The Witchery Way

by Robert L. Ferrier

  Josh went back into the guest room, where he had opened the window earlier. He climbed out and dropped to the ground, then looked around. Millions of stars hung like diamonds in a black sky. The wind was still. He smelled the pines and remnants of mesquite wood someone had used to cook supper. It was dead quiet throughout the park.

  He looked at his watch—three minutes to eleven. He moved quickly around the cabin and headed south, passing the office and walking toward the tracks, which glinted in the starlight. He paused at a wooden cross tie he had marked with his shovel earlier in the afternoon and lined it up with the flagpole. Then he followed the line of sight toward the tree line; that was how he had marked the entry point to the big oak.

  The woods looked dense and dark, like a wall. He entered the trees, looking for the oak, but he didn’t see it right away. Then he felt a presence, and he turned to see Tom Sixkiller standing six feet away from him, the barrel of his rifle shining in the starlight filtering through the trees.

  "Your eyes are big, Josh. Are you afraid?"

  Josh took a deep breath. "Well, I’m a day person."

  Tom smiled, his teeth white in the darkness. "Let’s go. When we get there, no speaking until I say so. Don’t worry if Isaac talks or acts funny. It’s the peyote." Tom turned and walked through the trees.

  Josh took off after him, trying to move silently. On instinct, he looked back at McKenna’s cabin. There was a light on.

  CHAPTER 7

  "I expected a teepee or something. Not a cave."

  "A fire in a cave can’t be seen. More privacy," Tom said.

  "I didn’t even know there were caves in these hills."

  "You haven’t lived in these hills all your life."

  "How does the smoke get out? Oh." Josh saw the thin plume of smoke drifting up from a fissure in some rocks on the side of the hill. Somehow they had fashioned a ventilation shaft. He smelled smoke, pines, and something else.

  "Is that cedar?" he asked.

  Tom nodded. "They use it to purify the cave before the ceremony. It’s part of the ritual." Tom cradled the rifle in his arm and looked at the firelight radiating from the cave. "Wait here until I signal for you."

  "How many are in there?"

  “Besides Isaac, a couple of Choctaws: Post Oak Bill is the thin one with the leather vest and snakeskin boots. The fat one with the black hat, pigtails, and pitted face is One Eye Kanatobi."

  After watching Tom enter the cave, Josh listened, but all he heard was the crackling fire and muffled voices. A light breeze sighed in the pines, and to the south he heard a coyote bark. The moonlight filtered through the pines, casting a misty sheen on the hillside.

  Tom motioned to him, and Josh walked into the cave. It was bigger than he expected, and the cedar smell was strong; he saw a gauze bag of cedar chips hanging from a rock. The fire was small, but it hissed and crackled, casting shadows across the rocky walls and the faces of the three Indians sitting cross-legged around it, along with Tom. One was a thin man in his forties, wearing dirty jeans, a leather vest with no shirt, and a polished pair of snakeskin boots. He had the darting eyes of a ferret: Post Oak Bill. Next to him was a big man in a tall hat with an eagle feather in the band. He had pigtails down below his shoulders, and his face had been cratered by acne: One Eye Kanatobi. Finally, facing the entrance, was an old man wearing a faded denim shirt. His hair was long and gray, almost white, and he wore a bear tooth necklace. His skin was wrinkled in a hundred lines, the color of ash over bronze, his nose beaked like a hawk, and his chin jutted out like a witch. But the most dominating feature of that face was the eyes: bright, penetrating brown lasers, taking in Josh with one scan...Isaac Sixkiller

  Josh knelt behind Tom, who had sat down cross-legged in front of the fire, across from Isaac.

  Isaac placed an eagle feather in front of him and covered it with a black cloth. Then he lifted the cloth and began shaking it; and as he did so, One Eye started beating a drum in a steady rhythm. Isaac began to chant, and then all the others joined in with a low, guttural song—like a prayer in music. There was something beautiful about it, Josh thought, as he watched them singing, passing the drum and taking turns beating it.

  Josh felt warm from the fire, and as the night wore on, he forgot to worry about Wake McKenna. The chants were dream-like, and Josh fell under the spell. When he looked at Isaac again, the old Indian passed around some green buds. The others started eating them, and Tom held out several to Josh.

  All eyes were on him. He bit into one and chewed. It had a medicinal taste, and at first he wanted to gag. But he kept chewing and swallowed, and as he did so, Isaac smiled with his eyes.

  One Eye banged the drum and sang louder. Josh would have joined in, but he didn’t know the words.

  They continued this way: singing, drumming, eating peyote, Isaac lifting the black cloth with the eagle feather and waving it in the air. The fire crackled, burned low, and Post Oak Bill added more wood. Josh was sweating heavily. He felt flush, both from the fire and the peyote. His vision started blurring, and he felt light-headed. It was like a dream—he was on the outside looking at himself. When he looked at Tom, he saw that he looked slack-jawed, his eyes glazed. Post Oak Bill’s shoulders were slumped, and he seemed to have shrunk. One Eye had the drum, and he was beating slower. Their voices sounded different, and the words were harder to understand. Isaac was the only one who looked alert. His eyes glinted in the firelight, taking in everything. Josh caught him looking at him, an appraising look, and the look chilled him. The fire cast shadows on the cave wall, and Josh wondered what animals or humans might have visited here over time. Josh’s sense of smell seemed enhanced, and he smelled cedar, smoke, sweat, animal urine, and One Eye’s body odor.

  Suddenly, Josh felt sick. Isaac stood up. He took a crooked stick, using it as a cane, and looked into Josh’s eyes. Then he turned and slowly hobbled outside the cave.

  Josh started to get up, but One Eye Kanatobi grabbed him by the arm. “Sit.”

  Josh sat.

  One Eye’s round red face was something from a nightmare: the corners of his mouth bent down, his lips misshapen from crooked teeth. But it was his eyes that scared you: the left one alive, piercing, the right one a dead piece of glass reflecting the fire.

  "Let’s talk, Railroad Boy."

  "Talk? What about?"

  "The railroad."

  "Okay."

  "Why do you need a railroad to the park?"

  Josh tried to focus his eyes. "For the tourists."

  "Can’t the tourists just come by car? Like always?"

  "Not like always. Long time ago, they came in on a train with a steam engine."

  "So what?"

  "So now, we think their kids, and their grandkids, will want to come in on a train with a steam engine. It’ll be a kick."

  "A kick?" One Eye’s good eye glared at him. He looked at Post Oak Bill, then at Tom. They said nothing, and he looked back at Josh. "They may get more kick than they think."

  "What’s that mean?"

  "It means there’s no reason for a train bringing people up here.”

  "We’ll see."

  One Eye reached out and squeezed Josh’s arm with his huge hand. "Go back and tell your old man to just keep hauling chicken feed. It’s less dangerous."

  Josh stood up and looked him in the good eye. "I’m a guest, so I have to watch my words. But No. 88 is going to pull two cars of tourists up here to Hickory Creek on August twelfth. Cocked switches, trestle fires, and threats be damned."

  Josh turned and walked out of the cave. As he did, he vowed to watch for One Eye Kanatobi; he could be trouble.

  The fresh air smelled good, and he sucked it in. The soft night wind cooled his body, but nothing would help his stomach. He walked over between a couple of pines, dropped to his knees and lost his supper.

  Isaac dampened a cloth with water from the bucket and brought it over. After Josh wiped his face, he felt like he might live.

  Isaac squatted besi
de him. He smiled, a gold tooth gleaming, and coughed—the sound like a dry wind. He sipped water from the dipper, and offered some to Josh. Josh drank.

  Isaac coughed again. "Peyote make you thirsty."

  Josh nodded.

  "We use it to clean our bodies," he said. "Like cedar cleans cave. Peyote good. We don’t paint it, color it, or put nothin’ on it. Don’t heat it. Just pure. God put it on Earth for us to use. We bless ourselves with it." He paused and smiled at Josh.

  Josh nodded. He got to his knees and rested on his haunches. "I have questions," he said. "But they are like fish swimming around in my head—hard to catch."

  Isaac nodded. "I know fish you want."

  "A big fish."

  "Yes. Big," Isaac said.

  Josh nodded. "This fish is like a shark. He swims through this land. He works it for his father."

  Isaac shook his head. "No. For himself."

  “Oh."

  "Sixkillers and the others." He waved toward the cave. "We worked Gottschalk land for many years. We lived on it. He let us. Tom. Me. My brother. Others, like Post Oak Bill, One Eye. All work for Gottschalks."

  "And Tom’s parents?"

  He paused, and a shadow crossed his eyes. "One day, they just gone. My brother gone too - dead now. Buried out there." He waved toward the south. "Many Indians buried out there."

  "Ish Maytubby?"

  Isaac’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. "Ish. And rest of Maytubby family. Many families. Sacred ground out there."

  "But the Gottschalks own it?"

  "Yes. Now they own."

  "How do you feel about that? Working and dying and being buried on land that Indians used to own?"

  For the first time, Josh saw pain flash through those eyes. Even in the dim light, he saw the shine of a tear. Isaac started to answer. He fingered his necklace, opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came out but a dry cough.

  Josh shook his head and looked down. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that."

  Josh pulled a blade of grass and listened to the wind whispering through the pines. Puffs of white clouds drifted in on the Gulf breeze. "Did Tom tell you I met Trace?"

  Isaac nodded. "Told me."

  "The first time I met Tom, something reminded me of Trace—the way they both move, gliding, blending, so quiet." He paused, choosing his words. "But when I talked to Tom, I realized they are different. They each make me feel different inside." He touched his heart.

  Isaac nodded. “Tom different from Trace. Like lamb different from cougar."

  "Isaac, the feeling I get from Trace ... I think he is different from everyone."

  "Yes. Different."

  "When I looked into his eyes, there was nothing living there." He pointed toward the cave. "They were like the cave, only with no fire inside."

  Isaac nodded, saying nothing.

  Inside the cave, Josh heard the chanting beginning again, and the drum, slower now.

  Josh said, “How did Trace get that way?”

  Isaac was quiet for a long time, as if he hadn’t heard the question. He rocked on his haunches, titling his head, letting the breeze blow across his face. As he rocked, his body popped and cracked, old bones and cartilage shifting along faults. At last he said, “Trace learn Witchery Way.”

  “What?”

  “First Man and First Woman start Witchery Way.”

  “The Witchery Way?” Josh shook his head. “What’s that?”

  Isaac stared at him. “What I tell you must stay with you.”

  “Okay.”

  Isaac rocked and listened to the chanting from the cave. “I caught him making corpse powder.”

  “Corpse powder?”

  Isaac nodded. “He grind up flesh. Make powder look like pollen.”

  “Why?”

  “Use against enemies.”

  “Where did you catch him making corpse powder?”

  “In shed on his land.” He waved toward the south. “I helped with cattle there. I worked until he killed my job. Say I’m too old.”

  “He fired you?”

  “Yes.”

  "When did this happen?"

  "Six summers ago."

  Josh didn’t know where to start. "What do you do now?"

  Isaac rocked. "Wait to die. Like all old men."

  "Where do you live?"

  "In cabin out there." He waved to the south.

  "On Gottschalk land?"

  Isaac nodded. "He lets me."

  "How do you...? How do you keep going?"

  "Welfare." He looked down at his hands, wrinkled and knobby from arthritis.

  "And Tom shoots deer for me."

  Josh felt very sleepy. The peyote was doing things to his mind. He felt like lying down and taking a nap, but the things Isaac was telling him now were too important. "Does Tom work for Trace?"

  "Yes."

  "Even though Trace ran off his parents?"

  "Yes.”

  "Why does he work for Trace after something like that?"

  "Tom wants to look after me. Trace know this."

  "I see." So Tom was independent, Josh thought. Yet loyal to his great uncle. Was he loyal to Trace Gottschalk? He wanted to ask, but his instincts stopped him. "So you found Trace grinding up this ... corpse powder?"

  "Yes.”

  "What did he do then?"

  "Told me to leave. Never come back there."

  "How do you know it was corpse powder?"

  Isaac looked at him like he was a child. "Because I saw skull there. He use skin from back of head for corpse powder."

  Josh shivered. "Isaac, where did Trace get the corpse?"

  The old Indian rocked and coughed again. He looked at his hands and listened to the chanting and drumming. After a while, Josh knew he would not answer.

  Josh tried to clear his head. The moon had risen over the pines, its light hiding the stars. A coyote howled in the distance, the sound barely heard. Josh felt thirsty again, but he didn’t want to break the mood by getting up. He and the old Indian might be hearing the same inside voices, the knowing. Josh sensed that Isaac was a night person, and as the night deepened, the more he seemed willing to tell about Trace Gottschalk. Josh cleared his throat. "I ask again ... how does a witch get a corpse for the powder?"

  Isaac rocked for a long time. "Have to kill relative. Best to kill sister or..." His voice trailed off.

  Josh felt the adrenaline starting to pump. What was it Wake McKenna had told him? About a retarded brother that had drowned in the Glover River? He looked straight into Isaac’s eyes. "Or a brother?"

  More rocking. No answer.

  Josh fought his fatigue, knowing he would never get another chance like this. It was the middle of the night, when coyotes prowl and old Indians eat peyote and talk. But with this old Indian, he would have to be patient. "Are all witches bad?"

  "No. But some very bad.”

  "What do the bad ones do?"

  "The witch people ... they bring these dead bodies to secret place. They cut heads off and hang them up. It is full of heads inside. Each one known. Have a name. When witch talk about person who dead already they can point to the head. Anything what is put away with dead body—rings, bracelet, belt, beads, pictures—all taken to same place. They use corpse to make medicine—the corpse powder. The witch people, they sprinkle the corpse powder near enemy. Make them sick. Sick person go out next morning and find tracks around."

  "Tracks? What kind of tracks?"

  Isaac rocked. He coughed and rubbed his hands, fondling the bear tooth necklace. The wind sighed and the clouds scudded over the moon. Isaac stared into Josh’s eyes in a waiting game. Minutes passed. When it became clear to the old man that Josh would talk no more until he got an answer, Isaac said, "Wolf tracks."

  Josh felt his blood chill. His skin crawled, like when Frank Wade had told him ghost stories. He considered himself to be rational and logical—people were people, and animals were something else. Different. But why did Isaac’s answer strike terror into
his heart?

  Josh looked at Isaac. "Do you believe a man can turn into a wolf?"

  "Don’t say ‘man’ can turn into wolf. Witch different from ordinary man."

  "Okay, do you believe a witch can turn into a wolf?"

  "Some say they are same. Like day turn into night."

  Josh shook his head and sighed. His eyelids felt like iron, and he craved sleep. And there was Wake McKenna to think about. He prayed the ranger had decided Josh couldn’t sleep and went out for a walk or something. But one problem at a time. Could Trace be using his knowledge of the Indian superstitions and myths to his own advantage? Perhaps to solidify his power? Or to keep people away from what he didn’t want them to see?

  Josh leaned against a pine; the bark against his back would help keep him awake. He would have to start back soon, but there were questions to be asked. "These witch-wolves. What do you call them?"

  "They witches—night walkers. They run like a cat. They run around wearing wolf skin."

  "Have you ever seen a nightwalker?"

  "No. Seen tracks. Like dog tracks, but bigger." He coughed. "Horses smell night walkers and get jumpy. Seen that happen."

  "At the Gottschalk’s ranch?"

  Isaac nodded.

  "Isaac, how could a witch run around in an animal hide? It would fall off."

  "Those witches take whole hide of a wolf. They take bones out and leave claws. They put sticks in the legs to move the skin. Tie sticks to arms and legs. With strings they move the ears of the hide up and down. That is one way you can tell a witch from a real wolf—the ears are always moving up and down. If you shoot at the head of one of these witches, the shot will just go through hide. Shoot at neck and the shot will go through head of the witch."

  Josh looked at his watch. It was three a.m., and he knew the old Indian was starting to fade. He wondered if Isaac himself was a witch. There was still one question to ask before he started back to the cabin.

  “Isaac, is Trace a witch?"

  Isaac kept his eyes closed and rocked back and forth on his haunches. Finally, he reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed Josh a small leather pouch. Josh waited as the clouds passed by the moon, providing more light. The pouch looked like a relic from another century. The stuff inside it didn’t smell very good either.