The Delight Makers Part 50

The position in which the Queres had taken refuge was tenable only for a short time, because the Canada Ancha has no permanent water-supply.

There were a few pools, however, containing remnants of the rain that had lately fallen. But that was not enough. To abandon the groves, in which they felt comparatively safe in presence of the foe, would have been reckless; so the Queres remained during the whole day, while the Tehuas kept guard over them, observing their movements from the cover of the timber on the mesa. As night set in, the Hishtanyi Chayan ordered a slow, noiseless retreat down the Canada toward the Rio Grande. Tyope pa.s.sively did what the shaman told him; he had no longer a will of his own. He who had always judged others from the standpoint of their usefulness to him as his tools, was now reduced mentally to be a blind instrument of the man of whom he expected to rid himself on this very campaign. All of Tyope's authority was gone; the men did not reproach him, did not scorn; they simply ignored him, except when he spoke in the name and by direction of the Hishtanyi Chayan. The latter saw more and more the mental downfall of the war-chief, and took pity on him, making him his lieutenant. When morning dawned, the little troop halted on the Ziro kauash. They had made a long detour, and now were in dread lest the Tehuas had prepared an ambush near home. Tyope himself was still further concerned. He who had boldly attempted to carry out the most daring schemes, was afraid of returning to his people, now that these schemes had failed. He feared, like a child, reproach and punishment. The spirit of the man was utterly crushed.

When a war-party returns, it never enters the village directly, but halts at some distance and sends a messenger to inform the people of its approach. The Queres halted on the Ziro kauash, and some of them scoured the woods, but no trace of the enemy appeared. The dreaded ambush had not been laid; the Tehuas had certainly returned content with victory and their trophies. A runner was sent to the Rito, and the men waited and waited. Even the Hishtanyi Chayan became startled at the long delay.

Tyope squatted at the foot of a tree; he was thinking of the reception that might be in reserve for him. Everything manly and strong had left his heart; nothing of it remained but a languidly putrid core, whose former fermentation had produced the effervescence that took the shape of energy, shrewdness, and daring.

At last toward evening a man approached the silent group. He came, accompanied by the runner, and every one recognized the features of Kauaitshe, the delegate from the Water clan. He went straight to Tyope; and the latter looked at him timidly, almost tremblingly. Kauaitshe's face looked sad and mournful, but not wrathful. He grasped the hand of Tyope, breathed on it, lifted it upward with both his hands, and said in a tone of intense sorrow,--

"Satyumishe, Those Above are not kind to us."

A terrible pang flashed through Tyope's heart, for he had experienced how little the Shiuana liked him.

Kauaitshe continued in a low voice,--artless, but the more impressive for its natural sadness,--

"While you went to strike the Tehuas with our men, the Moshome Dinne came upon us."

A shriek of dismay, of terror, issued from every one present, Tyope excepted. He only groaned, and sinking shrivelled, pressed down his chest against his knees, as if suffering intense physical pain. He recalled his intrigues with the young Navajo. This last blow to the tribe was his work also.

In a monotonous voice the messenger of evil tidings proceeded,--

"My hanutsh is no more. Tanyi hanutsh is dispersed, scattered, fleeing through the timber. Of Mokatsh hanutsh only one girl has remained alive. Of Tyame a few women, but your wife, satyumishe, is dead; your child Mitsha the Moshome have carried away, or else she hides in the timber and starves. The great house is empty, and fire comes out from its roof. Your people can have the field of Tzitz hanutsh," he added with trembling voice; "we need it no longer. But your clan has land enough now, for many of the men of Shyuamo have gone over to Shipapu!"

He dropped Tyope's hand, wiped away the tears that were forcing themselves to his eyes, and stood in silence. Not one of the bystanders moved; the Hishtanyi Chayan lifted his eyes to the sky, Tyope stared vacantly. He seemed to stagger. The delegate from the Water clan grasped his hand again, and said,--

"Come and see how the Shiuana have visited the Tyuonyi."

CHAPTER XIX.

It is contrary to the custom of the Indians for a war-party to enter their village at once upon returning. For at least one day the warriors must wait at some distance from the pueblo. They are provided with the necessaries of life, and afterward are conducted to the village in triumph. In the present case all these formalities were neglected, but not through spite or disapproval; the terrible visitation which the Rito had suffered changed everything; the survivors of the Queres were anxious to have their numbers increased by the returning warriors.

Mechanically Tyope accompanied his guide. The warriors followed in sullen silence, the Hishtanyi Chayan alone holding his head erect. The visitation from above affected him least of all. No one asked about the details of the Navajos' attack, but all feared the moment when their valley homes should come in sight. As they neared the brink of the gorge many lagged behind.

Tyope was filled with thoughts of the most dismal nature. He felt wretched, crushed, almost distracted! The news brought by Kauaitshe weighed him down in a manner that allowed neither hope or quietude. His plans had become realized, but how? The loss of his wife he hardly felt, so much the more did he regret Mitsha's disappearance. But far above all this loomed up the terrible consequences, less of the defeat than of the blow which the Navajos, following the instructions he had once given Nacaytzusle, had struck during his absence. He had done most toward bringing about the expedition to the Puye; therefore he had led the flower of the tribe into perdition. During his absence and that of the majority of its defenders the Navajos had executed the fatal surprise.

He had often been reproached with his intimacy with the young Dinne, and while the savage remained at the Rito everybody knew that the boy was a favourite of his. What else could the caciques, the leading shamans, infer but that the savage had been able to select his time, and that he, Tyope, had betrayed the tribe to the Dinne? And the worst of it was, it was true! He had at one time suggested the plan and had abandoned it afterward as too dangerous. He had suggested it with the view of furthering his personal ends. Now its execution took place when he least expected it, and when the very event which he had prepared for his benefit struck the most crushing blow he could ever have imagined possible for him to have suffered.

Had Tyope returned from the campaign victorious, it might have been different; but now the Shiuana bore down upon him with crushing power; there was no hope nor thought of his ever rising again. The best he could expect was to be set aside forever as a broken, useless unfortunate.

But the Koshare still remained, and they would not forsake him in the hour of need. The Naua, if alive, would certainly not permit his utter ruin. The two conspirators had prevailed upon the Hishtanyi so that only a few of the Delight Makers accompanied the war-party. Of these, two or three had escaped. How had the majority fared,--that majority which remained at the Rito for prudence's sake? Tyope dared not ask questions; he went along mutely as if in a dream.

The Hishtanyi Chayan stopped Kauaitshe, and asked him,--

"Have any of my brethren the yaya suffered?"

Tyope's heart throbbed, and he turned his face away, so fearful was he of the reply.

"The Shkuy Chayan," replied Kauaitshe, in his simple manner, "is dead.

An arrow entered his eye."

Tyope shivered; misfortune crowded upon misfortune. He could no longer resist inquiring. Panting, he asked,--

"Is our father the Naua still alive?"

"He lives and mourns. After you were gone with the people, he retired to the place in the cliffs with the Koshare; and when the Moshome came, nearly all the men were up there."

Tyope's head was swimming. Everything he had prepared for the destruction of others and the security of his own tools had come about as he had schemed, but the results had been fatal to him and his. The Shiuana allowed him to apparently succeed in everything, but they reserved for themselves the final results. It was terrible; all was lost; he was forever undone.

Still if the Koshare had been at their estufa, they were out of harm's way.

"Satyumishe," he asked, faltering, "have many of my brethren perished?"

"Nearly all," was the plain answer. "When the Dinne came upon us, the Koshare rushed out after bows and arrows; but the Moshome met them before they could reach the houses, and killed many before they could get into the cave."

The poor man had to cling to a tree for support; then he slipped down along its trunk to the ground.

"I am very tired," he murmured. It was not fatigue, however; it was the ghastly tidings which were poured on his head, so slowly, so surely, with such deadly effect. Kauaitshe looked at him with genuine pity. The Hishtanyi said nothing; he was in his thoughts with Those Above, and hardly listened to the conversation. Kauaitshe extended his hand to Tyope.

"We are not far from the brink," said he, kindly; "come, satyumishe, a few steps only, and you may rest, and I will tell you all,--how the attack came, and how Hayoue saved the Zaashtesh from being all driven into the woods. Hayoue is a mighty warrior; he is wise and very strong.

As soon as our mourning is over, the Hotshanyi will make him maseua in place of our father Topanashka. The Shiuana have left us Hayoue; had he gone with you not one of us would be alive."

Even that! Hayoue! Hayoue, whom Tyope had left behind in order to deprive him of all opportunity to distinguish himself! Hayoue had reaped laurels, whereas he had harvested only shame, disgrace, destruction.

Hayoue was a great warrior. He had averted a part at least of the disaster which Tyope had secretly prepared for the tribe. The hand of Those Above weighed heavily upon him; all he cared for henceforth, all he could hope for, was not to suffer the rightful doom which he had intended for Shotaye.

That Kauaitshe, the poor simple man whom he so disdainfully rebuked at the council, had been selected to communicate to Tyope all this crushing news, the latter did not interpret as an intentional cruelty. The Indian is not malicious. He will insult and exult over the vanquished foe in the heat of pa.s.sion; but he will take the scalp and keep it very carefully, respect it, and to a certain extent the memory of the slain.

But to sneer at and taunt a fallen adversary in the hour of sadness, and in the condition in which Tyope was, is not the Indian's way. That was not what made Tyope suffer. What overpowered his faculties, darkened his mind, and deprived him of energy for all time to come, were the results that crowded upon him so wonderfully, so completely at variance with his own intentions. And yet they were strictly the consequences of what he had schemed and done. Everything he had thought of and planned had taken place, but the results did not coincide with his expectations. Those Above alone could have directed the course of events; they were against his doings; he was a doomed man.

The reader will forgive a digression. We will leave Tyope and his companions on the brink of the Rito, and abandon them for a while to their sombre thoughts; nay, we will leave the Rito even, and transport ourselves to our own day. I desire to relate a story, an Indian folk-lore tale of modern origin, which is authentic in so far that it was told me by an Indian friend years ago at the village of Cochiti, where the descendants of those who once upon a time inhabited the caves on the Rito de los Frijoles now live. My object in rehearsing this tale is to explain something I have neglected; namely, the real conception underlying the custom of taking the scalp of an enemy.

The Indian friend of whom I am speaking, and whose home I inhabited for quite a while, came over to the little dingy room I was occupying one winter evening. The fire was burning in a chimney not much better than the one Shotaye possessed at the Tyuonyi. He squatted down on his folded blanket, rolled a cigarette, and looked at me wistfully. I felt that he was disposed for a long talk, and returned his glance with one of eager expectation. Casting his eyes to the ground, he asked me,--

"You know that the Navajos have done us much harm?"

"Yes, you and your brother Shtiranyi have told me so."

He curled his lip at the reference to his brother's knowledge, and said sneeringly,--

"Shtiranyi is young; he does not know much."

"Still he told me a great deal about the wars you had with the Moshome Dinne."

"Did he ever tell you of the hard times the people of Cochiti suffered three generations ago?"

"Never."

"He knows nothing of them. He is too young. I,"--he a.s.sumed an air of solemn importance,--"I will tell you something; something true, something that you can believe; for the old men, those from a long time ago, tell it, and what they say is so. The Mexicans never hear of it, and to the Americans we don't tell such things, for they think they are too smart, and laugh at what we say."