Elias set aside the nearly finished lance tipped with a long curving blade from a Nakai-yi sword and ran his eyes over Beela-chezzi and me a few moments before motioning us down from our ponies. Boys ran up to take our reins and lead them away.
Elias nodded toward us. “I know the son of Juh, Kitsizil Lichoo’. If you come from Juh, you have ridden far. How are the Mescaleros called?”
Beela-chezzi, being my senior, said, “I am Beela-chezzi of the Mescaleros.” He turned toward me and said, “My brother is called Yellow Boy. He’s a Killer of Witches. He’ll speak for us.”
Elias, his face a mask of indifference, motioned us to sit. At this sign of hospitality, the warriors who had followed us to his fire disappeared into the growing darkness.
“You have hunger from your long ride. Eat first, and then we will talk.”
A woman appeared out of the wickiup with a haunch of roast venison, slices of mescal, a pot of mixed greens, potatoes, and chiles, and a basket of acorn bread. A young boy, maybe two harvests, held on to her skirt with one hand while he followed her and studied us with bright, unblinking eyes.
We had eaten only dry trail food after we left Juh’s stronghold, and the smell of the cooking sent arrows of hunger deep in our bellies. The fiery pot filled with chiles, boiled yucca leaves mixed with algerita berries, potatoes, and onions added good flavor to the meat we sliced off the haunch with our knives and to the crunchy acorn bread we held in our fingers. We filled our bellies until we could eat no more. We put our gourds aside, cleaned our knives, rubbed the grease from our mouths and hands on our legs, and rested back against our elbows while Elias took his time to finish eating and studied Beela-chezzi and me as he asked Kitsizil Lichoo’ about any news of Victorio and his raids against the Indah and the Nakai-yes.
Elias finally put his gourd to his lips, tipped it up, slurped the last of its juice, and then wiped the grease from his mouth to rub it on his legs. Another woman came and took the rest of the meal inside to the waiting women and children before she came back to clean up around the fire.
Elias pulled a small sack of tobacco from a parfleche near his tools and, dropping a few pinches of chopped tobacco into an oak leaf, rolled a cigarette. Lighting it, using a twig from his fire, he smoked to the four directions and passed it to us.
The cigarette finished, he said, “My Mescalero brothers have come far. What do they seek from Elias?”
Beela-chezzi nodded toward me to begin.
“Two harvests ago, my brother here and I lived in the camp of Cha across the great river in the mountains the Nakai-yes and Tejanos call Guadalupe. During the Season of Large Fruit, Cha went on a raid far to the south and west of the great river with most of our warriors. I was in the mountains to the west and north where Ussen gave me a vision and Power to use my rifle to send witches blind to the land of the grandfathers.
“A few days after my vision, I had a dream about a witch attacking my father’s camp. I left the mountains and rode hard to warn them and to kill it, but I was too late. The day before, a Comanche-Nakai-yi witch leading Comanches and banditos wiped out all in Cha’s camp, taking their scalps to sell to the Nakai-yes. A few women and children escaped because they were away collecting nuts and juniper berries to save for the Ghost Face Season. My grandfather, who had a stiff, crooked knee, was able to escape by hiding in the brush. No other warrior in the camp survived the attack.”
I heard Beela-chezzi sigh. I knew he still blamed himself for not being there to defend his wife and sons when the attack came. I noticed that Kitsizil Lichoo’s eyes narrowed as he followed every blink and twitch of Elias’s face. I struggled to keep the rage out of my voice, but I knew Elias heard it.
“I found those who survived and took them to the Mescalero Reservation where they would have food for the Ghost Face Season and be protected from the witch and Indah. Only Beela-chezzi and three other warriors returned to their families from Cha’s raid across the great river. All they found were the ashes of their camp and signs of the bodies I buried in the cliff talus next to the camp. Tejano Rangers killed Cha and most of the other warriors. Beela-chezzi and the others returning saw our trail toward the reservation and went there the next year after snow cleared the passes in the Season of Little Eagles.
“That year, in the Season of Many Leaves, the Blue Coats came to the reservation to take our rifles and horses. They believed the Mescaleros helped provide Victorio with warriors, supplies, and ammunition. Maybe a few did, but most stayed away from Victorio. Our little band from Cha’s camp escaped the soldiers on the reservation and crossed the great river to find the stronghold of Juh, where he told us of a witch living a long day’s ride from the stronghold. The way Juh described him, the witch looked like the one my grandfather described, a painted giant with no hair, burning, killing, and scalping.
“My warrior brother here, Beela-chezzi, another warrior, my grandfather, and I killed most of the witch’s band, but he and two Comanches got away after sending a warrior and my grandfather to the Happy Land. Three days after we returned to Juh’s stronghold, a warrior carrying a message from Victorio told Juh that, while he rested his pony in the bosque on the Río Casas Grandes, he saw a giant with no hair and two Comanches destroy three wagons filled with women and children on the trail to Casas Grandes.”
Elias’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “These are foolish men to throw away valuable captives like that. Why would the witch do that? Who knows if a witch can ever be trusted to do anything that makes sense?”
I saw Beela-chezzi’s hands resting on the top of his knees curl into angry fists, but he said nothing as I continued.
“Those wagons carried the slaves we had freed after we attacked the witch and drove him off. The warrior told Juh he heard the giant tell the Comanches to go to camp of Elias in the Blue Mountains where he would join them in three moons. We’re looking for those Comanches, and we ask if they’ve come here. That’s all I have to say.”
While I spoke, the eyes of Elias never left my face, and I looked straight into his. The frogs in the water and peepers on the trees and the night crickets began their songs and sang above the rush of rolling water. Kitsizil Lichoo’ and Beela-chezzi sat in the shadows cast by the wavering flames and studied us both. I heard a child laugh, and I wondered if maybe Elias also laughed at us in secret. A voice spoke in my mind and told me not to trust him.
Elias stared into the fire a few moments and slowly shook his head. He turned to us, his arms crossed, his eyes looking away from mine to stare at the stars above the black ridgeline behind me.
“No Comanches came to my camp. If they had, I would tell you. You have the right to face them warrior-to-warrior and take your revenge. I’ve heard of Sangre del Diablo, a very powerful warrior and witch. Juh fears him, and so do I. You did well against him, even if you didn’t kill him and lost two of your brothers. Stay and wait for his Comanches. You’re welcome here. Perhaps you can teach us all to shoot better.”
Beela-chezzi said, “Elias is generous with his offer. We have women and children in the camp of Juh and must speak together to decide if we can wait. Tonight we’ll rest in your camp. With the sunrise, we’ll speak with you about what we’ll do.”
Elias nodded. “Beela-chezzi is wise. The first wickiup by the trail coming in is empty. Spread your blankets there. I’ll send women with wood for your fire. Come for a meal at my fire when the sun rises. We’ll speak then about what you have decided.”
“Elias is a great chief and generous to guests in his rancheria. We’ll come again when there is new light for the day.”
We left Elias’s fire and walked back down the trail to the wickiup he offered us. As soon as we were out of his hearing, Beela-chezzi said under his breath, “Elias fears the witch. He lies.”
Two women, saying nothing, came, started a fire, and left us enough wood to keep it burning through the night. We spread our blankets, sat down, and enjoyed the bright, yellow heat in the cold, black air. I lighted a cigar
ro, and after we smoked, I said, “Why do you think Elias lies?”
Beela-chezzi said, “He watched you the way a rattlesnake watches a rabbit. He lies, but I don’t know why. I know he fears the witch. Maybe he thinks if he provides him cover from us, the witch won’t scalp him or witch his people.”
I nodded. “I think you speak true. Somehow, we must learn his true mind.”
Kitsizil Lichoo’ smiled and said, “Wait until the fire burns down. I’ll go bush crawling to a widow I know and consider for a wife. I’ll learn what happens in this camp when I lie on her blanket.”
The ashes in our fire were cold and the stars had turned around the North Star past the middle of the night. We heard the grass and twigs under Kitsizil Lichoo’s blanket crackle before he slid its wool over his body and wrapped it close around his shoulders and neck. Beela-chezzi spoke into the cold blackness, “The widow speaks more than sighs at your coming?”
“She sighed plenty at my coming. After we took our pleasures, she whispered her secrets to me.”
My mind awoke from its daze at the edge of sleep, stirred by the bait of his words. “Tell us!”
He leaned in close to us and spoke softly. “She says the Comanches left yesterday at the time of shortest shadows. The only trail they know to the camp comes in from the north and is the one they follow back to Casas Grandes. That is why we did not see them on the trail here from the south. They told Elias they would return with Sangre del Diablo and more warriors in three moons and how to find them in Casas Grandes if there was news for them. Elias thinks the witch will attack and try to wipe out his camp for scalps to sell for Nakai-yi peshklitso (gold), and the easiest way to stop an attack is to tell the witch where we are. Elias sends a rider to Casas Grandes tomorrow.”
Beela-chezzi grunted, “Hmmph. How does she know all this? How does she know that he sends a rider to Casas Grandes and that he truly fears the witch?”
I heard Kitsizil Lichoo’ snort and give a low-throated laugh. “Hah! Her mother is second wife to Elias, and her wickiup is next to the one where Elias sleeps. Tonight all his wives sat in the big wickiup listening to Elias in council. Children were playing their war games around the wickiups, whooping and laughing. My woman and I had only to be quiet while we enjoyed each other. I, too, heard most of the council when I lay with her.”
I laughed with Beela-chezzi, and Kitsizil Lichoo’ and said, “Apache women do like warriors with red hair. Enjuh. Tomorrow, let’s tell Elias we need to return to the stronghold but will return in two moons to wait for Sangre del Diablo; he’s already said we’re welcome to wait.
“We’ll leave after we speak to Elias and wait up the trail to see the rider before taking a short trail across the Blue Mountains. If we ride hard, we can get in front of him and wait for him near Casas Grandes. That way we can follow him to the house of the witch’s woman.”
They grunted, agreeing with me, and Beela-chezzi said, “It’s a good plan.”
CHAPTER 4
SANGRE DEL DIABLO
After we left his camp, Elias had a warrior follow us. When the shadows were shortest, the warrior disappeared. I took the Shináá Cho (literally, Big Eye—a telescope) and ran back down the trail to watch Elias’s camp while Beela-chezzi and Kitsizil Lichoo’ waited with the ponies in the trees on top of a high ridge. I ran the trail faster on foot than the warrior who had trailed us on a horse and nearly beat him back to the camp of Elias.
From the trees on the ridge above the camp, I watched the warrior speak with Elias. When he finished, Elias called to another warrior, who carried a single-shot rifle with a long barrel like those the Blue Coats used. He wore a holstered revolver backwards the way I’d seen Indah wear them at trading posts. He had an ammunition belt across his chest and shoulder, and wore his hair in one long braid that reached to his waist.
Elias spoke with him awhile and then listened with crossed arms as the warrior seemed to repeat what he heard Elias say. I saw Elias nod and then motion the warrior toward a trail along the canyon wall to the northeast, the same trail the Comanches had followed. The warrior’s pony, big and red with a white blaze on its nose and a white right foot, made it easy to know the rider and the pony. I ran back up the trail to my friends before he rode the opposite trail out of the canyon.
We waited behind rocks on a ridge above Río Casas Grandes, taking turns using the Shináá Cho to study riders on the trail by the bosque. Directly below us, next to the trail, lay the burned remains of the wagons that had carried the women and children we had freed from the witch. The unburned pieces of the wagon frames looked like big black bones sticking up from a grave, and mingled with them were the real burned bones of those women and children. I stared at the black place for a long time, wondering if the bones would ever have their revenge, their justice. I hoped that Ussen would guide my bullets so Sangre del Diablo paid the full price for the evil he had done and that soon his bones too would burn.
A day and a night passed before we saw Elias’s rider in late morning light, staying off the trail but still following the river toward Casas Grandes. We waited and then followed him, keeping the river bosque between him and us. He rode past Casas Grandes but soon stopped at the gate of a small hacienda east of the village. Two Comanches came through the gate, rifles cocked, motioning him to dismount. He put his hands where they could see them, swung a leg over his saddle horn, and slid off his pony. The rider and Comanches talked awhile, and then one of the Comanches went inside and returned with a scowling Sangre del Diablo. He stood with crossed arms listening to the rider from Elias, the red thunder in his face growing as he heard the message. With the Shináá Cho, I could see past the gate and into the front of the hacienda compound where a young Indian-Mexican woman, tall and built well for having children, paced in the wall shadows with a baby in her arms.
All three of our enemies and Elias’s rider stood together in front of me. I wanted to shoot, but the rider from Elias kept moving around and getting in the way, and I did not want to risk killing him. We didn’t need enemies in the camp of Elias, and the range was too far for a certain shot with the evening breeze off the hills swirling the weeds and grass. If I missed, I’d scatter Sangre del Diablo and his Comanches across the llano like quail seeing a coyote. I thought, Patience. Patience. Ussen will give them to you. Then Sangre del Diablo lowered his head, as though in thought, and walked back inside the hacienda compound. The Comanches led the Elias rider into the compound and closed the gate.
We waited. The sunset, a great blazing fire burning the sky black, left a long twilight trail, but the hacienda gate stayed closed. Toward the east a golden white glow was forming behind the mountains for a full moon rising.
Beela-chezzi said, “We need to be ready to ride. Comanches like to raid under big moons.”
Kitsizil Lichoo’ grimaced and scowled. He didn’t like to ride at night. It was always dangerous to ride in the dark.
The moon big and glowing white floated above the distant mountains, bringing soft light and stark shadows. Slowly the hacienda gates swung open, and Elias’s rider rode out toward the west and the Blue Mountains, but he used a different trail than that through the bosque along the river. The two Comanches rode north back up the Río Casas Grandes. Sangre del Diablo, on a big black stallion, rode with them until just past Casas Grandes before turning east toward the great river.
As we mounted, I said to Beela-chezzi, “Ussen gave me the Power to kill witches. The witch is mine. The Comanches are yours. I’ll meet you at the stronghold after our work is finished.”
Beela-chezzi nodded. “Take the witch, and satisfy us all with his blood.”
He turned to Kitsizil Lichoo’ and asked, “Will you help us, brother?”
Kitsizil Lichoo’ nodded. “I’ll help my brothers. These Comanches one day will dare attack our people. They must die.”
We rode up out of the bosque. On the moonlit llano, there was enough light to see dust streamers from the riders disappearing in the cold, black sha
dows in the distance, and we took up the chase. I knew that if Sangre del Diablo got across the great river too far in front of me, I could probably never catch him in the land of the Tejanos. It was unfamiliar land to me, and many more Indah rode the land than Nakai-yes in Chihuahua. I was much more likely to be seen or caught in the land of the Indah. I made it my goal to take him before he crossed the river. I had to take him before then. It was a matter of pride. I listened to my anger and not the head Ussen gave me, but I knew I had to be careful. If the witch saw me coming, he would wait in ambush and kill me.
CHAPTER 5
RACE TO THE GREAT RIVER
The land toward the great river east of Casas Grandes is hard, rocky, llano covered with cactus, creosote, and mesquite, great white sandy playas, and black mountains the old ones say were made in valleys of fire, leaving big rock cinders that cut you when you touch them unaware of their knife-sharp edges. The easiest, but longer, way to reach the great river from Casas Grandes is to ride north and then east and trail around the mountains and playas to the village on the great river, the one the Nakai-yes call El Paso del Norte, where the Indah live on the north side and the Nakai-yes on the south. Sangre del Diablo didn’t take that trail. After a short ride north, he turned east to follow a dry, shallow arroyo toward a star-filled notch between two black bumps, mountains in the night. I hung far back as I trailed him. The bright moonlight let me see and follow the dust cloud kicked up by the big black in the cold, still air as he loped in long, easy strides that ate up the distance.
I thought of many things as I followed the witch. I wanted to use the Power the great Creator God, Ussen, had given me to help my People and be a Killer of Witches with my Yellow Boy Henry rifle, a rifle with pesh-klitso (yellow iron) around its trigger and loading lever. With my gift of Power, I could shoot out a witch’s eyes with that rifle and send him blind to the land of the grandfathers. As I wound past mesquite, creosote, cactus, and ocotillo growing on the banks of the arroyo, images drifted through my mind of the night my father, Caballo Negro, gave me my first real bow and a buckskin quiver filled with arrows made by my grandfather, He Watches. That same night, He Watches also gave me the sharp knife I still carried. The next day, I began my warrior training. Caballo Negro had spoken to me about becoming a warrior. First, I had to learn to hunt. I had to discipline myself to wait a long time unmoving for a one-shot kill. I had to know the habits of the animals I hunted and have more patience and be more knowledgeable than an animal in its own territory. Now, I hunted the most dangerous animal of all, the witch, Sangre del Diablo, who had already killed my father, over three harvests earlier, and then He Watches, my friend Klo-sen, and nearly me almost a moon ago.
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