by Vella Munn
After Blue Swallow had finished, Drums No More said, “Once I was a young man who thought nothing of traveling wherever I wanted, and we all know the hard lesson I learned. Now I see only Navajo faces and walk on Navajo land and my heart is full. Navajo wisdom and belief is enough for me. We are Dineh, the People. Sun, Moon, and First Man brought the Dineh into this, our final world. Us, no one else.”
“But we share the earth with other tribes, the Hopi among them.”
Although he shook his head, Drums No More looked troubled. “Do our dry paintings heal or guide others than the Navajo? No. Did the Hero Twins appear to other tribes? No. Only we ascended to the surface world through the Hole of Emergence. Only we are guided by the Rainbow Way.”
“Yes,” Cougar agreed, “and only we are plagued by chindi and ghosts. Perhaps in that, we should share with other tribes.”
His attempt at humor failed. Scowling, Drums No More pointed out that someone who walks the Beautiful Way of the Rainbow knows he’s on the right path. Cougar, he suggested, questioned the Way because he’d absented himself from too many songs and ceremonies recently, and because he’d allowed himself to get close to a Hopi.
“They are not us,” Drums No More said solemnly. “Only the Navajo were created by Changing Woman. All others walk their walk just as the Dineh walk theirs.”
In an effort to calm himself, Cougar ran his fingers over the ground, reminding himself that the first Navajo had dwelled beneath the surface and their memories were still there for him to take strength from.
“You say Changing Woman fashioned us and no one else.” Looking up, he fixed his gaze on his grandfather’s ruined arm. “That is so, but the path of the Navajo and Hopi walk have become the same.”
“Our feet are not imprisoned like the Hopi. We can—”
“Yes, we can run and perhaps that is what we will do, but, Grandfather, there is one among the Hopi who has long walked in your footprints as you have in his.”
Drums No More started to shake his head, but Cougar stopped him.
“He is like a grandfather to Morning Butterfly. When she was here, she knew the truth of your nights because the nights of someone she loves are the same.”
The old man’s lips thinned, but his eyes told him to continue.
“I wish you no disrespect. I would never do that, but things are happening which never have before. You say we should not reach out to the Hopi because we are different, but the Spanish made you and One Hand the same. Your pain was the same, your nightmares are twins of each other’s, your views of the future—”
“One Hand?” Drums No More interrupted.
His eyes never leaving his grandfather’s, Cougar nodded. “He, too, was at Acoma. I say that made him your brother, but only you can decide if he truly is.”
• • •
“I still do not understand how you propose to get the Navajo to come here,” Gregorio said. “Why they should risk their freedom for one Hopi woman—”
Anger burned a hole in the pit of Lopez’s stomach, but he forced himself to speak in a measured tone. “I already told you, one of their leaders fancies himself in love with her. When I parade her about in chains, he will no doubt hear of it—if he does not already know. He will try to rescue her—and he will not be alone.”
“I am not a military man, but I am a student of battle and I know how often deaths are a consequence of such actions. I need live bodies, not dead ones.”
“I have no intention of sacrificing my men,” Lopez pointed out. “Besides, Cougar and his warriors are not my primary target. Let them ‘rescue’ her. In the meantime”—he allowed himself a smile, which was doubly gratifying because Morning Butterfly could see it—“in the meantime, my men and I will be surrounding the Navajo village.”
Gregorio, who’d appeared more interested in the state of his nails than what his son-in-law had been saying, stopped his perusal of his thumb. “You know where it is?”
“Of course. When the warriors arrive here, they will find only Hopi and a frightened padre all too willing to release her. By the time the Navajo realize what has happened, it will be too late and you will have the slaves you require. The savages will need to be taught what is expected of them, but you have experience in that regard.”
“Indeed I do,” Gregorio said with a small, satisfied smile.
Morning Butterfly was so still and silent that she reminded Lopez of a statue, or she would have if life hadn’t taught him to take nothing and no one for granted. In the two days since he’d initially sketched his plan to Gregorio, she hadn’t said more than a half dozen words. Although she often looked longingly at the tent flap, he’d kept her inside except when he took her out so she could relieve herself, not because he was afraid she’d try to run away, but because there was considerable advantage in keeping her isolated from her people—and to hell with what the padre thought.
What frustrated him was that he’d wanted to implement his strategy from the moment it occurred to him, but he’d been unable to fully garner Gregorio’s attention until now because the pompous, self-assured man had made surveying the countryside and scratching certain itches a priority. In the meantime, he’d refined his plan.
“So,” he said, “you agree that my course is the prudent one. I may not be able to hand you male Navajo in their prime, but they prove to be the most troublesome anyway. Females and youth, and the horses the savages stole from us are another matter.”
“Females can have more than one use. All right,” Gregorio said with finality. “You are right that we would alienate the Church by taking Hopi. As a result of the time I have spent with the padre . . .”
Although his father-in-law continued to talk, Lopez didn’t listen. His skin crawled; no matter how many times he’d checked to see if insects were on it, he saw nothing. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his flesh had been invaded by something alien. He hated inactivity, no more than he did right now, and that might be responsible. Still . . .
Did he really give a damn whether his father-in-law had the slaves he insisted he needed? Bringing the Navajo to their knees would give him great satisfaction, but beyond that . . .
Why had he believed Cougar when the miserable savage told him there were emeralds at the great canyon? As far as he’d been able to ascertain, there weren’t any. And yet the canyon’s rock walls had looked so promising. If only he could return.
“Are you listening to me?”
“What?” Lopez asked, startled.
“I said—never mind. What is more important is whether you will be able to lead your men in a successful raid on the Navajo village.”
“You doubt my leadership?”
Gregorio stood. “Lopez, I would not have accomplished what I have in life if I took anything at face value, and since you asked, I am not fully convinced of your ability to succeed.”
“My men and I would already be attacking the Navajo village if I had been able to garner your attention,” he said. He got to his feet and stalked over to Morning Butterfly.
“I hate you,” she hissed. “I wish you dead.”
“Wish all you want; it is not going to happen,” he retorted.
“You took my sister’s virginity from her, raped her again and again. That is not the Hopi way.”
“I am not a Hopi! Never was and never will be.”
He yanked her after him, and if his grip on her wrist was so tight that it caused her to gasp, so much the better. He’d already decided to secure her to the stake he’d used to imprison Cougar, and with his mind on how long it would take his men to reach the Navajo village while staying concealed, he paid little attention to his surroundings. However, when Morning Butterfly said something in Hopi, he looked around to see who she was talking to.
More than a hundred Hopi stood within easy speaking distance. A number were women, but the majority were men, some gripping the crude tools they used to work the land, others holding knives. How they’d gotten so close without him knowing ga
ve him a moment of disquiet, but there wasn’t time to think about that.
“What is this about?” he demanded of Morning Butterfly as Gregorio joined him.
“Ask them,” Morning Butterfly said, and there was no mistaking the challenge in her voice.
“You know I cannot—what is this about?” he repeated, belatedly remembering he had a hold on her and there was no better bargaining chip. “If you want to go on living, you will tell me.”
Instead of immediately supplying the answer, she spoke to several Hopi men, and he noted that most of her comments were directed toward the elderly man missing his right hand. He’d initially been of the opinion that the Hopi were little more than sheep because they were so easily dominated, but only a fool would think that now. There was something dangerous in the way they looked at him, and they held themselves not like sheep, but more like wolves.
He’d just noted that Fray Angelico was standing off to himself but within earshot when Morning Butterfly switched to Spanish.
“They will not allow me to remain your prisoner,” she told him. “And they have come to tell you and de Barreto that they would rather be killed, here, than be made slaves.”
Their edict, given the inequality between muskets and arrows, would have been laughable if there hadn’t been so many Hopi here and even more doing God knows what where he couldn’t see them.
“They want my soldiers to shoot?” he demanded. “Believe me, if I feel it is necessary, it would give me great pleasure to—”
“No! You cannot—I beg you, you cannot!” the padre shouted.
“This is not your concern, Padre,” he retorted as the little man hurried up. “I would think you would know better than to risk escalating an already explosive situation.”
“You cannot allow anything to happen to the Hopi,” Angelico sputtered. “They are my responsibility.”
“They are threatening us.”
Lopez signaled to let his soldiers know he wanted them to come closer. Because he’d trained them well, they did so with a show of force, their still-unprimed weapons making more of an impact than knives and hoes ever could. Just the same, he felt the weight and impact of the Hopi presence.
“Morning Butterfly.” Despite the energy dancing inside him, he kept his voice even. “Tell your people to look at my men. Soldiers will draw first blood.”
Because he’d had the presence of mind to keep his hand on her, he felt her tremble. Good. Her fear would surely be transmitted in everything she said.
“Do it,” he insisted. “Tell them, now.”
She did so without looking at him—at least, he assumed she was passing on his ultimatum. As he waited, it occurred to him that for once Gregorio had nothing to say, perhaps because his father-in-law was receiving an unforgettable lesson in his competence in military matters.
When this confrontation began, he’d estimated the enemy force at no more than a hundred, but that number was growing as more and more grim-faced Hopi joined those already present. According to Angelico, more than a thousand souls lived at Oraibi. If all of them showed up . . . Seeking to reassure himself of his men’s superior force, he glanced at them, but instead of being comforted, he noticed that they were looking at Angelico. If they believed they owed more allegiance to the Church than to him—
“Navajo!” a man suddenly screamed in Spanish. “Navajo!”
Chapter Twenty-eight
As armed warriors galloped into view, Morning Butterfly strained for a glimpse of Cougar, but the sight of so many grim-faced Navajo was nearly more than she could comprehend. Even Captain Lopez, who surely had faced attack before, stepped back, nearly releasing her, but before she could put her mind to fleeing, his grip intensified.
“Where is he?” he demanded of her. “Cougar. Where the hell—”
“What is this?” Gregorio interrupted.
“They are here because you would not let me implement my plan in time,” Lopez countered. “This is on your head, all of it! Damnation, Morning Butterfly, where is he?”
How he thought she knew was beyond her, not that it mattered, because somehow she’d found Cougar in the midst of the horsemen, and as their eyes locked, she knew she wouldn’t be the one to point him out to the captain.
“Have they come to kill us?” Gregorio asked; if he was afraid, his voice didn’t give him away.
“How the hell should I—”
Before Lopez could finish, an arrow arched through the air and landed at his feet. A heartbeat later, Fray Angelico cried out. Looking at him, Morning Butterfly saw he was trying to shake an arrow out of his robe’s hemline. For an arrow to come that close and not wound must have been deliberate.
“They are going to kill us!” The padre’s voice rose, more sob than warning.
“Damnation, Morning Butterfly!” Lopez jerked her against him, using her as a shield between him and the Navajo. “Where is he? You have to talk to him—”
She heard the hard twang of a bowstring, and once again the padre cried out. As before, only his robe had been struck.
“The church!” he wailed. “We will be safe there!”
He began running toward the hated structure. Several soldiers made as if to follow him but stopped at an order from their captain. Why the padre thought he would be safe in a building without doors or roof mystified Morning Butterfly, not that she had time to ponder that, because Cougar was urging his horse forward.
At the moment he was indeed a predator, proud and unafraid, and although she should have told him to flee, she didn’t. Instead, with a nod, she acknowledged Drums No More, who rode at his grandson’s side.
Lopez bellowed something, but she couldn’t concentrate; then she felt herself being transferred from him to Gregorio and larger, equally hard hands held her in place. Lopez grabbed a musket from one of his men and started priming it.
“Tell him,” Cougar said, his tone confident, “that he is to release you or we will kill him and his men.”
“What is it?” Lopez insisted. He held up his weapon, the barrel pointed at Cougar’s chest. “What did he say?”
She could tell him anything and Cougar wouldn’t know, but the Navajo had risked so much that she couldn’t be anything except truthful. Her eyes never left Cougar’s as she repeated his order.
“Cut off a snake’s head and the body dies.” Lopez sounded as self-assured as Cougar had, as if he’d been waiting a long, long time for this moment. “Tell him that my first ball is for him and once he is dead, the rest of his people will scatter, at least those we do not kill.”
She relayed Lopez’s message.
“My life does not matter,” Cougar told her. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the sound of restless horses and muttering Hopi. “Tell him that.”
“I do not want to see you die.”
“I would spare you that, but he needs to understand I am not the head of a snake. The Navajo are warriors.”
“I know. But why? What happens here should not matter to your people.”
“What are you talking about?” Lopez demanded, shattering the connection between her and Cougar. “If you are plotting—”
“He says—” Cougar was an eagle; without freedom, he was the same as dead. “He says there are no snakes here, only warriors.”
Gregorio snorted. She was still trying to decide how much of a danger the man represented when Lopez’s body turned into stone, all except for his arms. A silent scream propelled her forward, but even as she fought Gregorio’s grip, she knew she couldn’t stop Lopez from firing.
The snap of hammer against flint barely registered before the accompanying sparks ignited the powder. A boom, so close it filled her head, spread and echoed, became everything.
After a long, frozen moment, Drums No More pitched forward; if he had cried out, the musket blast had buried the human sound under it. Cougar grabbed him, his eyes never leaving Lopez, and she felt his hot hatred for the captain.
Cougar was still trying to hold up his limp gra
ndfather when the other Navajo began to spread out. For a moment, she didn’t understand, but then she saw that at least two and sometimes more Navajo were riding toward each soldier. Another hell-explosion from a musket forced a gasp from her, and yet she heard a gurgled sob. Turning in that direction, she saw an arrow protruding from a young soldier’s neck.
“Lord help us!”
“Jesus Christ!”
Spanish oaths swirled around her and clashed with whatever the Navajo yelled to each other. Overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sounds, she concentrated on Hopi words. Instead of backing away from the confrontation between Spanish and Navajo, her people remained part of it.
A Hopi woman screamed. Madariaga, his eyes wide and white, had grabbed hold of New Corn, a girl no older than Cougar’s sister, and was forcing her in front of him.
“They’re going to kill us!” Madariaga whimpered, his words all running together. “Dear God, they’re going to murder—”
“Oraibi! You will be safe there!” cried Angelico. What was he doing back here instead of huddling in his church? For a moment it seemed as if no one had heard him, and then, like rabbits fleeing an eagle, the soldiers raced for the mesa. Madariaga and his youthful prisoner brought up the rear, and to Morning Butterfly’s great relief, no one endangered the child’s life by releasing an arrow.
When Gregorio jerked her arm, she slashed at his face with her nails. His pain-filled cry gave her a heartbeat of satisfaction; then she felt rough fingers around her free hand and turned to face Lopez.
“The padre is right,” Lopez said to his father-in-law. “Oraibi is sacred to the Hopi. They will not allow any killing up there.”
“What are you, a coward?”
“We are out-manned! Can you not see—”
“I see a coward.”
On the tail of a curse, Lopez wrenched Morning Butterfly free of Gregorio, causing flames of pain to sear her shoulders. “Stand there and die if that is what you want,” Lopez told his father-in-law. “Me, I am going to live.”
