Blood of the Devil

by W. Michael Farmer

  I pulled a grass stem to chew and, rocking back on my heels where I squatted, said, “How should we take him? He’s a guest of Elias. Elias fears the witch and will not give up the Comanche unless we make him.”

  Kitsizil Lichoo’, still staring through the Shináá Cho, nodded and said, “What you say is true. Elias would kill us before he let us kill the Comanche, regardless of our claims against him. The Comanche will hunt to help them and pay his keep until the witch comes. Let us wait until he leaves to hunt and then take him. In Elias’s eyes, he just disappeared, and he can tell that with a clear eye to the witch.”

  Beela-chezzi nodded. “Hmmph. My brother speaks wise words. Let us watch the camp for a while and follow when the Comanche leaves. When he is alone, I’ll kill him with my knife.”

  I nodded. Beela-chezzi was the best I had ever watched in a fight with knives. He could have killed many of the men in Cha’s camp but always let his opponent live. “My brothers speak well. Let us watch and wait.”

  For three nights, patient hunters waiting for an animal to move, we slept in the pine straw, ate trail food, and quietly watched the camp with the Shináá Cho. Early on the morning of the fourth day, when the birds began to whistle in the gloom of the canyon, the Comanche left the rancheria, walked down to the brush fence corral, saddled a brown and white pinto, and rode off downstream. We followed, staying in the cover of the tall trees on the high ridges above him.

  Three ridges downstream, he rode up toward the ridgeline on the opposite side. Near that ridgeline’s top, we saw a place nearly bare of tall trees covered in grass growing tall and golden. With the Shináá Cho, I saw signs of deer, patches of grass cropped close, and bent grass mashed into resting places scattered across the meadow. Beela-chezzi and Kitsizil Lichoo’ looked over the spot. Without saying anything, they handed me their reins and, taking their rifles, disappeared into the brush down the ridge toward the bottom of the canyon. This Comanche would not escape us again. I waited.

  On top of the ridge across the stream, the Comanche rode to the southern end of the meadow, dismounted, and hobbled his pony in the thin grass growing in the shadows of the tall trees. He moved up the ridge a short distance and sat down on a large, flat rock to wait, his legs crossed and rifle lying across his knees. From where he sat, he had a clear view of the meadow grass and the deer trails leading into it.

  I carefully kept glints off the Shináá Cho while I followed the progress of Beela-chezzi and Kitsizil Lichoo’ up the ridge to close on the Comanche who sat peacefully with his face tilted toward the bright, late morning sun.

  I watched and waited. The Comanche suddenly looked from the sky to Kitsizil Lichoo’ who, as if by magic, suddenly stood not twenty paces in front of him, his rifle cocked and pointed at the Comanche’s middle. They spoke, but were too far away for me to hear their voices, much less understand them. The Comanche took the rifle off his knees, laid it on the ground beside him, and slowly stood, his hands open and in front of his belly where Kitsizil Lichoo’ could easily see them. They waited, staring at each other, not moving, two statues in the wilderness.

  Beela-chezzi came down from the top of the ridge and entered the Shináá Cho circle of seeing. He spoke to the Comanche, who nodded, and laughing, pulled off his deerskin shirt and drew a big, long, knife from a sheath behind his back. Beela-chezzi drawing his knife, its blade shorter than the Comanche’s but reflecting the sunlight like a mirror, spoke to Kitsizil Lichoo’, stood his rifle against a nearby boulder, and advanced to face the Comanche standing on the big flat rock.

  They circled, each carefully watching the other. I knew that one little mistake and he who made it was dead. Their fighting styles could not have been more different. The Comanche, his teeth clenched in an ugly grin, circled in a high crouch. His knife flipping easily between his left and right hands, weaving first one way and then another, slowly moving back and forth like a snake trying to hypnotize a bird. Beela-chezzi stood straight and relaxed, leaning slightly forward on the balls of his feet, arms dangling at his sides, his knife held lightly in the fingers of his left hand, his eyes locked on the Comanche’s eyes.

  The Comanche circled twice and another half turn before making a flashing thrust for Beela-chezzi’s belly, but Beela-chezzi was already moving back left and to the side of the thrust as it flew by. His knife was faster than my eye could follow. A cut appeared on the Comanche that began at his belly and left a fine bead of blood up to his collarbone. The Comanche stepped back and continued to circle. He made a couple of thrusting feints that Beela-chezzi easily dodged. The bright red line from his belly to the Comanche’s collarbone grew from a scratch’s trickle to the flow of a deep cut across gut and muscle. I knew it had to weaken him. Even from where I sat, I could see the Comanche was in trouble. He feinted left and then swung his blade right in a slashing loop that just missed Beela-chezzi’s throat. Again, the response from Beela-chezzi was blindingly fast. He cut the Comanche again, this time horizontally across the top of his belly. There was blood on Beela-chezzi, but I couldn’t tell if it was his or the Comanche’s.

  They closed, each grabbing the other’s knife wrist with his free hand and staggered back and forth trying to gain an advantage to drive their blade into their opponent. The Comanche threw a leg behind Beela-chezzi and, tripping him backwards, fell on top of him. The Comanche’s blood-covered wrist slid out of Beela-chezzi’s grasp, and his long blade slashed forward to stab into the stone where Beela-chezzi’s head had lain only a moment before. At the same time, Beela-chezzi freed his knife wrist from the Comanche’s weakening grip. I saw it flash in the sun before it stabbed deep into the Comanche’s side, just below his ribs, and jerked up to release a shower of pulsing blood. The Comanche arched his back, grimaced with clenched teeth, and collapsed on Beela-chezzi. Neither warrior moved for a few moments that seemed longer than many seasons, and then Beela-chezzi rolled him off and staggered to stand, smeared and dripping from his face to his legs with dark red blood. He raised his hands still holding his knife and turned toward the sun singing a song of praise to Ussen for a great victory.

  They left the Comanche as he fell, took his rifle, bullets, and pony, and began making their way down through the brush and oaks to the stream in the bottom of the canyon. Two great black birds already circled high overhead, and before my brothers joined me, many more filled the sky. Beela-chezzi stopped at the stream and washed the Comanche’s blood from his body before jumping from one big boulder to the next in the fast flow to get to the other side. I studied him with the Shináá Cho, but I saw no wounds. I never knew another warrior, fighting with a knife, who had killed his opponents or made them surrender and yet never got cut himself.

  Ever careful, in case someone from Elias’s camp had wandered on to the ridge, Kitsizil Lichoo’ covered Beela-chezzi with his rifle and waited until Beela-chezzi got to the other side to cover him when he crossed.

  When Beela-chezzi and Kitsizil Lichoo’ climbed the ridge back to me, I said, “Ho! The great warriors return. Only the witch remains for our vengeance. You’ve done well. Are you cut anywhere?”

  Beela-chezzi shook his head. “The Comanche knew how to take scalps, but not how to fight with his knife.” He looked up and saw the steadily darkening cloud of buzzards. “Let’s return to our wives and children while the black birds feed on the bones of the evil one I have sent to the land of the grandfathers.”

  CHAPTER 12

  DELGADITO RETURNS

  Season of Earth is Reddish Brown brought cold nights and cool bright days. Juanita, swollen to bursting with our first child, moved slowly, but never complained as the women finished their final stores for the Ghost Face Season. She even spent time teaching my mother’s adopted child, Lucky Star, how to be accurate with a sling and to shoot the little bow with reed arrows I made for her. My mother made a wise choice adopting Lucky Star, for the little girl worked hard to help her, learned the language of the People, and stayed quiet. After her puberty ceremony, she ought to bring
a good bride price and be a dutiful daughter with a husband who could support them. Most of the time now, Sons-ee-ah-ray used her to keep an eye on my three-year-old brother, called Little Rabbit by my father.

  One day I sat on a blanket in the season’s brilliant light repairing arrows and making new ones. The oldest boy in camp, Ish-kay-neh, ran up the path toward me from the stronghold cliffs facing the rising sun. Lucky Star, who was at least six summers younger than he, was right on his heels. Ish-kay-neh called, “Killer of Witches! A rider comes on the trail toward the stronghold. I believe he rides like a Mescalero, but it’s too far to tell.”

  Lucky Star joined him and said, “He rides a paint pony.”

  I thought, a Mescalero? Who can this be?

  I pointed her to my tipi. “Go. Ask Juanita for my Shináá Cho, and bring it to me.”

  I said to Ish-kay-neh, “Show me this Mescalero you see riding for the stronghold.”

  I let Lucky Star carry the Shináá Cho as we trotted down the trail to the cliffs. When we reached the cliff lookout, she handed it to me, and she and Ish-kay-neh pointed toward a small dust streamer with a large black dot in front of it approaching the switchback trail up the side of the mountain. I studied the rider and decided he was Apache, and the way he sat his saddle said maybe he was Mescalero. I was amazed that the children next to me could discern the rider was Mescalero without the power of the Shináá Cho before their eyes. I watched as he approached, and I believed I knew who it was.

  “Ish-kay-neh, run back to the camp and find Kah. I think I saw him working on a saddle near his tipi. Say that I ask he come see this rider.”

  The boy was off up the trail before the last words were out of my mouth. While we waited, I showed Lucky Star the great power of the Shináá Cho. She was so impressed, she spent the rest of the day looking through her curled fingers trying to make things look larger. I decided to find her a little Shináá Cho when we left the stronghold.

  Using the Shináá Cho, Kah stared at the growing dot. I could tell from his clenched teeth that he thought the rider was the same warrior I had guessed. Delgadito, the warrior Deer Woman had expected to take her as first wife.

  Kah said, “I knew this day must come. I just hoped we would have a child before he came back. Do you think Deer Woman still wants him?”

  I shook my head. “Deer Woman isn’t a crazy girl anymore. She’s a grown woman who should have been married years ago. She has you now and knows she and her mother have done much better with you than with Delgadito.”

  “Then why do you think he left Victorio? He was a good killer on those raids. Now he comes here thinking he will let Deer Woman give him some comfort and leave again?” Kah’s jaw muscles rippled in fury. “If he goes near her or says anything bad about her, I’ll kill him in front of everyone like Beela-chezzi killed the Comanche.”

  “Hmmph. Give her a chance to prove herself to you. I think she wants to do that. If she turns to her old ways, then kill Delgadito, cut off her nose, and kick her out.”

  “Aashcho speaks wise words. I’ll let Deer Woman prove herself.”

  Ish-kay-neh and Lucky Star sat nearby and kept their silence, but I could tell from the solemn look on the boy’s face he had heard every word.

  It was close to the time of shortest shadows when the struggling paint pony cleared the trail to the top of the stronghold, and a weary, bedraggled Delgadito slid from his back. Kah and I were there to meet him and to tell him Kah’s news before we went to the camp.

  He held up his hand in greeting. “D’anté, brothers! I have traveled far and bring news.”

  I frowned and said, “D’anté, brother. We can see you’ve ridden far and know you have been gone many moons. What have you come to tell us?”

  Delgadito looked at the ground and shook his head. “Nakai-yi soldiers have wiped out Victorio and most of his fighting men at the place of little mountains the Nakai-yes call Tres Castillos. Only a few warriors scouting away from the camp and Nana, who searched for ammunition, escaped. I returned in time to see the black birds and coyotes feasting on many warriors gone to the Happy Land of the grandfathers. I came here to tell Juh and to ride with him in vengeance against the Mexicans.”

  Kah, his face grim, slowly shook his head. “Juh isn’t here. He’s joined Geronimo at San Carlos. We’re here waiting until the Blue Coats leave the Mescalero reservation. We’re ready for the Ghost Face Season. Stay with us. There’s a tipi for you, and food enough if you hunt.”

  Delgadito puffed his cheeks and blew as if it were his last breath. He thought for a while and then said, “I never thought Juh or Geronimo would go back to San Carlos. I’ll stay with you through the winter and maybe go back to the reservation.” He grinned. “Where’s Deer Woman? She’ll keep me warm in the Ghost Face Season.”

  Kah kept his face a mask without a hint of what I knew he was feeling. “Deer Woman is in our tipi. She’s my wife. If you stay here, respect that. If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

  Delgadito grinned and sneered, “You’ll kill no one . . .” He saw my hand close around the lever ring on my rifle. “There’ll be no need. Only . . . how could you give a bride price for her when there are no half ponies?”

  I saw Kah’s hand curl around his knife handle. “Her bride price was four ponies. She was worth every one. I would have given more if I’d had them.”

  Delgadito snickered and said, curling his lower lip, “Yes, she’s good . . . I enjoyed her very much.”

  I knew what Delgadito was trying to do, and I saw the color rising in Kah’s neck and face and his hand tighten on his knife handle. Delgadito had his hand behind his back, and I was certain it held a weapon of some kind, maybe a pistol, since he had just come from raiding with Victorio. I cocked my rifle and poked it against Delgadito’s chest. His eyes instantly swung from Kah’s to mine, and he knew I meant business. His hands flew up in surrender. I said, “Deer Woman belongs to Kah now. You’ll stay away from her and speak of her with respect. If you don’t, you’ll wander in the Happy Land without eyes. That’s all I have to say. It’s all you need to know to be welcome here.”

  Delgadito’s face turned the color of cold, gray ashes. He looked from me to Kah and said with palms out, “I’ll speak no more evil of your wife.”

  Kah nodded and let his hand slide off the sheath of his knife.

  The boy Ish-kay-neh had long since alerted the rest of the band that the warrior Delgadito was returning. The women continued to work, and the children played and helped them. All the while, they kept an eye on the path, waiting to greet the warrior who had ridden off to attack the Indah and Nakai-yes with Victorio. When we appeared, coming down the path, the women made a thin line on both sides and Beela-chezzi, now the elder in our band, waited at the end of the path.

  They sang, “Our warrior comes. Our great warrior returns from war. Our great warrior comes down the path to us.”

  We stopped in front of Beela-chezzi, who said, “Our warrior returns from war. We welcome him. What is the news of Victorio’s war?”

  Delgadito slowly turned and looked at every face, his face sad and defeated.

  “The war is no more. The Nakai-yes have wiped out our great chief at the place they call Tres Castillos. Only a few escaped. I was out scouting the country, looking for Blue Coats, and Nana was away looking for ammunition when it happened. Only a few others survived. I ask to stay through the Ghost Face Season with you. I’ll hunt and bring in fresh meat while we wait for the Season of Many Leaves.”

  The younger children said nothing, but Ish-kay-neh and Moon on the Water, Juanita’s little sister who was ten harvests, understood what Delgadito was telling us and looked at the ground to hide their sadness. The grown women covered their mouths as though their spirits might fly away

  Beela-chezzi slowly shook his head and then said, “We’re your People. You’re welcome here. Stay with us as long as you need. The women are nearly finished storing supplies for the Ghost Face Season. They’ll help you with a tipi w
hen they finish. We’re glad you weren’t sent to the Happy Land with the great chief, Victorio. Eat at my fire tonight. I would hear more of what happened to him.”

  Delgadito said, “I thank the People for their care.”

  Deer Woman stood just behind the left shoulder of Kah, her face solemn, jaw slightly tilted up with pride, and her arms crossed. She didn’t look away when Delgadito looked at her, but there were no hidden messages in her eyes. Delgadito’s gaze did not linger at her and passed on to another.

  CHAPTER 13

  KICKING WREN COMES

  Smoke from the orange coals in our tipi’s fire pit drifted up and out into the black night filled with stars beyond counting. Juanita and I lay together under blankets sharing warmth between our bodies and our unborn child. We were content. The whole camp had feasted the return of Delgadito. It was a good thing to have another warrior in camp, especially during the Ghost Face Season, who could hunt and help provide fresh meat and protection against enemies who might come upon us. It was a good feast. At the feast, there had been no stolen glances, nothing to suggest the old days, between Deer Woman and Delgadito.

  Juanita squeezed my arm as the baby moved. “Ummph. I think your son comes soon.”

  “Are you sure it’s a boy? A daughter will also make me glad. You’ll have help from a daughter when you’re an old woman, and I’ll have grandsons nearby. A son rides to his wife’s lodge, sometimes far away.”

  “It’s a boy who jumps inside me on my bladder. Our mothers say no girl kicks this much. Ummph!”

  She turned, trying to find a better position in which to rest her belly and quiet the kicking child.

  “What do you think of Delgadito’s return? Do you think Deer Woman still wants him? Will he break his word to Kah and me so that we have to kill him and Kah will have to cut off the end of her nose?”