Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  Our wedding was held the next morning with everyone in attendance… men, women, and children. It was a much happier occasion than the one that nearly took place on the knoll, even though many of the men seemed to be suffering from aching heads.

  Tall Son stayed, but Bold Bird returned to his mother’s village. Tall Son was looking for a bride of his own and found many likely young maidens in my new clan. When the time came, he would make his offer to the maiden’s parents, and go back for his sheep and ponies.

  Soft Breeze had been given a field for corn and squash, the sheep I had brought, and four of the goats. It was a good start for our lives together. Each morning, the sheep would be turned out of the folds and young boys would take them to pasture. Soft Breeze and I would work in her field. There was much to be done there with sharpened sticks and hoes. When the seed was in the ground, I would take a pony and hunt for meat.

  The village was at the base of a tall and long mesa, which ran from east to west for a day’s walk. Even though we were in a desert, there were springs and seeps where water could be found. The animals knew where the water was and would come to it. I didn’t like hunting near the mesa because I wanted the game to feel safe there and keep coming. You never knew when trouble would come and we would depend on those animals.

  I would travel a day’s ride to the north to do my hunting. Once I had located water in the northern hills. I would wait and let my bow do its work. Often, Tall Son would hunt with me, and together we would supply much meat to the village. A provider like Tall Son would be a wise choice for any young girl’s family to consider.

  For the first two years, we were happy in our hogan. We were happy with our corn, and our flocks. Our goats had been fruitful, as had our sheep. There was little that we wanted for. Soft Breeze was an excellent weaver, and she knew the secret of black and red dyes. Her rugs glowed like the sun set.

  My hogan was next to hers. It was smaller and of a different shape than a woman’s hogan. When children come into a marriage, they will stay in the mother’s house. There had been much visiting back and forth between the hogans, but there were still no baby at her breast. Soft Breeze was worried about witches or spirits keeping the babies from coming to her.

  I asked if she wanted to call in the hatalii the medicine man, but she said she was not ready to do that yet. The medicine man of the village was a fearsome being, and I think she was a little scared of him. We waited and at last, she began to show the signs and was excited to give me a son. She was certain that it would be a son, but I knew that the Great Spirit would decide that, and not us. When the baby came, it came with the makings of a beautiful woman like her mother.

  She was disappointed, but it wasn’t a problem for me. I had older sisters, and I knew how they loved and cared for their younger brothers. We called her Morning Sky.

  She was a beautiful baby, and my wish was for a brother as soon as it was proper. Some clans wanted at least a year and a half between babies, others wanted two years. Two years would be good. If I’d thought we were happy before Morning Sky came, it couldn’t begin to compare to the happiness we knew then.

  Chapter 4

  It was almost two years to the same moon when our son was born. He came into the world with a giant roar, and Soft Breeze thought to call him Small Puma. I was afraid that would be too strong a load for such a little boy, but I also thought it would be a name that could make a strong man of him. So we agreed, even though the choice of name was my right… we agreed. There were many things we agreed on… we were a happy family.

  Too many braves tried to be the chief of his own little tribe. But instead of ruling with wisdom he will try to rule with strength and size. That kind of thinking can make a man the chief in his family, but it can’t bring him happiness… we were happy.

  While Small Puma was very tiny, I tended the corn and the squash. After two moons, I noticed that Soft Breeze was looking pale and worn. She needed meat, to feed a puma. So I went out hunting for anything that would bring her strength back. I told her that I would need to hunt, and she thought that would be best.

  I didn’t want to be gone for more than two days, so I went west along the base of the tall mesa where deer and sometimes buffalo came to drink. Good fortune was with me and I killed a fine young buck on the morning of my second day.

  I had skinned and cut up the animal, taking only the meatier parts. I did not want to over burden my pony. The day was hot and the air was still, so I would walk some and ride some. As I was walking, I would tell myself how foolish it was to not bring a spare pony to carry the meat. I had no answer or excuse for my lack of judgment. I really did not mind walking. Our people had walked for hundreds of years coming from the frozen north. It was in our blood, but I was anxious to return.

  I had been under a heavy cloud of dread since I had started for the village. There was the feeling that I should have returned yesterday. Another feeling told me that I should not have come. But we needed the meat, especially Soft Breeze, and there would be meat for the cooking pots of the old women…those who had no men to hunt for them.

  The sun was overhead, and there were no clouds. A hot breeze was blowing from the west, so it wasn’t trouble to either me or my horse. It was pushing us on. I made a stop at a small seep I’d passed going the other way and watered my horse and refilled the water skin. I kept walking.

  Up ahead, in the far distance, I had seen dust devils from time to time. This meant the wind was blowing harder there, than it was here. There must be gusts coming from the north because there were no strong winds where I was. I scanned the sky looking for weather warnings, but the sky was clear… it was a long looking day. Sometimes the wind does what the wind wants to do. It must be that kind of day.

  Still, something didn’t seem right. Then it hit me, those weren’t dust devils, they were from a horse being ridden hard. The dust was moving along the north side of the mesa and coming at me. I stopped and looked for a place to make a stand. I didn’t know who was coming or why. I didn’t know if they were being chased by someone or they were just trying to kill their horse.

  I found a crack in the mesa, where a great pile of talus had formed against the leading edge of that crack. It gave me a place to stash my horse and a position to shoot my arrows. As the rider came closer I could make out that it was one rider and he was leading a second horse… probably a horse thief. A horse thief coming from that direction could only mean he was coming from our village… with one of our horses. I moved out farther from the talus and lost myself in with some larger rocks.

  I was dressed only in breechclout and tall moccasins. I pulled the red headband from my head and became one with the rocks. As he drew close enough to see his size, shape and the way he sat a horse, I recognized the rider and stepped out. Tall Son riding that hard with an extra pony could only mean trouble… bad trouble.

  He saw me step out and brought his horse to a sliding stop. If he hadn’t let go of the lead rope, the led horse would have pulled him from his mount. It galloped on until it could stop on its own and then returned.

  “Tall Son!” I shouted. “What has happened? Why do you ride like there is a demon after you?”

  “Rubio, there is trouble at the village, Soft Breeze and the little ones have been attacked!”

  I didn’t wait to hear anymore. I had gathered up the lead rope and sprang to the back of the spare horse and slammed my heels into its sides. Tall Son’s horse was in no shape to keep up with me and he hadn’t expected to. That’s why he had brought a fresh pony for me. I knew he would find my horse and the meat and would follow at a slower pace. We each knew how the other would act.

  The sun was still well overhead, when I rode into the village at a dead run. I had not wanted to think of what might be waiting for me. I didn’t want to hear what Tall Son needed to tell me. I still had hope as I leaped to the ground from my panting and foam flecked pony. As the dust caught up with me, I was pushing my way through those who were standing and looking
away from the hogan of Soft Breeze.

  Two men were standing there; both were wearing only their moccasins and were covered with ash, as is the custom of those who prepared the dead for their journey. There was no wailing or crying, there was nothing to disrupt the flight of the spirits.

  There on the ground lay three small forms covered with blankets. I stood there like a man without a mind, not knowing what to do. I finally took a step closer and then knelt beside the largest of the forms and pulled back the blanket. Soft Breeze was very pale, and I could tell that she had been cleaned. Her robe showed much blood stain, but her face and her throat were without blood. Her throat had been cut, and… her scalp had been taken.

  I covered her with the blanket and moved between the two smaller forms. Morning Sky had been killed and scalped like her mother. She had been washed as well. The baby fine hair would not last long on a warrior’s lance… but he would boast of his powers until it fell away a little at a time.

  My son, Small Puma, was still on his cradle board. He had not been cut or scalped. The bruises on his tiny throat told the story. It would not take a powerful man to choke the life out of one so small, but the bruises showed that his killer was a powerful man.

  My worst fears had been realized, and I would have my revenge. But first I had to morn my dead. I would sing my songs and I would weep when alone in my hogan, but now I must not show the pain. I would let the three spirits travel in peace and lie in the comfort of the earth mother.

  I wanted to scream and shout and cut my body, but it was not allowed by custom and it would only disturb the spirits. Everyone else left, but Soft Breeze’s mother. She knelt in front of the three and was silent. I saw that she carried her left hand wrapped in a piece of blood stained cloth. She must have cut a finger joint off in her grief. That was not a custom of my mother’s clan, but it could be in her clan. I did not ask.

  After two days, I went to Tall Son and asked what had happened. He told me, “Soft Breeze took the two little ones with her to tend the corn. She told her mother that she would feel better if she could do something. Old Wolf was picking berries on the slope below the field. He heard Morning Sky scream, and then Soft Breeze screamed…. Old Wolf thought they may have found a snake that rattled and started up the slope.”

  “But Old Wolf is slow and old, and when he reached the field, he saw an Apache brave coming through the brush on horseback. He said he had to jump out of the way to keep from getting trampled.”

  “Did he know the brave?” I asked. My first thought was of Scar Face. He would have reason to hurt my family.

  “No, he didn’t know the man, but he knew it was an Apache…. He has seen more than a few in his long life.”

  We walked up to the field to have a look at what the earth told us. Tall Son found where the Apache had sat his horse and waited. The tracks of Soft Breeze showed her movements through the field. When she came close to the killer’s position, he struck swiftly and surely. I studied his tracks until I would know them if I ever saw them again. His toes turned in like most Indians, but he put pressure on the outside edges of his feet. And there was a slight dragging of the right foot.

  I knelt on the ground where the prints of Soft Breeze and Morning Sky overlaid each other. I took a little bit of the dirt from that spot and poured it into my medicine pouch. I would carry it for the rest of my life.

  We followed the trail the killer left until I had a good feel for his tracks and a good idea which way he was going. I spent the rest of the day getting ready for war. My lance was sharpened and arrows were made. I sang my war song and prayers were made. The medicine man gave me the Blessing Way ceremony so that if I had to leave the boundaries of the four sacred mountains, I would have some amount of protection.

  Tall Son wanted to go with me, but I told him that he should stay and keep watch over his family and the village. I said, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone and the tribe needs you here. Take my flock and if it grows, keep the growth… if I don’t return, keep it all. I’ll take two of my best ponies, you keep the rest. Look to the needs of the old and weak.” He swore to do all he could to keep the village safe.

  Chapter 5

  I left the next morning with two horses and no idea when or if I would ever come back. I could only trust in my skills, senses, and my single minded purpose to bring me to this place again. But I knew there would be no return until the killer was found and dealt with. By dealt with, I meant that he would know the meaning of pain and suffering.

  The Apache are our close relatives; we both spoke the language of the far north. When we reached the land of the Pueblo people, we became planters and herders who moved only when the fields and pastures demanded it. The Apache stayed with the old ways of moving their camps often.

  They were fierce warriors, and they knew the art of war. When they started stealing Spanish horses, they became even more adept at war. Their ways of raiding became more and more efficient… and more deadly. I don’t believe they took scalps before the Spanish soldiers started giving them trinkets to bring scalps to the outposts.

  It was thought that the Spanish men used those rewards to keep the Indians killing each other off, but the Spanish soldiers couldn’t tell the difference between a Hopi, Diné, Ute, or New Mexican scalp. The soldiers paid many Apache or Ute for the scalps of their own people. When the Spanish wised up and stopped paying to have their own people killed, the Apache went right on taking scalps as trophies. A brave with ten scalps would be a good catch for any young maiden looking for a mate…. He would be a big man in his village.

  The Diné were not scalp takers. At least the rest of the tribe was not. I had vowed to take the scalp every Apache I could find and kill. They had made me their enemy, and I would do my best to live up to the title they had given me.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  The killer had about a three day lead on me, but I would not rush to find him. I had two good ponies that could run for long days with little rest. His trail had led me to the south side of the tall mesa. Had he gone to the north side, we would have met there and one of us would already be dead.

  I had food for three days and a good supply of jerky to last me long time. I had three water bags, but two horses would need a lot of water. I would have to hunt for meat, water, grass. But mostly, I would need to hunt for his trail.

  The south side of the mesa was the sloping side. It didn’t have high cliffs like the other side, but it was a long gradual slope to higher ground and not to the desert floor. The trail was much more visible on the south side. The ground was firmer and there was more vegetation.

  I had not been on the trail for more than a day when I found where the killer had met with two other riders. The others had been waiting for him, which I could read from their campsite. They had been there for more than two days from the bones left in their ashes and the droppings of their horses. They had chosen well for their camp. It had water some grass and it was well hidden in a canyon. The head of a desert sheep was discarded in the brush and was being eaten by large black ants. I could only assume that the bones in the ashes came from the same animal.

  The remains of a wrack for making jerky were tossed off to the side, so they had been here for more than a few days, and they had enough jerky to carry them far. My task became harder, but it was my job and I would do it, or my bones would lie in the sun for the coyote and ants to strip. It didn’t matter to me. I had nothing to live for but to kill the man who destroyed the reasons I had for living.

  I spent the night in their camp. I thought it might help me get to know them and that way I would learn to think like them. I had no doubt that Old Wolf had been correct in calling the killer an Apache. The camp had Apache signs everywhere. And the one who walked dragging his foot had left his sign as well.

  It was not an accident that these three met at that place. They had planned the meeting. The killer seemed to be the one in charge because he moved around less than the others. Two were doing all the camp chores
while one moved around very little. One tended the fire, one took care of the horses, and one rested. Of course the others had spent more time in camp than the killer, but he did nothing more than eat and drink.

  As the sun was climbing over the eastern highland, I was on my pony and riding. With three of them together they would be much easier to follow. They had left the mesa behind and were traveling due south toward another line of cliffs. I was able to follow at a lope switching horses before the one I was riding grew tired. I could make up time at that pace.

  Their camp the following night was easy to find, and again, two men did most of the chores. The one who dragged his foot must be at least a chieftain or a big man in the tribe. Chieftains could also die.

  Traveling at the pace I was riding, had gained me a half a day. I rested for a while, watered my ponies, and then I went on. It was long before the end of day, and I could make up much more time. I was now riding along the north face of another tall mesa, but this one was much larger. It would take days to circle it on a good pony.

  I rode until it was getting too dark to follow their tracks, then I stopped. I found a place where my horses could get some forage. There was no water, but I had three full skins. I didn’t want to kill my horses. Although my people had walked everywhere and for long distances before we had horses, I could make better time on horseback. I had gained nearly a day, but I couldn’t slow down now.

  My third day started with the realization that their camp site was only a short distance from where I had spent the night. I stopped, refilled the water bags, and watered the horses. While the horses were resting and browsing for food, I looked around their camp. As before, one man did very little while the other two did all the work. I noticed something red caught in some prickly pear.

  Walking over to the red spot, I nearly wept. It was a tiny piece of red cloth, which I had torn from my own headband. Morning Sky wanted a headband the same color as mine, so I tore a strip from my own and made her one. She wanted to wear it always, and Soft Breeze would have to take it while she slept to wash it. I turned it over in my hand several times before I would put it in my pouch. Along the edge of what had once been the fold was a stiff brown stain of dried blood.