The Delight Makers

by Adolph Francis Alphonse Bandelier

  THE DELIGHT MAKERS

  CHAPTER I.

  The mountain ranges skirting the Rio Grande del Norte on the west,nearly opposite the town of Santa Fe, in the Territory of New Mexico,are to-day but little known. The interior of the chain, the Sierra delos Valles, is as yet imperfectly explored. Still, these bald-crestedmountains, dark and forbidding as they appear from a distance, concealand shelter in their deep gorges and clefts many a spot of great naturalbeauty, surprisingly picturesque, but difficult of access. From theriver these canons, as they are called in New Mexico, can be reachedonly by dint of toilsome climbing and clambering; for their westernopenings are either narrow gaps, or access to them is barred by colossalwalls and pillars of volcanic rocks. The entire formation of the chain,as far as it faces the Rio Grande, is volcanic, the walls of the gorgesconsisting generally of a friable white or yellowish tufa containingnodules of black, translucent obsidian. The rock is so soft that in manyplaces it can be scooped out or detached with the most primitive tools,or even with the fingers alone. Owing to this peculiarity the slopesexposed to the south and east, whence most of the heavy rains strikethem, are invariably abrupt, and often even perpendicular; whereas theopposite declivities, though steep, still afford room for scantyvegetation. The gorges run from west to east,--that is, they descendfrom the mountain crests to the Rio Grande, cutting the long and narrowpedestal on which the high summits are resting.

  Through some but not all of these gorges run never-failing streams ofclear water. In a few instances the gorge expands and takes theproportions of a narrow vale. Then the high timber that usually skirtsthe rivulets shrinks to detached groves, and patches of clear landappear, which, if cultivated, would afford scanty support to one or twomodern families. To the village Indian such tillable spots were of thegreatest value. The deep ravine afforded shelter not only against theclimate but against roving enemies, and the land was sufficient for hismodest crops; since his wants were limited, and game was abundant.

  The material of which the walls of these canons are composed, suggestedin times past to the house-building Indian the idea of using them as ahome. The tufa and pumice-stone are so friable that, as we have said,the rock can be dug or burrowed with the most primitive implements. Itwas easier, in fact, to excavate dwellings than to pile up walls in theopen air.

  Therefore the northern sides of these secluded gorges are perforated inmany places by openings similar in appearance to pigeon-holes. Theseopenings are the points of exit and entrance of artificial caves, dugout by sedentary aborigines in times long past. They are met with inclusters of as many as several hundred; more frequently, however, thegroups are small. Sometimes two or more tiers of caves are superimposed.From the objects scattered about and in the cells, and from the size anddisposition of the latter, it becomes evident that the people whoexcavated and inhabited them were on the same level of culture as theso-called Pueblo Indians of New Mexico.

  It is not surprising, therefore, that some traditions and myths arepreserved to-day among the Pueblos concerning these cave-villages. Thusthe Tehua Indians of the pueblo of Santa Clara assert that theartificial grottos of what they call the Puiye and the Shufinne, west oftheir present abodes, were the homes of their ancestors at one time. TheQueres of Cochiti in turn declare that the tribe to which they belong,occupied, many centuries before the first coming of Europeans to NewMexico, the cluster of cave-dwellings, visible at this day althoughabandoned and in ruins, in that romantic and picturesquely secludedgorge called in the Queres dialect Tyuonyi, and in Spanish "El Rito delos Frijoles."

  The Rito is a beautiful spot. Situated in a direct line not over twentymiles west of Santa Fe, it can still be reached only after a long day'stedious travel. It is a narrow valley, nowhere broader than half a mile;and from where it begins in the west to where it closes in a dark andgloomy entrance, scarcely wide enough for two men to pass abreast, inthe east, its length does not exceed six miles. Its southern rim isformed by the slope of a timbered mesa, and that slope is partlyovergrown by shrubbery. The northern border constitutes a line ofvertical cliffs of yellowish and white pumice, projecting andre-entering like decorations of a stage,--now perpendicular and smoothfor some distance, now sweeping back in the shape of an arched segment.These cliffs vary in height, although nowhere are they less than twohundred feet. Their tops rise in huge pillars, in crags and pinnacles.Brushwood and pine timber crown the mesa of which these fantasticprojections are but the shaggy border.

  Through the vale itself rustles the clear and cool brook to which thename of Rito de los Frijoles is applied. It meanders on, hugging thesouthern slope, partly through open spaces, partly through groves oftimber, and again past tall stately pine-trees standing isolated in thevalley willows, cherry-trees, cottonwoods, and elders form smallthickets along its banks. The Rito is a permanent streamletnotwithstanding its small size. Its water freezes in winter, but itnever dries up completely during the summer months.

  Bunches of tall grass, low shrubbery, and cactus grow in the open spacesbetween rocky debris fallen from above. They also cover in part lowmounds of rubbish, and ruins of a large pentagonal building erectedformerly at the foot of a slope leading to the cliffs. In the cliffsthemselves, for a distance of about two miles, numerous caves dug out bythe hand of man are visible. Some of these are yet perfect; others havewholly crumbled away except the rear wall. From a distance theport-holes and indentations appear like so many pigeons' nests in thenaked rock. Together with the cavities formed by amygdaloid chambers andcrevices caused by erosion, they give the cliffs the appearance of ahuge, irregular honeycomb.

  These ruins, inside as well as outside the northern walls of the canonof the Rito, bear testimony to the tradition still current among theQueres Indians of New Mexico that the Rito, or Tyuonyi, was onceinhabited by people of their kind, nay, even of their own stock. But thetime when those people wooed and wed, lived and died, in that secludedvale is past long, long ago. Centuries previous to the advent of theSpaniards, the Rito was already deserted. Nothing remains but the ruinsof former abodes and the memory of their inhabitants among theirdescendants. These ancient people of the Rito are the actors in thestory which is now to be told; the stage in the main is the Rito itself.The language of the actors is the Queres dialect, and the time when theevents occurred is much anterior to the discovery of America, to theinvention of gunpowder and the printing-press in Europe. Still the Ritomust have appeared then much as it appears now,--a quiet, lovely,picturesque retreat, peaceful when basking in the sunlight, wonderfullyquiet when the stars sparkled over it, or the moon shed its floods ofsilver on the cliffs and on the murmuring brook below.

  In the lower or western part of its course the Tyuonyi rushes in placesthrough thickets and small groves, out of which rise tall pine-trees. Itis very still on the banks of the brook when, on a warm June day,noon-time is just past and no breeze fans the air; not a sound is heardbeyond the rippling of the water; the birds are asleep, and the noise ofhuman activity does not reach there from the cliffs. Still, on the dayof which we are now speaking, a voice arose from the thicket, callingaloud,--

  "Umo,--'grandfather!'"[1]

  "To ima satyumishe,--'come hither, my brother,'" another voice repliedin the same dialect, adding, "See what a big fish I have caught."

  It sounded as though this second voice had issued from the very watersof the streamlet.

  Pine boughs rustled, branches bent, and leaves shook. A step scarcelyaudible was followed by a noiseless leap. On a boulder around whichflowed streams of limpid water there alighted a young Indian.

  He was of medium height and well-proportioned. His hands and feet wererather small and delicate. He carried his head erect with ease andfreedom. Jet-black hair, slightly waving, streamed loose over templesand cheeks, and was gathered at the back in a short thick knot. In frontit parted naturally, leaving exposed a narrow strip of the brow. Thefeatures of the face, though not regular, were still attractive, forlarge black eyes, almond-shaped, shone bright from underneath hea
vylashes. The complexion was dusky, and the skin had a velvety gloss.Form, carriage, and face together betokened a youth of about eighteenyears.

  His costume was very plain. A garment of unbleached cotton, coarselywoven, covered the body as low as the knee. This garment, sleeveless andsoiled by wear, was tied over the right shoulder. A reddish-brown scarfor belt of the same material fastened it around the waist. Feet, arms,and the left shoulder were bare. Primitive as was this costume, therewas, nevertheless, an attempt here and there at decoration. The belt wasornamented with black and white stitches; from each ear hung a turquoisesuspended by a cotton thread, and a necklace of coloured pebbles strungon yucca fibre encircled the neck.

  Like a statue of light-coloured bronze decked with scanty drapery, andadorned with crude trinkets, holding a bow in the right hand, while theleft clenched a few untipped arrows, the youth stood on the boulderoutlined against the shrubbery, immovable above the running brook. Hisgaze was fixed on the opposite bank, where a youngster was kneeling.

  The latter was a boy of perhaps nine years. A dirty wrap hung looselyover shoulders and back, and no necklace or ear-pendants decorated hisbody. But the childish features were enlivened by a broad grin ofsatisfaction, and his eyes sparkled like coals just igniting, while hepointed to a large mountain trout which he pressed against a stone withboth hands. He looked at the older youth with an expression not merelyof pleasure, but of familiar intimacy also. It was clear that both boyswere children of the same parents.

  The younger one spoke first,--

  "See here, Okoya," he began, grinning; "while you are older than I, andbigger and stronger, I am more cunning than you. Ever since the sun cameout you have followed the turkeys, and what have you? Nothing! Yourhands are empty! I have just come down from the field, and look! Icaught this fish in the water. Shall we fry and eat it here, or carry ithome to the mother?"

  The older brother did not relish the taunt; his lips curled. He repliedscornfully,--

  "Any child may catch a fish, but only men can follow turkeys. The tzinais shy and wary; it knows how sure my aim is, therefore it hides when Igo out to hunt."

  The little one replied to this pompous explanation with a clear mockinglaugh.

  "Turkeys care nothing about you," he retorted. "It is nothing to themwhether you go out or not!"

  "Shyuote," his brother scolded, "stop prating about things of which youdo not know. It is true I am not one of the order of hunters, Shyayak,but I may become so soon." He stopped, as if a sudden thought had struckhim, and then exclaimed: "Now I know why luck has failed me thismorning! When I left our houses I should have scattered meal, and placeda pebble on the heap beside the trail, and offered a plume to our MotherAbove. All this I neglected. Now I am punished for it by the birdsconcealing themselves. For had they come out--"

  "You would have missed them," tauntingly replied the other. "If you wantto kill turkeys join the Koshare. Then you will catch them with rootsand flowers."

  Okoya grew angry.

  "Hush! foolish boy," he retorted, "what are the Koshare to me? Don'tspeak about such things here. Come, take your fish, and let us go home."

  With this Okoya leaped over the brook. Shyuote whispered audibly to him,"Yes; you are very fond of the Koshare." But the sarcastic remark wasnot heeded by the elder lad, who turned to go, Shyuote following him.Proudly the little boy tossed his fish from one hand to the other.

  Beyond the straight and lofty pine trunks a whitish glare soon appeared.Brilliant sunlight broke through the tree-tops, and played around thedark needles, turning them into a brighter, lighter, emerald green. Abackground of yellow and cream-coloured rocks, visible now throughopenings in the shrubbery, showed that the boys were approaching a clearspace.

  Here the elder one suddenly stopped, turned to his brother, lookedstraight at him, and asked,--

  "Shyuote, what have you heard about the Koshare?"

  Instead of answering the child looked down, indifferent and silent, asif he had not heard the query.

  "What have you heard, boy?" continued the other.

  Shyuote shrugged his shoulders. He had no inclination to reply.

  "Why don't you answer?" Okoya persisted.

  His brother looked up, cast a furtive glance at the interlocutor, thenstared vacantly, but with head erect, before him. His eyes were glassyand without any expression.

  The east end of the Canon of the Tyuonyi]

  Whenever the Indian does not wish to speak on any subject, whatever itbe, no power on earth can compel him to break silence. Okoya, as anIndian, felt rather than understood this; and the child's refusal toanswer a very simple question aroused his suspicions. He looked at thestubborn boy for a moment, undecided whether he would not resort toforce. The child's taunts had mortified his pride in the first place;now that child's reticence bred misgivings. He nevertheless restrainedboth anger and curiosity for the present, not because of indifferencebut for policy's sake, and turned to go. Shyuote looked for a moment asif he wished to confess to his brother all that the latter inquiredabout, but soon pouted, shrugged his shoulders, and set out after Okoyain a lively fox-trot again.

  The valley lay before them; they had reached the end of the grove.

  Smiling in the warm glow of a June day, with a sky of deepest azure, thevale of the Rito expanded between the spot which the boys had reachedand the rocky gateways in the west, where that valley seemed to begin.Fields, small and covered with young, bushy maize-plants, skirted thebrook, whose silvery thread was seen here and there as its meanderingscarried it beneath the shadow of shrubs and trees, or exposed it to thefull light of the dazzling sun. In the plantations human forms appeared,now erect, now bent down over their work. A ditch of medium sizebordered the fields on the north, carrying water from the brook forpurposes of irrigation. Still north of the ditch, and between it and thecliffs, arose a tall building, which from a distance looked like a highclumsy pile of clay or reddish earth.

  This pile was irregularly terraced. Human beings stood on the terracesor moved along them. Now and then one was seen to rise from the interiorof the pile to one of the terraced roofs, or another slowly sank fromsight, as if descending into the interior of the earthy heap. On theoutside, beams leaned against it, and on them people went up and down,as if climbing ladders. Thin films of smoke quivered in the air fromimperceptible flues.

  The cliffs themselves extended north of this building and east and westas far as the range of view permitted, like a yellowish ribbon oftowering height with innumerable flexures and alternations of light andshade. Their base was enlivened by the bustle of those who dwelt incaves all along the foot of the imposing rocky wall. Where to-day onlyvacant holes stare at the visitor, at the hour on the day when our storybegins, human eyes peered through. Other doors were closed by deer-hidesor robes. Sometimes a man, a woman, or a child, would creep out of oneof these openings, and climbing upward, disappear in the entrance of anupper tier of cave-dwellings. Others would descend the slope from thecliffs to the fields, while still others returned from the banks of theditch or of the brook. At the distance from which the boys viewed thelandscape all passed noiselessly; no human voice, no clamour disturbedthe stillness of the scene.

  Peaceful as Nature appeared, neither of the youth were in the leaststruck by its charms or influenced by the spell which such a tranquiland cheerful landscape is likely to exercise upon thinking and feelingman. With both it was indifference; for the Indian views Nature with theeyes of a materially interested spectator only. But the elder brotherhad another reason for not noticing the beauty of the scene. He was notonly troubled, he was seriously embarrassed. The hint thrown out by hislittle brother about the Koshare had struck him; for it led to theinference that the child had knowledge of secret arts and occultpractices of which even he, Okoya, although on the verge of manhood, hadnever received any intimation. Far more yet than this knowledge, whichShyuote might have obtained through mere accident, the hint atunpleasant relations between Okoya and the Koshare startled the latt
er.

  It was perfectly true that he not only disliked but even hated thecluster of men to which the name of Koshare was given in the tribe; buthe had concealed his feelings as carefully as possible until now. Onlyonce, as far as he could remember, had he spoken of his aversion; andthen it was during an absolutely confidential conversation with his ownmother, who seemed to entertain like sentiments.

  To his father he had never uttered a word; because his father washimself a Koshare. Whatever Shyuote knew, he could only have gathered byoverhearing a conversation of the Koshare among themselves, in which itwas mentioned that he, Okoya, harboured ill-feelings toward thatbrotherhood. In that case he might be exposed to serious danger, since,as he believed, those people were in possession of knowledge of a higherorder, and practised arts of an occult nature. Against danger arisingfrom such a source, Okoya considered himself utterly defenceless.

  The more he tried to think over these matters, the more troubled hismind became. Only one thought appeared logical and probable and that wasthat the boy had overheard one or other of the Koshare's intimateconversations. But how came it that the Koshare knew about Okoya'saversion toward them? Who could have told them? Only his mother knew thesecret! Had she, perhaps, she--The thought was like a spark which glowedfor a while, grew to a flame, flared and flickered unsteadily within hisheart, then began to shrink. No, no; it was impossible! it could not be!His mother would never betray her child! The flame died out, the sparkremained fast dying. Suddenly it blazed up again as if some breath hadfanned it.

  With renewed insistence, it struck Okoya that even if Shyuote had merelyoverheard a conversation and the child's knowledge was derived from thatsource, the most extraordinary part of the information could only havecome from one source,--the person in whom he had confided, his mother!She alone could have told the Koshare that Okoya hated them. The sparkflared up anew; it burst out in a wild flame of suspicion. It singedthe heart and smothered feeling as well as reason. It so completelyabsorbed his thoughts, that Okoya forgot everything else. Instead ofwalking along at a quiet easy gait, he rushed fast and faster, wrappedin dismal despair and in wild impotent wrath. Heedless of his littlecompanion he ran, panting with agitation, until Shyuote, unable to keeppace and startled at his wild gait, pulled his garment and begged him tostop.

  "Brother," he cried, "why do you go so fast? I cannot follow you!"

  Okoya came to a sudden halt, and turned toward the boy like one arousedfrom a sinister dream. Shyuote stared at him with surprise akin tofright. How changed was his appearance! Never before had he seen himwith a countenance so haggard, with eyes hollow and yet burning with alurid glow. Loose hair hung down over forehead and cheeks, perspirationstood on the brow in big drops. The child involuntarily shrunk back, andOkoya, noticing it, gasped,--

  "You are right, the day is long yet and the houses near. We will goslower."

  Bowing his head again he went on at a slower gait.

  Shyuote followed in silence. Although surprised at the change in hisbrother's looks, he did not for a moment entertain the thought or desireof inquiring into the cause of it. He was fully satisfied that as longas Okoya did not see fit to speak of the matter, he had no right to askabout it: in short, that it was none of his business.

  Meanwhile dark and dismal thoughts were chasing each other within theelder brother's soul. Doubt and suspicion became more and more crushing.He was tempted to break the spell and interrogate Shyuote once more,even to wrench from him, if needs be, a full explanation. The boy wasold enough to enjoy that great and often disagreeable quality of theAmerican Indian, reticence. Furthermore, he might have been forbidden tospeak.

  If the Indian is not an ideal being, he is still less a stolid mentallysqualid brute. He is not reticent out of imbecility or mental weakness.He fails properly to understand much of what takes place around him,especially what happens within the circle of our modern civilization,but withal he is far from indifferent toward his surroundings. Heobserves, compares, thinks, reasons, upon whatever he sees or hears, andforms opinions from the basis of his own peculiar culture. His sensesare very acute for natural phenomena; his memory is excellent, as oftenas he sees fit to make use of it. There is no difference between him andthe Caucasian in original faculties, and the reticence peculiar to himunder certain circumstances is not due to lack of mental aptitude.

  He does not practise that reticence alike toward all. A great number ofexamples seems to establish the fact that the Indian has developed asystem of casuistry, based upon a remarkably thorough knowledge of humannature. Certain matters are kept concealed from some people, whereasthey are freely discussed with others, and _vice versa_. The Indianhardly ever keeps a secret to himself alone; it is nearly always sharedby others whom the matter directly concerns. It may be said of the redman that he keeps secrets in the same manner that he lives,--namely, ingroups or clusters. The reason is that with him individualism, or themental and moral independence of the individual, has not attained thehigh degree of development which prevails among white races.

  When Europeans began to colonize America in the fifteenth and sixteenthcenturies, the social organization of its inhabitants presented apicture such as had disappeared long before on the continent of Europe.Everywhere there prevailed linguistic segregation,--divisions intoautonomous groups called tribes or stocks, and within each of these,equally autonomous clusters, whose mutual alliance for purposes ofsustenance and defence constituted the basis of tribal society. Thelatter clusters were the clans, and they originated during thebeginnings of the human family. Every clan formed a group of supposedblood-relatives, looking back to a mythical or traditional commonancestor. Descent from the mother being always plain, the clan claimeddescent in the female line even if every recollection of the femaleancestor were lost, and theoretically all the members of one clan wereso many brothers and sisters. This organization still exists in themajority of tribes; the members of one clan cannot intermarry, and, ifall the women of a clan die, that clan dies out also, since there isnobody left to perpetuate it. The tribe is in reality but a league; theclan is the unit. At the time we speak of, the affairs of each tribewere administered by an assembly of delegates from all its clans who atthe same time arbitrated inevitable disputes between the severalblood-relations.

  Each clan managed its own affairs, of which no one outside of itsmembers needed to know anything. Since the husbands always belonged to adifferent consanguine group from their wives, and the children followedtheir mother's line of descent, the family was permanently divided.There was really no family in our sense of the word. The Indian has anindividual name only. He is, in addition, distinguished by the name ofhis clan, which in turn has its proper cognomen. The affairs of thefather's clan did not concern his wife or his children, whereas aneighbour might be his confidant on such matters. The mother, son, anddaughter spoke among themselves of matters of which the father was notentitled to know, and about which he scarcely ever felt enough curiosityto inquire. Consequently there grew a habit of not caring about otherpeople's affairs unless they affected one's own, and of confidingsecrets to those only whom they could concern, and who were entitled toknow them. In the course of time the habit became a rule of education.Reticence, secrecy, discretion, are therefore no virtues with theIndian; they are simply the result of training.

  Okoya too had been under the influence of such training, and he knewthat Shyuote, young as he was, had already similar seeds planted withinhim. But uncertainty was insufferable; it weighed too heavily upon him,he could no longer bear it.

  "Umo," he burst out, turning abruptly and looking at the boy in analmost threatening manner, "how do you know that I dislike the Koshare?"

  Shyuote cast his eyes to the ground, and remained silent. His brotherrepeated the query; the little fellow only shrugged his shoulders. Withgreater insistence the elder proceeded,--

  "Shyuote Tihua, who told you that the Delight Makers are not precious tome, nor I to them?"

  Shyuote shook his head, pouted, and star
ed vacantly to one side. Hemanifestly refused to answer.

  Cold perspiration stood on the brow of the elder brother; his bodyquivered in anguish; he realized the truth of his suspicions. Unable anylonger to control himself he cried,--

  "It is my mother who told them!"

  Trembling, with clenched hands and gnashing teeth, he gazed at the childunconsciously. Shyuote, frightened at his wild and menacing attitude,and ignorant of the real cause of his brother's excitement, raised hishand to his forehead and began to sob.

  A shout coming from the immediate vicinity aroused and startled Okoya. Avoice called out to him,--

  "Umo!"

  He looked around in surprise. They were standing close to the cultivatedplots, and a man loomed up from between the maize-plants. He it was whocalled, and as soon as Okoya turned toward him he beckoned the youth tocome nearer. Okoya's face darkened; he reluctantly complied, leaped overthe ditch, walked up to the interlocutor, and stood still before him inthe attitude of quiet expectancy with downcast eyes. Shyuote had droppedto the ground; the call did not interfere with his sobs; he poutedrather than grieved.

  Okoya's interlocutor was a man of strong build, apparently in theforties. His features, although somewhat flat and broad, created afavourable impression at first; upon closer scrutiny, however, the eyesmodified that impression. They were small, and their look piercingrather than bright. His costume was limited to a tattered breech-clout ofbuckskin. A collar of small white shells encircled the neck, and fromthis necklace dangled a triangular piece of alabaster, flat, and with acarving on it suggesting the shape of a dragon-fly. His hair streamedloose over the left ear, where there was fastened to the black coarsestrands a tuft of grayish down.

  This individual eyed Okoya in silence for a moment, as if inspecting hisperson; then he inquired,--

  "Where do you come from?"

  The young fellow looked up and replied,--

  "From below," pointing to the lower end of the gorge.

  "What did you hunt?" the other continued, glancing at the bow and arrowsof the boy.

  "Tzina;" and with perceptible embarrassment Okoya added, "but I killednothing."

  The man seemed not to heed the humiliation which this confessionentailed, and asked,--

  "Have you seen tracks of the mountain-sheep down yonder?"

  "Not one; but I saw at a distance on the slope two bears very large andstrong."

  The other shook his head.

  "Then there are no mountain sheep toward that end of the Tyuonyi," hesaid, waving his left hand toward the southeast, "thank you, boy," atthe same time extending his right to the youth. Okoya grasped it, andbreathed on the outside of the hand. Then he said, "hoa umo," and turnedand sauntered back to where his little brother was still squatting andpouting, morose and silent.

  The man had also turned around, bent down, and gone on weeding the corn.Withal he did not lose sight of the boys; on the contrary, an occasionalstealthy glance from his half-closed eyes shot over where they met.

  Shyuote rose from the ground. His eyes were dry, but he glanced at hisbrother with misgivings as well as with curiosity. The latter felt asudden pang upon beholding the childish features. The shortinterruption, though annoying at first, had diverted him from gloomythoughts. Now, everything came back to his mind with renewed force,--thesame anguish, the feeling of utter helplessness in case of impendingdanger, indignation at what he believed to have been base treason on thepart of his mother,--all this rushed upon him with fearful force, and hestood again motionless, a picture of wild perplexity. His face betokenedthe state of his mind. Shyuote did not dare to inquire of him furtherthan to ask a very insignificant question,--namely, who the man was thathad called.

  Okoya answered readily, for this query was almost a relief,--a diversionwhich enabled him to subdue his agitation. "Tyope Tihua," he saidhastily, "wanted to know if I had seen any mountain sheep. I told himthat I had only seen bear-tracks. Let him follow those," he growled."Come on, satyumishe, it is getting late."

  While this conversation had been carried on, the boys, now hurrying andnow slackening their pace, had arrived within a short distance of thetall clay-pile, which was seen to be a high polygonal building,apparently closed on all sides. Between them and this edifice there wasstill another lower one, not unlike an irregular honeycomb. About fortycells, separated from each other by walls of earth, carried up from theground to a few inches above the terraced roof, constituted aground-floor on which rested a group of not more than a dozen similarcells. The walls of this structure were of stones, irregularly brokenand clumsily piled, but they were covered by a thick coating of clay sothat nothing of the rough core remained visible. Instead of doors orentrances, air-holes, round or oval, perforated these walls.

  The house appeared empty. No smoke flitted over the flat roof; thecoating was so recent that many places were hardly dry.

  (Upper picture) A modern Indian Dance]

  (Lower picture) An estufa]

  North of this building, a circular structure thirty feet in diameterrose a few feet only above the soil, like the upper part of a sunkencylinder. Its top was flat, and large flags of stone formed a roughstaircase leading to its roof. In the centre, a square opening appeared,out of which a tall beam, notched at regular intervals like a primitiveladder, protruded, and down which also the beam disappeared as ifextended into the bowels of the earth. This edifice, half underground,half above the soil, was what to-day is called in New Mexico an_estufa_.[2] This Spanish word has become a technical term, and we shallhereafter use it in the course of the story as well as the designations_tshikia_ and _kaaptsh_ of the Queres Indians.

  The estufas were more numerous in a single pueblo formerly than they arenow. Nor are they always sunken. At the Rito there were at least ten,five of which were circular chambers in the rock of the cliffs. Thesechambers or halls were, in the times we speak of, gathering places formen exclusively. No woman was permitted to enter, unless for the purposeof carrying food to the inmates. Each clan had its own estufa, and theyoung men slept in it under the surveillance of one or more of the agedprincipals, until they married, and frequently even afterward.

  There the young men became acquainted with the affairs of theirindividual connections, and little by little also with the business ofthe tribe. There, during the long evenings of winter, old men taughtthem the songs and prayers embodying traditions and myths, first oftheir own clan, then of the tribe.[3] The estufa was school, club-house,nay, armory to a certain extent. It was more. Many of the prominentreligious exercises took place in it. The estufa on special occasionsbecame transformed into a temple for the clan who had reared it.

  From the depths of this structure there came a series ofdull sounds like beats of a drum. The youngsters stopped short, andlooked at each other in surprise.

  "The new house," whispered Okoya, "which the Corn clan have built hereis empty, yet there is somebody in its estufa. What may this mean?"

  "Let us look into it," eagerly suggested Shyuote.

  "Go you alone!" directed the elder brother. "I will walk on, and you canovertake me by-and-by."

  That suited Shyuote. He crept stealthily toward the round building.There was an air-hole in the rim which rose above the ground. Crouchinglike a cat, the boy cautiously peered through this opening, but quicklywithdrew with an expression of disappointment. The underground chamberwas not even finished; its walls were dark and raw, the floor rough, andon this floor a half-dozen young fellows in every stage of dress orundress were lounging. One of them mechanically touched a small drumwith a stick, while two or three of the others were humming a monotonoustune to the rhythm of his rappings. Shyuote stole away in evidentdiscontent; his curiosity was satisfied, but at the expense of hisexpectations.

  Loud laughter, screams, and animated talking diverted his attention, andcaused him to run in the direction of the new house of the Corn clan. Heheard the voice of his brother, but at the same time women's voicesalso, and as soon as he turned the farther corner of the
building, hesaw what was plainly a playful encounter between Okoya and a pair ofyoung girls.

  The former had his bow in hand ready to shoot, and he pointed the arrowat the maidens alternately; they, utterly unconcerned about his weapon,were pressing him with weapons of their own, which he was much moreanxious to avoid than they his missiles. These were two pairs of verydirty hands filled and covered with liquid mud with which the damselsattempted to decorate his person. Okoya was clearly on the defensive,and the advantage so far seemed on the side of his aggressors. Shyuoteflew to his assistance. Rushing to a large vessel of burnt clay,standing alongside the wall and filled with water, he plunged both handsinto it, and began to bespatter the assailants with the not very cleanliquid. Forthwith one of the girls turned against the new enemy. She wasolder and taller than Shyuote. Seizing his raven locks she pulled him tothe ground on his face, knelt on the prostrate form, and then and theregave the boy a series of energetic cuffs against which the youngsterstruggled and wriggled in the most desperate but absolutely ineffectualmanner. The fair sex held the balance of power and wielded it. At everyattempt of Shyuote to rise or to roll over, she pushed his face backinto the moist ground, she pulled his hair, thumped his shoulders, andboxed his ears. She was in earnest, and Shyuote was powerless in herfirm grasp. He could not even scream, for a thick coating of soil hadfastened itself to his features, had penetrated into eye, mouth, andnostrils. His fate was as melancholy as it was ludicrous; it broughtabout a truce between Okoya and the other maiden. They dropped, he theweapon, she her muddy arms, and looked at the other set of combatantswith surprise and with immoderate laughter. The Indian is nottender-hearted on such occasions. When the victorious beauty at lastarose, suffering her victim to turn over again, the merriment becameuproarious, for Shyuote presented the appearance of a blowing, spitting,coughing, statue of dirt. His looks were in no manner improved by hisfrenzy after the boy had rubbed his eyes, and recovered his breath.Tears of rage rolled down his cheeks over patches of sand and mud, andwhen he noticed the mirth of the others Shyuote's fury knew no bounds.He rushed madly at the triumphant lass, who did not shrink from thehostile approach. The contest was threatening to assume seriousproportions, when another person appeared upon the scene, at the sightof whom even Shyuote temporarily stayed all demonstrations, while Okoyaseemed both startled and embarrassed. The new-comer was a young girltoo; she carried on her head a vessel of burnt clay similar to a flaturn, decorated with black and red designs on cream-coloured ground, andfilled with water.

  To understand this scene we must know that the two girls had beenengaged in putting on the last coat of plaster to the walls of the abodeof the Corn people, when Okoya suddenly came upon them. At a glance theysaw that he had been on a hunt, and also that he had hunted in vain.Here was a welcome opportunity for jeering and mockery. They interruptedtheir plastic labour, and turned against him with such mercilessallusions to his ill-success, that unable any longer to reply to theirsarcasm Okoya threatened them, in jest of course, with his bow. Insteadof desisting, the girls at once moved upon him with muddy hands. The onewho last appeared upon the scene, although assistant to the others,inasmuch as she carried the water needed in the preparation of the mudfor plastering, had not seen the engagement just fought. She looked atthe group in blank surprise, stood still without lifting the bowl fromher head, and presented thus the appearance of a handsome statue, duskyand graceful, whose lustrous black eyes alone moved, glancing from oneof the members of the group to the other. Those large expressive eyesplainly asked, "What does all this mean?"

  The antagonists of Okoya and Shyuote were buxom lasses, rather short,thick-waisted, full-chested, with flat faces, prominent cheek-bones, andbright eyes. The third maiden was taller and much more graceful: herfeatures were less coarse, less prominently distinctive. The nose waswell-proportioned, the mouth also, although the lips were rather heavy.The eyes were large and beaming, soft yet not without an intelligentexpression. All three girls were dressed nearly alike. A dark-bluecotton garment descended as far as the knees; it was tied over the leftshoulder, and the right was exposed. A red-tinged scarf served as beltaround the waist. Arms and feet were bare. The long black hair streamedloosely. Two of them wore heavy necklaces of green stones, red pebbles,and shell beads. The last comer carried only a single string of shellbeads with an iridescent conch fastened to it in front. Ear-pendants ofturquoises hung from the ears of all three.

  The attention of the girl with the urn on her head soon rested onShyuote, and she was the first to break the silence by a hearty peal oflaughter. This started her companions again, and the one nearest toOkoya exclaimed,--

  "Mitsha help us throw the water in your urn over the head of the boy.Okoya began it all, give it to him, too. You are strong enough."

  At the mention of Okoya's name the maiden addressed as Mitsha started.She threw a quick glance like a flash at him. Her face quivered andcoloured slightly. Turning away, she deposited the water-urn at the footof the wall, and remained standing, her eyes directed to the cliffs, herlithe fingers carelessly playing with the beads of her necklace. She wasdisinclined to take any part in the fray, and her behaviour acted as adamper on the buoyancy of the others. Okoya hastily gathered up hisarrows, and called Shyuote to his side. But the boy did not care toobey. Thirst for revenge held him to the spot of his defeat; he shookhis fists at the girls, clenched his teeth, and began to threatenvengeance, and to shower uncomplimentary expressions upon them. As soon,however, as the one who had so effectually routed him showed again adecided movement toward his raven locks, he beat a hasty retreat to hiselder brother. This change of base excited new hilarity, and under ashower of jokes and sarcasms the two boys departed. Okoya walked alongat a steady gait; but Shyuote, as soon as he considered the distancesafe enough, turned around, making grimaces at the belligerent damsels,vowing vengeance, and uttering opprobrious epithets of the choicestkind. He noticed that the two returned his compliments without reserve,whereas Mitsha stood in silence leaning against the house-wall. Onesingle look, one earnest almost sad glance, she sent after thedisappearing form of Shyuote's elder brother.

  The main building was now close at hand. It was an irregular pentagon,and at places two, at others three stories high. With one singleexception these stories formed terraces, retreating successively fromthe ground to the top like so many steps of a staircase. Nowhere didthere appear any entrance. Notched beams led up to trapdoors in theroofs, similar beams penetrated into the interior below. Absolutestillness reigned about the edifice. Some women scoured scanty clothingin the ditch running past the structure; on the terraces not a soulappeared. The lads directed their course toward that side where thethree stories presented a perpendicular wall, and as they neared it anentrance, or doorway, high enough for a man and wide enough for fourabreast appeared in the vertical front. It led them through a darkpassage into an interior court which was fairly clean and containedthree estufas. Its diameter did not exceed one hundred and fifty feet.

  Toward this court, or yard, the stories of the building descended interraces also; but though everywhere beams leaned up as ladders, accessto the ground-floor was also afforded by narrow doorways closed withhides or mats. It was hot and quiet in this yard; the sun shed glaringlight into it and over the roofs. Naked urchins played and squirmedbelow, whereas above, an old woman or some aged man would cowermotionless, shading their blear eyes with one hand and warming theircold frames in the heat. Okoya went directly to one of the ground-flooropenings, lifted the deerskin that hung over it, and called out theusual greeting,--

  "Guatzena!"

  "Opona,--'come in,'" responded a woman's voice. Both lads obeyed thesummons. At first the room seemed dark on account of the sudden contrastwith the glare outside, but as soon as this first impression wasovercome, it appeared moderately lighted. It was a chamber aboutfourteen feet long and ten feet wide, and its walls were whitewashedwith burnt gypsum. Deer-hides and a mat plaited of yucca-leaves layrolled up in one corner. A niche contained a small earthen
bowl, paintedwhite with black symbolic figures. A doorway to the right led intoanother compartment which seemed darker than the first. As soon as theboys entered the room, a woman appeared in this side doorway. She wassmall, slender, and apparently thirty-five years of age. Her features,notwithstanding the high cheek-bones, were attractive though wan andthin. An air of physical suffering lay over them like a thin cloudyveil. At the sight of this woman, Okoya's heart began to throb again;for she it was whom he so direly suspected, nay, accused of treacheryand deceit. This woman was his mother.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [Footnote 1: The word "umo" properly signifies "grandfather;" but it isused indiscriminately for all ages and sexes in calling. An old man, forinstance, will call his grandchild "umo;" so will a wife her husband, abrother his sister, etc.]

  [Footnote 2: _Estufa_ properly means a stove, and the name was appliedto those semi-subterranean places by the Spaniards on account of theircomfortable temperature in winter. They recalled to them the_temaz-calli_, or sweat-houses, of Mexico.]

  [Footnote 3: The preservation of traditions is much systematized amongthe Pueblo Indians. Certain societies know hardly any other but thefolk-tales relating to their own particular origin. To obtain correcttradition it is necessary to gain the confidence of men high in degree.That is mostly very difficult.]