The Heritage of the Hills

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE WATCHMAN OF THE DEAD

  Oliver Drew knew that the Mona Fiesta would be held by the ShowutPoche-dakas when the July moon was full. The Mona Fiesta was the tribal"Feast of the Dead." It was purely an Indian rite, unmixed with anyceremonies incident to the feast days of the Catholic saints, as weremost other celebrations. Consequently, while the whites were notdefinitely prohibited from being spectators, they were not invited toattend. They often went out of curiosity, Oliver had been told byJessamy, but always they observed from a respectful distance and wentunnoticed by the worshippers.

  The underlying principle of the Feast of the Dead was ancestor worship,in which all of the Pauba Tribes were particularly devout. Jessamy toldOliver that she had witnessed the ceremony once from a distance, butthat, as it occurred at night, she had seen little of what was takingplace.

  Oliver had wondered that he had received no message from old ChupurosaHatchinguish after the night of the fire dance. He was now a member ofthe tribe, he supposed, but all actual contact with his new-foundbrethren seemed to have ceased when he rode away from the fiesta. Themystery of why he was in this country hung on his connection with theShowut Poche-dakas. He was impatient to get in closer touch with thewrinkled old chief and bring matters to a head.

  And now another feast day was close at hand. In two more nights a fullmoon would shower its radiance over the land of the Poison Oakers. Hehad received no word, no intimation that he would be wanted at thereservation for the Mona Fiesta. Whites were excluded, he knew; but,then, he was now a brother of the Showut Poche-dakas, and he hopedagainst hope that he would be commanded to appear.

  But the two intervening days went by, and the evening of the celebrationwas at hand, with no one having arrived to bid him come.

  He was seated on his little porch that evening, listening to the nightsounds of chaparral and forest, as the moon edged its big round faceover the hill and smiled at him. He was thinking half of Jessamy, halfof an article that he had planned to write. Two fair-sized checks forprevious work had reached him that week, and he was beginning to havevisions of a future.

  In a pine tree close at hand an owl asked: "Who? Who? Who--o-o-o?" indoleful tones. From a distant hilltop came the derisive, outlaw laughterof coyotes. A big toad hopped on the porch, blinked at the man in themoonlight, and then started ponderously for his door. Oliver rose andwith his foot turned him twice, but the toad corrected his courseimmediately and seemed determined to enter the house willy-nilly.

  "But I don't want you in there," Oliver protested boyishly. "I mightstep on you in the dark, or accidentally put my hand on your old coldback."

  He closed the door, and the toad hopped on the threshold, as if resolvedto await his chance for a strategic entrance.

  "All right," said Oliver. "Sit there! When I'm ready to go in I'll climbthrough a window. You are not going into that house!"

  He laughed at himself. His was a lonesome life when he was not withJessamy; and, always a lover of every living thing that God has created,he had made friends with the wild life that moved about his cabin, sothat toads and lizards, birds and squirrels looked to him for food andhad no fear of him.

  He sat puffing at his pipe and giving the obstinate toad blink forblink, when there came to his ears strange sounds from up the lonelycanyon.

  At first he imagined they were made by roving cattle, then he recognizedthe ring of shod hoofs on the stones in the trail. Then voices. Andpresently he knew that many horsemen were riding toward the cabin--averitable cavalcade.

  He rose from his chair and stood listening, not without a feeling ofapprehension. As the concerted thudding of many hoofs drew closer andcloser he ran into the cabin and strapped on his six-shooter. He hadbeen at a complete loss to interpret Old Man Selden's later attitudetoward him, and was wary of a trap. The sounds he heard could meannothing to him except that the Poison Oakers were at last riding uponhim to begin their raid.

  Suddenly from the other direction came the clattering hoofbeats of asingle galloping horse. Silvery under the magic light of the moon, awhite horse burst into view, galloping over a little rise to the south.It carried a rider. Now came a familiar "Who-hoo!" And Jessamy Seldensoon was bending from her saddle at the cabin door.

  "Thank goodness, I'm in time!" she said. "I didn't know when they wouldstart, and I waited too long."

  "What in the mischief are you doing in the saddle this time of night?"he demanded.

  "Oh, that's nothing! I get out of bed sometimes and saddle up for amoonlight ride. I love it."

  "But--"

  "Here they come! I wanted to get here ahead of them and warn you topretend you were expecting them. You're--you're supposed to know."

  "I'm supposed to know what?"

  "About the Mona Fiesta. It's to be observed here on the Old IvisonPlace. It always is. And--and you're supposed to know it."

  "How explicit you aren't! Well, what--"

  "Sh! There they are! I can't explain now."

  Oliver's thoughts were moving swiftly, and he did not put them asideeven when he saw his gate being opened to a large company of horsemen.

  "I've got you," he said. "Your little attempt at subterfuge has failedagain. Those are the Showut Poche-dakas coming?"

  She nodded in her slow, emphatic manner.

  "Uh-huh! I see. And you might have told me many days ago that they wouldcome. And if that isn't so, you could have got here much earlier tonightto warn me in time. But that would have given me an opportunity toquestion you, and this you didn't want. So you waited till they werealmost upon me, then made a Sheridan dash to warn me, when there wouldbe no time to answer embarrassing questions. Pretty clever, sister! Butyou see I'm dead on to your little game."

  Her laugh was as near to a giggle as he had ever heard from her.

  "You're a master analyst," she praised. "I'll 'fess up. It's just as yousay. You know my nature makes it necessary for me to dodge directissues, where your mystery is concerned. But they're right on us--go outand meet 'em."

  "You'll wait?"

  "Sure."

  The foremost riders of the long cavalcade were now abreast the cabin,and Oliver Drew stepped toward them as they halted their ponies.

  The strong light of the full moon was sufficient to reveal thewrinkled-leather skin of old Chupurosa Hatchinguish, who rode in thelead, sitting his blanketed horse as straight as a buck of twenty years.Oliver reached him and held out a hand.

  "Welcome to the Hummingbird," he said in Spanish.

  "Greetings," returned the old man, solemnly taking the offered hand."The July moon is in the full, brother, and I have brought the ShowutPoche-dakas for the yearly Mona Fiesta to the spot where our fathersworshipped since a time when no man can remember."

  "Thou art welcome," said Oliver again, entirely lost as to just what wasexpected of him.

  Chupurosa left the blanket which he used as a saddle. It was the signalfor all to dismount, and like a troop of cavalry the Showut Poche-dakasleft their horses. They tied them to fenceposts and trees out of respectfor the landowner's rights in the matter of grass.

  "Is all in readiness?" asked the ancient chief.

  "Er--" Oliver paused.

  A hand gripped his arm. "Yes," Jessamy's voice breathed in his ear.

  "All is in readiness," said Oliver promptly.

  Jessamy then stepped forward and offered her hand to Chupurosa.

  "Hello, my Hummingbird!" she caroled mischievously in English.

  "The light of the moon takes nothing from the Senorita's loveliness,"said the old man gallantly.

  By this time the Showut Poche-dakas had formed a semicircle before thecabin.

  "Let us proceed to the Mona Fiesta," said Chupurosa. "Let the son of DanSmeed lead the way."

  Over this strange new designation Oliver was given no time for thought;for instantly Jessamy laid a firm grip above his elbow and led him tothe pasture gate. The Showut Poche-dakas followed at the heels ofJessamy's mare.

 
"Don't worry," the girl whispered into Oliver's ear. "Nothing much willbe required of you. Just try to appear as if you know all about it, andhad attended to the preliminaries yourself."

  "Yes, yes," said Oliver dazedly, his mind now in a whirl.

  She led him across the pasture in the direction from which she hadridden so unexpectedly to the cabin. They reached a little _arroyo_, anddown it they turned to the creekbed. They crossed the watercourse andturned down it. Presently they entered a cluster of pines and sprucetrees, which was close to what Oliver called The Four Pools.

  In succession, four deep depressions in the bedrock of the creekbed wereranged, and each held clear, cool water, fed by an undiscovered spring,though the creek proper was now entirely dry. In the bedrock about thesepools Oliver had previously noted several round holes the size of ahalf-bushel measure. These were _morteros_, he knew--the mortars inwhich the California Indians pound acorns in the making of the dish_bellota_. He had often speculated on the probable antiquity of these_morteros_, and had dreamed of early-day scenes enacted there and aboutthem.

  There was a circular open space in the midst of the tall, whisperingtrees. Just above this spot, up the steep hillside, he had lain in theprospect hole and watched Digger Foss spying on the cabin down below,while Tommy My-Ma hid under the brush and spied on him. Into the openspace in the trees the fearless girl led the way, and there in thecentre of it the moonlight streaming through the branches revealed ahuge pile of brush and wood, arranged as if for a great fire.

  She pressed his arm, and they came to a halt. Behind them the ShowutPoche-dakas halted. To Oliver's side stepped Chupurosa, and spoke in thetongue of the Paubas to a man at his right hand.

  This man stepped to the pile of brush and wood and fired it.

  As the flames leaped up and licked at the sun-dried fuel the Indiansclosed in, and now the light of the fire showed Oliver that there werewomen among their number. At the edge of the trees they formed a circleabout the fire, then all of them save Chupurosa squatted on the ground.

  And now the firelight brought something else to view. It was nothingmore mysterious than a wooden drygoods box at the foot of one of thepines, and beside it stood a large red earthen _olla_. What these heldOliver could not see. He was puzzling over the fact that these simplearrangements had been made on his land while he sat on his porch twohundred yards away and smoked, for he had passed this spot early thatevening and it had been as usual then.

  The dark-skinned men and women squatted there silently about the fire,their serious black eyes blinking into it. There was something patheticabout it all. They were always so serious, so intent, so devout; andtheir poor, ragged clothes and bare feet were so evident.

  "Join the circle," whispered Jessamy.

  Oliver obeyed.

  Then Jessamy stepped to Chupurosa, who had been gazing at her silently.

  "Good-night, my Hummingbird," she said, and smiled at him.

  An answering smile lighted the withered features, and once more the oldman took the girl's slim hand in his.

  He dropped it. She turned and vaulted into her saddle. The mare leapedaway over the moonlit pasture. For a time the thudety-thud of hergalloping hoofs floated back, and then came silence.

  Amid a continuation of this stillness Chupurosa stepped close to thefire, now leaping high, and stretched forth his brown, wrinkled hands.He threw back his head and began speaking softly, directing his voicealoft. Not a word of what he said was known to Oliver. Gradually hisvoice rose, and his tones were guttural, growling. His body swayed fromright to left, but he kept his withered hands outstretched. Presentlytears began trickling down his cheeks, but he continued his prayer, oraddress, or invocation, his tears unheeded.

  Now one by one his silent listeners began to weep. They wept silently,and, but for their tears, Oliver would not have realized their deepemotion. Sometimes they rocked from side to side, but always theymaintained silence and kept their tear-dimmed eyes focused on thespeaker.

  Abruptly Chupurosa came to a full stop, backed from the fire, andsquatted on the ground inside the circle. No applause, not a word, nosign of any nature followed the cessation of his harangue.

  Now two young Indians led forth an old, old man. Each of them held oneof his arms. He was stooped and trembly, and his feet dragged pitiably;and as he neared the fire Oliver saw that he was totally blind.

  Never before in his life had the white man seen age so plainly stampedon human countenance. Oliver had thought Chupurosa old, but he appearedas a man in the prime of life in comparison with this blind patriarch.His long hair was white as snow, and this in itself was a mark ofantiquity seldom seen in the race. It was not until long afterward thatOliver found out that this man was a notable among the Pauba Tribes,Maquaquish by name--the oldest man among them, a seer, counsellor, andmedicine man whose prophesies and prognostications were forceful in theregulation of a great portion of the Paubas' lives. He was bareheaded,barefooted, and wore only blue overalls, a cloth girdle, and a coarseyellow shirt.

  When at a comfortable distance from the fire the trio came to a stop.The two conductors of the pathetic blind figure knelt promptly on oneknee, one on each side of him. With their bent knees touching behindhim, they gently lowered him until he found the seat which their sinewythighs had made for him. There was a few moments' silence, and then helifted his trembling hands and began to speak.

  Oliver carried no watch, and would not have had the discourtesy toconsult it if he had; but he believed that Maquaquish spoke for twosolid hours without pause. And all this time the two who upheld him ontheir knees and steadied him with their hands seemed not to move amuscle. And not a sound came from the audience beyond an occasionaluncontrollable sob. Maquaquish spoke in hushed tones that blendedstrangely with the night sounds of the forest. His physical attitude andhis delivery were those of a story-teller rather than an orator orpreacher; and his listeners hung on every word, their black bead eyesfixed constantly on his face.

  Oliver Drew was dreaming dreams. He would have given all that he had tobe able to interpret what Maquaquish was saying. What strange traditionswas he recalling to their minds? What hidden chapters in the bygonehistory of this ancient race? Never was congregation more wrapped up ina speaker's words. Never were religious zealots more devout. Strangethoughts filled the white man's mind.

  He was roused from his dreaming with a start. Maquaquish had ceasedspeaking, and a low chanting sounded about the fire. It grew in volumeas the blind man's escort led him back to his place in the circle. Itgrew louder, weirder still, as the two who had aided the seer stepped tothe drygoods box and carried it between them past the fire. As theywalked with it beyond the circle every Indian rose to his feet andfollowed slowly. Oliver did likewise, not knowing what else to do.

  On the brink of one of the pools the assemblage halted, the firelightplaying over them. From the box its custodians removed bolts of cheapnew calico cloth of many colours. Two of these they unwound, and laidalong the ground, leading away from the edge of the chosen pool.

  Then the two slipped out of their clothes and stepped naked into thewater to their waists, where each laid hold of an end of a strip ofcalico and stood motionless.

  To the edge of the moonlit pool stepped Chupurosa. He extended his handsover the water and spoke a few sonorous words. As his hands came downthe chanting broke out anew, and now the men in the water begangathering in the strips of calico, washing the cloth in the water asthey reeled it to them.

  At last they finished. The chanting ceased. The two nude men carried thedripping cloth from the water in bundles. The assemblage filed back tothe dying fire, all but the two who had washed the cloth.

  When the Showut Poche-dakas were once more squatting in a circle aboutthe blaze, one of the two, now dressed, entered the circle with the red_olla_ filled with water from the pool. This was passed from hand tohand around the circle, and each one drank from it. When it came toOliver he solemnly acted his part, and passed the _olla_ to hisleft-hand neighbour.
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  As the _olla_ finished its round, into the circle danced the two who hadwashed the cloth. In their arms they held bolts of dry cloth; and amidshouts and laughter they threw them into the air, while the feminineelement of the tribe clutched up eagerly at them.

  When the last bolt of calico had been thrown and had been captured andclaimed by some delighted squaw, the assemblage, talking and laughing inan everyday manner, left the Four Pools and started back to theirhorses.

  The Mona Fiesta was over. Symbolically the clothes of the dead had beenwashed. The Showut Poche-dakas had drunk of the water that had cleansedthem. And this was about all that Oliver Drew ever learned of thesignificance of the ceremony.

  At the cabin Chupurosa waited on his horse until his tribesmen had allridden through the gate. Then he leaned over and spoke to Oliver.

  "When a year has passed," he said, "and the same moon which we seetonight again looks down upon us, the Showut Poche-dakas will once morewash the clothes of the dead and drink of the water. I enjoin thee,Watchman of the Dead, to have all in readiness once more, as thou hadsttonight. _Adios_, Watchman of the Dead!"

  And he rode off slowly through the moonlight.