The Essential Writings of James Willard Schultz. James Willard Schultz
were all in a whirl.
Said Hannah, along in the afternoon: “I've just got to quit the search or I shall go blind. Oh, well, just this one short crevice, and then no more for to-day.”
A moment later she cried out: “Come here! Quick! See what I have found!”
It was a find: inlaid, upon an oval, whitish substance about three inches long, were pieces of turquoise, close en-joined, in the form of a frog, and held in place with something that looked like black gum. Close above the head of the frog was a hole in the white substance, evidently for the purpose of attaching the piece to a necklace. It was a fine piece of workmanship.
‘Ht was a woman’s jewel, and how proud she must have been of it!’’ Hannah exclaimed. “Any woman would be glad to wear it. I shall wear it, myself, as soon as I can get a necklace for it!”
‘‘Yes, it is beautiful,” I said. “And if those old-time jewelers could do that fine work, they did it in gold, too. When we get into our cave we sure shall make some wonderful finds! ”
At five o’clock I reported “No fires,” and we went down to the cabin, put our finds in a little box — already half full of beads and arrow-points, and then had a good supper. After washing the dishes and getting in some stove wood for the evening and morning, we again went on top. Again I reported no smoke anywhere in sight.
“Look again; especially Green’s Peak way,” said the Supervisor.
“No smoke that way, nor in any other direction,” I told him, after another careful sweep of the forest with my glasses, and he told me that I could go.
It was just getting dusk when we entered the cabin, shut the door, lighted the lamp, and settled down for an hour of reading. Then, presently, there came a gentle knock upon the door, and we stared at one another, wild-eyed, for we had heard not the slightest sound of approaching footsteps; the porch boards had not creaked. Hannah motioned me not to go to the door. But again, and a little louder, came the knocking. I got up, tiptoed over to the door with my rifle, swung it suddenly open, and Hannah gave a little cry of fright: for there, plain in the light of our lamp, stood an Indian. A young Indian. No Apache. His hair was cut as short as mine. He wore leggins, shirt, blanket of a bluish-black material, and upon his feet a pair of plain, buckskin moccasins. He was not so tall as I, quite slender, and his face was good. And while we stared at him, he smiled, bowed, and in good English said: ‘‘How do you do! May I come in?”
That did stagger me — a blanket Indian speaking good English! I am afraid that I just stared at him, open-mouthed. And I might have kept staring had not Hannah answered for me: “Yes. Come in. Have a seat.”
He entered, seated himself upon the food chest, glanced around, and said: “You have a nice little cabin here. We did not expect there would be a cabin, nor white people away up on this great mountain.”
“We? There are more of you?” I asked.
“Yes. I am a Hopi. I am with four of our old men who have come all the long way across the desert to the top of this mountain to pray.”
“To pray! Here to pray?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered shortly, and somehow we did not like to question him further about that.
“Will you not have some supper?” Hannah said.
“No, thank you. I ate with my old men. And, anyhow, I may not eat white men’s food — not until that for which my old men have come is finished.”
We did not know what to make of that. We could do nothing but stare at him.
Said Hannah, at last: “You speak English as well as we do.”
‘‘I attended the Phoennix Indian School for four years, and was in the Carlisle, Pennsylvania, Indian School for four more years. I came home from there about two months ago,’’ he answered.
And at that, Hannah and I had the same thought: This young Indian had had far greater advantages than we had ever dreamed of having. He had traveled in the cars; seen the great cities of the East and their millions of people; seen the ocean and big ships: and for eight years had attended good schools. Why, what we knew was as nothing, compared with his knowledge!
“You must have enjoyed attending school,” I said.
“I had no choice about it. The Government forces us to attend its schools. Oh, how my people hate that!” he exclaimed, his eyes fairly flashing light. And then, more quietly: “And you two — why are you away up here?”
I explained that I was a fireguard, and that my sister was keeping me company for a time; that there was a little lookout house upon the summit where I passed the days, watching ror fires and reporting those that I discovered. When I had finished, he nodded thoughtfully, and said: ‘‘We were surprised when we saw your cabin. I do not know what my old men will say when they learn that you also have a cabin up on the summit of the mountain; it may interfere with their plans.”
“Where are they? And what did you do with your horses?” Hannah asked.
“When we saw your cabin, here, we turned back and camped a little way below the spring. We brought no horses. We have come all the way on foot, just as our fathers did, hundreds and hundreds of years ago,” he replied.
“Oh, tell us! Do tell us why you and your old men are here! We want so much to know!” Hannah begged, smiling at him.
He looked steadily at her, at me, too, for some time, and finally said: “I think that you are both of good heart. You will not believe as we do, but I feel sure you will not laugh at our beliefs, so I will tell you why we have come to this great mountain:
“For three summers, out there at our desert buttes, there has been but little rain; each summer my people’s harvest of corn and beans and squash has been less and less, and they have been obliged to use nearly all that remained of the harvests of better years. Then came this summer and no rain at all, and our priests said: ‘We have prayed and prayed Rain God for three summers to water our crops, to give us plenty of his rain, lest we starve. He may be angry at us — perhaps he has been far away and has not heard our prayers; if he fails us this season we must many of us die from want of food. There remains but one thing for us to do: we must go to him at his high mountain home and there he cannot fail to hear our prayers and see the sacrifices that we make to him.
“Our people were anxious that the priests should do this. Away back, in the very long ago, when, every spring, the priests and great numbers of the men, women, and children went to the high mountain home of Rain God to pray and sacrifice to him, there had been never a summer of poor crops, for Rain God had accepted their offerings and their prayers and plentifully watered the plantings.”
Our strange visitor paused. He had spoken forcefully, earnestly, and now seemed to be deeply considering what more to tell us, if indeed we were in his thoughts. His eyes now had a far-away, absent look. Hannah and I waited breathlessly for him to continue. This talk of Rain God, prayers and sacrifices upon high mountains — it was all strange in our ears; it was as though we were being introduced to another world.
“All of our priests, all of our tribe, were anxious to make this journey. But there were the missionaries, talking ever against what they call our ‘heathen practices’! they would make such outcry to our agent, they have so much influence in Washington, that he would not dare permit us all to go: those who went would have to start off in the night; they would have to sneak out across the desert just as though they were escaping thieves! So, after much talk, four priests were chosen to take the trail — the ancient trail of our long-ago fathers to Rain God’s home, and I was selected to accompany them as their interpreter, because I in time — when I have learned all that the old men can teach me — I, myself, shall be a priest of our faith, a priest of the Flute Clan.
‘‘It was decided that, as our fathers in the long ago approached Rain God, so should these four priests go to him; they should wear no clothing and carry no article of white men’s make, and during the journey eat no white men’s food. Why? Because, as some of