Suddenly loud barking sounded directly in front of him, and at no great distance. Tyope dropped on the ground and began to glide like a snake toward the place whence this last signal came. He crouched behind a flat rock and raised his eyes. It was in vain; nothing could be seen in the obscurity. He felt puzzled. Was this last signal the voice of another enemy who had hitherto remained silent, or was it Nacaytzusle who had changed his position? At all events it was safer to rise and go directly toward the spot, rather than approach it in a creeping posture. He walked deliberately onward, at the same time calling out in a low tone,--
"Nacaytzusle!"
Nothing moved.
He advanced a few steps and repeated,--
"Nacaytzusle! Hast thou seen anything?"
"No," said a hollow voice near by, and a human form arose as if from beneath the surface. The man stepped up to Tyope; and to the latter"s unpeakable relief, he looked stouter and shorter than Nacaytzusle. The Indian was unknown to him, and Tyope said eagerly,--
"The badger must be hiding near where the fire is. We should cut off his trail to the north. Nacaytzusle went too far east; there"--he pointed toward the northeast--"is where he ought to stand."
Tyope spoke the Navajo language fluently.
"Thou art right," said the other; "go thither, and we will be closer together."
Tyope felt loath to follow this advice, for it would have brought him uncomfortably near his most dangerous foe; yet, under the circ.u.mstances and to avoid all suspicion he accepted the suggestion, and was about to turn in the direction indicated when the signals sounded again and simultaneously from every quarter. The strange Indian held him back, asking,--
"How is this? We are five, and four have shouted now. Who art thou, and where dost thou come from?"
"I came from above," Tyope replied, with affected composure.
They stood so close together that the Navajo could notice some details of Tyope"s accoutrements. Grasping the cap of buffalo hide which dangled from the belt of the Queres, he inquired,--
"What dost thou carry here?"
All was lost, for the Navajos were well acquainted with this garment, peculiar to the war dress of the Pueblos. Tyope saw that only the most reckless act could save him. So he dropped all his arrows, which until now he had carried in his right hand, and thrust his club like a slung-shot into the other"s face. With a yell of pain and surprise the Navajo tumbled backward into a bush, while Tyope darted forward in the direction of the Rito. Behind him sounded the hoa.r.s.e cries of the wounded man, loud yells answering. They came from four sides; all the pursuers were running at full speed to the a.s.sistance of their companion.
Madly, like a deer pursued by wolves, Tyope bounded onward. But soon his speed slackened; he believed that he was safe, and there was no use in tiring himself. His movements were no longer noiseless as before. During his first run he had made so much noise as to lead the pursuers directly on his trail. These pursuers had suddenly become silent. Nevertheless, from time to time, rustling sounds struck the ear of Tyope, and proved that the pursuit was carried on unrelentingly. He noticed a suspicious twittering and cracking, not behind him, but at one side; and it approached.
He comprehended at once that one of the Navajos, instead of rushing to the rescue of the one whom Tyope had struck down, had taken a direction diagonal to his own, with the hope of intercepting him near the brink of the declivity leading down into the Rito, or perhaps sooner. A change in his line of flight was thereby rendered necessary, but in what direction? The warning sounds were heard directly north of him; then everything became quiet. The same stillness reigned all around; and this proved that the pursuers, while certainly approaching with the greatest possible alacrity, were anxious to cover their movements. Tyope stood still, undecided what to do. The sound of a breaking or bending twig, faint though audible, caused him to crouch behind a cedar bush again. He held his breath, listened, and peered through the branches. Soon a man appeared,--a Navajo; but whether it was Nacaytzusle or not, he could not discover. The Indian glided across the open s.p.a.ce as noiselessly as a spectre, and disappeared in a northerly direction. Tyope remained in his concealment for a while, and as nothing more was heard or seen, he crawled to the nearest shrub to the west. There he again listened and watched, then rose to his feet and moved in a westerly direction.
The moon had risen, and its crescent shed a glimmer over the tree-tops.
For some time Tyope walked on. Frequently he halted to listen; everything was still. From this he inferred that his enemies had pa.s.sed him, and were now stationed along the brink of the gorge in order to intercept him, and that he had gone far enough to risk a descent from where he stood. It did not seem likely that the Navajos had posted themselves so far up the brink, since he knew it to be beyond the highest cave-dwellings. Turning to the north, therefore, he soon found himself under the last trees of the mesa. Beyond opened a whitish chasm, and the northern cliffs of the Rito rose like dim gigantic phantoms.
Here he knew the descent had to be made, but here also the most imminent danger was lurking.
The brink of the Rito on the south side is lined by shrubbery, with high timber interspersed; but ledges of friable volcanic rocks advance in places beyond this shade, crowning the heights like irregular battlements. Their surface is bare, and anything moving on them might become visible to a watchful eye, notwithstanding the dimness of the moonlight.
Tyope lay down, and began to glide like a snake. He moved slowly, pushing his body into every depression, hugging closely every protuberance. Thus he succeeded in crossing the open s.p.a.ce between the woods and the rim of the declivity. Now he could overlook the valley beneath and glance down the slope. It was not very steep, and thickets covered it in places. But between him and the nearest brush a bare ledge had yet to be crossed. He crept into a wide fissure, and then down. The crags were not high, scarcely ten feet. Then he pushed cautiously on to the open s.p.a.ce. When near the middle of it he raised his head to look around. Immediately a tw.a.n.g sounded from the heights above him, and a whiz followed. Tyope bounded to his feet, reeled for a moment; another tw.a.n.g and another whizzing,--an arrow struck the ground where he had lain; but already the Queres was away, leaping from rock to rock, tearing through shrubbery and thickets like a frightened mountain sheep.
Stones rolled from above; somebody was hastening down in pursuit; arrow upon arrow sped after the fugitive. But Tyope was safely out of reach and in the bottom, whither the Navajo did not dare to follow. A drizzling noise, like that of pebbles dropping from a height, told that the pursuer had withdrawn to the woods again; then all was still.
Down below on the edge of the brook lay Tyope, panting from exhaustion.
His life was safe and he felt unhurt, but he was overcome by emotion and effort. As long as the excitement had lasted his physical strength had held out. Now that all was over he felt tired and weak. Yet he could not think of rest, for daybreak was close at hand. He dipped some water from the brook and moistened his parched lips, taking care not to touch his face or body with the liquid. Tyope was tired and worn out, but at the same time angry; and when the Indian suffers or when he is angry he neither washes nor bathes. Physical or mental pain, disappointment, and wrath, are with him compatible only with lack of cleanliness, and since he becomes wrathful or disappointed or sick quite as often as we do, his bodily condition is frequently far from pleasant.
Tyope felt angry and disappointed at himself. The failure in regard to Nacaytzusle was not the cause of his disappointment. What angered him was that he had not killed the Navajo whom he struck down on the mesa, and taken his scalp. There would have been ample time, and he could have concealed the trophy, returning for it in the daytime. He had already taken one scalp in his life, but to have missed this opportunity of securing a second one was an unpardonable failure. It was this which caused him to avoid the cooling waters and forget the demands of cleanliness.
He rose and walked on. The valley opened before him; the dim light of a waning moon shone into it, allowing a practised eye to discern grotto after grotto in the cliffs. As Tyope proceeded down the gorge, following the brook"s course, he glanced at the caves. They were those of the Water clan. He frowned and clenched his fist in anger. There lived his enemy, Shotaye, his former spouse. There was her den, the abode of the hated witch. How often had she crossed his path, how often warned those whom he had planned to injure! Yes, she was a sorceress, for she knew too much about his ways. But now his time would come, for he too knew something concerning her that must ruin her forever. He had known it for some time, but only now was it possible to accuse her. He shook his fist at the cliffs in silent rage; the thought of taking revenge filled his heart with sinister joy, and made him forget the fatigue and disappointment of the past hours.
He soon stood in front of the place where the cliffs form a perpendicular wall, and where instead of excavating dwellings the people of the Eagle clan had built their quarters outside, using the smooth surface of the rock as a rear wall. A row of terraced houses, some three, some two stories high, others with a ground-floor only, extended along the base of the rocks, looking like a shapeless ruin in the faint glow of the moon. Toward this edifice Tyope walked. All was silent, for n.o.body had as yet risen from sleep. He climbed on the roof of a one-story house and stooped over the hatchway to listen. It was dark inside, and only the sound of regular breathings could be heard.
Tyope descended into the room. Two persons lay on the floor fast asleep. They were his wife and daughter. Concealing his weapons and war-accoutrements, he stretched himself at full length beside the others. The rushing of the brook was but faintly heard; a cold blast entered through the loophole in the wall. Tyope heaved a deep sigh of relief and closed his weary eyes. The night was nearly over, but he had reached home before the dawn of day.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: This custom of taking the disguise of a wolf is or has been used by the Navajos frequently in order to surprise herds of cattle and horses.]
CHAPTER IV.
A bright morning followed the night on which Tyope underwent his adventures. He slept long, but it attracted no undue attention and called forth no remarks on the part of his wife and daughter. They were wont to see him come and go at any hour of the night. It was very near noon when he awoke at last, and after disposing of his late breakfast, _a la mode du pays_, sauntered off to parts unknown to the others. The day was one of remarkable beauty. No dim foggy city sun cast a sullen glance at the landscape. The sun stood in the zenith of a sky of the deepest azure, like a flaming, sparkling, dazzling meteor. Still its heat was not oppressive.
On the mesa above the Rito a fresh wind was blowing. The shrubbery was gently moved by the breeze. A faint rushing sound was heard, like distant waves surging back and forth. In the gorge a zephyr only fanned the tops of the tallest pines; a quietness reigned, a stillness, like that which the poets of old ascribe to the Elysian fields.
There is not much bustle about the big house on the Tyuonyi. The men are out and at work, and the children have retired to the court-yard, A group of girls alone enlivens the s.p.a.ce between the main building and the new home of the Corn people. They are gathered in a throng while they talk, laugh, and chatter, pointing at the fresh coat of clay which they have finished applying to the outside of the new building. Their hands are yet filled with the liquid material used for plastering, and they taunt each other as to the relative merits of their work.
One of the maidens, a plump little thing with a pair of lively eyes, calls out to another, pointing at a spot where the plaster appears less smooth and even,--
"See there, Aistshie, you did that! You were too lazy to go over it again. Look at my work; how even it is compared with yours!"
The other girl shrugged her shoulders and retorted,--
"It may be, but it is not my fault, it is yours, Sayap. You did it yesterday when we beat off the boys. You pushed Shyuote against the wall and he thumped his head here. See, this is the mark where he struck the clay. You did this, Sayap, not I."
Sayap laughed, and her buxom form shook.
"You are right; I did it, I served the urchin right. It was good, was it not, Aistshie? How I punished the brat, and how he looked afterward with his face all one mud-patch!"
"Yes," Aistshie objected, "but I did more. I faced Okoya, despite his bow and arrows. That was more than you did."
The other girls interrupted the scornful reply which Sayap was on the point of giving. They crowded around the two with a number of eager questions.
"What was it?" queried one.
"What happened yesterday?" another.
"Did you have a quarrel with boys," a third; and so on. All pressed around begging and coaxing them to tell the story of yesterday"s adventure. The heroines themselves looked at each other in embarra.s.sment. At last Aistshie broke out,--
"You tell it, Sayap."
"Well," began the latter, "it was yesterday afternoon and we were just putting on the last touches of the coating, when Okoya and little Shyuote his brother--"
A clod, skilfully hurled, struck her right ear, filling it with sand and cutting off the thread of her narrative rather abruptly. Sayap wheeled around to see whence the blow had come. The other girls all laughed, but she was angry. Her wrath was raised to the highest pitch however, when she discovered that Shyuote was the aggressor. On a little eminence near by stood the scamp, dancing, cutting capers, and yelling triumphantly.
"Shyuote is small, but he knows how to throw."