The Essential Writings of James Willard Schultz. James Willard Schultz
us, as well as the whites, and that if we would not believe, would not pray as they did, then would we go to a place of terrible fire when we die, and forever burn.
So it is with us to-day. Oh, how we suffer from seeing our children taken from us and taught these different ways of life! But though they are taught, though under the eyes of their teachers they speak the white men’s prayers, in their hearts the most of them are at the same time praying to our own gods. A few really do believe the teachings of the whites, and in punishing them for it, our gods punish us all. Because of them, strange and terrible diseases carry many of us away. Because of them, Rain God neglects to water our plantings. Oh, we are poor, very poor, we People-of-Peace!
“And now, you two young fire-watchers upon this sacred mountain, why have we told you all these our troubles? Because we ask your pity and your help. We ask you, while you sit up there in your little house watching this great forest, to watch also for us, that for four days none come to disturb us, out there at the other end of the mountain. Far have we come across the desert, here to beg Rain God to punish us all no longer for the unbeliefs of the few, and we must not be disturbed. Will you do that for us? If any come, your friends maybe, or whoever, will you say nothing to them about us, will you try to keep them from wandering out to the sacred kiva?’’
“Yes! Yes! Of course we will!” cried Hannah.
“We will do our best to protect you,” I told them.
And at that those old men gave great sighs of relief; smiled happily at us; and in the eyes of the one who had done the talking I was sure that I saw tears.
“You will need a rope. Down in the cabin is a rope ladder that we will loan you,” I said to the interpreter.
“But we can use nothing of white men’s make. I shall make a rope of twisted willows,” he answered.
“How can you, without a knife?”
“Two sharp-edged stones shall be my knife,” he said.
They turned from us, to go to the spring after the things they had left there, and to make their rope, and we went up into the lookout. The fire off to the north seemed to be burning as fiercely as ever.
“Well, now we know why so many beads, arrow-points, and pieces of pottery are here,” I said.
“Yes. This little butte was a shrine: a shrine to Rain God. The things that the old-time people scattered here were their presents to him. I don’t care if their beliefs were but dreams. Just think of them coming up here from their far-away homes to pray for water for their corn. How beautiful their faith!”
"‘Yes. And my dream, it, too, comes to nothing: the old man said that his long-ago people had no gold; had never heard of it! And I thought that there would likely be a lot of it in my cave find! Well, they can’t get into the cave without a crowbar to loosen the fallen roof rock. We shall be first into it after all.”
‘‘Don’t be too sure of that. I just feel that the old men will find some way to get into it,” said Hannah.
The little party soon came back up the trail with their packs of food and things, and with the glasses we made out that they each carried an olla — filled with water, of course. Somewhat behind them was the young Hopi, carrying a large bundle of willows upon his back. They all went out along the crest of the mountain, and then down to the cave hole in the west slope and out of our sight. I felt bad that I could n’t be with them to see just what they did there.
Along toward noon the wind ceased blowing. The smoke from the four great fires rose straight up, turned from dense black to a dark gray color and to less volume. We were glad: the men down there would be able to fight the fires with some chance of success. At twelve o’clock I reported no other fires started, and we went down to the cabin for lunch, at the edge of the clearing pausing and making sure that no one was in it. Everything inside was just as we had left it; we had expected to find the place stripped of food. At one o’clock we were back in the lookout. The four fires seemed to be burning as steadily as ever, and we feared that the Supervisor had been unable to get enough men to fight them. That was a long afternoon to us. As the hours passed, we wanted more and more to know what chance there was of the fires being extinguished. And we were all on edge to know what the Hopis were doing out at the other end of the mountain. At six o’clock, when I made my evening report, the office clerk told me that the Supervisor was out at the fires, and that, from what he could learn, they seemed to be steadily spreading. The men who set them had not been caught — not seen, even.
As we were leaving the lookout, I said to Hannah that we might at least go out along the summit far enough to see what the Hopis were doing at the cave hole, but she shortly answered: “We shall do nothing of the kind! You know that they do not want to be spied upon!’’
Again we found that nothing had been taken from the cabin during our absence. I brought in a lot of stovewood, and water from the spring, and we cooked a big supper, and then no more than tasted it. We were too anxious to enjoy the meal. We dreaded the coming night. Soon after sunset we barred the cabin door and sat in the darkness. After a time I asked Hannah what she was thinking about?
“I am wondering if Henry King has fallen in with those firebugs and become one of them,” she answered.
“Just what I was thinking. I believe that he has joined them, and is rustling what food they eat. How I wish I knew where they hide out!” I said.
“Oh, let’s draw the curtains and light the lamp! I just can’t bear sitting here in the darkness, thinking about those terrible men!” she cried.
Chapter VII.
The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave
As I drew the curtains, I saw that it was now quite dark outside; the moon had not yet come up. Hannah struck a match to the lamp, and we somehow did feel better, sitting in its light. Then, as before, there came a soft tapping upon the door, without our having heard footsteps nor creaking of the flimsy porch boards.
“It is the young Hopi,” I whispered.
‘‘Yes. But make sure of it,” Hannah told me; and I called out: “Who is there?”
“I, your friend,” came the hissed answer in the voice that we knew, and when I had taken down the bar, the Hopi stepped quickly inside, and we saw that he held in his left hand, close up against his breast, a short, thick-bodied bow and a few arrows.
“Oh, where did you find those?” Hannah cried, as I slammed the door bar back in place.
“In the kiva. In Rain God’s kiva. The old men brought them out to me. The bow cord had rotted; the point wrappings, too. But we have plenty of deer sinew. See: I have made a new cord and rewrapped the points,” he softly answered, and held them close to the lamp. We saw that the points were very small, and all five of them of almost transparent rock.
“Glass-rock points!” I said.
“Obsidian, the archaeologists call it.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed, I guess. Here were new words to me. English words, and an Indian speaking them! I did n’t know what to say.
“Silly! You don’t know what an archaeologist is?” cried Hannah.
“A student of the ancient people; of their homes and the things that they made. I have been with one of them; he taught me much; among other things, that this glass rock is obsidian,” the young Hopi explained. And again I was staggered! How very much more than I he knew, and he a desert Indian!
‘‘But how did your old men get past the fallen roof rock and into the cave?” Hannah asked.
“You did not notice that it was broken? No? Well, it was broken in two pieces. We pried them apart with a short pole, got an end of my willow rope around the first piece and dragged it out, all of us pulling,