CONCLUSION.
After twenty-one long and it may be tedious chapters, no apology isrequired for a short one in conclusion. I cannot take leave of thereader, however, without having made in his company a brief excursionthrough a portion of New Mexico in the direction of the Rito de losFrijoles, though not quite so far.
We start from Santa Fe, that "corner in the east" above which the Tanovillage stood many centuries ago. We proceed to the Rio Grande valley,to the little settlement called Pena Blanca, and to the Queres village,or Pueblo of Cochiti. There you will hear the language that was oncespoken on the Rito; you will see the Indians with characteristicsidelocks, with collars of turquoises and shell beads, but in moderncoats and trousers, in moccasins and in New England boots and shoes.Still they are at heart nearly the same Indians we found them in thisstory. I could introduce you to Hayoue, to Zashue, to Okoya, and therest. If we strike the time well, you may witness the Koshare at theirpranks, and in their full, very unprepossessing ceremonial toggery. AtCochiti we take a guide, possibly Hayoue, and proceed northward in thedirection of the Rito.
For a number of hours we have to follow the base of the huge potreros,crossing narrow ravines, ascending steep but not long slopes, until atabout noon we stand on the brink of a gorge so deep that it may betermed a chasm. We look down to a narrow bottom and groves of cottonwoodtrees. To the north, the chasm is walled in by towering rocks; the RioGrande flows through one corner; and on its opposite bank arise cliffsof trap lava and basalt, black and threatening, while the rocks on thewest side are bright red, yellow, and white. The trail to the Rito goesdown into this abyss and climbs up on the other side through clefts andalong steep slopes. But we are not going to follow this trail. We turnto the left, and with the dizzy chasm of Canon del Alamo to our right,proceed westward on one of the narrow tongues which, as the reader mayremember, descend toward the Rio Grande from the high western mountains,and which are called in New Mexico potreros. The one on which we aretravelling, or rather the plateau, or mesa, that constitutes itssurface, is called Potrero de las Vacas.
For about two hours we wander through a thin forest, From time to timethe trail approaches the brink of the rocky chasm of the Canon delAlamo, near enough to have its echo return to us every word we may shoutdown into its depths. Suddenly the timber grows sparse and we behold anopen space on a gentle rise before us. It is a bare, bleak spot, perhapsa quarter of a mile long, and occupying the entire width of the mesa,which here is not much broader. Beyond, the timber begins again, and inthe centre of the opening we see the fairly preserved ruins of anabandoned Indian pueblo.
A Modern Pueblo]
There are still in places three stories visible. The walls are of evenlybroken parallelopipeds of very friable pumice-stone, and the villageforms the usual quadrangles. In the centre is a large square; and nofewer than six depressions indicate that the Pueblos had at one time asmany as six circular subterranean estufas. In the ruins of thedwellings over four hundred cells are still well defined, so that thepopulation of this communal village must formerly have reached as highas one thousand souls. Over and through the ruins are scattered theusual vestiges of primitive arts and industry,--pottery fragments andarrow-heads. Seldom do we meet with a stone hammer, whereasgrinding-slabs and grinders are frequent, though for the most partscattered and broken.
The spot is well selected for an abode of sedentary Indians. Anextensive view opens toward the east, north, and south. We see in theeast the mountains above Santa Fe, in the south the ranges at whose footlie the ruins of Hishi. In the north the high plateaus above the Ritoshut out a glimpse of the Puye, but a whitish streak in that directionindicates the top line of the northern cliffs that overhang the Rito delos Frijoles. Right and left of the village, not more than a hundredyards from each side, begin the rugged declivities of the sides of thepotrero. If we want to go farther we can proceed to the west only, andthere we soon get into timber again.
A few steps within that timber, and we have before us a strange sight. Awall of rudely piled stone slabs planted upright, flags laid upon themcrosswise, and smaller fragments piled against and between them, form apentagonal enclosure which at first sight reminds us of a diminutiveStonehenge. There is an entrance to it from the southeast,--an opencorridor flanked by similar parapets. The enclosing wall is not morethan three feet high, and we easily peep into the interior.
Inside there are two statues carved out of the living rock. Althoughmuch disfigured to-day they still show a plain resemblance to thefigures of two crouching panthers or pumas. They are life size; and theanimals seem to lie there with their heads to the east, their tailsextended along the ground. As we stand and gaze, our Indian goes up tothe statues and furtively anoints their heads with red ochre, mutteringa prayer between his teeth.
What may be the signification of this statuary? Do you remember thegreat dance at the Rito, and the painting on the wall of the estufawhere the Koshare Naua sat and held communication with Those Above? Doyou recollect that among these paintings there was one of a panther andanother of a bear? The relation of the bear and panther of the estufa tothe picture of the sun-father is here that of the two stone panthers tothe sun himself. Their faces are turned to the east, whence rises thesun, in which dwells the father of all mankind, and the moon, whichtheir mother inhabits. As in the estufa on the Rito, so in the outsideworld, the pictures of stone express a prayer to the higher powers, andhere daily the people of the village were wont to make offerings and saytheir prayers.
We are therefore on sacred ground in this crumbling enclosure. But whoknows that we are not on magic ground also? We might make an experiment;and though our Indian guide is not one of the great shamans, he mighthelp us in an attempt at innocent jugglery.
Let us suffer ourselves to be blindfolded, and then turn around threetimes from left to right while our friend recites some cabalisticformula, incomprehensible of course to us.
One, two, three! The bandage is removed. What can we see?
Nothing strange at first. Surrounding nature is the same as before. Thesame extensive view, the same snow-clad ranges in the far east, the samesilent, frowning rocks, the same dark pines around us. But in the north,over the yellowish band that denotes the cliffs of the Rito, we notice aslight bluish haze.
A change has taken place in our immediate vicinity. The stone panthersand the stone enclosure have vanished, and the ground is bare, like allthe ground in the neighbourhood. Looking beyond we see that atransformation has also taken place on the spot where stood the ruin.The crumbling walls and heaps of rubbish are gone, and in their placenewly built foundations are emerging from the ground; heaps of stone,partly broken, are scattered about; and where a moment ago we were theonly living souls, now Indians--village Indians like our guide, onlysomewhat more primitive--move to and fro, busily engaged.
Some of them are breaking the stones into convenient sizes, for thefriable pumice breaks in parallelopipeds without effort. The women arelaying these in mortar made of the soil from the mesa, common adobe. Weare witnessing the beginning of the construction of a small village.Farther down, on the edge of the timber, smoke arises; there thebuilders of this new pueblo dwell in huts while their house of stone isgrowing to completion. It is the month of May, and only the nights arecool.
These builders we easily recognize. They are the fugitives from theRito, the little band whom the Tanos of Hishi have kindly received andcharitably supported until a few months since, when they allowed them togo and build a new home. They came hither led on by Hayoue, who is nowtheir maseua; for each tribe, however small, must have one. Okoya iswith him, and Mitsha, now Okoya's wife, comes up from the bottom withthe water-urn on her head, as on the day when we first saw her on theRito de los Frijoles.
And now we have, though in a trance, seen the further fate of thosewhose sad career has filled the pages of this story. We may beblindfolded again, turned about right to left; and when the bandage istaken from our eyes the landscape is as before, silent and grand. Theruins
are in position again; the panthers of stone with their mutilatedheads lie within the enclosure; an eagle soars on high; and our Indianpoints to it, smiles, and whispers,--
"Look! see! the Shiuana are good!"
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