The Delight Makers. Adolph Francis Alphonse Bandelier
he appeared the picture of vigour and mirth. He chatted with the utmost nonchalance, telling his wife about the insignificant happenings of the day, the prospects of the crops, what such and such a one had said to him, and what he had told the other in return. It was innocent gossip, intimate chat, such as a contented husband may tell a wife in whom he places entire confidence. How happy she felt at the harmless chatter, and yet how intensely miserable. His inquiry, "Are you ill?" rang in her ears with a sickening clang, like some overwhelming reproach. Why, oh why, had she not spoken to him in time? He was so good to her. Now it was too late; and beside, why anticipate the fatal hour when he must know all? Why not improve the few moments of respite granted ere death came?
Say Koitza suffered him to continue, and listened with increasing interest to the talk of her husband. It might be the last time. Little by little, as he went on, with harmless, sometimes very clumsy, jokes and jests, she became oblivious of her wretched prospects, and her soul rested in the present. She began to smile shyly at first, then she even laughed. As Zashue ate he praised her cooking; and that gratified her, although it filled her with remorse and anguish. The children came also and squatted around the hearth, Okoya alone keeping at a distance and eyeing his mother suspiciously. Could she in his presence really feel as merry as she acted? Was it not evidence of the basest deception on her part? So the boy reasoned from his own standpoint, and went out into the court-yard in disgust.
The sun set, and a calm, still night sank down on the Rito de los Frijoles. As the sky darkened, evidences of life and mirth began to show themselves at the bottom of the gorge as well as along the cliffs. Monotonous singing sounded from the roofs of the big house, from caves, and from slopes leading up to them. Noisy talking, clear, ringing laughter, rose into the night. Old as well as young seemed to enjoy the balmy evening. Few remained indoors. Among these were Zashue and his wife. The woman leaned against him, and often looked up to his face with a smile. She felt happy by the side of her husband, and however harrowing the thought of her future seemed to be, the present was blissful to her.
After a while Zashue rose, and his spouse followed him anxiously to the door, trembling lest he should leave her alone for the night. She grasped his hand, and he stood for a while in the outer doorway gazing at the sky. Every sound was hushed except the rushing of the brook. The canopy of heaven sparkled in wonderful splendour. Its stars blazed, shedding peace upon earth and good-will to man. The woman's hand quivered in that of her spouse. He turned and retired with her to the interior of the dwelling.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] This tradition was told me by Tehua Indians, and some friends among the Queres subsequently confirmed it.
[5] This fire-cure was still practised by the Queres not very long ago.
CHAPTER III.
We must now return to the fields of the Rito, and to the spot where, in the first chapter of our story, Okoya had been hailed by a man whom he afterward designated as Tyope Tihua. That individual was, as we have since found, the former husband of Shotaye, Say's ill-chosen friend. After the boys had left, Tyope had continued to weed his corn, not with any pretence of activity or haste, but in the slow, persistent way peculiar to the sedentary Indian, which makes of him a steady though not a very profitable worker. Tyope's only implement was a piece of basalt resembling a knife, and he weeded on without interruption until the shadows of the plants extended from row to row. Then he straightened himself and scanned quietly the whole valley as far as visible, like one who is tired and is taking a last survey of the scene of his daily toil.
The fields were deserted. Everybody had left them except himself. Tyope pushed aside the stone implement and turned to go. After leaving the corn he turned to the right, and gradually stooping went toward a grove of low pines. Into that grove he penetrated slowly, cautiously, avoiding the least noise. It was clearly his intention to conceal himself. Once inside of the thicket of pine boughs he cowered, and after listening again and satisfying himself that nobody was around, he plunged his right arm beneath the branches that drooped down to the surface. When he withdrew it his hand grasped a bow. He placed this bow near his feet and dived a second time under the branches, pulling out another object, which proved to be a quiver made of panther-skin filled with arrows. He examined each of these arrows carefully, trying their heads of flint and obsidian, and replaced them in such a manner that the feathered ends projected from the quiver. A third time he ransacked the hiding-place, and produced from beneath the boughs a short wooden war-club. His last essay brought to light a cap of buffalo-hide thick enough to repel an arrow fired at short range, and so fashioned as to protect the forehead to the eyebrows, while behind, it descended low upon the neck. This cap, or helmet, he forthwith placed upon his head. Then he slung the quiver across his shoulders, wound the thong of the club around his right wrist, grasped the bow with the left hand, and rose to his feet.
Daylight was gone. Only a flat golden segment blazed above the western peaks. The peaks themselves, with the mountains, formed a huge mass of dark purple. Over the valley night hovered already, but a streak of mist trailing here and there like a thin veil marked the course of the little brook. It was so dark that Tyope could move without any fear of being seen. He nevertheless maintained a stooping position as long as he was on open ground. Once in the corn he followed its rows instead of traversing them, as if afraid of injuring the plants. He also examined carefully the edge of the brook before crossing it to the south side. Once on the declivity leading up to the mesa, he climbed nimbly and with greater unconcern, for there the shadow was so dense that nobody could notice him from below.
From the brink of the table-land Tyope looked back upon the Rito. He stopped not so much in order to see, for it was too dark, but in order to listen. Everything was quiet. A bear snarled far away, but this did not concern the listener. He strolled on through the scrubby timber of the mesa until he arrived at a place where tall pines towered up into the starry sky, when he stopped again and remained for quite a while looking up at the heavens. The great bear—the seven stars, as the Pueblos term it—sparkled near the northern horizon, and Tyope seemed to watch that constellation with unusual interest. Now a hoarse dismal yelping struck his ear, the barking of the coyote, or prairie wolf. Twice, three times, the howl was repeated in the distance; then Tyope replied to it, imitating its cry. All was still again.
Suddenly the barking sounded much nearer, and Tyope moved toward the place whence the sound issued, brushing past the shrubs. Reaching a clear space, he saw before him the form of a big wolf. The animal was standing immovable, his tail drooping, his head horizontal.
"Are you alone?" Tyope whispered. The apparition or beast, whatever it might be, seemed not to excite the least apprehension. The wolf bent its head in reply without uttering a sound.
"Where are the Dinne?" Tyope continued.
A hollow chuckle seemed to proceed from the skull of the animal; it turned and disappeared in the darkness, but a rustling of boughs and creaking of branches made known the direction. Tyope followed.
The wolf moved swiftly. From time to time its husky barkings were heard; and the Indian from the Rito, guided by these signals, followed as rapidly as possible. At last he saw the outlines of a juniper-bush against a faint glow. Behind it sounded the crackling of freshly ignited brushwood, and soon a light spread over the surrounding neighbourhood. Stepping into the illuminated circle Tyope stood before a man squatting by the fire.
The man was heaping wood on the fire which he had just started. By his side lay the skin of a large wolf. He seemed not to notice Tyope, although his face was directed toward him, for his eyes disappeared below projecting brows, so projecting that only now and then a sudden flash, quick as lightning, broke out from beneath their shadow. His form indicated strength and endurance; he was of stronger build than the man from the Tyuonyi. A kilt of deer-hide was his only dress. His hair was wound around his skull like a turban. As ornaments the stranger wore a necklace of panther claws. A bow and some arrows