtimid deportment. All of them are very poorly clad, the children mostlynaked; and yet here and there a girl among them wears a new hide, andsome old woman a new white cotton wrap. Their pieces of clothing appearlike new mendings on old rags, or like a substantial shawl thrown overscanty vestments. The older members of this peculiar group look downupon the merry spectacle below with grave and melancholy eyes; theyounger would fain be merry also, but sadness lurks in their smiles.The children alone yield fully to the excitement and happiness of thehour. As the gifts fall down from above the older ones do not attempt toseize them; the girls and younger women gather what they can and placethem carefully in a heap. What the children do not succeed in devouringat once is taken away from them and placed with the rest. They areimproving the opportunity to lay in stores, and the Tanos lend them awilling hand. Spectators below turn over to them what has fallen totheir share, others place what they have secured with the little hoardthe strangers are accumulating. For these people, so poorly clad andlooking so needy, must be strangers in the village of Hishi. Strangers,yes; but strangers in need; and could there be any sacrifice, anyoffering, more agreeable to those on high than the feeding of peoplewhom they allow to live by thrusting them on the charity offellow-beings? These strangers are after all but children of the samespiritual parents from the upper world, and as such they are brothers,sisters, and relatives.
That the strangers are village Indians can easily be seen. It is provedby the cut of the hair, and by the rags which still protect their bodiesfrom absolute nakedness. But the tongue they speak is different fromthat spoken by the people of Hishi. To us, however, it is not new. Wehave heard that dialect before. It is the Queres language, the languageof the Rito. The strangers are the lost ones whom Hayoue and Zashue havesought so anxiously and with so much suffering, and for the sake of whomthey have exposed their lives a hundred times perhaps, in vain. Zashuewas right, the fugitives had turned south from the Bocas; and had Hayouebeen less self-sufficient they would have found them ere now.
Still we miss among that little band of Queres fugitives those with whomwe have become more closely acquainted.
Ruins of an Ancient Pueblo]
In vain we look for Say Koitza, for Mitsha, for Okoya. Can it be true,as Hayoue surmised, that his bosom friend, Zashue's eldest son, is dead?
The throwing about of fruit has ceased; the dance is resumed, and newfigures may appear. Everybody hushes, and fastens his gaze on theperformance.
The dancers have formed a wide ring. Men and women hold each other bythe hands, and dance in a circle around the place which has been coveredwith objects of sacrifice. One after the other, the Koshare, theCuirana, after them each one of the four sections, step within thecircle, stamping down the fruits spread out there. Two or three of theDelight Makers improve the occasion to cut some of their usual capers,and the spectators laugh to their heart's content. Laughter iscontagious, it captures even the melancholy group of Queres; the oldamong them smile, the young chuckle, the children shout and yell fromsheer delight. One boy in particular is very conspicuous from theintense interest he takes in everything the Koshare are doing. He isabout ten years of age. A dirty breech-clout constitutes his onlyvestment, but a necklace of multi-coloured pebbles adorns his neck; andas often as a Koshare grimaces, or makes an extraordinary gesture, ordisplays his tongue to the public, this boy jumps up, screams andshouts, and screeches in delirious joy. His whole heart is with theKoshare; he imitates their movements, improves on their gestures to sucha degree that those around him smile, exchanging winks of approval as ifsaying, "He will be a good one."
The head of a girl slowly rises through a hatchway; and as her faceturns toward us, we recognize the soft, beaming eyes of Mitsha Koitza.The maiden looks thinner, her features sharper. She remains standing onthe notched beam serving as a ladder, and calls out,--
"Shyuote!"
No reply is made to the call. The din and noise of the dance drown hervoice, and all are so occupied by the sights that none pay any attentionto her. The youngster who has been devoting all his time to the pranksof the Delight Makers jumps forward in his enthusiasm, and would havetumbled sheer over the low parapet encircling the roof had not one ofthe men standing near grasped his hair and pulled him back. It saved theboy's life, but the urchin is highly displeased at the informal mannerin which he is restrained. He screams and struggles to free himself.Again the voice of the maiden is heard; this time it is louder and thetone commanding.
"Shyuote!"
"She is calling you, uak," the man says who has saved the brat.
"I won't go," retorts our old friend Shyuote, for he it is who attemptsto play at Koshare here.
"Shyuote, come to sanaya!" again calls the maiden.
The mention of his mother creates a stir among the bystanders. Theyforget the dance and turn toward Mitsha. Shyuote still r
efuses to obey,but the others push him forcibly to the hatchway. Several of the womenapproach Mitsha, and one inquires of her in a subdued voice,--
"How goes it below?"
The girl's eyes fill with tears. At last she whispers,--
"It goes--to Shipapu." She turns around and disappears beneath, sobbing.Shyuote is sent after her.
The people stand and shake their heads. The news wanders from lip tolip, "She is dying." All the pleasure, every interest in theperformance, has vanished. Indifferent to the celebration, the Quereshang their heads in sadness; yet no complaint is heard, not a tearglistens in those mournful eyes. She is only dying, not dead.
But who is dying? The query cannot be answered up here. Let us go downand follow Mitsha.
In the dingy room of an Indian home, where light and air penetratethrough a single diminutive air-hole, sit and crouch half a dozenpeople. They surround at some distance a human being whose head rests ona bundle of skins, the body on a buffalo-robe. The knees are drawn up,and cotton mantles cover the lower extremities. The chest, scantilycovered with a ragged, dark-coloured wrap, heaves at long intervals; theextremities begin to stretch; the face is devoid of expression; the eyesare wide open, staring, glassy; the lips parted; and on each side of themouth-corners ominous wrinkles begin to form. The sufferer is a woman,and as we look closer we recognize her as Say Koitza, the wife ofZashue. He must hasten his steps if he wishes to find her upon earth,for she is dying!
It is very still in the room. The prayers which the medicine-man of theTanos has been reciting are hushed, the little idols of lava withred-painted faces and eyes made of turquoises by means of which he hopedto conjure the sickness, lean against the wall useless. Those whose dutyit is cower about the dying woman, and look on speechless. How faint thebreathings grow, how the chest rises and falls at longer intervals,weaker every time! They listen as the rattling in her throat becomesharder and slower. They dare not weep, for all is not over.
Say Koitza is dying! Not the sudden death she once prayed for whenTopanashka her father went over to Shipapu; but still she dies apainless death,--she dies from exhaustion.
What is going on in her mind while the fetters which tied her soul tothe body are being dissolved? That body is henceforth powerless; it hasno wants, no cravings. The soul becomes free. Can it already glancebeyond? Not yet, for as long as earthly matter clings to him man cannotperceive the other world. Flashes of light gleam through the mist inwhich he is plunged, through both physical weakness and the efforts ofthe soul to become free. The body struggles for preservation, the spiritfor freedom from its henceforth useless shell.
Are mind and body merely one? Does not death put an end to everythingthat we ever were and can be? Does there remain after death anythingbeyond the memory of our former existence, preserved in the hearts ofour fellow-beings? Nobody has ever returned from beyond the grave totell us how he felt, what he thought, while dying. But a dying personalways casts rays of light over his surroundings, and the surroundingsof dying Say Koitza are not without their lesson for us.
What do we see? A man sits near the dying woman. He lifts up his handsand stares; it is the medicine-man, and he has done his utmost; he ispowerless, his art useless. What he did was done in the conviction thatspiritual influences, however grossly conceived and coarsely applied,could compel the soul to master the body's ailment, could prop up thesinking machinery and strengthen the motive power without regard to itsdecaying tools. To-day, provided the body is helped along with physicalmeans, the soul would remain against its will, or against the will ofwhat stands in closer relation to it originally than the form which ithas animated here beneath. If mind and body were one, either methodcould be successful. Neither is, when death steps in to proclaim theirseparation.
By the side of the shaman a young man leans against the wall. He iswell-built and lithe. His head is bent so low in grief that the darkhair streams over his face, concealing his features. The youth ismourning, mourning deeply. Over what? Over the body or its sufferings?No, he mourns because of an impending separation. From what? From theform of her whom he will miss? No, for that form will not leave thisearth in substance. He mourns for something that goes beyond his grasp,and remains beyond it so long as he himself moves upon this earth.
Mitsha also is here. She has properly no right to be for she does notbelong to the same clan as Say; but she has remained, and nobody hasobjected to her presence. She has not craved permission, it has come bytacit consent. Mitsha has felt that Say was approaching the point whenthe soul breaks loose and flits to another realm, and she wishes toremain with her to the last. If that soul should drop like a shrivelledfruit, to decay and perish forever, nobody would bend to gaze fondly atit. But if it flutter upward, we follow it with our eyes as long as wecan, unconsciously thinking, "How happy you are, free now; and how muchI wish to be with you." The very grief caused by the separation, thelonging, the clinging to him or to her whom we know to be leaving us,are signs that there is something beyond, something which we are loathto lose but sure to find again elsewhere, Mitsha has known Okoya'smother but little, but the fearful distress of the past two months hasbrought them together at last. Now the girl weeps, but not loudly, atthe thought of separation. If death be annihilation, tears are of noavail. But if death be a promise of life in another condition, then,child, well may you shed tears, for your grief is a token of hope.
Shyuote stands at the foot of the beam, gaping. His mother lies sostill, she breathes so loudly. How well she must be sleeping! Why didthey call him down at all? It would have been much nicer upstairs wherethere are Koshare to be seen. He knows well enough that sanaya is sick,but as long as she has such good rest she ought to feel well. A child isnot afraid of a dying mother, and when she has breathed her last isconvinced that she must be happy. To be well is compatible in the mindsof children only with life. Death therefore appears to them as a stepinto a better and more beautiful existence. Children and fools tell thetruth. The gleam of light which from dying Say is cast on her unruly sonis but the rosy hue of a hopeful twilight.
The remaining occupants of the room stand with sad looks; they are allwomen but one, a middle-aged man. They do not feel the occasion exceptso far as there is a certain solemnity connected with it. Silent andgrave, they watch a process going on whose real nature they cannotunderstand except as a momentous and appalling change. Change is onlytransformation, not annihilation.
Say Koitza has been lying thus for several days. The end is near athand, and yet hours may elapse ere she dies. So still it is in theapartment that nobody dares even move. Rising and falling come the songand the noise of the dance from the outside, but they seem to halt atthe little opening, as if an invisible medium would interpose itself,saying, "Stay out, for within there ripens a fruit for another and abetter world."
Mitsha glides over to the young man with the dark, streaming hair andtouches his arm lightly. He looks up and at her. It is Okoya,--Okoya,whom we believed to be dead, but who stands here by the side of hisdying mother. He also looks emaciated and wan. After all the dangers andmisery of a protracted flight this hour has come upon him. The eyes ofthe two meet; their looks express neither tenderness nor passion, but aperfect understanding that betokens a union which even death cannotdestroy. It is that simple, natural attachment which forms the basis ofIndian wedlock when the parties are congenial to each other.
That the two are one can be plainly seen. As yet no outward sanction hasbeen given to their union; but they are tacitly regarded as belonging toeach other, and no opposition is offered to an intimacy which lacks butthe bond of marriage. Passion has little to do with that intimacy; thesevere trials of the past have riveted them together on a higher plane.
Mitsha has made a sign to the young man. Both steal from the chambernoiselessly and climb to the roof. He goes first and she follows, as iscustomary among Indians. Once up there the dance attracts Okoya'sattention for a moment. He has not seen anything of it as yet, for allday he has remained by his mother's sid
e.
Shyuote improves the opportunity to slip out also. As he sees hisbrother and future sister-in-law go out, he follows. Why should he staydown any longer? His mother is well. She sleeps soundly and breathes soloud! She certainly is improving, and up there he can see Koshare. Buthe is careful not to let Mitsha see him; her positive ways aredistasteful, so he creeps in among the spectators where her eyes cannotfollow and soon has lost sight of everything in contemplation of theKoshare.
The appearance of Okoya and Mitsha on the roof attracts no attention. Aslong as the death-wail is not sounded, none but those of her clan have aright to be with the dying. Still one or other of the women casts aninquisitive glance at Mitsha; a slight shake of her head is sufficientanswer to them. The young pair go to one side; he sits down on theparapet of the roof and she beside him. Their eyes follow the dance, buttheir thoughts are elsewhere. Okoya whispers at last, "Sanaya is dying."
Mitsha nods, and tears come to her eyes. Here she is not afraid to weep.Okoya continues,--
"I knew it would happen. Yonder"--he points at the mountains--"I heardthe owl, and I knew it meant what is now coming upon us."
The girl shudders. She weeps no longer; dread scenes of the past arelooming up before her mind.
"In the kote," says she, "it was very bad. Do you remember over on theother side of the great river on the mesa, from which one can see sovery far, almost over where we are now?"
"Not as far as that," replied Okoya, in a quiet tone, "but far enough.You are right, makatza; on the mesa we suffered much; there the Moshomedid us a great deal of harm. If it had not been for you we should not behere."
"For me?" Mitsha asked in surprise.
"Yes, you. You saved me, saved the yaya, saved Shyuote from the fierceshuatyam! Yes, surely," he continued as the girl shook her headincredulously. "Do you remember, sa uishe, when one Moshome was holdingmy hands while another struck at me with his club? You took a big stoneand hit him so that he fell and I could kill the other. Afterward youtook the bow away from the dead Moshome, and you did as much with it asI did with mine. Yes, indeed, you are strong, but you are wise too, andgood." He fastened his eyes on her with a deep, earnest look, and thegirl turned away her face. She felt embarrassed.
"We shall be happy when you have built your house and you dwell in it asmy koitza," Okoya whispered.
Mitsha cast her eyes to the ground, and a faint glow appeared on herbronzed cheeks. The young man was not misled by her manner, he knew wellenough that she liked him to speak in this way.
"Sanaya goes to Shipapu," said he, moving closer to her, "and I musthave a koitza. You said you would be mine and I should be your husband.It was the night of the council on the Tyuonyi. Do you remember?"
"I do, and so it will be," she said, raising her head. Her large eyesbeamed upon him with an expression of softness and deep joy. "Butwhither shall we go? Here we are strangers; and the Puyatye, althoughthey are very good to us, speak a tongue we do not understand. Shall wereturn to the Tyuonyi and live with my mother and the hanutsh?"
"Are you sure that your mother is still alive? Are you sure that thereis a single one of our people alive?" Okoya objected.
Again the eyes of Mitsha grew moist; she turned her head away and Okoyaheard her sobs. Well did he understand her grief; it was stirred for thefate of her parents. Had he, had she, known all that had happened on theRito!
A tremendous shout arose from the dancing crowd below. The distributionof gifts was beginning anew. Again the majority of the missiles weredirected toward the Queres; a perfect shower of provisions, cooked andraw, pattered down upon the strangers. A large ear of corn tumbled intoMitsha's lap, and she handed it to Okoya, whispering,--
"The Shiuana are good."
"They are. They are good also to the yaya, for they take her away toShipapu, where there is no hunger as on the shore of the great stream."
He sighed, and gazed to the west, where the San Francisco mountainsstood. Beyond them, along the northern base of the Sierra de Sandia, inthe sandy bottom of the Rio Grande, uninhabited at this time, they hadsuffered from hunger and heat. There misery had reached its climax. Itis terrible even in our days to be compelled to flee from house and homein time of war into the cold, strange world. And yet nowadays one canflee to one's kind; and where there are human beings there are hearts.But in the days of old, and for Indians, it was not only distressing, itwas ghastly to be obliged to fly. Nature alone stared them in the face,and Nature has no heart, although it is said that we are one with her.The Navajos had driven away the fugitives, had tracked and tormentedthem fearfully, and yet once relieved from the enemy's clutches andthrust upon Nature alone, the wretched band regretted the days when theruthless enemy swarmed about them. The Moshome at least fed those whomthey captured, and those whom they killed were happy forever. Natureknows but law and force, and whoever depends upon her at a time when herlaws will not tolerate the existence of man, falls a victim to the powerof her forces.
Now all this was past. It rained gifts about them, and with a sad smileMitsha gathered them into a little pile. Okoya looked on; he thought thegirl was making provision for their future household.
The distribution stopped, for the dancers were resting. They began tosit down along the walls of the houses to rest and to enjoy the neededrecess, Mitsha took some of the fruit on her arm, and said to Okoya,--
"Come, let us go down again."
"What do you want to do with that?" asked he, designating her littleburden.
"I give it to the Chayan for what the Shiuana are doing for our mother."
Even in the state of most abject poverty, the Indian shows gratitude toThose Above.
The head of a man rises above the hatchway and signals the two youngpeople gravely, sadly. They descend hastily; Okoya remains standing inthe middle of the room, and Mitsha goes over to him as soon as she hasdeposited her burden. As nobody notices her she grasps his hand, and hepresses it softly with his own. Say Koitza remains in the same positionas before, but she lies more extended, and her chest heaves no longer.The bystanders are motionless like statues, expectant. A last rattlesounds from the throat of the woman; a deep heavy effort, and all isover. Light froth issues from her lips. Say Koitza has breathed herlast.
It has become very quiet outside, as if men there had guessed at whatwas going on within. In the little apartment it is as still as thegrave,--a stillness which speaks louder to the heart than the mightiestsound, and which is appropriately designated by the popular saying,"There is an angel flitting through the room."
This stillness might have lasted long; but now the noise and uproararise again outside, and with full power the sounds of delight and mirthbreak into the dingy cell like mighty waves. With the departure of lifefrom the body, it is as if a barrier that forbade entrance to noise fromthe outer world had been drawn away, permitting the sounds of joy tocome in triumphantly, now that the soul is free. They find an echoinside, a dismal echo of lamentations and tears. Mitsha cannot weepboisterously like the rest, neither can Okoya. The two lean toward eachother sobbing; the girl has grasped his arm with both hands, her headrests on his shoulder, and she weeps.
The lament below has been heard on the roof; it is a signal to rush downand join in it. Soon the room is crowded with people; the women grasptheir hair and pull it over their faces. Dismal wailing fills the cell.Among the others stands Shyuote, who has been told that his mother isdead. He plants himself squarely with the rest, and howls at the top ofhis voice. In front of the house the dance continues, and the monotonouschant and the dull drumming ascend to the sky; alongside of it thedeath-wail.
Tanos also crowd into the room; the throng is so great that the lastcomers must stand on the beam. Suddenly they are pushed aside; a tallyoung man rushes down and makes room, regardless of the weeping andhowling crowd. Up to Okoya he forces his way; throws his left arm aroundhim and Mitsha; his right hand seizes the hand of the youth and pressesit against his breast. It is Hayoue, who has come from the north atlast,--his hear
t guiding him to that friend whom he has so bravely, sounwearyingly sought.
Another Indian rushes down after Hayoue, his motions not less anxious,not less rapid and determined. He makes his way to the body and fallsdown upon his knees, staring with heaving chest but tearless eyes intothe placid, emaciated face. It is Zashue Tihua. With a tension akin todespair he searches for lingering life in the features of that wife whomhe formerly neglected and afterward suspected, whom he at last anxiouslysought, and now finds asleep in death.