THE BASKET WOMAN
FIRST STORY
The homesteader's cabin stood in a moon-shaped hollow between the hillsand the high mesa; and the land before it stretched away golden anddusky green, and was lost in a blue haze about where the riversettlements began. The hills had a flowing outline and melted softlyinto each other and higher hills behind, until the range broke in aragged crest of thin peaks white with snow. A clean, wide sky bent overthat country, and the air that moved in it was warm and sweet.
The homesteader's son had run out on the trail that led toward thespring, with half a mind to go to it, but ran back again when he saw theBasket Woman coming. He was afraid of her, and ashamed because he wasafraid, so he did not tell his mother that he had changed his mind.
"There is the mahala coming for the wash," said his mother; "now youwill have company at the spring." But Alan only held tighter to a foldof her dress. This was the third time the Indian woman had come to washfor the homesteader's wife; and, though she was slow and quiet and had apleasant smile, Alan was still afraid of her. All that he had heard ofIndians before coming to this country was very frightful, and he did notunderstand yet that it was not so. Beyond a certain point of hills onclear days he could see smoke rising from the campoodie, and though heknew nothing but his dreams of what went on there, he would not so muchas play in that direction.
The Basket Woman was the only Indian that he had seen. She would comewalking across the mesa with a great cone-shaped carrier basket heapedwith brushwood on her shoulders, stooping under it and easing the weightby a buckskin band about her forehead. Sometimes it would be a smallerbasket carried in the same fashion, and she would be filling it withbulbs of wild hyacinth or taboose; often she carried a bottle-neckedwater basket to and from the spring, and always wore a bowl-shapedbasket on her head for a hat. Her long hair hung down from under it, andher black eyes glittered beadily below the rim. Alan had a fancy thatany moment she might pick him up with a quick toss as if he had been abit of brushwood, and drop him over her shoulder into the great carrier,and walk away across the mesa with him. So when he saw her that morningcoming down the trail from the spring, he hung close by his mother'sskirts.
"You must not be afraid of her, Alan," said his mother; "she is verykind, and no doubt has had a boy of her own."
The Basket Woman showed them her white, even teeth in a smile. "This onevery pretty boy," she said; but Alan had made up his mind not to trusther. He was thinking of what the teamster had said when he had driventhem up from the railroad station with their belongings the day theycame to their new home and found the Basket Woman spying curiously inat the cabin windows.
"You wanter watch out how you behaves yourself, sonny," said theteamster, wagging a solemn jaw, "she's likely to pack you away in thatbasket o' her'n one of these days." And Alan had watched out verycarefully indeed.
It was not a great while after they came to the foothill claim that thehomesteader went over to the campoodie to get an Indian to help at fencebuilding, and Alan went with him, holding fast by his father's hand.They found the Indians living in low, foul huts; their clothes were alsodirty, and they sat about on the ground, fat and good-natured. The dogsand children lay sleeping in the sun. It was all very disappointing.
"Will they not hurt us, father?" Alan had said at starting.
"Oh, no, my boy; you must not get any such notion as that," said thehomesteader; "Indians are not at all now what they were once."
Alan thought of this as he looked at the campoodie, and pulled at hisfather's hand.
"I do not like Indians the way they are now," he said; and immediatelysaw that he had made a mistake, for he was standing directly in front ofthe Basket Woman's hut, and as she suddenly put her head out of the doorhe thought by the look of her mysterious, bright eyes that she hadunderstood. He did not venture to say anything more, and all the wayhome kept looking back toward the campoodie to see if anything came ofit.
"Why do you not eat your supper?" said his mother. "I am afraid the longwalk in the hot sun was too much for you." Alan dared not say anythingto her of what troubled him, though perhaps it would have been better ifhe had, for that night the Basket Woman came for him.
She did not pick him up and toss him over her shoulder as he expected;but let down the basket, and he stepped into it of his own accord. Alanwas surprised to find that he was not so much afraid of her after all.
"What will you do with me?" he said.
"I will show you Indians as they used to be," said she.
Alan could feel the play of her strong shoulders as they went out acrossthe lower mesa and began to climb the hills.
"Where do you go?" said the boy.
"To Pahrump, the valley of Corn Water. It was there my people werehappiest in old days."
They went on between the oaks, and smelled the musky sweet smell of thewild grapevines along the water borders. The sagebrush began to failfrom the slopes, and buckthorn to grow up tall and thicker; the windbrought them a long sigh from the lowest pines. They came up with thesilver firs and passed them, passed the drooping spruces, the wetmeadows, and the wood of thimble-cone pines. The air under them had anearthy smell. Presently they came out upon a cleared space very high upwhere the rocks were sharp and steep.
"Why are there no trees here?" asked Alan.
"I will tell you about that," said the Basket Woman. "In the old floodtime, and that is longer ago than is worth counting, the water came upand covered the land, all but the high tops of mountains. Here then theIndians fled and lived, and with them the animals that escaped from theflood. There were trees growing then over all the high places, butbecause the waters were long on the earth the Indians were obliged tocut them down for firewood. Also they killed all the large animals forfood, but the small ones hid in the rocks. After that the waters wentdown; trees and grass began to grow over all the earth, but never anymore on the tops of high mountains. They had all been burned off. Youcan see that it is so."
From the top of the mountain Alan could see all the hills on the otherside shouldering and peering down toward the happy valley of Corn Water.
"Here," said the Basket Woman, "my people came of old time in thegrowing season of the year; they planted corn, and the streams camedown from the hills and watered it. Now we, too, will go down."
They went by a winding trail, steep and stony. The pines stood up aroundand locked them closely in.
"I see smoke arising," said Alan, "blue smoke above the pines."
"It is the smoke of their hearth fires," said the Basket Woman, and theywent down and down.
"I hear a sound of singing," said the boy.
"It is the women singing and grinding at the quern," she said, and herfeet went faster.
"I hear laughter," he said again, "it mixes with the running of thewater."
"It is the maidens washing their knee-long hair. They kneel by the waterand stoop down, they dip in the running water and shake out bright dropsin the sun."
"There is a pleasant smell," said Alan.
"It is pine nuts roasting in the cones," said the Basket Woman; "so itwas of old time."
They came out of the cleft of the hills in a pleasant place by singingwater. "There you will see the rows of wickiups," said the Basket Woman,"with the doors all opening eastward to the sun. Let us sit here and seewhat we shall see."
The women sat by the wickiups weaving baskets of willow and stems offern. They made patterns of bright feathers and strung wampum about therims. Some sewed with sinew and needles of cactus thorn on deerskinwhite and fine; others winnowed the corn. They stood up tossing it inbaskets like grains of gold, and the wind carried away the chaff. Allthis time the young girls were laughing as they dried their hair in thesun. They bound it with flowers and gay strings of beads, and made theircheeks bright with red earth. The children romped and shouted about thecamp, and ran bare-legged in the stream.
"Do they do nothing but play?" said Alan.
"You shall see," said the Basket Woma
n.
Away up the mountain sounded a faint halloo. In a moment all the campwas bustle and delight. The children clapped their hands; they left offplaying and began to drag up brushwood for the fires. The women put awaytheir weaving and brought out the cooking pots; they heard the menreturning from the hunt. The young men brought deer upon theirshoulders; one had grouse and one held up a great basket of trout. Thewomen made the meat ready for cooking. Some of them took meal and madecakes for baking in the ashes. The men rested in the glow of the fires,feathering arrows and restringing their bows.
"That is well," said the Basket Woman, "to make ready for to-morrow'smeat before to-day's is eaten."
"How happy they are!" said the boy.
"They will be happier when they have eaten," said she.
After supper the Indians gathered together for singing and dancing. Theold men told tales one after the other, and the children thought eachone was the best. Between the tales the Indians all sang together, orone sang a new song that he had made. There was one of them who didbetter than all. He had streaked his body with colored earth and had aband of eagle feathers in his hair. In his hand was a rattle of wildsheep's horn and small stones; he kept time with it as he leapt and sangin the light of the fire. He sang of old wars, sang of the deer that waskilled, sang of the dove and the young grass that grew on the mountain;and the people were well pleased, for when the heart is in the singingit does not matter much what the song is about. The men beat their handstogether to keep time to his dancing, and the earth under his feet wasstamped to a fine dust.
"He is one that has found the wolf's song," said the Basket Woman.
"What is that?" asked Alan.
"It is an old tale of my people," said she. "Once there was a man whocould not make any songs, so he got no praise from the tribe, and ittroubled him much. Then, as he was gathering taboose by the river, awolf went by, and the wolf said to him, 'What will you have me to giveyou for your taboose?' Then said the man, 'I will have you to give me asong.'
"'That will I gladly,' said the wolf. So the wolf taught him, and thatnight he sang the wolf's song in the presence of all the people, and itmade their hearts to burn within them. Then the man fell down as if hewere dead, for the pure joy of singing, and when deep sleep was upon himthe wolf came in the night and stole his song away. Neither the man norany one who had heard it remembered it any more. So we say when a mansings as no other sang before him, 'He has the wolf's song.' It is agood saying. Now we must go, for the children are all asleep by theirmothers, and the day comes soon," said the Basket Woman.
"Shall we come again?" said Alan. "And will it all be as it is now?"
"My people come often to the valley of Corn Water," said she, "but itis never as it is now except in dreams. Now we must go quickly." Far upthe trail they saw a grayness in the eastern sky where the day was aboutto come in.
"Hark," said the Basket Woman, "they will sing together the coyote song.It is so that they sing it when the coyote goes home from his hunting,and the morning is near.
"The coyote cries ... He cries at daybreak ... He cries ... The coyote cries" ...
sang the Basket Woman, but all the spaces in between the words werefilled with long howls,--weird, wicked noises that seemed to hunt anddouble in a half-human throat. It made the hair on Alan's neck stand up,and cold shivers creep along his back. He began to shake, for the wildhowls drew near and louder, and he felt the bed under him tremble withhis trembling.
"Mother, mother," he cried, "what is that?"
"It is only the coyotes," said she; "they always howl about this time ofnight. It is nothing; go to sleep again."
"But I am afraid."
"They cannot hurt you," said his mother; "it is only the little graybeasts that you see trotting about the mesa of afternoons; hear themnow."
"I am afraid," said Alan.
"Then you must come in my bed," said she; and in a few minutes he wasfast asleep again.
Basket Woman: A Book of Indian Tales for Children Page 3
