Redeye

by Edgerton, Clyde

  “Why do you wish to be so serious? Have a small drink of whiskey and relieve your straight and stiff spirit. The god of the white man is the son of the mother of the father who is also the daughter of the father. Who cares to answer your questions. Ask the dog. Ask the wind. I do not believe anything but that the earth and the hills and the sun and moon are all as alive as we are and stronger than all men and women and animals put together. That is all I know to believe until Joseph Smith comes to see me in a dream. Should I tell you what else I believe in my heart?”

  “Of course. You are my friend. Even if you are red in the eye from the whiskey.”

  “I believe the Mormons are so stiff that the blood cannot get to all their parts. They suffer because of this, but they never know they suffer.”

  “It is hard for me to pass judgment,” I said.

  “You are too much the Mescadey,” said Lobo.

  Later, the young man from across the waters came to our fire with the man with the bad eyes, dressed in black, and talked through him. He in black speaks the language of us. I told them a story—about Clear Water and Stone Shirt, and the Twins, and the death of Clear Water’s father whose bones had been left on open ground by a river. And the great war when we were with our god.

  Stone Shirt had killed Clear Water’s father, left his bones on the ground for the wolves to eat, and then had taken away his mother to a far land. Clear Water slept for three days and nights after he was told this by a man who sat under a tree. In his sleep the spirit of the Mescadey told Clear Water what to do. Clear Water asked his grandmother to cut him in half, but she was afraid. He then ordered in strong language. With great sorrow she lifted the axe and cut him in two. He became two men, then called One-Two, or the Twins. They gathered nations to hunt for Stone Shirt who had killed his father and stolen his mother.

  The nations followed him into the desert carrying a jar filled with water, and the nations were so great that from the front of them to the rear of them was one day’s journey.

  In the desert they became thirsty and worried and impatient, and they drank, each person of the nations, and the jar remained full until the Twins drank last and then it was empty. The Twins said: Do not be restless and impatient when following the command of the spirits, for water will be provided.

  The next day they were all hungry and they saw on a raised place in the ground the great antelope of Stone Shirt. The great antelope had many eyes and could see in all directions at once, but there was a warrior among the nations of the Twins whose name was Rattlesnake and he could not be seen with the eyes of the antelope. But other warriors wanted to kill the antelope. The Twins ordered the other warriors to be quiet and remain in their places. Rattlesnake went and killed the antelope and all the nations cooked the antelope and ate it. It lasted until all were full. Many warriors were unhappy because they wanted to be the ones who had killed the mighty antelope. The Twins said: It does not matter who killed the antelope when we all eat together.

  Stone Shirt lived with his wife, the mother of the Twins, and two daughters. The bows and arrows of the daughters were magical. The daughters could think the arrows to the heart of the enemy, more swiftly than could be seen. In the night the Twins changed themselves into mice and chewed the bowstrings almost in two so that they would break when pulled tight.

  The next morning the Twins and the nations saved the Twins’ mother in battle. The bowstrings of the daughters broke. Stone Shirt was slain and his daughters died while dancing the death dance. The daughters were buried, but the father’s bones were left above the ground to dry in the sun.

  The Twins explained their history to their mother, who rejoiced.

  The story shows that water will be provided to those who follow the spirit of the Mescadey and that it does not matter who kills the meat when it can be eaten by all together.

  BUMPY

  That first night on the trail before we went to sleep, the Englishman got to talking to Mr. Pittman about Indians and wanted to know if he could hear some of the Mescadey language, so Mr. Pittman took him over to their fire. I went too. Mudfoot told this long story that had these lessons about water and meat or something. It was a little spooky sitting around their fire listening. The story had ghosts in it and people changing into mice. Sometimes Lobo would interrupt and him and Mudfoot would argue in Mescadey about something.

  I heard Pete grinding coffee the next morning before light but I drifted back to sleep, then woke up smelling bacon cooking, and was about to drift off again when Pete hit two pans together and started hollering, “Roll ’em out. Roll ’em out. Bull’s in the corral. Close up the gaps.”

  Nobody said anything while we took a piss out in the dark, then rolled up and stashed our bedrolls, got a plate, and helped ourselves from the pots and pans around the fire—baked bread, bacon, porridge, coffee, and canned tomatoes. Mr. Pittman got extra on his plate, let it cool, then dropped it on the ground for Redeye. Redeye woofed it up.

  I was tired. My eyes felt like they had bags under them. I didn’t see the Englishman. Then I saw him still asleep in his sack. Zack nudged him pretty hard with his foot and woke him up.

  That day was like the day before, except late in the afternoon we reached the White Rock Campsite, our camp for excavating Eagle City. It was up against the north wall of the mesa in some woods of low pines and cedars—near a spring. The ruin was one canyon over, in the mesa. You could see the trail to the mesa top winding up the cliff above us if you looked careful.

  Mr. Merriwether directed camp setup. I went out and cut down some little cedars for posts and poles. We had canvas tarps stretched between trees and poles to sleep under, us under one, the Indians under one, and the Mexicans under one. There was a tarp for the kitchen and one for saddles, bridles, saddle blankets, and such.

  A rope corral was fixed for the horses and Mr. Merriwether built a bed out of cedar for us, showing the Indians and Mexicans how to build the others. He said we’d need the beds to stay up off the ground—away from the skunks.

  We had a folding table for the dining room, more or less. Underneath that was a couple of trunks where we could lock up food so the skunks couldn’t get at it.

  Between the table and the spring was the kitchen—which won’t nothing but the chuck wagon and a place for a fire. All in all, it was a right agreeable camp.

  Mr. Merriwether got the Mexicans collecting firewood. After they brought in a few loads he made them dig holes down the hill to crap in. He didn’t tell the Indians anything about that. Nobody knew where they crapped.

  Then Mr. Merriwether examined the horses and found out that one had got saddle-galled. He got the Mexican that had rode him and took him a ways off from camp and we could hear him ranting. Zack had told me at the beginning of the trip to check under my saddle every two or three hours or I could get in big trouble.

  It was cool enough that we all sat close to our fire eating supper. The Indians sat around theirs and the Mexicans, theirs. I just listened to the talk, mainly, which was first about why it was so cool and then they all got in on how to guess the weather. Some of it I’d heard but I don’t think the Englishman—Andrew is his name—had heard any of it. Judging from his hat and shoes he’s been brought up pretty soft. Zack keeps telling him to get a cowboy hat instead of the little short-brimmed thing he’s wearing, so somebody won’t shoot him. “Buy yourself a goddamned cowboy hat, Limey,” he keeps saying. Andrew takes it all right. I don’t think Zack means no harm.

  “Where I grew up,” said Zack, “if the pigs laid down for the night and put on their little hats, like Andrew, then you could count on damn good weather.”

  “I’ll get a new hat when we return. This one has served me well for several thousand miles.”

  “If cattle lay out you can count on the weather staying fair,” said Pete.

  “I know there used to be ways back home,” said Andrew. “I just never . . .”

  “If sheep run around,” said Mr. Merriwether, “then—”

>   “Sheep is bad medicine,” said Zack. “That’s what’s made all these dust bowls out here.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Mr. Merriwether. He was on his back with his head resting on his saddle and his hands behind his head. “I’ve—”

  “The hell they don’t. Sheep and the railroads have ruined the whole territory.”

  Later on, I couldn’t sleep. Finally pretty late I drifted off and it seemed like I’d only been asleep about five minutes when I heard the coffee grinder. I drifted back off and then the pots were banged and Pete was yelling, “Roll ’em out, roll ’em out. Bull’s in the corral. Close up the gaps.”

  ANDREW COLLIER

  Mesa Largo

  Anasazi County

  Colorado, USA

  in the wilderness

  October 1, 1891

  Dear Father,

  I am at the moment sitting at, and writing from, our newly constructed dining table at White Rock Campsite, in the wilderness at the base of a cliff. Above us, in the magnificent Mesa Largo, lie the cliff dwellings. I write now, even though I await your reply to my earlier Colorado correspondence. First, I will present a general survey, followed by a report on the most profitable of our excavations thus far.

  Imagine a dining table with a tablecloth reaching and resting on the floor. At floor level, pull the cloth out and away from the table a short distance. The walls of the mesa canyons are thus formed—at the bottom, slanted for a ways at an angle greater than forty-five degrees and then standing vertically so that access to the heights seems impossible. The canyons run throughout the mesa, generally northwest to southeast. A casual explorer would find himself in an apparent labyrinth.

  When I saw our first ruin, I gasped in amazement. We were across a canyon—a relatively small one (though large by English scales) looking at the face of a sandstone cliff. Resting in a great open eye socket in the face of that cliff was a small city of apartments, standing largely intact after long centuries of quiet rest in the desert, disturbed only by birds, bats, rats, and insects, none able to whittle away the magnificent little city. My estimate is that two to four hundred people inhabited this dwelling.

  Our schedule: At daybreak we set about work. I’m permitted to remain in my sleeping bag for a bit while the cowboys get things under way. For breakfast we have “kettle bread,” bacon, oatmeal, coffee, canned tomatoes, and sometimes rice and cooked apples. We dine from the rough table at which I now write, and are finished in less than ten minutes. We fill our canteens, saddle our horses, and “head out” up a rather treacherous trail to the top of the mesa, where we unsaddle our horses, fetter their front legs, and then descend into our cliff dwelling ruin by way of a makeshift ladder formed by binding two tree trunks together with cowboy rope.

  In the ruin we unearth relics, pottery, and other objects. My major responsibilities are to draw, take photographs, and catalogue.

  At noon we have a meal—a can of meat with bread, for with all our equipment to transport we cannot afford to bring very much with us. Then at day’s end we climb up out of our ruin with our transportable finds and return to camp, which is soon lit with the light of the campfire. Once again we dine from the breakfast menu.

  The routine is most satisfying to me. It is hard to believe I might ever tire of this life.

  Dearest Father, if only I had photographs to send you now, I do believe you would marvel at the splendid pottery we are finding, not to speak of the implements and other treasures I will describe below. Our findings strongly authenticate my earliest hopes and suspicions. The cowboy Merriwether says the pottery surpasses that made by contemporary Indians in this area of the world, and, Father, this pottery was fashioned hundreds of years ago at least. The pot and bowl meanderings are at once prehistoric and precise. I now see that I may be able to trace the formulations from primitive weaving patterns through more and more intricate pottery meanderings—something not attempted in the only recorded study of similar cliff dwellings I have found (1874). To date we have found no trace of any metal. I believe that these facts alone require my efforts as described in earlier correspondence. I fervently hope you concur.

  We are confident that this cliff village was peopled well before the Spanish visited this area in the early 1500s. We hope to begin to predict just how much earlier. Tonight, our fourth night, we are back at camp although Mr. Merriwether stayed behind to work and sleep in the ruins. A cowboy, Zack, is in charge here at our base camp. I am finding that my schooling in science and my reading, thanks in such large part to your suggestions and guidance, have prepared me to offer advice during our work. How greatly I am indebted to you. Also my training in Morse code has proven worthwhile as Merriwether has installed a helioscope on the mesa so that with a single relay mirror he is able to communicate with the ranch.

  Merriwether has graciously promised me the first duplicate of any finding, which will allow me to gather a significant collection. I am certain there is no English collection from the western United States; I suspect mine will be more valuable in England than in the United States, although of this I am not certain.

  But I must, Father, before I grow too weary to write more, tell you about the day’s major event. This I have purposely saved until last: Excavating a trash heap with the assistance of a young cowboy, I came upon an oval-shaped mound. We took to it, gently, with our shovels. When we uncovered a matted material we began working with my trowel and a wooden trowel we had fashioned, and uncovered a skeleton, probably that of a female. The skeleton was fully exposed on one side, but the remains on the other side were mummified. One hand, with several fingernails intact, was preserved. She was wrapped in a shroud of “feather cloth,” which is quite interesting in itself—Merriwether is not aware of any such cloth among present Indians. Study of this cloth alone could fill my available time here.

  This discovery increased my hopes of finding a fully preserved mummy. Beside the first mound was a second, which we also excavated. By this time others were watching us and Merriwether had to order them back to their own digging. In the second grave we found only a skeleton. But in the third, we found what we had hoped for—a complete mummy, shrouded in a network of cords wrapped in thongs of hide, and buried unflexed (according to Merriwether, an uncommon burial). A skin cap rests upon the head, over thick black hair. On the feet are moccasins and on the rest of the body are the remnants of hide clothing. I must repeat, this is a completely mummified female body. The skin is dark and very hard. There is a clearly discernible nose, and clean, yellow teeth.

  I should add that several weapons were also discovered today, including a quite precious cache of arrows.

  Dearest Father, I am feeling so very well. I believe that my enthusiasm for our work and the arid climate are working together to restore my good health.

  Give Mother my warmest regards and please tell Mary Charlotte that I hope that she is now recovered from the consumption. Please offer John Charles use of my tennis racquet until I return. He always admired it more than his own.

  I pray that you may judge favourably the requests in my recent correspondence.

  With Sincerest Regards and

  with Love, I remain

  Your faithful son,

  Andrew

  BUMPY

  When we got ready to leave White Rock Campsite to come home, Mr. Merriwether said he’d stay in the ruins for another week. There was a lot of rooms we didn’t get to, so he decided he’d stay. He kept food and one extra horse and his bedroll and the ledger. If he needs anything desperate, he can send signals by this mirror thing that he set up with a relay in line of sight with his ranch. There’s one at the ranch, too. Helioscope. You can aim it when the sun is out and send messages back and forth. He’s got it all set up with a book in a box on each end that says how to use it, and Mrs. Merriwether is learning to use the one at the ranch, so we sent some signals back and forth. It’s Morse code and it takes a long time to figure out all the letters unless you’ve done it a lot—like the telegraph
.

  We all came back the same way we went, with Zack in charge. We brought back two wagons full of pottery and other relics and the two skeletons and a full mummy woman.

  When we got back to the ranch they had fixed a feast and threw a big supper party. Juanita, the cook, and Mrs. Merriwether was in charge. It was a big change from camp, even though the trail cook, Pete, does know how to make things taste good up in the mesa, especially hedge hen and grouse, when we shoot him some.

  At the ranch, they cooked twenty rabbits along with all sorts of vegetables, and we had fruit pies and buckets of ice cream. A Mexican woman rocked the ice cream in a rocking chair on the porch—in ice chips in a washtub around water buckets of ice cream—for it to freeze. The ice was shipped in on the railroad. Indians and the Mexicans came and some of their families came, except the Indians were mostly Navajo from close by. Mudfoot and Lobo had turned off and went back to their village north of the mesa when we was coming back that way.

  We left the pottery and mummy and stuff packed in the wagons until after supper. Then we unloaded it into this little building that Mr. Merriwether has cleaned out to use as a museum, but people went out to look at the mummy all along. Mr. Merriwether would have had us unpack as soon as we got back, but Zack ain’t as strict.

  They had tables with tablecloths set up for us along the irrigation ditch under the cottonwoods. There was three Mexicans with guitars playing music on the porch, with little Jose Hombre singing sometimes. People played horseshoes, and somebody had all the children out in the field behind the house playing ring around the roses. Star and Andrew had set down on the fence that looks toward the river and started talking like they was sparking. I wish I was seven or eight years older and it would be me.