Sing Down the Moon

  We had reached the stream and the sheep were wading toward the far shore. Suddenly Running Bird put her arm around my waist.

  "Tall Boy is very brave but not foolhardy," Running Bird said. "He will come back safely and he will not bring back a Ute girl. You will see that I am right."

  She gave me a squeeze and we walked on through the river in silence. Dusk was falling and blue smoke rose from all the hogans. I drove my sheep into the corral and closed the gate and sang to myself as I walked homeward.

  4

  OUR HOGAN was quiet that night. All the hogans in our village were quiet. The Long Knives' threat hung over us. Had our young warriors been home there would have been much talk and chanting and threats against the Long Knives. But there were only women and children who had nothing to say and old men who had seen the power of the white man and feared it.

  The evening fires went out early. The night was long and I was glad when dawn came. At the first gray light I opened the gate and drove the sheep across the river and up the trail. As the sheep bells tinkled in the silent canyon, I sang little songs to myself. Some were happy and some were not, but all of them were meant for the ears of the gods who listen.

  When I reached the mesa the sky was gold along the edges and pink overhead. With my black dog I drove the flock beyond the aspen grove to a place where the grass was uncropped.

  Running Bird came soon and the two flocks grazed together. My sheep were easy to find because they were marked with red dye, a red circle on each ear. That afternoon when the sun was hot I would mark the ten sheep my mother had given me, using two red circles to show that they were mine.

  Running Bird began to talk about the soldiers. I listened to her, nodding and making polite sounds, but I was thinking about my sheep all the time. The ewes my mother had given me would lamb in the summer. When spring came again I might have twenty or thirty sheep of my own to drive to the mesa. Thirty sheep! The thought made me dizzy with happiness. Right at the moment Running Bird asked me what my father had said about the soldiers I jumped up and began to dance. I could not help it, thinking of thirty sheep grazing in the meadow, each one with two red circles on its ears.

  Clouds drifted in from the north, but they were spring clouds, white as lamb's wool. In the stream that wandered across the mesa speckled trout were leaping. Jays were chattering in the aspen trees and two little red-tailed hawks came and hovered over the meadow.

  It was the barking of my black dog that first alarmed me. None of the sheep had strayed. Everything was peaceful in the meadow. There was no reason for him to bark. Then, close to the aspen grove, I saw two long shadows.

  I saw their shadows before I saw the men. They were not soldiers because they did not wear bright buttons on their coats and bright cloths around their necks. They were dressed in deerskin, with tall hats and silver spurs, riding horses that had heavy silver bits. They were Spaniards.

  I jumped to my feet. They rode up at a trot and reined in a few paces away. The one who spoke had a soft voice and many white teeth and long black hair.

  "A fine day," he said, "but we are lost. Which is the quick way to Corn Mountain?"

  I knew little Spanish then, not so much as I do now, yet I understood him. I pointed to the north west and said that there was a trail near the rim of the canyon and that Corn Mountain was two leagues beyond as the eagle flies.

  While I was saying this, I saw something that I should have seen before. The other Spaniard held the reins of two horses, which he had been leading. Their saddles were empty and I knew in the time a breath takes that these men were slavers. For many years now they had come to the Navaho country and stolen girls to sell to families in the town who needed girls to cook for them and to wash their floors. One of the Navaho girls had escaped and come back to Canyon de Chelly and told us what had happened to her.

  The man with the white teeth glanced in the direction I was pointing. But from the corner of my eye I saw the other Spaniard come toward me. Running Bird screamed and fled across the meadow and screamed a second time. The Spaniard who had asked me the question caught her long before she reached the trail. Suddenly there was a cloth in my mouth and my hands were behind me and tied hard with a thong.

  My black dog was rushing around, barking and nipping at their heels. The Spaniard who had a flat-shaped head and a yellow scar on his chin struck him with a rifle and he lay still. Then they put us on the two horses they had brought and tied our hands to the saddle horns.

  "We will not harm you," the Spaniard with the white teeth said. "You will like the place you are going. Do not try to flee."

  We went south along the mesa. As we passed the head of the trail, I looked for White Deer, hoping that she would be coming up with her flock and would see us. I saw no one. We took the Dawn Trail to the lowlands and at dusk reached the river, far below our village.

  5

  WE LEFT the canyon at a fast trot and did not halt until shadows began to lengthen. We rested beside a stream while the night gathered. The Spaniards made a small fire and warmed corncakes. They offered Running Bird and me some of the food, but we said that we were not hungry.

  All of the time we were there by the stream they kept their eyes on us. Often they would stop whatever they were doing to listen for the sound of hoofs. They did not know that all of our young warriors were away in the west and only the old men were left in the village.

  A thin moon came up. We started off again, going southward into the country I did not know, through scattered groves of piñón pine and low hills deep in grass. Running Bird and I rode close together, sometimes holding hands for comfort. At first we were too frightened to speak, but as the night wore on we began to plan how we would escape from the Spaniards. They were riding in front of us and whenever they talked we had a chance to whisper to each other.

  "They will have to sleep sometime," Running Bird said, "and then we can flee."

  "If they hobble the horses," I said, "we can go on foot."

  "It is better on foot," Running Bird whispered. "We can hide easier without the horses."

  "We must go the first chance we have," I said.

  "Soon," Running Bird whispered. "At dawn if we can."

  When the moon set and it was too dark to travel, the Spaniards halted again. We thought that our chance to flee had come, but the men before they laid down to sleep bound Running Bird and me with leather thongs, tying our hands and feet so that we could not stand or crawl, or scarcely move.

  The Spaniards slept until the sun was high. They offered us water, which we drank, and cold corncakes. The man with the flat head did not like it that we would not eat the cakes and threatened us with a stick. Still we did not eat.

  We traveled until dark and waited for the moon to rise and started off once more into the south, riding along a dim trail through open country. Just as the moon went down, I heard a sound behind us. I looked quickly over my shoulder. There on the low rise we had climbed a moment before I saw what I was sure was a Wolf, a Navaho Wolf.

  Running Bird saw it too, but she said nothing. We were too fearful to speak, for these Wolves are sometimes witches. They are humans who dress up as wolves and try to do you harm. I was too far away to see its long claws and sharp fangs.

  Soon after the moon set we halted and made camp. Neither Running Bird nor I saw the Wolf again, though we stayed awake and looked for him and listened.

  6

  WE WENT SOUTH for three suns. I knew it was south because the North Star was behind us. We traveled at night and slept in the daytime, always away from the trail. During the day while they slept, the Spaniards tied Running Bird and me together. At night they let us ride free, but there was no chance to escape and we did not try.

  At dawn when the fourth sun rose my black dog was sitting under a tree close to where Running Bird and I lay. I was overjoyed to see him, having thought he was dead. He would not have left the sheep alone, so I knew that my mother had come to the mesa and driven the flock home.

>   When the Spaniard with the flat head awoke and saw the black dog there under the tree he wanted to shoot him. But the other Spaniard made the man put his gun away.

  "These Navahos are happy with their dogs," he said. "Happy girls bring better prices than unhappy girls. That I have learned and do not need to learn again."

  The fourth night when the moon was overhead, I saw dim lights in the distance and soon we came to a place where white people lived. There was a wide street with many houses along it and many trees in a row.

  "My grandfather came to this place once," Running Bird whispered to me. "I think it was this place. He said that he saw more houses than a dog has fleas. They were close together and painted different colors and there were trees in front of the houses. He gave it a name but I have forgotten."

  The two Spaniards stopped at the edge of the town and untied us and told us to get down from the horses. They led us to a hut among the trees and knocked on the door. An old woman came, clutching a candle in a bony hand. With her other hand she snatched me inside. Then she snatched Running Bird. Then the two Spaniards rode away.

  The old woman was a Jicarilla Apache and did not understand us when we spoke. The Apaches and Navahos were blood brothers once, but she shook her head and did not answer. In the middle of the hut a fire was burning under a pot of thick stew. Steam came up from the pot and a strong odor stung my nose.

  "It is dog meat," I said to Running Bird.

  "Yes, it is dog and an old one," she said.

  The woman started to fill two bowls with the stew. By signs I told her that we had eaten and were not hungry. I did not try to tell her that my people, the Navahos, never ate stew made of dog meat.

  The old woman spread a blanket on the floor for Running Bird and me to sleep on. Then she spread a blanket for herself and lay down in front of the door, so that we could not open it. I was tired, but I did not sleep. I made my black dog lie down beside me. I had seen the old woman eyeing him and I was afraid that if I went to sleep she would kill him to make a stew.

  Early the next morning the Spaniard with the white teeth came back. He gave the old woman a silver coin, which she hid in her mouth. Then he motioned me to follow him. Running Bird held on to me until the Spaniard pulled us apart. I did not know what to say to her. I went out of the hut and the Spaniard got on his horse and I followed him, the black dog walking beside me.

  As we left the hut, the old woman hobbled after us and threw a leather rope around the dog's neck and tried to drag him back.

  The Spaniard wheeled his horse around. "Let the dog loose," he said, "I will bring you another, a fatter one."

  The old woman did as she was told and the three of us left her and went down the street.

  There was no one around. When we were almost at the end of the street I saw a girl sweeping the earth in front of a gate. She was an Indian and had the marks of the Nez Percé on her cheeks. She glanced up at me, though she did not stop her sweeping. It was a quick glance, yet in it was something that chilled me. As if she were saying, "Run, run, even though they kill you. It is better to die here on the street."

  7

  AT THE LAST HOUSE on the street, the Spaniard tied his horse to a tree and pulled on a rope that hung above an iron gate. Bells sounded far off and an Indian girl came running to let us in. What tribe she belonged to I could not tell, but she was smiling and looked happier than the Nez Percé girl.

  There was a large place inside the wall where bright flowers were growing. A path led through them and we followed it and went into a big kitchen at the back of the house. Strings of peppers hung from the rafters, some red, some green, and loops of white onions. Two big pots of beans were bubbling on a stove.

  "Are you hungry?" the girl asked me in Navaho.

  "No," I said, though I had eaten little for five days. I was rude and did not thank her.

  After a moment a young woman came into the kitchen. She wore black shoes and a red velvet skirt and a white camisa. She had blue eyes and her hair was the color of corn silk when it begins to ripen in the summer. To my surprise she spoke to me in Navaho, asking me to walk around the kitchen.

  My boots were covered with mud and my leggings stained from the long ride. I did not want to walk around the kitchen. Nor did I know why I should, so I stood in the middle of the room and did not move. I thought, if I stand here long enough they will let me go.

  "A surly miss," the woman said in Spanish. "Can't you bring me one with a better disposition?"

  "She is frightened," the Spaniard said. "In a few days she will act better. Remember that Rosita was this way when I brought her here two years ago. Now look at her."

  He glanced at the girl who was stirring the beans with a big spoon. She turned and smiled at him.

  I will never stir the beans nor will I ever smile while I am in this house, I said to myself. Then the Spaniard took my arm in a hard grip and led me back and forth from one side of the kitchen to the other. I pulled away from him.

  "She walks pigeon-toed," the young woman said.

  "They all do," the Spaniard said, "the Kiowas, the Comanches, the Nez Percés, the Zuñis, and the Apaches. All of them."

  The woman said, "The Hopis don't walk like a pigeon."

  "I will find you a Hopi, maybe in the fall," the Spaniard said, "but now I have a strong girl who is used to hard work."

  "I have two strong girls already," the woman answered. "I need one who can meet guests at the door and wait on table."

  She walked around me, gently running her hand across my back. Then she asked me to smile and when I refused she reached out and pushed my lips back with her fingers. On one side I have a broken tooth, which happened when I was very young and fell against a stone.

  The woman made a sound with her tongue, but said nothing. Then she walked around me once more and left the room with the Spaniard.

  The girl, who had opened the gate for us and who was stirring the beans, said, "My name is Rosita. I am twelve years old and I come from the White Mesa, in the Navaho country. What is your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?"

  I told her one of my names, but not my real one. "I am fifteen and I come from the Canyon de Chelly."

  "I have never heard of that place," Rosita said.

  This surprised me, for I thought everyone had heard of the Canyon de Chelly. "It is the most beautiful place in the world," I said. "It has the most sheep and the finest wool. It has a river and tall cliffs that catch the sun and make the melons grow bigger than pumpkins. There the cornstalks grow taller than you are."

  I wanted to tell her more about the Canyon de Chelly, but my throat filled up with sadness.

  Rosita put a bowl of beans and chili on the table beside me, where I could reach it.

  "You will be happy here," she said. "The lady is kind and her husband also. He is a soldier and does not come here often, mostly on feast days. There is good food to eat and the work is not hard. It will be nicer when you are in the house. The other girl I do not like. She is a Zuñi."

  From the next room I heard the sound of the woman and the Spaniard talking. They talked like the Anglos who come to our canyon and haggle over the price of wool.

  Rosita listened to them for a moment. 'The Señora paid little for me," she said. "But for you she will pay more. You are pretty and tall. I wish you were my sister."

  After a long time the Spaniard left. He was carrying a leather pouch. It was filled with coins that jingled.

  "I told you," Rosita said. 'The pouch is twice as full as it was for me."

  The woman came and led me out of the kitchen. My black dog was waiting for me. We went along a path to a smaller house far in the back. It had á wide, blue door and inside was a room bigger than our hogan and home, where all my family lived, cooking and weaving rugs and sleeping. The floor was not made of common earth like ours, but of adobe mixed with blood. It was smooth and dark and on it were two Navaho blankets.

  "You sleep there," the woman told me, pointing t
o a big bed. She spoke to me in Navaho. Her words had a strange sound but I understood them. She opened the doors of an empty cupboard. "For clothes," she said. "Tomorrow I buy you shoes, dresses, and some ribbons for your hair."

  She looked down at my black dog, who stood close to me, as close as he could get. "You keep him here," she said. "Not in house. Never in house. Understand?"

  I understood. I think the black dog understood, too.

  The woman smiled and patted me on the shoulder. Then she closed the door and we left the black dog in the room and went back to the kitchen. She told Rosita to show we what to do. She left the house and I did not see her until suppertime.

  Rosita showed me how to set the table, where everything went, and how to light the three candles.

  "When the Señora buys you a new dress," Rosita said, "I will show you how to carry the food in and put it on the table."

  I waited in the kitchen until the woman finished her supper. Then I took the food she had left back to the kitchen. There was much of it, enough to feed many people, and Rosita said that we could eat all of it we wanted. I ate little because it did not taste good. In the Canyon de Chelly everyone eats at the same time. We eat out of one big pot and we do not use knives nor forks, but the food tastes better.

  I helped Rosita wash the dishes and she showed me how to put them away in the cupboard, everything in neat rows. When we were ready to sleep she showed me how to get into my bed. I did all the things she told me to, but after she fell asleep I got out of the bed and lay down on the floor. My black dog curled up beside me.

  For a long time I lay awake, thinking of the canyon and the mesa and the sheep and my family. I thought about Tall Boy, too. He would come home before spring was ended. He would learn what had befallen me. Surely, he would ride out with his warriors and find me and take me home.

  The night was very quiet. I began to wonder what I would do if he did not come home, if he did not come for me. I would steal away. Some night Running Bird and I would go together. We would travel at night and hide in the daytime, like the Spaniards had done.