by Lou Cameron
By now they were back by Caldwell’s bedroll. The officer hunkered down to gather his gear together. “I think your idea makes sense. Just how bad is this country to the north you’re talking about? Do you think our camels can carry us across it?”
Greenberg shrugged. “Don’t know. Never took a camel into the Big Emptiness afore.”
“What did you ride up there?”
“Nothin’. Not even my own two feet. I bin around the edges some. Nobody I know of’s ever crossed it, fer as I know. Rabbit-Boss says it ain’t possible.”
“Don’t you think he knows what he’s talking about?”
“He knows what he’s talkin’ ‘bout. He jest ain’t Apache.”
A few miles to the northwest, Wee-Tshitz, last of the Sage-Grouse People, squatted on his heels in the dawn light, immobile as the Joshua tree behind him. His left-hand fingers braced him against the dew-moist gravel. His right hand lightly gripped one end of the all-purpose wand that rested on his shoulder. White people called the wand of Wee-Tshitz a digging stick, but it was more than that to him. The long-dead hands of Wovo-Kah, the medicine smith, had fashioned it with skill from bristle cone wood, gathered with the proper ceremonies from the sacred hills above the valley white men would one day call the Owens. Many flints had been retouched as the medicine smith scraped it into the proper shape. For the wood of bristle cone is hard and must be fashioned slowly and with respectful love. The long hours of patient labor had not been wasted. It was a very good wand. It was nearly as heavy and as strong as iron. It was all a Real Person needed if he followed The Way.
Wee-Tshitz felt a cramp in one leg and willed it to stop hurting. The rabbit he was after would be near by now. The path of the desert hare is circular. It hates strange landmarks and, once flushed, will run in a great circle, trying to keep to the territory it knows. If the hunter is Brother Coyote, or a man who knows the rabbit’s ways, he freezes in the spot he flushed the rabbit and waits. If he waits long enough, the rabbit will complete his circle and . ..
There was a faint movement in the cheat grass and Wee-Tshitz stopped breathing. He saw the rabbit now, its ears and quivering nose testing its small corner of the universe as it took another cautious hop along its great circle of flight. The Indian neither moved nor breathed as he waited for the rabbit to move closer. A very long time went by, and then the rabbit in its own turn froze. Wee-Tshitz read its thoughts, and before it could turn and dart away in another variation of its circular flight, he threw his wand.
The well-balanced length of hardwood flew end over end at its small target and struck, as aimed, a little low. The blunt end hit the gravel and the wand bounced, driving its sharp end through the rabbit just behind the shoulders. Wee-Tshitz bounded after it, reaching the squealing rabbit in less than a dozen strides. The Indian grabbed the small beast behind the ears, murmured, “Forgive me, cousin. My need is great,” and squeezed. The rabbit died with little pain, and Wee-Tshitz skinned and gutted it with expert fingers, then turned back to join the Blue Sleeves near the camels. He saw the two thin forms that had risen from the greasewood between him and the camp, and stopped to consider them. They were a young man and woman, naked like himself, and armed with nets and digging sticks. The man spoke Wee-Tshitz’s language as he said soberly, “That was our rabbit. Are you a Person?”
Wee-Tshitz said, “Yes. I did not see you hidden there. I would not have killed this rabbit had I known you were hunting it.”
The man stared hard at the small animal in the other’s hand and tried not to show the fear in his voice. “If you have hunger, we shall share our rabbit with you. If you intend to eat it all, you will have to kill me first.”
Wee-Tshitz said, “I am bigger than you, but I do not wish to fight you. I think you and your woman have the better claim to this meat. I would not have been hunting had I known Real People lived here.”
He held the rabbit out and the woman came to take it while her man guarded her approach with his own cocked wand. The woman was young, and pretty by the standards of her people, but she was very thin, and as he handed her the rabbit, he said, “The skin is over there if you need it. You do not look as if the hunting has been good around here.”
The woman, naturally, did not answer. She ran back to her man with the prize, and for the first time the strange Digger smiled. He said, “I think you are a good person. I meant what I said about sharing with you.”
Wee-Tshitz said, “I have less need. I am scouting for some Blue Sleeves and they have been feeding me. I desired fresh meat, but I do not really need it. I think there is little enough for the two of you.”
The man nodded, tore the rabbit in two, and without further ceremony the couple sat down to devour the raw meat. Wee-Tshitz stood where he was until they’d finished. It did not take long. He waited until the younger man could speak again, before he said, “I am searching for the trail of many Snakes. They have come from the south and have some White Eyes with them. I think they came this way, but I have not found their sign.”
The other Digger said, “You are looking in the wrong direction. We crossed the trail of many ponies yesterday.” He pointed at the rising sun with his chin. “Their trail lies over that way a half day’s walk from here. We did not see the Snakes. Just their sign. When I see pony tracks, I take another path. Why are you scouting for the Blue Sleeves. Are you not afraid of them?”
“The ones I hunt with hunt Snakes. I help them because I think this is a good thing to do. Besides, they give me food and tobacco.”
The other said, “I do. not like to be near White Eyes. Once when I was younger, my father and I went near some White Eyes to ask them for tobacco. There were many of them with a lot of wagons, and we had no weapons but our wands, but the women screamed and the men shot my father and I had to run very fast to get away. I have wondered many times why they were so afraid of us.”. .
Wee-Tshitz shrugged. “They are strange people, but I think it best to try and get along with them. We can’t make friends with the Snakes, and unless we make friends with someone, our people will go the way of the Hohokam and be nothing but ghosts. A friend I have among the White Eyes tells me we must become White Eyes ourselves, or else just vanish from the land as the Hohokam did so long ago.”
“Perhaps his words are true, but as for me, I would rather be the ghost of a Real Person than some … some thing like a White Eyes!”
Before the discussion could continue, the Digger woman suddenly hissed in terror, and all three stared at the moving forms she’d spotted to the south. Wee-Tshitz laughed and said, “Those are the Spirit Horses the Blue Sleeves I told you about use instead of ponies.”
But the couple were not listening. Both were running away in blind panic, looking for a place to hide from the awful monsters moving up from the south on those long, ungainly legs. Wee-Tshitz stared after them regretfully, for it was good to hear the language of Real People. The couple vanished as they found cover heavy enough to hide in while running in a crouch, and Wee-Tshitz turned and walked to meet the camel patrol.
The officer and Digger Greenberg spotted him, and the column swung to intercept his eastbound path. Greenberg hailed, “Where do you think you’re goin’, Old Son?” and the Indian pointed into the sunrise, saying, “Over that way. I have found the path Diablito took.”
Greenberg grinned. “Hot damn! Where is it, Rabbit-Boss?”
The Indian said, “Half a day’s walk. You were right. They mean to cross the Big Emptiness.”
Greenberg shot his Indian companion a curious look, then shrugged and asked Matt Caldwell, “What did I tell you? I knowed the rascals was headed that-away!”
Caldwell frowned. “There’s something very funny about this. How in hell does Rabbit-Boss know where the trail is if it’s over a dozen miles to the east?”
Greenberg said, “It purely beats mc, Lieutenant, but iffen he says he’s found the trail, he’s likely found the trail. Rabbit-Boss don’t hardly lie at all, and that’s a fact.”
> Caldwell signaled a column-left and reined in at Greenberg’s side, muttering, “I don’t understand this at all. I know the Indian’s good, but nobody can spot hoofprints a dozen miles away. Do you suppose he saw some dust, or something?”
“Lieutenant. You gotta understand one thing about these here Diggers. They don’t think things out like you or me. Rabbit-Boss has … well, you might call it medicine”
“You mean some sort of sixth sense?”
“Yeah, somethin’ like that. They git all sorts of feelin’s and notions like. Some folks say it’s some secret power an Injun’s jest birthed with, savvy?”
A few yards ahead, Rabbit-Boss could hear every word. He could have explained his “secret powers” had he wanted to, but he didn’t want to. None of the Blue Sleeves seemed to know it, but Indians had a sense of humor, too.
The sunrise caught Kaya-Tenay and his people on a playa, so there was little point in stopping. Kaya-Tenay led them across the dried lake bed with the hearty bravado born of desperation, for morning was the worse possible time to be out in the open on the desert. The air was crisp and clear before the earth had baked enough to make the middle distances shimmer. Nobody looking down on the playa from a ridge would see the silvery illusions of the spirit waters at this hour. They would see a long, ragged line of moving figures, as exposed as ants on the head of a big buckskin drum. The crackled surface of the sun-baked lake bottom was nearly as hard as cement, and Kaya-Tenay could only be grateful that the ponies of his people left few marks and raised no dust as they crossed in search of cover. There were many ponies now, for the remuda of the White Eyes they’d surprised around that great foolish fire had been added to Kaya-Tenay’s band, along with many rifles, some fine flannel shirts, and six bottles of the brown tequila the northern White Eyes made. There would have been more, but for some reason, Eskinya had started breaking the flat brown bottles and many had been lost before Kaya-Tenay could order him to stop. When he found cover and had the time, Kaya-Tenay intended to drink some of the brown tequila and see if he could have a vision. He found this new land confusing, and a vision or two might teach him to understand it better. The good and evil forces seemed to struggle here in this northern sector of the world. The mountains were higher and more lush than those to the south, but they were much farther apart and the flat lands between them were wider and more frightening to cross. It was hard to tell whether the gods were with you or against you up here. Kaya-Tenay was growing rich in guns and ponies as he led his people, but the ponies and people were hungry and thirsty, and last night Poinsenay had been killed by a medicine shot from a dead man. This was a very frightening thing to think about, but it had to be faced. The ghosts who dwelt in this strange basin had meant that shot as a message. Perhaps if he got gloriously drunk, Kaya-Tenay would understand its meaning.
Near the rear of the column, Eskinya asked the girl who rode behind him, “Why are you so silent? Have I said something to offend you?”
Jezebel didn’t answer for a time. Then she asked, “Why did you do those terrible things to that white man back there? You told me you didn’t hurt people unless you had to, but you lied to me. Back there last night you acted like an animal!” She frowned and added, “No, I take that back. No animal would have done the things you did to that poor man with your knife!”
Eskinya said, “I only did what I had to. Poinsenay was my kinsman and they killed him. I only opened him up a little so that Poinsenay’s wife and children could get at his entrails. It would have taken him much longer to die, had we left him and the other one entirely to the women and children.”
“That’s no excuse for what you did. Those men had a right to kill at least one of you. I mean, didn’t you kill all of them?”
“Of course. We wanted their guns and ponies. No man will give you his gun and pony unless you kill him first.”
“But who gave you the right to own all the guns and ponies in the first place? Don’t you think other people have the right to keep what’s theirs?”
“Certainly, if they are strong enough to keep us from taking it.”
“Don’t you people respect anything but brute force?”
“We see many things worthy of our respect. We see lightning on the mountaintops, the bright face of the sun as it soars across the sky, the power and the beauty of an eagle as it dives towards its prey.”
“But don’t you see anything you like in people?”
“I like my family and friends. I think I like you. I know I liked Poinsenay. That is why I tried to please his ghost by making those White Eyes pay for killing him.”
“I just don’t understand you, Eskinya. You’ve been so gentle with La Senora, her children, and me. I’ve seen you laugh when the other children teased you, and you treat your ponies like they were fluffy little kittens. Yet, last night with that knife in your hand … ”
“You should not have looked. If you had stayed back with the old yellow-haired captive and her skinny daughter, you would not have been frightened by our ways. I left you with the women, remember? It was your idea to press forward and join Poinsenay’s family as they mourned him.”
“I heard his wife screaming and went to comfort her! How was I to know I’d find her chewing on a white man’s insides like a dog?”
“What do your women do when one of their men is killed?”
“Well, we don’t carry on like wild animals! Oh, I suppose we scream and cry a lot. I suppose, if someone killed her loved ones, a white woman would kill their murderer if she had the chance. But to cut a man to bits like that and listen to him scream for hours … ”
“You speak of white women,” the Indian cut in with a puzzled frown. “You are not white. At least, you say you are not white. Have you changed your mind as to what you are?”
“Of course not. I told you I’m a black captive.”
“Then what concern is it of yours what a white woman would or would not do if someone killed her husband? You told me your people are held captive by these strangers. I should think you would like it when we killed them.”
“Well, I don’t. I’ve never hated anyone bad enough to want to see them dead.”
“Then you like to be a captive?”
“I never said that. I only said I didn’t hate the way you do.” She thought a moment as they rode on. Then she said, “When I was young and didn’t know any better, I used to dream of running away and being free. I’d heard of a place called Canada, where it was against the law to hold colored people against their will. I told myself, someday I’d go there and be free. Canada would be just like Africa, and I’d never have to do anything I didn’t want to again.”
“Why didn’t you go there?”
“Because I was afraid. They told us that white men hunted runaways for money and that our masters would whip us if we tried to be free. When I was just a baby, a black man called Nat Turner killed his master and tried to be free. They used to show us pictures of Nat Turner, hanging on a rope, all dead and rotting. They told us that was what happened to people like us if we didn’t behave.”
Eskinya shrugged. “If I had been born a black White Eyes, I think I would have killed the people who frightened you and taken you to this Canada place. Would you have liked that, Hey-Zabel?”
“I guess I would have. All but the killing. If you had been born on our plantation, I know you would have run away. I’ll bet you would have made it, too!”
“Ha! Maybe when we got to this Canada, I would have stolen many ponies and we would have been very rich. What are the ponies like in your Canada?”
“I don’t know. I never went there. But if you’d been there … Well, never mind. We’re just talking foolishly.”
Further up the column, Willy Unger felt warm and uncomfortable. The sun was shining, and he closed his eyes to snuggle deeper into the rocking softness that surrounded him. It smelled funny in the wagon bed this morning. He seemed to be sort of sitting up, and the blankets smelled of smoke and maybe corn-husks. Willy op
ened his eyes again and stared weakly up into a strange face carved from polished rosewood. Willy muttered, “Hey, you ain’t my Ma!” and two eyes as black as pools of ink met his with an expression that might have seemed tender to an Indian child. The strange woman holding him said, “Diit-ash-nleidi,” and swung her pony as Willy struggled to sit up, demanding, “Where’s my ma? I want my ma!”
Ernestine, half dozing on Digoon’s pony, heard her son’s voice and nearly fell as she sat bolt upright to scream, “Willy. Where are you?”
Nearby on Naiche’s mount, Alfrieda yelled, “I see him, Momma! He’s awake and that Injun woman’s carryin’ him back to us!”
There was a moment of confusion as Cho-Ko-Ley rode against the movement of the others to meet the recovered boy’s mother. Willy Unger was totally bewildered as he spotted his mother in the swirl, and waved and called. “What happened, Ma? Where did all these Injuns come from?”
Ernestine jumped off the pony as Cho-Ko-Ley lowered the still-weak boy to her with no expression on her broad brown face. Ernestine wrapped her arms around the child she’d given up for lost and began to cry as Willy muttered, “Aw, gee, Ma, what are you blubberin’ ‘bout?”
By this time Eskinya and Jezebel had ridden up, and the black girl jumped off to run to her mistress, asking, “Is he all right, Mizz Ernestine?”
“His fever’s broke at last! My God, I thought we’d lost him!”
“You want me to thank this Injun lady, ma’am?”
“What? What do you mean, Jezebel?”
“This lady here, ma’am. She’s Eskinya’s ma, and do I say thanks to him in Spanish, he kin tell her what you said in their own lingo.”
